KEVIN'S CLIMBING BLOG & CURRENT CONDITIONS

Keep up with Kevin's latest developments.

It is my belief that every mountain is climbable. It is also my belief that every mountain will not be climbed every time it is attempted.
I was asked to join the Big Expedition by Matt Farmer, Farmer as he is known. I barely knew Farmer, in fact just weeks earlier we had met over burritos and beer in Bellingham, WA. At the same dinner I met Dawn Glance. I knew of Farmer, in that we have mutual clients in the small world of being a mountain guide. He was well respected in the industry and my first impressions were that he was a great guy who was a straight shooter. Dawn also gave a great first impression and it seemed she had a passion for climbing ice and mixed climbing, so she was first rate in my book. Farmer and Dawn were to be partners on the Big Expedition and they wanted me to join and bring a partner who was going to fit our team and had similar attitudes towards risk. Bayard Russell came to mind immediately.
Our objective was to attempt an unclimbed Alaskan peak (8,290’) in the Fairweather Range of Glacier Bay National Park. The Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center in Seattle created the Big Expedition to raise awareness to the challenges and importance of cancer research. Joining four individuals who have never before climbed as a group and had not known each other prior to the expedition takes a lot of trust for the members and for Fred Hutch. Trust is intrical to all interpersonal relationships. It allows us to bond and meet challenges without hesitation or doubt. We would be expected to assess the situation in the mountains come to a consensus about how to handle it and carry out our plan as a team. That was our charge now we had to carry it out.
The expedition started in Seattle June 11, 2008. We would have a day to shop, organize and pack. Then we were off to Gustavus, AK; our jumping off point. Captain Jim would drop us off in Reid Inlet with his fishing boat. For a few hours on the boat it was easy to forget we were here to climb a mountain. Humpback whales were all around and seals were lounging along the shore. Once we were dropped off and the boat buzzed away our first task was to get 750 lbs of gear and food from the shoreline to the glacier where we could start to ski and utilize our sleds. This would take three trips over two miles of unstable moraine and gaining twelve hundred vertical feet. On the very first carry I stumbled upon bear tracks, Grizzly tracks. I wanted to get a picture and gain perspective so I laid down my baseball hat next to them. I realized how big the bear was when the tracks were wider and longer than my hat with a visor. Plus the claws extended a few inches past the pads. It was a big bear. Each subsequent trip I would peer with paranoia over my shoulder as I hauled salami, bacon, sausage, pepperoni, and beef jerky up to the glacier.
Once fully installed with our kit we went to work establishing camp. Within minutes I broke my toe piece of my ski binding. A few minutes later Dawn hollered something about a bear. At first it didn’t register then I realized what she was saying and joined the orchestra of shovels and ice axes and taunting with shouts of false bravado. Fortunately the bear took no interest in us, or our two hundred pounds of food.
We made it through the night eating Belly timber bars and snickers. The bear had given us a hall pass and we sorted out my binding, back in business. The next few days were filled with packing, moving up a long flat glacier, unpacking, eating and doing it again. A lot of sweat and blisters allowed us to establish base camp by day four at 5000 feet at the head of Reid glacier.
After a few days of much needed rest, with rain and snow as the excuse, we carried our climbing gear up to the Reid/Gilmore col and scoped the route. The northeast ridge of peak 8290 was our objective. To access our route we would need freezing conditions to allow us safe passage under the east face of peak 8290. The face was constantly shedding avalanches. The skies were clear and it looked promising for a freeze. We decided to spend the next day organizing for the climb and hope for a freeze the following night.
