Lillooet Ice Climbing

January 2-4, 2004

Elain and I had been planning to go to Lillooet for many months now. Finally, the New Year had arrived. Unfortunately, I had a bad cold with a rasping cough and very sore throat. We debated about bailing, but decided to go anyways, figuring we'd just climb short days. We were excited to experience ice climbing in Canada. On New Year's Eve we packed our gear and turned in early. On New Year's day we started driving north. There were a ton of state patrol cars along I-5. Elain drove while I spotted for smokeys. We had printed out some MapQuest directions the night before, but when I read them I became confused. I had thought the only way to get to Lillooet was through Whistler, but MapQuest's route went along the Trans Canada Highway, through the town of Hope. In the end, we decided to go through Whistler. This would turn out to be a mistake. The roads through Vancouver are all stop-lights, with lots of traffic. It took us an hour to get through the town of Vancouver. And when Provincial Highway 99 winds along the Cayoosh River valley, it is steep and icy. Apparently guard rails are not used very much in British Columbia. The icy switchbacks looking over 500-meter drop-offs took some getting used to. We had to drive very slowly for the last 80 km into Lillooet. As we went over the pass between Pemberton and Lillooet, the dashboard digital thermometer read 15F. We thought to ourselves, gosh, it's really cold.

We arrived at Lillooet in the early evening, seven hours after leaving Seattle. Our room at the Four Pines Motel was small but comfortable. It contained a TV and a kitchenette, and most importantly, good heaters. The managers were nice people. They seemed genuinely puzzled as to why tourists would come to Lillooet during winter, until we explained that we were there for ice climbing. We managed to sneak into the A&W just before it closed for the night, at 6 PM. We then sorted gear and turned in early.

On Friday we were up early, and drove over to the Reynolds Hotel for breakfast. There were only four other patrons, all of them ice climbers. It turns out that one of the folks in the next booth was Don Serl, the author of the West Coast Ice guidebook. After breakfast, we asked some climbers for directions to the Rambles, and they showed us their super-detailed topographic map of the Lillooet area, with all of the ice climbs marked ont it. This was the famous "ice map" published by Lyle Knight. We were jealous. With directions in hand, we set out in the pre-dawn darkness to find the Rambles. We drove 28 km outside of town on Highway 99, and watched the temperature on the dashboard thermometer steadily decrease into single digits. At the pullout for the Rambles, I stupidly pulled the Jeep off the road too early, and promptly got two wheels stuck in deep snow. We tried and tried to get it out, and even tried using chains. Nothing worked. Eventually, a truck stopped at the pull-out and two climbers from Seattle helped tow us out, using a burly tow-strap. We thanked them and started up the trail toward the ice. My gloves and fleece jacket were soaked from wallowing in the snow, trying to extricate the jeep.

We followed boot tracks uphill through the snow, eventually reaching a talus field. At the top of the talus field, hidden behind some trees, we found a gully with a nice ice flow in it. We decided to climb it. I led the first pitch. By now wary of my brutish and indelicate climbing technique, Elain selected a belay spot well outside the icefall zone. The ice was harder and more brittle than what I was used to in Washington, but things went fine. Near the top of the first pitch the ice steepened for about 20 feet, but this part of the route was more exposed to the sun and was therefore softer ice. I found a sturdy looking tree with several rap slings around it and set up the belay. As usual, Elain climbed with her pack (always thinking alpine, I guess).

The second pitch looked like moderate WI2, so I asked Elain if she wanted to lead it. She said yes, and started racking up the screws. Unfortunately, she had neglected to remove the ice cores of all the screws while she was seconding the previous pitch. She got the first three screws in with a bit of a struggle. About 2/3 of the way up the pitch, Elain reached a corner where the ice steepened. She would have to traverse out of the corner and onto the steep ice. She tried to put in a screw, but because of an ice core, it wouldn't go in. So she re-racked the screw and ran it out, over a bulge and out of sight. By this time I was starting to shiver uncontrollably. I had not dressed warmly enough, and at this point there was nothing I could do about it. When I heard a shout that sounded like "off belay!", I was relieved and ready to be moving again. I cleaned the anchor, and started to clambor up the pitch on stiff wooden legs and frozen hand-claws. While cleaning the ice out of the screws, I quickly realized why it is not a good idea to blow on the screws when the temperature is below zero. Minus some of the skin from my lips, I eventually reached the belay. Elain wanted to climb a third pitch, but I was feeling pretty awful and was concerned about getting hypothermia. With two rappels, we were back at the base of the route. We made quick time down the trail, motivated strongly by thoughts of the car heater.

