New Climbs in the Wind River Range

Fred Beckey

Incessant storms that lashed the Canadian Rockies in early August created symptoms easily diagnosed as "rock climbing fever”; the obvious first-aid was to leave for a distant alpine range where the rock was fit for climbing. Although we had reports about the unusual moisture in the Wind River Range, we felt that this area was likely to give us the most comfort among the high ranges where major unclimbed challenges were waiting. Accordingly John Rupley, his wife Illa, and I sped from Banff to Pinedale in a two-car caravan.

That we had made the correct decision was in doubt when we slept out at the foot of the range, but on the drive in to Big Sandy Opening a radio report predicted a streak of clear weather. Already, conditions made the country seem like another world in comparison to the mountains north of the border. At road’s end we met another climbing party, who had just scaled the fine east face of Pingora, one of our objectives, (See account in Climbs and Expeditions.) but we were satisfied with the knowledge that the Lonesome Lake cirque and its surroundings had more unclimbed faces than we could ever attempt in six days. I had been keeping an annual cache near the lake, and had almost begun to feel a proprietary interest in the magnificent spires, ridges and walls of this region—truly one of the nation’s very best alpine rock wonderlands.

At the conclusion of the 1961 season, snow storms had kept John Hudson and me from completing a route on the very attractive east face of Wolf's Head, one of the major peaks in the cirque. It was fitting for John Rupley and me, on this new trip, to attempt to finish this climb. Weather was perfect by the time we were ensconced among the pines at the lake. Since we had hiked in at night, our first day began late, but we re-climbed the lovely granite of the first two pitches above the snow cirque beneath Wolf's Head and left ropes for the next day.

In the morning John and I pushed the route further, climbing mostly leftward as we were forced by a series of flakes into a route pattern that was far to our left. Exposure was stupendous, and the route began thinning into a multiday affair. We had to make two short pendulums onto new flakes, placing several bolts for protection. Then a great white flake blocked the route. I spent over two hours climbing and pitoning my way around and over this into a slight recession above, where we became very apprehensive about the shortage of piton cracks. Since progress without time-consuming bolting seemed doubtful, we soon decided on a retreat to a position above the third lead where another line of cracks promised a good opportunity. By the time we had finished re-climbing the pendulums and exploring the lower pitch of the new route, we had to descend to the lake in order to avoid a bivouac. I had managed to climb 140 feet up a thinning ramp on extremely poor friction and had placed pitons into a vanishing flaw where the ramp met the wall above; however, where both the ramp and the flaw faded out, I had to begin placing bolts to gain a ledge some 15 feet higher. John finished with four more bolts in the morning, and in another half lead came to a good belay spot above which the crux section of the climb ended with an overhanging crack. The start was the hardest as I wanted to climb it free from the inside of a recess. With an angle for moral support and later a clutch placement of a Chouinard "bong-bong” for aid, I was able to jam my way up the crack. A fingertip pull took me out of trouble and then an exhilarating layback ended on a big ledge. Two more pitches of fifth-class climbing took us onto the summit ridge and another lead went to the summit.

On August 14 we made an advanced reconnaissance on our major objective, the east face of Warrior Peak’s frontal promontory, which rises above the meadows near Jackass Pass not far south of Lonesome Lake. The white granite of this face shines in the morning sunlight. For the past several seasons, while in the area, I had hoped to find time to climb this splendid face. Strangely, the route would not end up on the main crest of Warrior, which is inset on the cirque rim, but on an equally high satellite summit, unclimbed itself and connected to the rim by a badly serrated ridge. Clearly, it was a route distinguished by arrogant magnificence. That afternoon we climbed further than we had planned. Two pitches up a shallow basin with little flake systems took us to a step where the angle veered steeply skyward, A delicate traverse, followed by a difficult hand-jamming crack, was the crux of the last fifty feet to the step. A vertical nose initiated the next pitch. With just sufficient handholds, I carefully ascended some thirty feet; the climbing was very thin and unprotected. There was a route choice here; we decided for the left, and I continued across a high-angle slab. Finally, holds just vanished, and I had to use some pitons for aid to reach a deep crack. The crack went fifth-class, but it overhung at its apex, forcing a very strenuous layback into a niche. It was the most tiring pitch I had done for many a month. We fixed three ropes and returned to the lake at dusk.

In the crystal clear morning we returned to our high point, largely by prusiking, and brought along a supply of food, water, and a bivouac sack. A great grassy ledge traversed left for a lead, and then a system of flakes promised a cutback. This was not easy, as the holds always seemed to slope down or sideways. I went on, placing piton protection, and found myself within the walls of a chimney. The struggle to its head was a rough one, and I finally had to make a very exposed swing to the right, outside of a nose to a blank face. With the help of a little crack, the route went in behind a great block. Here was a fine belay spot. Stemming proved the key to another long lead, and just when it appeared that we would have to nail up a headwall, I found it possible to stem inside a thin granite sliver, climb on top and jump across to a ledge on the headwall. By midafternoon we reached the second and final major step on this face. This was to prove our bivouac point.

Since the next lead appeared to be the key artificial pitch of the climb, we hoped to climb it in the afternoon, leave a rope and then strike quickly for the summit in the morning. John worked his way up a tricky crack and then had to nail his way over to the right to a solitary crack splitting this headwall. It was the only way. Unfortunately the crack had badly rounded edges, in which pitons fitted loosely. He used some regular angles and verticals, but mostly "bong-bongs” two to three inches wide. Twice he placed bolts for safety, and finally in pitch darkness, 150 feet above, he inserted a third one for the rappel. It was a sensational pitch.

After a reasonable bivouac in our down jackets we felt no particular hurry and so had a good breakfast. After John had prusiked up the lead, I swung around in the stirrups, knocking out 17 pitons. Surveying all alternatives, we saw this had been the only piton line. The two last pitches to the summit ranged from difficult moves at the first to continually easier going. Once I had to make a crucial slab traverse left to avoid an overhanging crack. The slab was a real boulder problem. On the summit we sized up the scenery, which from here looked like an alpine Yosemite, and prepared to make the many rappels. Fortunately, we had not planned to get off toward the Warrior rim. Pinnacles and horrible traverses would have cost us another day for the retreat.

Time had now come to leave the area and a change of weather made us look like exceptional planners. Later in August Dan Davis and I hiked in to the Peak Lake area, in the northern Wind River Range, for a look at the fabled west face of Gannett Peak, which has been described as an "Eigerwand” in Bonney’s guide and in other sources. A snowstorm kept us from venturing beyond Stroud Peak, which we climbed by a fine new route. A glance at the west face, still miles away across the Mammoth Glacier, only whetted our appetites. It was late in the season, but a north wind promised good weather when on September 5 we again returned to the now snow-dusted range. The next three days proved to be the most consistently long and arduous of the season. On the second day we had to complete the trail hike to the Dinwoody Glacier, climb it to Glacier Pass just south of Gannett, descend 800 feet to the fringe of the Mammoth Glacier, climb a snow gully to a buttress running southwest of Gannett, and then make a short glacier traverse to the base of the west face itself. This was a big order for a September morning. As we made the descent and traverse, we began to see why this face had acquired a frightening reputation. It was long, steep, icy and ominous. It was remote, and rumor had it that the rock was terribly rotten. Studying it, we concluded that former parties had maldiagnosed the face or been frightened by its grandeur.

Up the massive center, buttressing ridges flanked a golden triangular headwall. This was the obvious classic route. It was steep, but the rock looked good; it turned out to be excellent granite and gneiss, with only a few loose pieces on ledges. First we cramponed up a steep snow finger to a terraced area some 1000 feet below the summit. We could look down the lower cliffs and see that this entry gave us quick and valuable height. Ice work gave way to continuous roped climbing as we picked a complicated route that took us to the steepening portion of the great triangle. Here we had sensational exposure but, luckily, excellent rock. Holds and cracks continued to the left for a full lead of moderately difficult fifth-class climbing with a few hard moves. Dan took the next lead, climbing directly upward on a crack system. This pitch, the key to the route, was difficult free climbing for the entire 150 feet, with one move of direct aid where a very difficult slab overhung a recess. Fortunately the sun of the past few days had taken most of the snow and verglas off the route; north faces would have been hopeless. It was cold climbing, and once a thin veil of clouds shook a scattering of snowflakes on us.

We now each had another steep lead, but we knew that the face was ours. Cracks became deeper and holds more frequent. We climbed left and upward into a shallow granite basin. Just a few hundred feet above were the rocks of the summit crest. It was exposed here, but the climbing was now fourth class with several good route lines possible. By midafternoon we pulled ourselves over the crest, tired but happy. The summit was just a stroll a short distance north, and then camp was a much longer stroll on a descent via the normal route. That night six to nine inches of snow fell, making slippery footwork on the long hike out. The golden grass of the Torrey Creek alpland was transformed to a sheet of pure white, and on the last pull toward the valley, a chilling wind kept us walking at a full pace.

Summary of Statistics

Area: Wind River Range, Wyoming.

Ascents: Wolf’s Head, c. 12,150 feet, August 13, 1962 (Beckey, Rupley) — first ascent of east face.

Warrior, c. 12,500 feet, August 15, 1962 (Beckey, Rupley) — first ascent of east face of east peak.

Gannett, 13,785 feet, September 7, 1962 (Beckey, Davis) — first ascent of west face.

Personnel : Fred Beckey, Dan Davis, John Rupley.