Sometimes everything can come together and you still don’t make the summit that is just alpine climbing. Eager for the climb we could barely sleep in the afternoon sun. By 7:30pm we were all up and eating dinner and drinking as much as we could. With a final tweak of our packs we set off at 9:15pm from camp. The snow pack had set up just enough under the 30-degree temps. Our first challenge was to gain the ridge. With our skis cached at the edge of the monster moat we belayed each team member across the jumbled bridge and over to a flat area on the N.E. ridge. Our plan was simple; carry bivouac gear to the base of the N.E. ridge cache it and attempt the climb then descend the route back to the cache. The bivy gear would allow us the wait out unstable snow conditions for the traverse back to base camp. The teams would be Dawn and Farmer Bayard and me.
Conditions seemed reasonable but there were still plenty of questions to be answered up high. The first pitch off from the ledge required a belay up slab rock with sugar snow plastered over it. From there we were able to put away the rope and solo together. The rock was very freshly exposed to the elements after millenniums of glacial work had crushed, scraped, and ground the granite into a defined ridge of plates, flakes, talus, boulders, and sand that were teetering on each other in a fine balance that begged to be toppled. There was snow to sneak onto to avoid the layers of chaos however the snow was also precariously bonding together from the light freeze we had experienced. The surface of the snow had an inch thick crust that would collapse under body weight and under was a mess of wet corn snow looking for a reason to give into gravities pull.
Bayard and I climbed first and pushed ourselves through three discussions of “should we keep going?” We would both agree that it seemed sketchy, but I was hopeful that it would get better a little further along. We connected islands of loose talus between slopes of 60-degree snow. Above hung a large but partially receded cornice. Optimistic was not the word you would use to describe our mental status. It was 2:30am and concerns of sunrise heightened as the colors in the Northeast sky morphed from a purple to red to orange. Once it made it to bright yellow we were not safe on the slope. To the southeast hung dark clouds with precipitation already hiding Taylor Bay 40 miles away.
We had pushed it as far as we could to still feel like we had reasonable control over the situation. From about 400 feet and a desperate traverse to the summit we turned around. Turning around shy of the summit is one of the most difficult decisions to make in the mountains. There is always baggage involved: disappointment, guilt, and self-doubt. Once you make the first step down it all dissolves into relief. Not relief for the end of the physical pain but relief that your mind can focus on one thing, getting down safely.
We joined Farmer and Dawn to let them know we were done. They had come to the same assessment and were just as happy to beat it out of there. We down climbed several hundred feet together, which was painfully slow with the encroaching storm or sun which ever arrived first. We decided it would be faster to fix a sixty-meter rappel and send three people down it and then I would clean the rope and down climb. This allowed the fastest descent for most people and kept them safe from rocks and snow that I would surely dislodge. We followed this strategy for several rappels, as the storm started to fill the air with snow, until we were safely back at our cache. Once there we did not linger. We still had to get out from under the East face avalanche alley before the storm worsened. Anxiety is the best medicine for summit angst. We did not make it to the top and the conditions were such that we did not want to return. All emotional baggage about the lack of summit was dumped into the yawning moat as we rappelled over it and back to our skis.
Back in camp ten hours after leaving it we breathed a collective sigh of relief and tipped a toast to the mountain with the last of our scotch. Peak 8290 was not going to allow passage to its summit with out a steep toll, which we were not prepared to pay. Risk is inherent to climbing mountains, for some it is corner stone to the appeal. For me risk in the mountains is to be embraced and cherished as a part of experiencing life in a very sublime and primeval way. Like coveting the forbidden apple, temptation has to always be removed from judgment when making decisions in the mountains.
Proud of our effort and content to let peak 8290 reside unclimbed until she is ready we packed up base camp and pointed our skis down glacier.

