Conrad "Radster" Anker’s specialty, simply put, is climbing the most technically challenging terrain in the world. This quest has taken him from the mountains of Alaska and Antarctica to the big walls of Patagonia and Baffin Island and the massive peaks of the Himalaya. Conrad's Antarctic experience spans a decade, with first ascents in three regions.
Learn more about Conrad Anker.
Posted on behalf of Chris Figenshau, Tapovan Base Camp Manager
October 2nd, 2011. 3p.m.. (The climbers rest before their summit push.)
“You don’t need a weather man to know which way the wind blows.”
Bob Dylan said that. He must have been at sea level. In the Himalaya, it seems, only Shiva can say for sure.
Upon receiving the predictions of no precipitation for the next five days, I decided to pack up my most Spartan overnight kit, with camera gear, and head up to a vantage point near the base of Shivling’s West flank. From here one can see the NE Ridge of the Shark’s Fin from base to summit. After a three-hour hike through Teton like talus,( minus the trail part), I reached the advanced base camp of a group of British climbers led by Simon Yates. They are intent on climbing Shivling. Tea with the “Poms(sp?)” is a proper tea experience, and after being slightly ‘knackered’ from the hike, a very welcome one. (Thanks again Simon.)
As the sky grew dark I made my way to my bivy spot. Carrying two cameras, a beefy tripod and all the big glass we brought to India, I was set to crush, kill, and slay the coverage of a much anticipated summit day.
But wait. What is this white stuff? Falling light at first, then steady. SNOW.
I scavenged a ratty blue tarp from an abandoned camp/trash pile and dug in. Wrapped in a snow-covered burrito at 17,000 feet I radioed the team. It was snowing on them too.
“It’ll blow out of here,” I said, trying to impart confidence in the unknown.
“It just started snowing harder when you said that,” replied a dour Jimmy Chin. He was probably mired in an unpleasant flashback to the storm that thwarted their previous attempt.
“We’ll just wake up at midnight and see…” Jimmy said. “Wall Team clear."
The scratching of new snow against stiff, frozen plastic set the cadence for what was to be a comfortable, but sleepless night. An inch of snow on my blue burrito, ten feet of visibility, and the pitter patter of new snow getting louder.
OhmmmmmmmmmmmmmnamaaaaaaaaaaaaaShiva! Not now.
October 2, 2011. Midnight.
“The path to light often begins in darkness.”
-Unknown quote from The River Why.
One star, two stars, twenty stars, a million. The clouds part and settle low in the vast canyon between Shivling and Meru. The high beam of a lone headlamp tears through the night sky across from me. The team is awake and moving.
By 2 a.m. three lamps are spread evenly across the snow ramp leading up from Camp 3 heading towards the fixed line on the ‘Montana Ice Pitch’. It is clear, but cold. In the pre-dawn light I can see something I cannot feel. Wind from the Northwest is carrying snow off of the ridge.
The first radio transmission of the day is from Conrad who is now at the anchor above the ice pitch.
“This wind is eating me alive!”
His tone is startling.
“What do you want to do?” asks Jimmy.
Given their utterly exposed position, the possibility that wind chill could shut this climb down seems very real.
“Send up my down Jacket., says Conrad.
The team’s progress stops momentarily to weigh their circumstances. Then the sun hits.
A newly invigorated Conrad leads the first pitch of the day and ends it with a shovel in hand, trenching his way through the cornice that separates the team from the summit ridge. Blocks of snow whiz by Jimmy and Renan at the belay as Conrad burrows his way to ridge. Within an hour the team reaches the highpoint of their previous expedition. In the warmth of the sun they regroup and contemplate the overhanging knifeblade pitch above them. The Gargoyle. It would be up to Jimmy to unlock these final pitches to the summit at over 21,000 feet.
I couldn’t see the Gargoyle pitch from my vantage, but it didn’t take Jimmy long to lead it. When he reached the top Conrad let me know that:
“Jimmy left a big groove in it where he dragged his big steel balls.”
Nice.
October 2, 2011. 1:40 p.m.
The team disappears from my view for several hours and I get a headache from squinting through the eyepiece of an underpowered lens in an effort to find them. While the team fights on, I take a nap in the now perfect temperature.
The radio ‘bleeps’ and wakes me. And then I hear something human from afar. A distant voice cuts across the calm air of the yawning canyon.
“Whooooooooooooooooooooooohoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”
Then the radio cracks to life. It’s Conrad.
“Jimmy’s on the summit,” he says with a military like matter of fact. “Summit time: 1:40. October, 2nd, 2011.” There is confidence in his voice.
I look though the camera and I can see something on the summit now. It looks like a backlit hair follicle with arms. It’s Jimmy. The clouds swirl behind him, his arms raised before them. Twenty minutes later he is joined by Conrad and Renan. Now it’s official: The team has reached the summit!
A new route is now complete. Old business finished. Success, significance and a sigh of relief are all in this moment. Conrad makes coffee as the team rests for 2 hours at the apex of their journey.
