Table of Contents

The Refrigerator Couloir
The Humidity Controlled Crisper
The Leftovers
The Cheese Drawer
The Top Shelf
The Freezer
The Summit and Descent
Statistics

When my friend Clay and I spotted the Refrigerator couloir on Ice Mountain last year we knew we had to come back to climb it. We were descending North Apostle and the Refrigerator kind of kicks you in the teeth from that vantage point.

This is a refrigerator full of snow (and possibly tasty things to eat) and allegedly rockfall, and it was so striking that all we could do was mumble helplessly as we bailed on Ice's northeast ridge, which at the time was covered in a fresh dusting of snow, dripping water, and loose enough to give the Elk and San Juan a run for their money. We were entranced by the couloir though, we just couldn't stop talking about it. Of course it would take until the spring before it would be in condition to climb it, but a line like the Refrigerator is not easily forgotten about.

When conditions were finally right Clay couldn't come. We were obsessed and it would be unconscionable to wait and do it in another year when I could also do it right meow in addition to another time when he could join. Not one to let conditions go to waste I went alone.

I drove down to Winfield and parked my dinkass little 2WD car at the start of the 4WD trail. I'd have a couple of extra miles of boring hiking to do at the start (in the dark too, aww yeah!) and end of the climb, something I'm more than used to by now. I should really get a lift kit, huge tires, and truck nuts for my Civic, but I digress. I set my alarm for 3:15am hoping for a 4ish start so I could hit the couloir by 9am.

That 3:15am alarm came too soon. It always does. But I was jacked. This couloir had been in my head for months whispering sweet nothings to whatever eccentric part or parts of my brain that would listen, swayed by promises of like, totally sick snow, brah, and lots of sharp thingies attached to various body parts, and maybe a snicker or two from any woman who came close enough to smell that delectable mountain goat smell. You know, the good things in life. I set off at 4:13am. I was the only person awake that I could tell. I hiked the two miles to the upper trailhead and still not a soul stirred. Except mine, obviously.

From here the trail splits and goes east up Mount Huron or south to Apostle Basin and Lake Ann. I continued only a short way before a swift, cold creek ran across the trail, which used to be a road; it is now gated at the trailhead. I bushwhacked around for a couple of minutes trying to find a crossing that I wouldn't have to wade and found a pair of logs that were clearly/only possibly intended to be a crossing. You know how it goes.

The trail continued almost due south through forest and meadows, past the Collegiate Peak Wilderness boundary, and then started to pick up elevation. There was some avalanche debris to cross, and some older fallen trees, but not a whole lot to impede progress in the dark. Eventually I got my first views of the Three Apostles.

The Three Apostles are stunning mountains and photos don't do them justice. I remember being awed and nervous upon first sight last year. This time I just felt the need to kick the Refrigerator's ass. The slope was sustained middling steepness and the trail was pretty good for the most part. Another few miles and a stream crossing later I was in Apostle Basin. The sun was just coming up and giving the Three Apostles their good morning kiss.

I scoped out either an ascent or escape route for West Apostle, if I chose to go over there, and then met the first willows of the day.

The willows immediately reminded me how much this approach sucks. I had completely forgotten it in my Refrigerator-fueled fever dreams. It's easy to get mired in the willows in well, a literal mire. Willows as tall as a person and wet, soggy ground fill the entire basin. The good trail ends abruptly and any trail after that ends just as abruptly as it began. Your best bet is to stay in the forest to the left and weave through hidden cliffs and slabs, which will at least not contain willows and will be somewhat dry.

The terrain up through the trees is maybe Class 2+ at worst and is a pleasant discovery for those poor lost souls who wander meekly from the willows, broken hearted at the prospect of endless willow bashing and wet feet. Taking the left-hand trees also avoids a steep, dead vertical cliff in the middle of the basin. The only other way around is to the cliff's right, which necessitates staying low down in the Nasties.

Once up basically as high as it makes obvious sense to climb you'll hit an ugly boulderfield. It's better than the willows, but still officially in the ranks of the Nasties. It's steep and loose, though you can route to the right around the top of the cliff which may be exposed, depending on the chosen route. Truly miserable piles of junk these mountains are! This is where I hit my first snowfield as well, which was soft and sunny, so I put on my snowshoes and headed to the next dry area where I took them back off again. I hoped I wouldn't encounter frequent on/offs as I made my way to the Fridge.