(Posted Jul 1, 22:50 by Kevin Mahoney)

It was a day for me to say goodbye. Laura Ellen Hoyt Mahoney, my mother, had passed away on Monday April 14th 2008 after courageously battling pancreatic cancer for nearly two years. She died in her house, the house I grew up in, with her best friend and sister in-law Nancy, my dad, my brother Andrew and I in the room with her. The sun was shining in the window on a bright and warm spring day. Leading up to her last breath was peaceful until her last stand for life then she curled into the fetal position, closed her eyes and breathed her last breath. The strong pulse that was there just moments before was gone. I have two young children at home, which gives little time to grieve. I realized I needed to get out and mourn on my own terms. I needed a day in the mountains. So I packed my gear and headed to Pinkham Notch. I put on my headphones and skis and started skinning up the Tuckerman Ravine trail. Tears well up behind my sunglasses before I leave sight of the parking area. I needed to sweat. The slope angle increased and my pace steadied into a rhythm, my heart rate was purging the pain that had settled in. Memories flooded my mind. (Pause here) The first time that I skied in Tuckerman Ravine was with my mother, father and brother I was 14 and I was proud to be carrying a pack with my skis and boots strapped on. I believe it was a school day, but that never stopped my mom from making a family outing happen. Mom was a wise and thoughtful women, but could she have known that this day would help shape my future career and teach me about the value of embracing life, living it and not letting it slip by. I can still see her beaming smile that greeted every hiker huffing up the trail. As the songs reeled off one memory morphed into the next. Now the Rolling Stones play and my parents are dancing on the tennis court at Camp Tohkomeupog during an Alumni weekend dance. Often mom had to drag dad out onto the floor but once out there you could see the love between them. Dad would have a nervous coy smile that disclosed his pride about the fact that he got “the girl”. Mom was “the girl” she was smart, beautiful, athletic, strong and independent. After all she was the 1964 Miss King Pine for winter carnival. They have been married for forty-three years and are a testimony to loves persistence and fates resolve. At times tears started to flow so I would pick up the pace and let my sweat drown out the tears. I embraced the physical pain to balance the heartache that was inescapable. Passing by Harvard cabin brings me back to many trips into the Whites with my family. In the fall we would always do a backpacking trip and stay at one of the many AMC shelters. I grin as I recall feasting at the Kinsman Pond shelter. Mom had packed shrimp cocktail, salad, steak, home fries with ketchup, champagne, beer and s’mores. She would always say how nice it was to have two strong boys to carry it. We would smile and I would enjoy the praise, too young to realize how great it was to have a mother who could run a family business during the week, go hiking on the weekend and chef up a feast over an open fire. I skinned to the top of Ball Crag. It was not the summit, but it was empty of people and I wanted solitude. I have some food and water and look across the valley to Carter Dome. I smile as I think of the family picture from the summit. The four of us are standing tall on the rocky round summit of Carter Dome. Dad in his military fatigues and mom smiling bright, Andrew is towering over every one and I am standing with a goofy grin with the bowl hair cut mom used to give me. It is a moment in time of a happy family sharing a day in the mountains together. After I pack up my pack I click into my skis for the ski down. I think of the days in high school when Mom and Dad used to take us out of school for the day to ski. Working at King Pine meant she would only have midweek days off, so to ski as a family meant we could skip school. I don’t remember mom ever being overly strict with my scholarly responsibilities but I do remember the days she created for us to have fun as a family. I get back to my car and start heading home. My mind drifts while I bounce down the familiar road. It is hard to accept that she is gone, it is not real; how could it be? She was the strongest woman I have ever known. She had already survived breast cancer how could this happen? I embrace more memories to shake off the fear of life without her. I turned into my driveway after returning home from Pinkham Notch. As I rolled to a stop I pause in my car to think of my own family. It saddens me that Mom won’t see my girls grow up and share all the laughter and tears together. I do know that mom would be proud to know that I will give my girls the same taste of life that she offered me and our memories will carry her spirit inside of us. I walked back to my shed and pulled out an old Cedar log I had found on Bald Ledge years ago. I trim it to size and start to clean it up. I cut away the bark and soft wood. Then I start to sand it. It takes several hours to clean up the wood but as I push the sand paper with my fingers along the grain I can feel the layers of pain fall away. I am making the urn for my mother’s ashes. The very thought of it brings tears to my eyes. It feels right to me to be sanding away the rough exterior of the Cedar bark to expose the inner beauty. The process is cathartic, with a chisel and sand paper and many hours of hard work and focus I can create beauty to honor life, the life of my mother. This is what she taught me over 39 years of memories: hard work and focus creates beauty and that is what life is about. Thank you mom for all the years of guidance and support. I miss you already.