Now all they have to do is get down……….
- Chris Figenshau. Psyched to have been there, Topovan Base Camp. Clear.
Posted on behalf of Chris Figenshau, Tapovan Base Camp Manager:
September 28th 2011, 9AM
Gazing up from Tapovan Base Camp, I can see a solitary pinhole of light piercing the dark hulking midsection of Mt Meru. The team is safe. Dangling at Camp 2 at 19,000 feet.
After two weeks of traveling, organizing, trekking and humping loads to advanced base camp, Jimmy, Renan and Conrad have managed to scorch their way up the bottom part of this route in a 6 day push. The bottom snow and technical ice pitches were climbed in two days to Camp 1, ‘The Balcony’, which lies below several sections of alpine rock and ice. From there the team climbed, hauled and jugged their way up to Camp 2, a hanging bivy situated below the formidably overhanging Indian Ocean Wall. In the past two days the team has managed to climb, (send), the steepest and most dangerous A4 sections of the wall culminating at the ‘Crystal Pitch’, an overhanging prow of aid climbing in outer space.
“Ahhhh the Crystal Pitch,” says Jimmy. “It’s out there.”
Yeah. It sure as hell is.
Tonight the team is preparing to move camp above the 20,000 foot mark. Once at Camp 3, the team plans to make a three or four day push for the summit.
Having benefitted from their experience on this wall three years ago, the team is moving much faster. Levels are high, and the weather has been exceptional thus far with little to no moisture. . (‘Exceptional’ is a relative term that is not intended to imply comfort.) The team has been fortunate with morning sunshine on the route, but by noon the entire wall is shaded and cold due to its Northeast exposure. So far, good progress has been made each day with no days lost to weather or fatigue. With an abyss of steep, overhanging rock behind them, the team now prepares for the final sections of aid and mixed climbing on their way to the summit.
Fingers crossed, positive wavelength, incense burning.
Figenshau clear.
Chris Figenshau, Tapovan Base Camp Manager
After spending a two days building basecamp and sorting through mountains of gear, we carried loads up to our ABC below our route on Meru. The clouds and mist parted along the 6 hour trek up to our ABC and we scanned familiar reference points on the route, the filter pitches of steep snow and ice, the alpine ridge, the traverse pitches with the tricky hauling, the overhanging headwall, the House of Cards pitch and others. The route and all its challenges were coming back to us. It was exciting to see the icy blade of granite again after 3 years and our anticipation began to build for what would be in store for us in the days ahead.
We took two rest days at basecamp and are headed up to ABC in the morning. If the weather holds, we should be on the route in a couple of days.
Ten years to a child seems like eternity. A decade in the chapter of an adult is one chapter in life. On the timeline of humanity, it is inconsequential. In a cosmic and geologic timeframe it is a period of time so small it is unrecognizable. For Jimmy and I, it is a decade of sharing adventures around the world. One peak, Meru, in the Garhwal Himal, is an adventure we are drawn to.
In 2008, Renan, Jimmy and I battled a 5 day storm, intense cold and difficult climbing to be turned back 100 meters from the summit. After 19 days of toil, we tossed in the towel and retreated. Three years later, we are back to give the line we started another go.
Unfinished business. We all have something that keeps us motivated. These aspirational goals are vital to the human condition. We have the drive to finish something once started.
We departed Colorado, Montana and Idaho as summer was slowly giving way to crisp mornings and the change of color. With the miracle of jet travel, we were pretty much on the opposite side of the globe in a 24 hour window.
Delhi, home to 24 million people is one of the world’s most populous cities. The daily surge of humanity and controlled chaos is always eye opening to the three of us, accustomed to wide open spaces.
As on cue, the monsoon focused its intensity the morning we departed Delhi. The underpasses were flooded while the overpasses provided shelter to the stranded commuters. The heavy rains, while welcome for the people of India, also create difficult travel conditions on the high mountain roads.
The plains of northern India abruptly meet the Himalayas at Rishekesh. The Ganges River exits the youngest and tallest ranges of mountains at this holy city. Rishekesh was made famous in the eyes of westerners when the Beatles chilled out seeking musical and spiritual enlightenment.
The next leg of the journey is to Utterkashi, a mere 160 km away. We had heard the roads were impassable but tried our luck. We encountered several massive landslides. Most of them had barely been cleared. We bumped along through the chaotic debris with tires inches away from the edge of several thousand foot drops down to the raging rivers. We finally hit an active landslide with trees and boulders rushing by which blocked the tenuous road.
We waited for a day, sitting on the road, and finally decided to take a long questionable detour, costing us a day. After some exciting driving and digging at several other landslides, we reached Utterkashi. Beyond Utterkashi, the roads were impassable by bus, so we switched to the Indian Mahindra jeeps.
We piled into one Jeep and joined the flow of pilgrims headed to Gangotri, the holy gateway village of the Ganges River. The road seemed to be falling apart around us, but our skilled driver navigated us around seemingly impassable sections of the washed out road. As the sun set, we pulled into Gangotri.
