Escaping school for the delights of Greenland.
“When you get in right, there’s two ways of doin’ it …..”
With 10 minutes to go on a Friday afternoon, I could think of better things to be doing than teaching a bunch of teenage delinquents GCSE Maths.
“Then when you get it going, make sure you ‘ave yer foot on the clutch.”
“But what about the handbrake?”
“Take that off an’ all, ye stupid!”
So we bided our time till the bell rang and headed out to the car park – I to my own car, they in search of someone else’s. For me however, the journey wouldn’t be ending in a few hours time with a box of matches. Supply teaching may not be glamorous, but it is flexible and that’s what matters to expedition climbers. As usual the biggest problem had been finance, and since the last trip, what remained of my rack had neither grown nor been replaced. Being a bunch of mates rather than shiny media climbers, attracting support had been tricky.
Several hours on the phone convinced a few generous manufacturers as to the obvious commercial benefits they would accrue by handing over kit for free – but the Wilkos repair department had to be called in to deal with the rest.
First a pair of old rock boots bit the dust in search of replacement rubber, as the Mk IV superboot emerged gleaming under layers of gaffa tape and superglue. Next, an extended operation with a mole-wrench, bits of chain and more gaffa tape brought the successful mating of a petrol stove with a hanging cook set. Then finally, in a creative genius to rival the Whillan’s sit harness, a weekend spent sewing up bits of old tent and rucksacks produced two hanging bivi seats and a set of Russian aiding gear. Weeks of untold misery were now assured.
Two days later, we found ourselves stepping out of a chopper onto a small knoll in the middle of nowhere, and the boys were somewhat surprised...“Bloody Hell! – you didn’t tell us about this Al!”...“Erm, well it’s Greenland in winter- what did you expect?” ...“I know - but it’s absolutely Baltic!”
Trying to finish our first hot meal before it froze to the plate, the month ahead provided a somewhat cold and uncertain prospect. No one had tried winter climbing here before and at -35'c in Base Camp the reasons were obvious. Bivis on the North Face of Tupilak could be tickling the –40'c mark.
Such thoughts came home to roost sooner than we imagined. After five days in fact - in the form of super chilled spindrift pummelling down on our sitting bivi tent. Wrestling with a flaring petrol stove swinging inches from ones wedding tackle left little time to appreciate the sweet sensation of singed eyebrows and numb toes. Soon the inevitable marriage of overtrousers with stove occurred amid a puff of blue smoke, as I struggled to pass a mug of soup to Jon. Outside, giant veils of light flickered across the heavens. Maybe the spirits of the dead were reminding us of something. The curse of the Tupilak: those hideous mythical creatures so feared by the Inuit. Next day we took the hint and retreated.
Back on the glacier, it began to dawn on us that actually studying the face might have been a good idea - rather than blithely hacking straight up for two days to a dead end. Much squinting through binoculars revealed a line of uncertainties further left, so Mr Bracey duly fished out his sketchpad: our combined efforts resulting in a topo lying somewhere between artistic, optimistic and autistic. We felt that added to a bit of trail laying and kit stashing the day before, this might just tip the balance.
Subtle differences separated this new line from our original one: thankfully it looked less steep, and the powder appeared to be stationary rather than constantly streaming down the route. On the other hand there remained the question of how long this snow would remain stationary when we attempted to climb it, lying as it did mostly on slabs. There was also the small matter of the serac, but we preferred not to think about that.
Gaining time from our various stashing and stomping activities, these mysteries rapidly resolved themselves on the first day after a lung bursting dash past the serac lead to excellent mixed ground. The first traverse went pretty well too, apart from one ‘look mum no hands’ section cramponing across a slab. And so it continued – cheeky mixed pitches linking scarier traverses, till the arctic shadows lengthened and a suitable bivi site emerged. Jon checked out the feasibility of the steep ground above, declaring a good crack before descending to join the excavation project. In true Bracey style, this didn’t appear to require the use of gloves like any normal human being. Instead it appeared he had pure antifreeze running through his veins. Not that I’m envious or anything!