(Posted May 5, 08:53 by Kevin Mahoney)
Three days on Mt. Willard in March reminded me why it is one of the best little mountains around. Mt Willard is only 2865 feet tall, which is even small by New England standards, and the southeast face is only 800 feet if you include every slabby inch of it. Most of the routes are alpine-ish and the rock quality is horrible. So why do I love going up there and consider it one of my favorite places to guide? I love it because it is a mini version of all the great climbs around the world. Cinema gulley is a shrunken version North Face of the Triangle du Tacul on Mt Blanc, Great Madness WI5 is a pint size version of Curtain Call WI6 in the Canadian Rockies and Upper Hitchcock is, well, a mini Pinnacle Gully on Mt. Washington. A few weeks ago I spent three days during one week on Willard and was rewarded with two first ascents and a first ascent of an iced up mixed route. Day 1: I was climbing with Jeff Hatch on a cold windy day on March 15th we motored up cinema gully and topped out on the upper east slabs. The day was still young so we rapped down Hitchcock and headed out the tracks to a trickle of ice we noticed on the way in. Early that day we saw fresh moose tracks and Jeff commented that he had never seen a moose. Well he would not be disappointed. Before we arrived at our objective Jeff pointed out what looked like a very large dog sleeping on the tracks. Large indeed. It was his first moose sighting. It is always fun to see a moose and watch the gangly creature make its way through the snow with grace. Once the moose stubbornly moved on we stacked our rope for the climb. The route was a 20 meter mixed line at the start of the road cut along the tracks. We believe it to be a F.A. however you never know around here. After I was done with the lead Jeff was lowering me off when the moose returned. Not intimidated by Jeff’s shouts it quickly approached. Jeff dropped me to the ground, safety in numbers we thought. As soon as I touched down the moose charged reared up and then bolted down the tracks. Fortunately it was merely trying to send a message not hurt us. We heard him loud and clear and named our new line The Moose WI4 M4. Day 2: two days later I was back with Michael Nurok and we did the same link up of Cinema gully and upper east slabs but this time we had spied an intriguing pillar to the right of lower Hitchcock. We did the rappel and traversed over. Thinking it was an unclimbed line we were slightly disappointed to find out it was merely Peace of Mind M5 a route I established several years earlier with Ben Gilmore. When it was first done it was simply a curtain spilling over a rock roof and required thirty feet of dry tooling to reach the ice. Now it was a pillar touched down. It is rare to get a first ascent but even more rare to get the first ascent of a mixed route and the first ascent of the same route but as an ice route. We completed the route and found it more pumpy then we expected. The ice version we called Peace of Ice WI5. Day 3:another few days passed and I returned with Ben Gilmore on a stormy day for a half-day of climbing. We decided to charge up lower Hitchcock to Peace of Ice and head over to the buttress beyond Thinking of Janet. This buttress on the extreme right side of the upper wall has lots of potential with few established lines, mostly done by Doug Madera. We found a series of yellow drips spilling down the cliff for 30 meters. I lead up and marveled at the quality, we called it Spring Fever WI5 M5. If any of these lines were a full pitch or better yet multi-pitch endeavors they would be world-class routes instead it is just another fun pitch to sneak in on during a day at Mt Willard. (Posted Apr 3, 09:52 by Kevin Mahoney)

Two weeks ago I was guiding over at Lake Willoughby heading for Called on Account of Rain, but a friend, Quinton and his partner, scooped us. As we traversed back to the Promenade I noticed blotchy ice linked by cracks and flakes. The climbing looked sustained and good and best of all it appeared to have gear everywhere. I tucked it in the back of my head and enjoyed the day on Bullwinkle and Rocky the Squirrel. I kept thinking of the line and fearing that I would read about it on NEClimbs or NEICE. Fortunately I saw no activity. I finally returned yesterday with Greg Benner and racked up with a double set of cams, pins and stubby screws. The first pitch was classic Willoughby mixed climbing, vertical to slightly overhanging turf shots, shallow torques, thin ice, and lots of pounding iron. The pitch ended at a perfect triangular roof with nothing but air for 30m under our crampons. With Greg secure and safe under the roof I headed out unsure what would happen with what appeared to be iced up cracks and hard climbing. From the first moves off the belay the climbing was brilliant. The exposure felt more than 30m but it added to the experience. I unloaded my double set of cams while I hand jammed, fist jammed, lay backed, hooked, torqued and tapped into one-inch ice. The final move to the belay was pulling a roof with my left side in an iced up off width and my right hooking a delicate curtain. I can’t remember climbing a finer mixed pitch, ever. Greg soon joined me at the belay equally as smitten with the pitch. The next pitch required a little commitment. I tapped the ice with my tool and the first eight feet fell down leaving a well bonded six inch chunk at knee level and nothing but blank vertical rock for eight feet. I looked hopelessly for an alternative but there was no way around it; I had to trust what remained of the delaminated ice with no gear insight. The first move off the belay was a dicey hook while stepping on the remaining chunk of ice. From there I had to tap into the shell of what once was a well-bonded ice smear. Every tap caused the whole sheet of ice to wobble. I knew I could climb the ice if it didn’t fall down on me. While hanging on with maybe a total of less than an inch of ice under my picks and crampons holding me I decided that if the sheet cut loose I would have to push off so that I would launch past the belay ledge and take a big air fall rather than a short ledge fall. Once I settled that in my head I kept climbing until at twenty feet out I found a C3 placement in a shallow crack. With decent gear in place I had the boost to pull the final over lap fully trusting my tools in crap ice. Once that pitch was behind us we were treated with a plastic WI 4 pitch to the trees, which Greg lead efficiently. Three rappels later we were happy to coil our ropes and relive the glory of pitch two. We shouldered our pack as freezing rain started to pelt our faces and we left the gift Mt Pisgah had given us behind and glissaded down to the road. The line most likely had formed from snowmelt during warm sunny days that Lake Willoughby is known and feared for. Our ascent was allowed during a -1F morning followed by cloud cover that Lake Willoughby is also known for. Thus the name Lake Effect was decided upon. The best mixed climb I have done in recent memory.

