Climbing the Lotus - Blitzkrieg(*) Style
(a tale of a one day ascent)

It's just after 3am, but it feels like morning as the new August day paints an orange glow high on the granite spires that surround our basecamp. Like Dave, I am awake, peering through the vestibule, wondering if I should get up or nod off one last time before our 3:30am alarm. Knowing that the next 24 hours will be governed by a constant sense of urgency, I jump out of my bag and accept a small lead on our tight schedule.

The approach. Copyright © 1995 by Mark Kroese

I fire up the stove while Dave fills water bottles and sorts the rack. We pack with methodical efficiency, leaving camp by 3:45am. Fueled by a good breakfast, we move briskly under a cloudless sky. The weather is uncharacteristically good, but we are well aware of its tendency to change quickly. For now, I remind myself, don't worry, just hike.

Absorbed in our own thoughts, we walk in silence for over an hour. As we reach the top of the second moraine The Tower comes into full view. Our reveries are punctuated by its visual impact: 2200 feet of perfectly sculpted granite rising proudly into the northern Canadian sky. I crane my neck to see the upper headwall, then imagine myself leading the crux pitch. My palms sweat, yet I can't wait to get started. Anxious, we hike faster. Within 30 minutes we are at the base of the route, donning harnesses, flaking ropes and racking gear. As Dave slips into his rock shoes, I gaze across the landscape and remind myself of how long I've wanted to do this climb.

Pitch 11. Copyright © 1995 by Mark Kroese

I first heard about the Cirque of the Unclimbables in 1980. While hanging out in Yosemite's Camp 4, our site-mates spoke of a place very much like Yosemite, yet 2000 miles to the north, 150 miles from the nearest town and only accessible by float plane. They raved about the abundance of granite, the solitude, and one spire in particular: Lotus Flower Tower.

First climbed in 1968 by Tom Frost, Sandy Bill and Jim McCarthy, Lotus Flower Tower was immediately recognized as one of the world's great rock climbs. The route's popularity increased dramatically in 1977, when the climbing community got word of the first free ascent. By 1979, when Lotus Flower Tower was featured in Steve Roper and Allen Steck's Fifty Classic Climbs in North America, the grade V, 5.10 classic had become a coveted prize for accomplished free climbers around the world. Eighteen years later, in 1995, the climb had yielded hundreds of ascents, the bulk of them to mere mortals like Dave and I.

Pitch 12. Copyright © 1995 by Mark Kroese

One of the big challenges with an ascent Lotus Flower Tower-or any summit in the Cirque for that matter-is getting down. Unlike Yosemite, where there is an "easy" way down most climbs, Cirque summits are as undescendable as they are unclimbable. Numerous reports of epic descents down the Tower's back side prompted climbers to reconsider the whole proposition. Why not simply rappel the route? Consensus: excellent idea. Result: a pair of shiny, half-inch bolts at each belay station.

Even though there is virtually no fixed protection on the route-and hopefully never will be, since natural protection is abundant-the existence of nineteen vertically aligned, rappel-friendly belay stations has changed the way climbers think about the ascent. Retreat is possible, and straightforward, at any time. In short, the route's popularity has turned it into a sort of, dare I say, "sport" alpine rock climb.

As we discussed the route with other climbers, we realized there are two distinct ways to do the climb: in two-day traditional style, complete with haul bag and bivy gear, and in one-day blitzkrieg style, with just a daypack including only the bare essentials. Dave and I agreed that either approach would be rewarding, but ultimately concluded that we would never forgive ourselves if we got half way up the climb, stopped for the night, and were forced to retreat by a change in the weather. Blitzkrieg style it would be.

The first half of the climb went remarkably well. The climbing was enjoyable, challenging, but not desperate. After the first three pitches-5.8, 5.9 and 5.10a-we picked up speed and cruised through the next seven, ending up at the large, comfortable ledge that signified the halfway point of the climb. As we ate lunch, we stared in awe at the upper part of the climb-an uninterrupted, thousand foot "ski track" crack system leading straight to the summit.

