With a few weeks off from all but local climbing, Eric and I were filled with alpine dreams and hungry for some suffering. Backbone Ridge, a 12 pitch, grade IV route that follows a ~2,000 foot line up Dragontail Peak, had been a long awaited objective of this season. A little after 6pm on Saturday Eric picked me up from work and we were off. We pulled into the Colchuck Lake trailhead just before 11pm, so while Eric sorted gear I filled a permit for the following morning. By 1130 we tucked into sleeping bags in the back of Eric's Subaru, trying to savor every minute of sleep before our 230am alarm rang.
Our morning began the same as every trip to the Enchantments has for us—slightly shivering, quietly settling into a steady pace up the headlamp lit trail. With Eric still recovering from a bad ankle sprain (involving losing his dignity in front of Blake Herrington when he popped off of a boulder problem), we kept the pace light and arrived to Colchuck Lake shortly after 5am. After snaking around the lake to the base of the moraine below Dragontail Peak, we stowed a pack and put on our harnesses before heading up the talus towards the base of the route.
Eric and I were shut down on this route last year due to some route-finding errors that left us without enough time to salvage the climb. As a result, we were able to get to the base of the climb without issue, although we burned close to an hour chopping steps to cross the frozen Colchuck glacier.
After wrestling a handful of off-width's this season I was excited to fire up the so-called "gatekeeper" 5.9 off-width that kicks off Backbone Ridge. I found my groove quickly and bumped a #6 cam up the second half of the pitch, enjoying myself entirely too much.
Waiting for Eric to reach the belay, I didn't quite hear him exude the same enthusiasm. Eric had opted to wear our follower pack rather than tail it below him, and I listened to grunts and expletives as he paid for this mistake. I gave him a big grin and some words of encouragements when he arrived to the belay and by the time we had swapped the rack over he seemed eager to continue—sans pack.
The roughly six pitch section of climbing ahead of us is generally accepted as a "choose-your-own-adventure". For us, this included a low angle section of cracks with a move or two of 5.7, followed by five pitches of 5.easy climbing that we simul-ed in two blocks. From here, we arrived at the base of the fin and took a break for food and water, along with some diabetes maintenance for Eric.
With some food in our bellies, I took a pull from our water bladder and was sucking air. Out of water, but our concern was minimal with most of the terrain behind us. I made a mental note that 3 liters of water was not enough for this much terrain—lesson learned.
According to our route beta we had just three or four pitches left before a short scramble to the summit and we were feeling good. This section of climbing has some notoriety for the difficulty of the route-finding, which, to our chagrin we fell prey to.
Despite our confidence in identifying correct landmarks, we ended up tacking on 3 pitches of chossy, dirty climbing that I feel should have been done as a scramble—both to save time and to minimize the amount of rockfall from rope-drag. Nonetheless, Eric and I took a moment to find some new landmarks and I set out in the direction of our last few pitches.
The pitch the I found myself on was less than ideal. The rock was loose, lichen covered and had few options for protection. I warned Eric to take cover and watch me as I navigated through loose blocks, wandering left and right up the pitch in order to get a few pieces of half-decent gear. I finally reached a belay stance below what was clearly the first of three final technical pitches and began bring Eric up through the minefield of precarious rock below. About half of the rope was flaked at my feet when I heard a large rock break free below, followed by a yell.
I shouted down to Eric, "HEY! YOU GOOD?". There was a short silence before I heard almost questioningly, "Yeah, but my hand is jacked". Once at the belay, Eric informed me that a toaster sized block had broken free and missed his head by six inches, landing instead on his hand. I switched my mind into medical mode and began mentally triaging the issues we were now dealing with.
—Stop the bleeding
—Losing daylight (it's 6pm now)
—Out of water
—Eric's hand is out of commission, unable to climb
I pulled a small med kit from the pack and used Eric's car key to splint and buddy tape his finger. Neither of us were worried about our ability to deal with the situation on our own, but Eric and I agreed I would lead the last pitches and fix a line for him to jug up. Once we made the top of the climb it was less than an hour descent down to a glacial tarn for water.
The last pitches of the fin offered spectacular climbing in a really incredible position. However, my ability to fully enjoy the movement was hindered by a sense of urgency to make forward progress to get us off route and down to water.
Sunset cast a soft alpenglow across the ragged crest of Backbone Ridge as Eric jugged his way up the final pitch. I sat in a notch on the ridge, slowing down to enjoy the moment before I changed into my approach shoes.
Despite our misadventure, life was good.
Atop the terminus of Backbone Ridge, a short scramble left us about 50 feet below the true summit of Dragontail. The summit is an objective Eric and I have both tagged on separate occasions and subsequently dismissed in favor of getting to a water source.
We snapped a selfie before descending down through hardening snow and large talus towards Aasgard Pass.
By 10pm, we were stripping off gear and filtering water while soaking tired feet in the icy tarn. I polished off the last of my food and helped Eric with some of his, making sure to leave enough for him to avoid a diabetic emergency. Not in-line with alpine style but true to his own, Eric provided two Canadian ale's for our descent off Aasgard Pass. This sort of thing reminds me of why we climb well together—he gives me beer, I rescue him and fix him when he's broken. It's a perfect partnership in my book.
The rest of our hike out was long and quiet, the words "death march" whispered quietly in my mind. Eric and I each found our own pace, stopping intermittently to check on each other. I've been on the trail from Colchuck probably a dozen times, though this time around it felt longer than ever before—probably due to the hallucinations and exhaustion. By 4am we finally reached the car, 25 hours after leaving. Not exactly a speed record but we were alive and overall unharmed.
We passed out almost immediately, and the 730am alarm came all too quickly. While Eric had that day off, I was working a 1pm shift back in Spokane. A quick breakfast pit stop in Leavenworth got us back to town in time for a quick shower and a change of clothes—somehow I survived my work shift and by 8pm that night I was deep asleep.
12 hours later, I woke well rested with just enough self induced amnesia to forget the sufferfest and start considering our next objective. But who knows? Maybe I'll take a week off.
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