(Posted Feb 18, 21:02 by Kevin Mahoney)
I have looked up at the line for eight years now. It had always seemed out of reach and too committing. What changed? Last year Josh Hurst and I put up a variation finish to The Last Gentleman at Lake Willoughby. We called the pitch the Family Man M7 NEI5+. It was a stellar line and deserved to be completed as an independent route. The first two pitches looked hard and difficult to protect and that had always kept the perennial excuse handy “its out of condition” which in literal translations means the individual saying it is “out of condition”. This year everything seemed the same, too little ice on the second pitch and the third pitch was thinner than the previous year. Eager for a big challenge that the ice on Mt Pisgah can offer Ben Gilmore and I headed up there a few weeks ago with the intention of linking as many routes as possible. Bullwinkle and Reign of Terror went down first and were quite fun. As we started up the Promenade the sun came out and within a half an hour we were rapping from the first pitch while a full air strike was going on. The day was early and we were driving back to Madison. The thing I have learned from many days at the Lake is that you have to strike while the iron is hot. You don’t get second chances often for the objective you want when you feel the energy to go for it. The morning of 1/24 was 9 degrees F when we left the car and it was snowing. Not ideal to attempt unknown mixed terrain, but we had the day off and we were there. We racked up to sounds of ice augers drilling ice-fishing holes on the lake below. I started up the first pitch confident but intimidated and soon enough my confidence was weaning. Show-stoppers lurk around every corner when you try something with traditional gear and ground up, however that is part of the fun. The start offered quality torqueing and some hooking then a transfer to an iced up crack to the right. Then the crack pinched off to nothing. This was the first of many jumping off points. I left the security of what I could see. A big lock off to a blind hook, very hard to reverse, I was committed. That’s what it takes, commitment. I tied off a shrub and go for a one-tooth torque layback with my feet plastered to nubbins high up. I pulled off the low percentage move and I knew I would not do it again. The effort was rewarded with a good cam the first one for twenty feet. I knew we were going to finish this climb once I pulled off that move. The rest of the first pitch went smooth but still challenging. The second pitch didn’t let up. Some where in my head where fantasy lives I had been thinking the first pitch would be the crux. I wasn’t wrong but I wasn’t right. The second pitch delivered the same intensity and commitment. Twenty feet off the belay was a roof with a crack through it. I figured slot the crack and you are home free. The trouble was getting to it and trusting that the ten pieces of crappy gear constituted something good enough to catch me if I blew it. I am not strong and I am not particularly gifted but I am stubborn and that proved to be the answer. A lot of people will ask “who lead the crux pitch?” it’s a legitimate question if you want gear beta. Crux pitches are rarely successful because of the person on the sharp end they are always successful because of the person belaying them. Ben tolerated and encouraged me through the first two leads, which took no less then 2½ hours each to lead. Heady climbs require total trust in your self and that comes from total trust in your partner and the energy that they feed you through the rope. I was finally to ice and despite the fact that it was heavily sublimated and hanging an inch from any contact from the rock it was ice. I took off. Ice is always easy when you have been on sketchy mixed terrain. At this point it was late and we had foolishly left our headlamps in our packs. Fortunately two friends came to check on our progress after their day was done over on Called on Account of Rains. I bribed Elliot and Dan with a twelve pack of PBR if they would climb up the first pitch of The Last Gentleman and traverse to Ben before he left the belay. Ah! Beer is the universal motivator. Ben led the third pitch, which I had been on the previous year, however the line was entirely different. The ice was steep and junk and every stick echoed the gut retching sounds of hollow cold brittle ice. He stealthily maneuvered around the fragile sheets that would not hold body weight and arrived at the exit roof at dark with too much rope drag to continue. When I arrived I kept climbing to the trees to finish up. The exit is good climbing with good gear, finally a reward for our effort. Setting up the rappels we enjoyed the unique sounds of expansion cracks booming on the lake below. The air temp was 0 degrees F. We were done. Kryosonics was ours to enjoy. (Posted Jan 31, 05:45 by Kevin Mahoney)