Pitch 16. Copyright © 1995 by Mark Kroese

Now into the business of the 15th pitch, Dave yanked up an arm-length of rope and clipped it into the carabiner in front of his nose. Stemming gracefully, he moved quickly over a three foot roof. Perched on a good stance above it, he informed me that he was within 30 feet of the belay. "Good work Dave", I yelled, glancing at my watch. We were right on schedule, averaging 45 minutes per pitch. Fifteen down, four to go.

As Dave finished his lead, I turned my attention to the weather. It had been slowly deteriorating all day; clear blue skies turned to broken clouds, broken clouds to overcast, overcast to snow flurries, and now, suddenly, we were in a full-on snow storm. The wind swirled from all directions, the most recent gust dropping a hostile nimbostratus right on top of us. Big, wet snow flakes were sticking to everything, including the foot holds Dave was trying to stand on. Keeping one hand on the rope, I wiggled into my Gortex while Dave crept toward the end of the pitch. Finally, Dave yelled, "I'm off", and reeled in the haul line.

Da Plane! Copyright © 1995 by Mark Kroese

As I dismantled the belay I began to have doubts about this climb. Following this pitch was going to be sketchy in these conditions, and the next pitch- a 5.10c jam crack through a roof-certainly would require dry rock. The thought of turning back only four pitches from the top put a knot in my stomach, as did the thought of continuing up. Deferring the decision, I elected to follow the pitch instead of making Dave clean it on rappel-in retrospect, the pivotal moment of the entire climb. Dave kept the rope snug as I stemmed between two wet chickenheads, pulled through the roof and sidestepped to a comfortable stance. Now just 20 feet above me, he looked down, smiled, and took a picture. While pausing for the photo I noticed that it had stopped snowing. I could even see patches of blue sky. When I arrived at the belay Dave had set up the rappel, but, like me, was having second thoughts about retreating. We sat tight for a few minutes.

Cirque Overview. Copyright © 1995 by Mark Kroese

In the time it took to organize the rack and gnaw on a PowerBar, the clouds parted and the rock started to dry. The worst was over. Luck was on our side. With a resurgence of emotional energy, Dave handed me the rack and politely suggested that I get going. It was 6pm. I paused to do the math: Four pitches, nineteen rappels, five hours of light. I didn't like the answer, but convinced myself that my new headlamp batteries would make it all OK. Fifteen minutes later things were really looking up. I had pulled through the roof-the crux of the climb-and was closing in on the belay station. The climbing was getting easier. I could see the top. The weather continued to improve. Summit fever set in and up we went.

By 9:30pm we'd taken the last of the summit photos and were preparing ourselves for the first of many rappels. Down we went. Carefully. Methodically. Happily. Sunset was followed by moonrise. The full moon was beautiful, but paled in comparison to the breath-taking, florescent green light show that danced across the sky: the Northern Lights. As Dave lowered himself into the night, I hung patiently from the rap station, headlamp off, eyes and mouth wide open, staring at the sky. Spellbound, my mind began to wander. I started to think decadent thoughts, like taking off my shoes and sleeping on my Thermarest. My musings were interrupted when Dave hollered "Off rappel", reminding me that I was still a thousand feet off the deck.

On the Proboscis. Copyright © 1995 by Bob Braun

Within a few hours we were safely back at the base of the route. For the first time that day I allowed myself to let my guard down. The burning sense of urgency that fueled our climb was replaced by a sense of euphoria. We had climbed Lotus Flower Tower, in a day, on our first day in the Cirque of The Unclimbables. We also realized that we still had twelve more days to climb. As we inspected the acres of granite that surrounded us, Dave looked at me, smiled, and asked "So what's next"?

— Mark Kroese, Mountain Zone Contributor

This originally appeared in MountainZone.Com (reproduced by permission).

* blitzkrieg: (German: "lightning war"), military tactic calculated to create psychological shock and resultant disorganization in enemy forces through the employment of surprise, speed, and superiority in materiel or firepower.