On Hallowed Ground - soap box comp
On Hallowed Ground
Mt Temple stands alone from the impressive sprawl of peaks around Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies. Many nearby mountains vie for attention—Lady Victoria’s sweeping snows, Lefroys’ bawdy precipice. Mount Temple, however, has a mysterious magnetism. This is proven by Parks Canada’s accident register, which Temple apparently leads. The South West Ridge scramble draws all comers like lemmings—teenagers in jandles, ski area staff on midnight acid … yet the towering north face, dominating Lake Louise Village, sits aloof and unsullied. Mountaineers will always find something real in this 1300-metre+ gargantuan of snow leads, blocky quartzite, and stern seracs. Far, far above floats a distant blue summit ice cap. That ice cap has resonated within me since I first saw it, hovering between this realm and another. Those tangled snow leads were always destined to draw me like a magnet. Or a lemming.
I’d barely stepped into the shadow of Temple for the first time when it issued a stern warning, one that would stay with me. On a cold April morning in 2012, shortly after entering Temple’s uber-classic ski line, the striking Aemmer Couloir (600 metres verticle on the far eastern fringe of this one and a half mile wide face), we were almost rinsed back out by a billowing loose snow avalanche. Despite the aspect, the sun had managed to tickle a hidden, hanging snow-slope, which had sluffed into the couloir. This was no mountain to be trifled with. We beat a quick retreat and headed for the centre of the face, far from any menacing rays. I was fairly new to the area, so I’d put ear to ground and heard whisper of the Cobra and Dolphin couloirs. We were not left wondering. The Dolphin was immediately self-evident! However, what truly struck me was the plethora of tangled couloirs recessed into quartzite slots, some criss-crossing, some topping out under the distant, oppressive headwalls on steep, hanging faces. Why did one not hear of all this unbounded potential, merely three hours from the car? The seracs peering over the headwall provided a clue, but they mainly threatened the Dolphin.
Here eternal shade was a certainty and frigid air seeped down. My friend Matt opted to regain some composure relaxing in the sun away out on the forest fringes. I headed up one of the more inviting lines away from the seracs. The deep non-cohesive powder was stable but slow, and the couloir just kept going. Three hours in, I was approaching my agreed rendezvous time and was yet to even reach the lines crux. A narrow couloir beckoned on the right, a tributary of the main line, and I accepted. Here, they have the least objective hazard and the most stunning riding of the lot, especially in forty centimeters of blower! We were soon headed to the car, then far from Canada, far too soon.
The Canadian Rockies have a lot to offer but I must admit that my mind dwelled unhealthily, unjustifiably, on my last view of Temple. It sat high and lonely, stark above the pines on that crisp evening. Return was, really, no question. I spent the next frigid Canadian winter patrolling at Lake Louise. Temple stood across the valley, untouchable, a dwelling of cavernous shade, emanating cold,inspiring fear. We watched the snow cover wax and wane, watched downdrafts, spindrift and ice avalanches pulverize the forest below, watched the clouds ebb and flow. Many months later life began to stir again, as did we. Exactly a year from our Aemmer’s escape I did get to ride it, this time with Aussie and Québécois workmates. It rode even better than it looked, length and consistency making it feel surprisingly steep for the angle. My idea to ride it ‘switch’ only lasted three turns, opting for euphoria over terror. Rum as the weather closed in at the bottom was delicious(thanks Olivier), as was our route back to Lake Louise via ‘Little Temple’; a perfect pyramidal outliner, stacked with powder… or at least, deep soft facets.
Every skier who aims for Aemmer’s must pass before the rest of the North Face lines en-route. Once again, they had called me. A ridiculous looking line next to the Dolphin looked possible with the addition of another years experience. I’d also noticed ‘The Sphinx’, the breathtaking web of snow once skiied by Trevor Peterson, so I’d heard. “Wouldn’t it be good to ride everything up there?” whispered a voice. “Perhaps even in one spring?” Madness, I thought, and for the next month I did exactly what I should have been doing: cragging, camping, and swimming. There was only the odd ski mountaineering daytrip to keep things spicy, and these were always powder lines in fresh locations. Somewhere though, quiet and persistant, the small voice nagged. On May 1st I went back for a day that concreted the notion into a goal that would destroy my idyllic spring, created a template for my next few trips. They went something like this;
Join Italian and Canadian friends for the beautiful Paradise valley approach. Their company was a welcome distraction from the big, resident brown bears. Part ways at lake Annette; they merrily to Aemmer’s(twice!), myself nervously to the face. Stash lunch and transition under the stoutest available buttress, then swing on up into a couloir, trying to move fast through exposed sections. Feel the air gather below my heels on the final hanging snow-slopes. Glance nervously at the headwall and its frozen guardians. Cut a platform, strap in, take a final breath…. Lake Annette far below me now. Business time.