The power of youth never ceases to amaze me. I have often climbed with younger partners and it keeps me on my game. Older partners always humble and inspire me, but younger partners always push me. Maybe it is because I am quickly approaching 40 and I still think I am 29, or maybe it is because I like trying to keep up. I recently guided a novice ice climber at Lake Willoughby. The lake is not the place to take someone who has only one top rope climb under their belt but Trevor is a solid rock climber and he is 21. The day of climbing was a Christmas gift from his mother who was the Midwife who helped deliver both of my daughters. Both labors were uniquely challenging and Carrie had the coolest head I had ever been around in stressful situations. I figured since Trevor was a rock climber and he had the genetic potential to have a cool head I thought I should throw him into the deep end of the pool. It wasn’t with out his coaxing. When Mt Pisgah finally came into view and our options were laid out in front of us we settled on the Last Gentleman amphitheater, it had plenty to choose from and easy access to the Tablets if necessary. We arrived, in good time, to the base of the Last Gentleman WI5. I gave Trevor and few tips as I lead and trusted that my intuition about his ability to handle the climb was right. Trevor’s start was similar to many new comers to the sport. After the first swing a gear malfunction had to be dealt with. Hmm, I thought, this could be a long day. Soon he was at my side learning how to tie a clove hitch. The only critique I could offer was for him to clean out the ice screws as he pulls them from the ice. I lead up the crux pitch and point out some potential rests for him to utilize then I go out of sight. Shortly after I have him on belay he was by my side breathing heavy saying how sweet that pitch was. One more pitch and two long rappels and we are at the packs for a noon lunch. What should we do next? Because of water flowing on the Promenade WI5+ we decide to go for Reign of Terror WI5. My quest to find dry ice ended with my g-tex hood up, but the climbing on the first pitch was stellar thin ice and turf shots. I tried to position the belay safely off to the right however I ran out of good ice for screws. Trevor joined me quickly and settled into the belay duty while I started up the freshly formed chandelier ice. Steep ice and lots of hanging daggers made the climbing engaging. I tried to climb delicately to avoid fracturing the ice however I found it impossible. At one point Trevor discovered why the route is called Reign of Terror. The limitations of the belay left him with front row seats as the fire works of ice exploded by. With calculated accuracy and luck I was able to send everything to his left and the falling ice was only a lesson to learn from. It took me 20 minutes to lead the pitch and establish the anchor it took Trevor about 15 to follow it. I set up the two rappels and soon we were back at our packs. A high-speed glissade brought us back to the car and we made it back to Madison by 5:30pm. Just in time for me to watch my two daughters for my wife to get out of the house for a few precious hours.
The Last Gentleman/Reign of Terror link up is a great day for any one and it sets the bar high for Trevor as his first real ice experience.

(Posted Jan 16, 10:25 by Kevin Mahoney)

Three days on Cannon.
About a month ago I enjoyed the first climb of the season on the Black Dike, Cannon Cliff with Cheryl. It was one of those perfect early winter days where the air was cold, the sky was clear, and the conditions were great. The only challenge was the foot of snow over the boulders on the approach. The climb itself was just right for our first climb of the season, a little snow climbing, thin but good ice climbing, and a pre-noon top out. Conversation and a nice glissade brought us back to the bike path and the car. Cannon was kind to us.
Two weeks after I was back with Mike. A storm was in the forecast with increasing winds, but how often are they right? The day was going to be great. We would climb Omega in unusually fat conditions then head home at a reasonable time to catch the Patriots continue their perfect season against the Jets. The drive through the Notch should have clued me in about the day ahead, but I try to be the optimist whenever possible. (Just because the normal one-hour drive took nearly two hours isn’t that big of a deal right?) I had just returned from Berkley, CA after four days of meetings and I was keen to climb and Mike is always hungry for a challenge and an adventure. We set out from the parking lot catching up from the past six months, fairly oblivious to the building storm around. The hike through the boulders was slow and at times waste deep in snow but the hard work was what my muscles craved after twelve hours of air travel the day before. We finally got to the base of Omega and the storm had settled in; we racked up anyway. I started up the first pitch and scratched and searched amongst the spindrift to make progress. Watching Mike follow the pitch gave the perspective that should have turned us around but we were still having fun so we kept going. The start of the second pitch was the second red flag. I started up the ice and after fifteen feet it turned to verglass that had delaminated, impossible to protect and unlikely to climb. I down climbed. Back at the belay, we discussed retreat but an obvious dry tooling corner begged us to venture on. A short but good pitch later we were at the business, pitch three WI5 and golden in color. At this point the storm had increased and the wind was starting to be a real problem, but we had worked hard to get here and now we were at the good stuff. I decided to continue. We formulated nonverbal communication, anticipating the challenge the wind would offer. I started up the pitch and it was perfect: full swings, thunker ice, decent screws. With every ten feet I gained the wind seemed to pick up 10 mph. Soon it sounded like a 747 at take off and did not let up. It was cold enough for me to be climbing with my down parka on, and I chose not to fasten my waste belt on my pack. This was a time for a lesson. With every 60mph gust that roared up the cliff, it pulled my pack up and bellowed my parka like a parachute. I could feel the strain on my arms lighten and my crampons float. I had to go into “lock down” mode every time I heard a big gust coming, which seemed like every third swing. Retreat was not an option. Up was the only way out. I knew Mike could climb the route and I knew he could handle extreme conditions but I had forty pounds on him and the wind was starting to lift me. Once to the trees I completed communications and knew he would figure it out. It is impossible to gage time when you are in extreme situations; it flies by and stands still all at once. I knew I had taken awhile so I knew he would take awhile. He arrived in time with the same wide-eyed “holy shit” look I had. After some waste deep wallowing we were in a safe spot to pack up the ropes and put away our harnesses. We thought the epic was over. The normal trail should be a ten-minute bushwack away if we found it. We didn’t find it. After two and half-hours of waste to chest deep plowing and a lost contact, we were finally back at the cars. Mike asked “Would you call that an epic?”
“Yes!”
At least the Patriots had an epic on the way to their victory as well.
Today I was back to Cannon to climb the Black Dike with Eugene. We met at the parking lot at 7am the temperature was -9F. After his drive up from Cambridge, Eugene had done an open bivy in the parking lot. (Burly!) We struggled up the boulders in -30F wind chill temps amidst swirling wind and lots of snow. By the time we arrived to the base of the route we decided it wasn’t the day for the Dike. So we headed down to freeze at the Flume. Old dogs can learn new tricks.

(Posted Jan 3, 19:03 by Kevin Mahoney)

Alpine training at home, that’s what having two young children, feels like. Its been a month since my second daughter was born, Eliza Grace Mahoney, she is a wonderful new addition to our family. Our first child Annika is adjusting well to the new addition and enjoys being the “big sister” although at times she still needs to be the center of our world. Lately we have been juggling the inevitable dual illness. Eliza is battling her first cold and Annika picked up some sort of stomach bug that has left her with a fever and vomiting. The combo means that Claire and I tag team the home chores while the other is aiding whichever child needs the most attention. It is the multitasking I had expected from parenthood however I had not anticipated the added bonus of prepping me for the mountains.
The last two nights Eliza has had raspy breathing and a cough that is fairly constant and she only sleeps when she is in bed with us, then suddenly Annika’s bug came on at midnight with her getting sick over her bed and on our rug. After we cleaned her up she was in bed with us, however we had to create a “safe distance” between the two kids to try to keep the illness isolated. This naturally left me hanging half off the bed with very few covers. I was okay on one side but if I rolled to my left I would crush my child and if I rolled to the right I was off the bed. Between the multiple days of sleep deprivation and insecure sleep position with someone coughing all night and being chilled from no covers it dawned on me: this is great bivy training and I don’t even have to leave my home. The trouble is you don’t have to train for bivies. You know they will be uncomfortable and leave you only slightly more rested then when you went to bed so when the time comes you deal with it. This brought me to another epiphany you really don’t need to train to be a parent you know there will be sleepless nights, countless hours of comforting, nursing sick children and plenty of mysteries along the way that cannot be predicted.
To me being an alpinist has always meant; enduring long restless days, struggling with horrible conditions, being scared, suffering miserable bivies, finding the perfect unclimbed pitch, watching sunrise high above the valley, watching sunset higher above the valley, seeing amazing things that only you and your partner will experience, and learning something about yourself you could have never learned if you didn’t entered the mountains. I have discovered that the beauty of parenthood is not that different; long days, challenging situations, being scared, bad sleep, priceless moments of discovery, being met at the door coming home from work, first smiles, being called daddy.

