The Partnership

This article first appeared in the Autumn 2018 edition of the BMC’s Summit magazine. The events happened between 2015 and 2016.

We are silenced by the north face of Mt. Alberta. I breathe out slowly and stare up at the mountain. “Shit…” is the only word I can think of. I’ve wanted to be in this exact moment for an entire year, but now I am here, confronted with the source of my dreams and nightmares, I’m not so sure. An icefield of pure white leads to a menacing headwall of dark limestone. We trace the few existing routes on this giant wall and look for new possibilities.

Uisdean Hawthorn and I are intimidated. There’s nothing more to say. Our words would only be thrown into the Canadian wilderness by the wind. Mt. Alberta is my blend of an addictive poison: I need to climb it for the challenge, but I’m haunted by an irrational fear. I take comfort in knowing these feelings are normal and happen every time I go into the mountains. I trust my autopilot to take over - we can climb this route - but I have to ride out the mental storm in the meantime.

I share this experience with Uisdean. We both know this is the best opportunity we’ve had in two years. Last year, conditions weren’t good enough for Mt. Alberta but we tried anyway. The mountain was covered in powder snow but almost devoid of ice; ‘not in condition.’ The limestone fell apart in our hands - more so than normal.

Although Uisdean and I had climbed together, our partnership was relatively new. Clipping bolts doesn’t prepare for the stress and uncertainty of the mountains. We reached the headwall and started climbing, but after two hours and only 20 metres, we stalled. ‘What do you think?’ I asked Uisdean, in a thick silence. Uncertainty dragged. Limestone crumbled. The wind bit. Were we ahead of ourselves? Were we pushing our luck? My mind felt the strain of fear. 

Our silence continued as we gingerly weighted the belay at the base of the headwall. We could continue, but at what pace? And what price? 

Eventually, we began a traverse to the North-East ridge. The sour pill of retreat stuck in my throat for months afterward. Uisdean and I agreed to return, but I wondered if it was the conditions – or us – that needed to improve. 

In the year since, Uisdean and I climbed together for nearly five months. We  walked across frozen lochs, towards remote Scottish crags choked in winter. We have watched carefully as the leader climbed higher, moving further from the last piece of gear.  We shared countless pitches.  And as the second reached the belay, the usual greeting became, ‘nice one!’

The Mont Blanc massif also welcomed us again and again. We have swung leads up Divine Providence on the Grand Pilier d’Angle, and climbed fast up the American Direct on Les Dru. In between high pressure systems we trained; ‘another lap on the Vertical Kilometre?’ The mountains became a place of relative comfort. Further and faster, we soaked up the sunset and pushed into the night. At last, our partnership became in condition.

As our return trip to the Canadian Rockies approached in 2016, we watched the mountains shape up. Our fitness and partnership also felt ready. Flights were booked, work cancelled, excuses made. ‘It’s the draw of a big route - you understand?’ I don’t think many people did. 

Now, here, we’ve walked into the wilderness and are staring at Mt Alberta again. The source of so much angst and desire.  With butterflies in our stomach, we look at the summit and agree: there is nowhere else we’d rather be.