Split Couloir
Climbed 2023-11-25
Attempting a classic.
Climbed 2023-11-25
Attempting a classic.
My ascent of Split Couloir began as a joke. My partner and I had recently crushed Notch Couloir on Longs Peak, and we were looking to challenge ourselves over the Thanksgiving weekend. Ellen shared a FB trip report with me, a 1,600’ ice line on Split Mountain, which was only in because of a record breaking winter in the Sierra Nevada range. Realizing that it may never be in this shape again during our lifetimes, I jokingly suggested that we should just fly out and climb it! Having never flown out for a weekend route before, I said this in complete jest, but the next thing I knew, we were buying plane tickets, obsessing over forecasts, and packing our bags.
I knew from the onset that our chances of a summit were slim. We had less than 12 hours of daylight, and so we would need to cover over 100’ per hour to get out of the couloir before dark. To make matters worse, a winter storm had hit the Sierras the week before, and we expected up to a foot of fresh snow slowing us down. But we agreed that not summiting was no reason not to try. As Ellen put it, “If you ain’t bailin’, you ain’t tryin’.”
To further armor myself against feelings of failure, another of my alpine partners, Matt, reminded me of the three rules for success on an alpine climb. They are, in decreasing priority:
With this mindset in place, the focus of this climb was to push the limit, and I went in well equipped to handle turning back.
There isn’t a ton of information about Split Couloir. It was only recently uploaded to Mountain Project and is most well known as one of Chris Davenport’s fifty classic ski descents of North America. Despite its obscurity, it is as picturesque as a line gets, running between the twin summits that give Split Mountain its namesake.
In a normal year, only the first two pitches of ice come in, with the rest as a snow climb. At the beginning of November though, reports began rolling in: after a record breaking snow year and its subsequent melt off, the entire couloir goes.
As far as established beta goes, we knew this:
The first two pitches are the crux. The first is 30m of WI3 and a stretch of easy snow.
The second pitch forks off into three options: an ice chimney, a WI4 smear, or a 5.easy mixed line.
The remainder of the couloir is a continuous WI2, ending in a 3rd/4th class scramble to the summit at 14,064.
Despite the low grades, the objective hazard of the couloir is undeniable. The bowl at the top is a hot spot for avalanches, and has claimed the lives of many skilled skiers. The couloir also acts as a chute for rockfall coming off the two summits, and time spent in the couloir needed to be kept to a minimum.
Thankfully, these objective hazards were as low as they could get. Our forecast promised clear and cloudless days for all 3 days. Despite the recent storm, I expected little to no avalanche danger. It would be cold, with a high of 15°, but this was actually good news, as it greatly reduced the chances of melting snow shoving rocks down the chute.
Ellen, master of spreadsheets and planning, built the itinerary. We would fly into LAX early Friday morning, and rent a car to arrive at the Red Lake trailhead by midday. A 4,000’ approach would put us at basecamp, and another 4,000’ would get us to the summit. We would sleep at the lake for two nights and get back in time to fly out Sunday night.
(I cannot express enough how important Ellen’s planning skills are. She had time tables, gear lists, and contingency plans all laid out on spreadsheets. When so much of mountaineering is behind the scenes with logistics, her skills are invaluable.)
Beneath WI4 section, Ellen hung out a bit, evaluating whether she could make the lead. I offered to carry her bag up, if she left it on her last screw. She did so, and through a few hair raising moments, she crushed it and disappeared into the couloir.
In desperation, I charged through the route, and the remaining moves passed in a blur. I topped out to see that I was not, in fact, on belay. Ellen had been forced to simul up another 40m to build a station, since there were no placements in the walls of the couloir.
Frankly, we were lucky that neither of us were injured in this situation. Of all the mistakes we made, this was the deadliest, yet it was shockingly insidious - I didn’t fully realize its consequences until days after the climb. I hesitate to include it in this trip report, but it is important to remember that not every point of failure is a scary move or falling rock. Decision making plays a huge factor in mountaineering, and danger exists even in mundane moments.