(Posted Nov 13, 13:37 by Kevin Mahoney)

The last three months have gone by in the blink of an eye. My wife and I are on the eve of having our second child. The due date is October 6th; however, like a summit day we won’t know for sure until it happens. What we do know is that it will be a day full of apprehesion, pain, excitment, exhaustion, courage and beauty. We are ready, the nursery is set, the house is in order, and the in-laws have plane tickets.
Now the waiting sets in. Unlike waiting in the mountains, waiting at home has life speeding by with distractions that steal my focus and energy. Claire is the rope gun for this show. No question about it she is more suited for labor than I am. I am not talking about the obvious gender differences I am talking about the undieing focus and perserverence that it will require. Like climbing with a great partner, I will rise to the occasion on the enertia that she will set in motion. I will will also learn something, about life and about living in the moment. Climbing is a part of life but not apart of every moment and often can be a distraction from being in the moment. The eve is a time for excitement but it is also a time for enjoying the now because the future changes everything.

(Posted Oct 3, 20:23 by Kevin Mahoney)

Wandering the streets of Seattle in the rain is much like walking through its old growth forests. You know it is raining because the quiet melody of rain on the tin awnings of Pikes Place Market remind you of the forests canopy keeping you dry. The sudden splash from cars racing to the next traffic light is no different than the sudden rush from the swollen creeks that disappear and go silent into the forest. The good rain of the Pacific Northwest is what creates the character of the North Cascade Mountains and the experience of climbing there. The North Cascades get their topography from the abundant moisture spilling out of the Pacific Ocean. The western slopes grow moss and lichen seemingly overnight absorbing every drop of moisture and regenerating continually to create a forest that drape with Old Man’s Beard, Horsehair lichen, and Wolf lichen. The Eastern high plains are fed by the mighty Columbia River to feed the country apples and produce some of the finest American wines. The North Cascades are close to my heart since it is the place where I met my wife and spent many years learning the art of mountain travel and guiding. I returned to them to work for the AMGA training guides. It is a full circle experience returning to the places where I learned so much and can now offer my experience to others. Familiar trailheads and tired legs bring me back 12 years to my first experience bush whacking through the wet forest and standing on snow capped peaks with nothing in sight but summit after summit with no signs of the millions that inhabit the I-5 corridor. The charm of the Pacific Northwest is in the abundant life it seems to offer; flourishing fields of fruits and vegetables, tremendous trees towering in the forest and summits that bring life to every breath. Climbing there is not the peak baggers paradise that it could be. The same rain that creates the snow capped peaks and feed the green fields also keep climbers hunkered down in dripping tents wondering if they should find a coffee shop in Bellingham or stay the course in hopes of better luck the next day. That is the value of the summits and makes success that much sweeter. At the end of our ten-day course of dodging rain we leave for our final summit, Mt. Shuksan. Our approach is on snow from the parking lot at the Mt. Baker Ski area and requires faith that there is a spectacular summit is the misting clouds and that our efforts are worth it. We pick our way through the Fisher Chimneys and find our bivy sight, set up camp and brew up as the clouds part and the reason for being there appears over our shoulders. Like the Red Sox winning the world series standing on the summit of Mt. Shuksan when you didn’t expect to make it that much sweeter.

(Posted Jul 18, 06:52 by Kevin Mahoney)