Across the valley on Rodebjerg, two tiny dots appeared at the top of the glacier. A minute later they whooped down, carving dozens of turns back to Base Camp. Jonny and Stan were finishing their own route in a blaze of powder. Taking in the view with a hot brew, snapping photos, laying out for the night – this all felt a far cry from our previous foray. To compound the pleasure temperatures had rocketed to a tropical –25C, as we snuggled up in the coffin warm and safe from spindrift.
4.00 am alarms are never pleasant, but we needed to get moving to make the most of any dawn light on the face. A mishmash of aiding, hooking and hauling had us established on the crucial link. Jon followed, then cranked and torqued on up a superb groove, teetering round a huge coffin lid high on the pitch. Having failed to trundle it on the way past, I gave up procrastinating and focused on the real job in hand – traversing the Slab of No Return.
An Inspector Gadget style reach proved necessary to escape the chimney and gain the main sweep of the slab. Though for the most part straightforward, such pitches were always accompanied by the trepidation of discovering at what point the powder would finally cease to be load bearing. A preliminary estimate of 30+ meters rang out with the ominous thud of front points on rock. The supporting layer began to thin out and slide off alarmingly, revealing the top of a flake resting on the slab. Slotting a wobbly hex in provided diversionary relief, before probing and shuffling resumed – following a hunch toward a shadowy line under the snow. Beneath, it appeared that a tiny foot ledge might span the final meters to a crack. Summoning sufficient nerve to mantel onto the ledge proved nearly as difficult as locating it, but finally faith and side-stepping prevailed as the crack was reached and a lower off arranged.
When the rope ran out, rigging any kind of belay proved even more enthralling as we finally settled for a tied off knife blade. Pulling ropes through the lower off, the phrase ‘Fully Committed’ came to mind. I tried to ignore it. The next couple of hundred metres also proved something of a Sahara Desert on the protection front, as possibilities rapidly dried up. Moving together up snow ribbons on the blunt rib, ever more creative placements were tried till finally a lone skyhook lay between us and eternity. Probing out the shallow grooves that lay beneath whilst desperately seeking to avoid excursions onto slabs felt like some giant invisible maze game, which thankfully we negotiated with all our lives intact – ready for the exit cracks.
Quite how these cracks managed to be overhanging, constricted, off width and slabby all at the same time I don’t know – but Jon seemed to be discovering this in no uncertain terms amid a trail of tied off slings, wedged sacs, skittering front points and plenty of cursing. Down below the tiny dots reappeared, moving across the glacier to check out our progress. Seconding proved less traumatic with a trail of nuts to hook, but still required a couple of hanging lock offs to do justice to all those pull ups on the stairs back home. With that the final pitch came as a breeze, stomping up easy ice to the col. Whooping and hollering echoed up from the glacier – we returned the salute with glee.
To our left the East summit looked feasible but not till the morning, so we settled down to bivi in the jaws of Tupilak. It seemed our presence had been noted. Jon got up to Pee at 4.00, as snow flurries ripped across the col. We debated whether to descend, deciding to look out at 5.30. Pre- dawn light creeping over the horizon rapidly changed this to ‘Lets get the hell out of here, NOW!’ as dozens of lenticular clouds crowded the inland sky. Greenland Piteraq storms can reach a devastating 200mph, so we had an overwhelming desire to be back in our storm bunker as soon as possible.
Ten abs down the back reached familiar ground – the great amphitheatre cirque below the South Face. A further six raps, one big bumslide and an endless slog had us nearly out of there as storm clouds wreathed the summits. Just one more link to secure our escape. Breasting an empty col to be hit by the gale, still uncertain. A few more steps, then - yes! - two pairs of skis delivered as planned. Kicking in and pushing off, we headed to the valley for ten days of joyriding in virgin powder.
The Greenland Winter Expedition would like to thank the following: The BMC, Mount Everest Foundation, Sport England, Nick Estcourt Award, Gino Watkins Award, Rab, North Cape, Troll, Garmin, Terra Nova Equipment & Wholebake.
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