After crawling my way up to Ellen (I would not have gone graceful into that good night), and returning her bag, we considered our options, finding ourselves at the aforementioned fork in the road.
Instead, I immediately hopped onto the mixed line, having tunnel visioned into a sequence that would get me past the first bulge and to the base of the crack. I would soon learn that the line looked a lot easier from the ground. The crack had an awkward outward flare that made it almost impossible to place gear. To make matters worse, a steady bead of choss climbed the right side of the crack, making placements even more insecure.
Using a sequence of placing and torquing my tools over to the right, and then raising my feet off to the left as though climbing lay-back, I climbed and sewed up the crack with mediocre pieces. At the top, a short traverse promised to spit me onto the arete, where I hoped the climbing would get easier.
I equalized between two sub-bomber pieces and attempted the move, taking a small fall. Pumped and uncertain, I hung on the two pieces for a bit, discussing my options with Ellen. She encouraged me to lower off if I wasn’t sure of the send. The alpine is not the place for big whips and pushing your grade, she reminded me.
After feeling out the next pitch, Ellen ultimately agreed that it was time to call it quits. Even if we pushed through this section or returned to attempt the chimney, we were well beyond our time allotment, and had no chance of summitting before dark.
We rapped off of a single pin, with a two piece back-up for the first to descend. Unsure of whether a 30m rappel would return us to the couloir, we planned on lowering to a stuck pin halfway up the pitch.
Despite my misgivings, we found ourselves back in the couloir shortly after. A down-lead, two v-threads, and another pin returned us to the base of the route at 14:30, 7 hours after we had started.
Having prepared myself not to summit, and thankful to have survived pushing my limits to such an extent, I returned to camp in high spirits. There was not to do but relax and prepare for the journey home.
Unlike previous climbs, I missed this summit for relatively mundane reasons. At the end of the day, we ran out of time, and the only solution is to get stronger and faster. To keep training and pushing my limits. However, there were a few mistakes made that are easily remedied for the next route.
First, I need to prioritize those opportunities to breath and think, instead of jumping into each action. This is a common mistake of mine, but was especially prevalent when we reached that fork in the road. My first instinct was to climb the ice chimney, and with the benefit of hindsight, I know that this would have been the right choice. Instead, I got distracted and fixated on the mixed line which ate up so much of our time. Given another chance, I would sit at the fork and refresh myself. Eat some food, drink some water, and deeply contemplate each option. To be honest, I have a silly reason for not doing so: I was cold. For whatever (poorly thought out) reason, I did not bring my belay jacket, and any time spent holding still quickly reduced me to shivers.
Another of our mistakes was in poor communication, especially on the first pitch. We were used to having radios on our climbs, which facilitate long pitches and time spent of sight and earshot. We had left the radios behind, but out of habit, we treated the situation as identical. In hindsight, I see that we should have used short pitches, with more emphasis on communication. This mistake led directly to our dangerous simul.
Finally, in future climbs, I need to be strongly biased against leaving the couloir. This is not a hard and fast rule, and there are situations where it is necessary. However, the importance of such a decision cannot be overstated. I have, many times over, gotten myself into dangerous situations by ascending the walls of the couloir. The lines are always deceptive, appearing far easier from the ground. Plus, it can often be impossible to back down at a crux, given the rotten rock and strange features that almost always line these mountain gullies.
Unlike with Sneffels, I am by no means disappointed that I missed the summit here. I gave my absolute best, and my mistakes provide more data points to learn from. I am a stronger climber for having made the attempt.
While it is unfortunate that I may never get another shot at this route with these conditions, that is the nature of ice climbs - they are ephemeral beasts. Because we were willing and able to, with little leeway, cross the country in the hunt of a big objective, we got a shot at one of the coolest lines in the country. If I continue to hone this spontaneity, while absorbing Ellen’s planning skills, I will have set myself up for success in the world of ice climbing. This was only a stepping stone in a greater story.