Once in Gangotri, we exploded our gear at our lodge and spent a couple days building porter loads and visiting the temple and some of our old Sadhu friends that we ‘d met in previous years.
One Sadhu, Sunderandan, at 83 years of age, is one of the most devout people in the area. A famed yogi master, in his youth he also took part in several climbing expeditions. During that time he picked up a camera, and along side his yoga practice, Sunderandan pursued a lifetime of photography. We visited him in 2008 and we were happy to spend the afternoon with him again this year. He bestowed upon us a mantra for our expedition and gave us a blessing. It was special to be in the presence of such an enlightened being.
The following morning we shouldered our packs and headed for Topavon, a two day trek away. Along the way we stopped at Galmuk, literally the place where the Ganges spills out of the toe of the Gangotri Glacier. This is the source of India’s most holy river and we encountered several pilgrims and holy men along the way. We paid our respects, and dipped in the ice cold water, knowing the water we touched here would travel and touch many others as it flowed through the rest of India.
After an epic hike above Galmuk and across the glacier with our small army of porters, we arrived at Tapovan. Nestled below Shivling with the Bhagarathis and Meru in the distance, Tapovan would be our basecamp for the next few weeks.
Alpine climbers and polar explorers visit high altitude and high latitude regions in their pursuit of adventure. These two regions, more than any other, are affected by a warming climate.
Golf is practiced outdoors in an environment controlled and manipulated by humans. Climate change might not be noticeable. Outdoor adventure, on the other hand, seeks out places absent of human impact. As a high altitude climber I have seen the effects of a warmer climate first hand. Routes that were established as glacial climbs have melted out (British route on the Ogre, Karakorum), glaciers have receded leaving swaths of debris in their wake (the Gangotri Glacier in India) and peaks that were held together by permafrost are melting out (Mont Blanc, the Alps).
Glacial recession is the most obvious physical manifestation of how the increased atmospheric carbon dioxide count is changing our planet. Glaciers, scenic and breathtaking as they are, serve a very practical purpose for humans. They are the natural repositories of water. By storing water in the solid state, mountain glaciers release water during the summer months. This flow ensures a steady source of water for the populations down stream. The Himalaya will be affected by a warmer climate in the coming century. As the 5000 glaciers melt they will form lakes behind terminal moraines. These lakes are susceptible to catastrophic failure, causing severe downstream flooding. Once the glaciers melt out the rivers that source in the Himalaya will cease to be perennial and become seasonal. This prognosis is not good for the 1/5th of the world’s population that receives water from the Himalaya.
The North Face is committed to reducing it carbon footprint. From the solar system at the Visalia distribution center to the carbon offsets for corporate travel we are constantly looking for ways to reduce our impact. It is more than “doing the right thing” – it is our brand heritage. The most technically challenging climbs in the Northern hemisphere are on the north faces of the world’s greatest mountains. These mountains are our heritage. We need to protect our heritage.
The somber and powerful eastern and northern aspects of Shivling loom large on the southern horizon. Twenty five years since being cognizant of this range and one peak in particular, Meru, I look back on the years that brought me to this place and what the next two weeks will bring.
In 1988, I ventured to Kalidaha peak in the Kishtwar Himal. It was my first expedition to the Himalaya and prior to departing, our young green team met up with Mugs Stump and Steve Quinlin, who were on their way to Meru.
Rambo, the epitome of 80's masculinity and aggression had swept a film mad India. Mugs, with his set jaw and long curling black hair, more than resembled Rambo. His character effused confidence to the point that the petty cab drivers were sure this man was Rambo. It was all good humor and after a meal, we were off to our separate objectives. A late monsoon, or early winter storm enveloped the Himalaya, and Mugs and Steve never made the summit of the East Face of Meru's Shark's Fin.
First given international prominence on the cover of Mountain Magazine, the sweeping granite face alluded to the possibility and high standard that difficult alpine climbing could take. This image launched more than one expedition, mine included.
In 1993, an English team, of Paul Pritchard and Jonny Dawes had a serios attempt on the peak. At their high point, the team dropped a boot. Setback by a minor misha with major consequences, the guys retreated. The Shark's Fin remained elusive. The East Wall called multiple teams to define themselves on it's cold and forbidding vertical and complex landscape.
Mugs died in 1992, on the South Buttress of Denali. With him, the dreams he had for adventurous climbs in the greater ranges. As his understudy, I felt a pull to this peak. More teams tried the wall, some diverting onto the massive snow slope to the north. The direct East Face remained untouched.
In 2003, Bruce Miller, Doug Chabot and I tried the wall, retreating at 2/3's height. We retreated due to deep unconsolidated snow and no big wall gear for the upper wall.
In returning this year, I have a strong team of close friends and the knowledge gained from five years ago. If we are fortunate, we will have passage through one of the great unclimbed features of the Himalayas.
Peace
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