Typically settled powder to catch each turn, though once more akin to Chamonix with icy hop turns and full use of ice axe. At the bottom, elation and fatigue compete for attention, but after gobbling lunch it’s up the couloir next door for a repeat act. As the sun slips behind the hills I stumble home, too exhausted for bear paranoia .
Some poignant memories have stayed with me. Swathes of egg sized ice chunks almost all the way out to Lake Annette 700m from the wall. Climbing alongside ‘The Dolphin’ which is the only heavily threatened line, it was helpful to picture the next free falling serac also detonating on a ledge and disintegrating into space. The Dolphin is the standard start of the uber-classic Greenwood-Locke route, but much safer is the couloir that joins it from the right at two-thirds height.
The next line right of the Dolphin was exceptional, widening to a terrifically exposed final snow-slope at its head, the steepest snow on the North face. Multiple chokes, powder, sluff, and a mandatory exit air completed the package, along with an interesting journey up another tributary couloir. Committing to climb (and subsequently reverse) a very awkward rock step, it was disheartening to discover only 40 more meters of snow beyond!
On the next trip, afternoon low cloud warmed the face, and I spent a good while holed up on a quartzite ledge whilst sluffs plunged down the runnel nearby.
That same night we bivvyed within sight of the face. A beautiful late evening clearance and a privileged view. I reflected. My questionable project was weighing heavily on my mind. No one moment had been incredibly stressful… but the sheer volume of time scurrying under the oppressiveness of this hulking black and green rock was a burden. It hadn’t been strictly intentional, but other the Aemmer’s I’d been solo, so was happy that cheerful Italian Ben was joining me in the morning. And after we’d done the Sphinx, I would never, ever come back.
We woke to the hush of thickly falling snow. It was a wet walk out.
Relaxing back in Canmore was suberb, as was forgetting all about the face. Resolution…nah.. The next night whilst heading out the door to see friends off from Banff, I glanced at the forecast, and groaned. Tomorrow was the day that everything could fall into place. Nothing could be less appealing, but as we drove home late that evening I knew it. If I didn’t go now, I never would. A few hours later I drove to Louise under the Northern lights. By now it was only truly dark for a few hours and Temple glowed ethereal in the pre dawn, more beautiful than ever. I enjoyed the old game of trying to pick conditions from miles away, thinking over recent weather and limited information. Early birds sang as I skirted dirt patches and isothermal rot. I am not an early bird. Lake Annette had been shedding her winter mantel and glinted in the sunrise. The sphinx looked ok. It had cycled during the last snowfall and left just enough behind for me, perhaps?
It became clear, whilst ascending the sinuous access couloir, that the whole Sphinx face was a different beast. The headwall has been climbed but even Barry Blanchard now steers clear of it after “bashing his head against the Sphinx” too many times. Committing to the line proper had me really tense. Eventually I was just 50m from the top. The snow was really steep,icer with each step, and growing thinner on the blue glacial ice that had lain bare until a month ago. Now, only a veneer of snow remained. This was as far as I was going. Hacking a feasible perch was a tenuous affair in twenty centimeters of crust and facets on ice. I don’t remember if I used a screw but I know I felt precarious. Eventually, I grated out to the trenches the rocks had run down the top pitch, and surrendered for to the fall line (for two milliseconds at a time). The snow grew more enjoyable where sluffs had left chalky ribs, and the angle graciously eased for the traverse left, sluff pouring off bluffs below. The snowboarding just kept coming, endless anxious turns. Rock band, snow, rocks, snow… Eventually, after a climbing traverse to avoid the exit cliff, I was out. An hours sprint up my access couloir bootpack for a wild, carefree descent, ticked my last box. I could go home.
I woke to a bright room late the next morning. Finally I felt the glow of satisfaction, but more powerful was the wash of relief. It had become clearly impractical to ride every piece of snow on the face…too many had slyly revealed themselves… but I’d enjoyed (sometimes) the six obvious ski lines, two appealing tributary couloirs, and Little Temple. The needless, self imposed pressure was off, but I also stood upon and rode off the summit a few weeks later like any good lemming (via the SW face), a beautiful and fulfilling morning. Was I free of my enslavement to one mountain? Well… there’s simply more there. Maybe, just perhaps, I may not have found my revelation quite yet.
- Ruari Macfarlane, for more see may 2013 and november 2013 posts on http://www.ruarimacfarlane.wordpress.com
