A human windchime.

The Climb Route

Remember this part? 

We woke at 3a.m. to Dan's call. I zipped open our tent and looked up into a sky bedazzled with stars. The beauty of this might have been reason enough to celebrate, but to us it meant something much more practical--a dry rock face. The rains had been so persistent since arriving in the highlands that it had not even occurred to me that a dry climb was possible. I had so thoroughly fortified my spirits for a cold wet trial that I scarcely knew what to do when it became clear we would enjoy the best possible conditions. I often kid that "Low expectations are the basis of happiness and success in life". In as much as this may be true I was living it in this moment. "Damn," I exclaimed aloud. "What is it," Denis asked with concern. "Take a look at that sky," I answered, turning back with a smile. I could tell by Denis' expression he did not need to look. 

Our gear had been carefully arranged the night before; harnesses, ropes, ascenders, hydration bottles, and the likes. I had slept with my climbing clothes in the foot of my bag, and, following a Houdini-like contortion, emerged fully dressed for the day ahead. Carstensz was still unviewable but for the darkness about us. We ate something for breakfast. I cannot recall what. It did not matter. Then the Team set out on the 2 hour trek to the base of Carstensz. 

As an Improv performer, I have seen sick people, even performers with food poisoning, walk out on the stage and do a fantastic show. I believe we all have this ability when it comes to those things which truly matter in our lives. Our Team was not healthy as we readied ourselves for the first roped pitch up the rock face. I myself had relapsed into another intestinal bug. But the vigor we exhibited as each Climber clipped onto the fixed line belied any weakness.

Entering the fissure. Photo by Ivan Gomez.

A massive fissure runs down the lower half of the Carstensz rock face. This weak spot represented our best opportunity for climbing as one could perform wedging techniques with his feet while at once taking advantage of the many ample hand-holds. The downside of this approach was that the fissure would turn into a river when the rains began. We would have to get up and down before that. This is why we started our climb at night. The rains typically got under way in the early afternoon, and we calculated an eleven hour round trip. 

Another good reason for using this route was the many fixed lines left behind by prior expeditions. They were various gauges, and in various conditions ranging from new to stripped of their outer casing. But in any case would save us time, effort, and exposure to falls.  We brought along extra ropes to use when we did not trust the rope already in place, and replaced a few of the worst. 

The first pitch required the climber to clip onto the rope while standing on a narrow ledge, then swing out and around a massive orb-shaped stone face. At this point the Climber will have passed the point of no return and find himself hanging above a shear drop. Such moments are motivational. I immediately engaged the skills learned back home at the climbing wall. I could image Dave Hutch suggesting a toe hold beneath the overhang while I hung from one arm. My foot found something blockish. My other hand searched out a knobby protrusion. In short order I was standing on the orb, clipping into the next pitch. 

We fell into a rhythm that required little conversation. The sounds of our carabiners clinked pleasantly in the darkness all up and down the rock face. We were a living breathing wind chime in the night. 

The pitches fell below us at a steady pace. All the anticipation of the days leading up to the climb was being unleashed. I remember thinking "this is REALLY fun," and "we are flying up this hill!" The six Climbers who had persevered were all serious and accomplished mountaineers, and now they were finally free to do what they do best. 

There is a sweetness about daybreak in the mountains. It comes first to the peak, slowly working its way downward. Sometimes we shiver in the darkness below, counting the minutes until the promise of a new day wraps us in light and warmth. You pause then, perhaps to give thanks, and look down at a world still fast asleep. "Soon, my friends." One by one the new day gathered us up as it slid down the face, each climber switching off his headlamp and donning sun glasses. Now high enough to look out across the whole of New Guinea, I took in a full panorama of this marvelous place.

We rested on a broad shelf midway up the face. Far above us, interrupting the ridgeline, was a yawning gap with a line across it. This was the Tyrolean Traverse we had all heard so much about. We pointed it out to one another as we nibbled on energy foods and hydrated, but we did not speak of the Traverse otherwise. This would be getting too far ahead of ourselves. Good Climbers know better. Our immediate concern was the vertical face above us, a full 700 feet of work into thinning air. Everyone was breathing harder now. Our bodies were well conditioned to 13,000 feet, but here at 15,200 they struggled to gather oxygen sufficient to deliver on the demands we were making. 

The final pitch. Photo by Ivan Gomez.

We would have to progress at a more measured pace from here out, careful and exacting as we pushed for the ridge. This face had a fissure not unlike that of the lower wall. Some of us would use this path while others preferred to climb out in the open.The limestone surface felt solid and tacky beneath my tight leather climbing gloves. The flexible soles of my well-seasoned hiking boots held confidently to the coarse dry surface. I worked my way up the crack using holds and smears all around me. Even at this altitude the climbing felt easier than the routes on the YMCA climbing wall back home. I remembered Hutch telling me this would be the case. "He was right," I said aloud to myself. I exited the crack when it became too narrow for me and my pack, climbing the final forty feet on the open face. Raymond reached down toward me from the ridge, his familiar smile beaming from the buff pulled over his head. "Good climb, Mr. Dave," he said. I thanked him and found a place to sit atop the narrow ridge that would lead us the remainder of the way to the summit.