Back in Lillooet, we had a quick bite and then decided to use the remaining daylight to drive to the access road for Honeyman Falls, in order to scout out the approach for this climb. It is just north of town. The access road was gated, but the sign said that ice climbers are allowed to walk up the access road. However, as I was reading the sign, two large dogs rushed out from a house across the road. I retreated into the Jeep and the dogs came right up to the Jeep, barking, growling, and baring their teeth. We discussed our options and decided to go talk to the famous "Honeyman" (a guy who sells honey and for whom the falls are named). We rang the Honeyman's doorbell, and after a few minutes, a woman came around to the store entrance. Apparently the Honeyman was out of town, and she was taking care of the place. We asked if we could buy some honey, and she motioned us inside. Huge buckets of honey were stacked from floor to ceiling. My eyes widened at the massive Costco-sized containers of honey. "Do you have anything smaller?" I asked. She showed us some small plastic bear-shaped honey jars. We bought two. Figuring I had buttered her up by buying some honey, I asked her if we could cross the Honeyman's property and ascend the drainage, to approach the falls. She politely suggested the easiest way was to take the access road. We decided not to press the issue.

On the television that night, the weatherman said "it is supposed to get cold tomorrow". We wondered, what exactly is the definition of "cold" in Canada?

The temperature was 0F when we left the Jeep the next morning at 8 AM. We parked about a quarter mile away from the access road, on a pullout off the highway. I resembled a blue oompa-loompa in my many layers of clothing. It was quiet as we walked along Hunt Road, which approaches the access road. How would we get past the angry dogs guarding the access road? Our plan was to use stealth, and to get past the dogs while they were sleeping. We reckoned that the dogs would not chase us if we could somehow get past the gate and onto the access road, with a sufficient head start. It was a good plan, in theory. About 100 feet from the gate, we heard barking. Damn. I took off like a shot, cowardly leaving Elain running behind me. Thankfully the dogs had to run the length of their sizable yard to get to the road, and we were just past the gate and onto the access road, by the time the dogs got near. They were still barking and growling, but they didn't seem interested in starting onto the access road. We were safe, for now. However, Elain was already worried about how to get back down the road and vowed to find a different way to get back to the car.

We hiked up to Honeyman Falls and found that it was in thin condition, and had water rushing over it. We had no desire to climb something like that. So as an alternative, we checked out Cherry Ice, a small waterfall just a few hundred meters away. It looked like it was in thin condition, but climbable. We racked up and I started climbing. The ice was incredibly hard and brittle. My pick would more often dislodge large pieces of ice than stick into anything. Placing screws was physically demanding due to the cold temperatures and the hardness of the ice. With each screw placement, the "upper" hand (from which I was hanging) would become completely numb. Rewarming was a slow and painful process. Eventually I clawed and cursed my way to the top of the pitch. Reaching the tree anchor required Elain to unclip from the belay and walk towards the falls. The tree anchor consisted of three scrawny little saplings, with roots partially exposed. The trees swayed when I leaned back on the anchor. I belayed Elain up to me, and we discussed our options. Dubious of the tree anchor, Elain wanted to down-climb a bit to find a sturdier looking anchor, but in the end, laziness won out. I set up a token piton in the friable rock behind the tree as a back-up, and Elain rappelled down the pitch. I pulled the back-up piton, crossed my fingers, and followed her down. On the hike out, we descended a gully and snuck across a rancher's property to avoid the dogs. This involved some dicey sidehilling on steep frozen turf, but eventually we reached the highway and walked back to our car.

That night, we ran into Dave Burdick and Loren Campbell at the City Pizza restaurant. They told us it was "supposed to get cold tomorrow". How much colder can it get?, we wondered.

On our final day of climbing, the temperature on the Jeep thermometer read -14F as we approached the Rambles trailhead, and -10F at the trailhead. It was likely colder when we reached the base of the climb 600' above the road. We chose to climb a single pitch waterfall in the right gully. Again the ice was extremely brittle, making it difficult to get a good pick placement. We debated about climbing another waterfall higher up. Elain was feeling poorly (she had become infected with my cold), and we also wanted to get back to Seattle at a reasonable time, so we decided to head down. A double-rope rappel got us to the base of the waterfall. We drove home via the Trans Canada Highway and made decent time home. It was a fun way to celebrate the new year.

Things we learned: