Geography Reference
In-Depth Information
199
ASCEnT OF THE SPECTRE
I remember the first time I saw a photo of the Organ Pipe Peaks. It was 1970,
and I was a graduate student due to leave on my first expedition to Antarctica.
I did not believe that any grouping of summits could be so dramatic, beautiful,
and perfect. They were a fantasy of mountains rendered with bold and simple
strokes, faceted grandeur in black and white. I dreamed of traveling to those
peaks, bowing down before their central spire—The Spectre—and sampling a
piece of the rock. Alas, the Organ Pipe Peaks remained beyond my reach that
season.
Ten years later on my fifth Antarctic expedition, I found myself camped on
Sanctuary Glacier, in the shadow of the Organ Pipe Peaks (see Fig. 6.15). My work
that season had begun with geological mapping of the La Gorce Mountains (see
Fig. 6.2) and ended with a collecting traverse down the east side of Scott Glacier,
essentially retracing Blackburn's route. now I was one day away from attempting
an ascent of The Spectre (see Fig. 6.17)—the splendid spire that had awed the
Blackburn party.
Being a klutz with ropes myself, I have always had someone in the party
who is experienced with roped climbing in case we needed it. This time, the field
assistant/mountaineer for the party was my brother Mugs, who had the year
before made his first big mark in the climbing world with the first ascent of the
Emperor Face on Mount Robson in British Columbia. From the beginning of the
field season, Mugs and I had joked about climbing The Spectre. We figured he
would do all the leading, and if necessary would winch me, the older brother, up
on the rope. now that we were camped in the shadow of The Spectre, looking
up its backside, the climb was no longer a joke. It was real, sheer, and daunting.
Mugs studied the fractured upper wall of the spire, and, although he couldn't see
a clear route, said “we'll just wander around on the face and see where it leads.”
I understood Mugs's nonchalance and trusted him completely. I also trusted
myself. I must admit, however, that I didn't sleep well the night before the climb.
What would it be like? Would the rough passages be vertical or overhung? Would
I be in way over my head? I hadn't had such a case of butterflies since before
wrestling matches in high school.
After a big breakfast Mugs and I snowmobiled over to the foot of The Spectre
(Fig. S.13). We carried a minimal rack of climbing gear: a half-dozen carabineers,
several slings, and four pitons to secure the rope. The first half of the ascent was
a straightforward climb up a steep (50°) snow chute to a shoulder on the right
skyline, with Mugs kicking in all the footsteps and I following in his prints. At the
shoulder we pulled out the rope, and while I belayed, Mugs began working his
way across and up the face, which in this stretch was pretty much vertical. When
he reached secure spots, Mugs would set the belay for me, and I would follow up
his path. There were good-sized cracks in the rock that gave plenty of handholds
