A precarious stance

Cold ascent keeps climber on the edge

"Ice!" I hear Tim Nguyen yell as fist-sized chunks of frozen shrapnel buzz a few inches from my helmet-covered head.

"There's no point in saying ice, it just keeps on falling," I mumble to myself. I know that Tim can't hear me from under the rock alcove so I just keep my thoughts to myself.

I imagine Tim is up there somewhere above me because I keep feeding out rope as he climbs.

With the picks of his ice tools sticking in the snow and ice, he is making slow progress, sometimes wiping off the snow to find "good ice" underneath. The storm the night before left several inches of snow and we broke trail up Waterfall Canyon above Ogden to the base of Malan's Waterfall.

This frozen waterfall was first climbed by Greg Lowe in the 1970s and even with modern equipment still requires respect to ascend today. The ice faces south and requires an early start or a cloudy day to climb it safely. Today it is ominously foggy and even if I could look up without being hit by ice, I couldn't see very far.

I'm relatively safe in my little nook, but I have to crouch. I'm too tall to fit completely underneath the rock overhang. I alternate between standing bent over and sitting on the heels of my crampons. The cold is starting to get to me, so I stomp at the snow with my feet to build a bigger platform and increase the blood circulation to my feet. I push at the edge and almost lose my balance.

I'm thinking to myself that this would have been a much better day to go skiing, but after waking up at 5:30 a.m. it's hard to make good decisions, let alone change objectives for the day.

Above me is more than 300 feet of frozen waterfall ice. If the sun eventually does break through the fog, it could melt the upper section and send tons of ice crashing down. Unlikely, but if it happens, I'd be buried here.

I go through the whole scenario in my head since I have nothing else to think about besides how cold I am. I imagine myself ducking deeper under the cliff and being buried alive, only to wait in the darkness and never be found until after the oxygen runs out.

Tim, of course, would be swept off the face and die instantly. I decide he may be in the better spot.

I've become accustomed to having these long, dark thoughts while waiting at belay ledges over the span of my climbing experience. Many of my failed climbing attempts were probably helped by belay-ledge-thinking-sessions. Climbing is scary, but standing around hanging from the side of a cliff can sometimes be worse.

At least if I'm leading up a route, the fear of simply falling off is enough to keep my mind focused on the physical movements of climbing. There is no time for deep analysis or asking myself, "Why do I enjoy this sport again?"

Sometimes I get daring and take a peek past the edge of the rock that is protecting me. I maybe see Tim's boots for a second, then snow hits me in the eye and I return to my cold cave.

Finally, Tim reaches the anchors 200 feet up and yells, "off belay!" I remove the 8-millimeter ropes from my belay device and I'm able to have my hands free and move around a little.

Tim ties the two ropes together and rappels back down to where I am at the base of the waterfall.

Now it's my turn to go climbing and warm up a little. I tie into one of the skinny ropes that are as thin as my pinkie finger and Tim puts me on belay with the other rope.

I swing my ice tool and the ice fractures and shatters in my face. I squint and strike again in the divot left from the first swing. This time the sharp point catches in the ice.

Next I try to stick my crampons in, but the ice near my feet is rotten and breaks away. Both feet skid off and I am hanging from the leashes of my ice tools.

I haven't even moved upward yet and I'm already gripped with fear. I get my feet to stick on something and I go for another swing of an ice tool. The best ice is right where the rope is running in front of me and I think about how close I can strike without cutting the skinny cord.

Suddenly it comes to me that maybe the cold belay cave wasn't so bad, but I keep climbing anyway.

Each time my tools stick solidly in the ice, I remember that although ice climbing involves a lot of suffering, it's actually enjoyable.

By the time I reach the top it all makes sense again. I didn't come for the risk. I came for the fun.