I don’t remember the exact wording, but I know the essence of the phrase that comes to mind; “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all”. I hope that what I am about to describe can be understood for what it is meant to say, and not as a door to criticism and analysis of my climbing style.

When Carl called to tell me that he would not be able to climb tonight I was disappointed but not unprepared. I tend to get feelings about climbing and sometimes they are very strong. Today, the feeling was like a freight train. I walked out the door of Carden to cross the parking lot in back of the school and Twin Peaks loomed above the haze and the inversion, “how I wish I could be on top I thought to myself.” While I don’t always get my wishes, tonight was mine.

As I approached the Great White Icicle I was met by a group of seven climbers coming off the route. We exchanged pleasantries and I asked how the ice was. One of the lead climbers said; “it is nice and thin ­ but I hear the ice on Twin Peaks is amazing this time of year.” I think he thought I was an idiot or a fool, but only one of those nouns applies, and I take offense at the other. When I got to the GWI there was a man, Jeff Hirschi, bouldering on the lower sections of Pitch I. I asked how high he was going and he said that he was only doing a few moves. I asked if he wanted to rope up and go up with me, he accepted my invitation.

The ice was more vertical than usual (not fanned out and not punched full of boot holes), but it definitely was continuous and more consistent than the last two weeks. Jeff and I then continued up on almost perfect ice. Upon descending the route we exchanged numbers and made some connections, like Liberty Mountain/ABC where both a friend of mine Casey Sullivan and his wife Sarah Garfield Hirschi work. I then called Carl and told him that I was down safe, but that only lasted a short time.

As I headed home on Wasatch Boulevard I turned up Big Cottonwood Canyon knowing that the man with the quick comment about ice on Twin was just joking. I also knew that in normal conditions upper Broads Fork is as dangerous as any mountain in the world. Quartzite slabs covered in ice and snow with water drainage underneath. However, I found myself continuing to the parking lot, shouldering my pack with two tools, two screws, a thermos of hot chocolate and some other miscellaneous items. I began to run with no real intent or purpose, but found myself gaining speed and momentum.

In what seemed like a moment and eternity together I arrived at the knoll overlooking the upper bowl and looked at my watch; I was not only moving I was flying. I decided to go up the Robinson Couloir a ways just to say I climbed the ice, but not really committing to a line. However, fate was in motion and I veered too far to the left (south) and began a speed climb up the 1200 foot East Face of Twin. I truly was planning on turning north and into the chute at some point, but the man was right ­ the ice was perfect and the absence of snow made the route as safe as it ever has been. It was nirvana. It was meant to be. As I reached the ridge, just north of the summit I looked around and yelled loud and clear ­ I love climbing and I am a climber. No response and no echo. Silence came back and I realized that climbing is not about anything other than movement and momentum. It is about a connection between muscles and mind and an absence from all else. My solo ascent on Huandoy in Peru was incredible, but also hypoxic and I don’t recall much except a few pains and lingering thoughts. Tonight my mind was focused, clear and logical. I found unexplained answers in the moonlight on the wall and hope in the human condition. If we can achieve peace and bliss with such a simple achievement in life, what will be the reward for death after a life well lived? I know that is a deep thought, but I feel I deserve at least one.

As I crested the ridge and descended down the standard route I knew I was moving quick and decided not to look at my watch and keep traveling fast. Instead of descending west then south near the saddle I went straight down the southern portion of the east face and found a couloir that reached the bottom, I descended and began to run. I didn’t even stop to put my tools away ­ I just keep them leashed and moved. I did post hole through the upper bowl for a short time, but soon found good hard footing on both consolidated snow and bare soil and rock. As I turned east on the last bend of the trail I finally looked at my watch ­ just over two hours. I have never climbed/moved so fast and feel blessed to have been lead to such a perfect moment.

I know that I get a kick out of speed, and that not all mountaineers do. I know that climbs like this help link my running and climbing into one sport. I also know that some may think that I am an idiot for going alone, at night, up a face of angled ice with nothing more than hope. However, I do know that on occasion I have moments when my body is ready, my mind is focused and the world truly slows down so that I can achieve. Tonight was right, but I still may be a fool.

My only regret is that I was alone. How I wish I could share these moments with my climbing buddies; too many to name, but not too many to remember.

Copyright 2003 Sports Guide. All rights reserved.