Class 2+ scrambling up the boulder Nasties leads to Class 2 Nasties on at least level terrain, and at this point the Fridge becomes even more apparent, its door open, light on, tantalizing teases of the tasty treats to be had.

By now it's been hours since I left the trailhead, and I just wanted to get on this badboy already. A little farther through the boulders and I discovered that I had actually gone too high and would have to descend through a bowl before reascending the other side and traversing into the Humidity Controlled Crisper - your anatomy lesson starts soon, I promise.

I stopped to change out my trail runners for my mountain boots, put on my crampons, and got my ice axe and ice tool out. The snow here was solid and icy, unlike the last bit of snow. The sun might creep down the slope it was on but it would probably be nice still by the time I crossed it. Steve the Marmot kept me company while I changed.

Now let me tell you a little bit about the Anatomy of a Refrigerator. That bottom section that most people would call an apron? Well that's dumb. Refrigerators don't have no apron at the bottom, they have a Humidity Controlled Crisper! That's where you put your veggies and salads and such, the stuff you want to keep Humidity Controlled and Crisp.

The Refrigerator couloir is no exception. You want this section to be crisp and have its humidity controlled, so as to not either be a slushy wet slope of slop nor avalanche on top of your head. A nice, crisp top layer and proper humidity control will keep these things in check and make your climb much smoother. As I reached the bottom I discovered that the mountain goats had done a fantastic job of maintaining their Refrigerator so guests like me could enjoy it. The couloir was very solid and the top was icy; there were old boot prints but they had been melted and refrozen numerous times into shallow dishes. I had to give pretty snappy kicks to get my crampons' front points in, and I could sink about an inch of my axe and tool's picks in in middle dagger (piolet appui) position. It might have been nice to kick full on steps but tiptoeing up what was essentially soft slab ice at 13,000', solo, was exhilarating. Nearly five hours after leaving my car I began up the Humidity Controlled Crisper.

Progress through the Humidity Controlled Crisper was slow, delicate, careful. Even giving the snow numerous kicks in a row didn't create very good steps. Self-arrest would have been impossible if the tiny bits of steel attaching me to the slope failed to keep me attached. The runout was long but it ended in rocks and I'd have incredible speed. Being alone was just another layer of anticipation on top; a slip or being hit by rockfall in the Refrigerator would be bad. Any rescue I could call, if I were even conscious, would be hours away and I had no second opinions on conditions or my own abilities, so I had to constantly ask myself if I felt OK continuing upwards - nobody else would.

After a few hundred feet the Refrigerator gave me a choice at a Y-junction: take the left branch or the right. This corresponds to Leftovers in the Fridge.

Do you want to eat those Leftovers, which by now are probably soggy and flavorless, or maybe you forgot about them and aren't sure how old they are so you give 'em the old sniff test, who knows if you'll get a mild case of food poisoning but it's right there and you don't want to let it go to waste, or do you want to take the time and effort preparing a new meal when you've got a "perfectly" good one right there? Maybe you've got multiple batches of Leftovers and you just can't figure it out. In the Refrigerator's case this conundrum is right in your face as you poke around above the Humidity Controlled Crisper, just below the Cheese Drawer (more on the Cheese Drawer later). You have to pick left or right, Leftovers or new, this batch of Leftovers or that? The options are overwhelming and an existential crises ensues!

Or maybe not. Decisive action is needed when confronted by more delectable options than one can handle and analysis paralysis sets in. Gerry Roach had already made that decision for me; eat the Leftover spaghetti and meatballs (right branch), that Pad Thai with chicken (left branch) just don't look so good. Of course maybe Gerry is just hoarding the Pad Thai for himself and it holds many savory bites (excellent snow and scrambling) but fuck you, none of it is yours, haha!, or maybe he's saving you from food poisoning (snow getting steeper and steeper and running out above a sheer cliff with scary down climbing on death choss), but he has a good reputation and you trust him and thus the right branch is the one to take, assured you're safe from danger (with the exception of rockfall, be on the lookout for rockfall in your spaghetti and meatballs).

Up the right branch of Leftovers, deeper and deeper into the Fridge I snuck. The walls were closing in, the rock becoming black, smooth, and glossy. Different layers stratified against the white of the snow. I kept my head up for rockfall, ain't nothing going to ruin my Leftovers! Then I discovered I needed something more for my spaghetti and meatballs. The Fridge held just what I needed.

I need only enter the Cheese Drawer.

Every good Refrigerator has a Cheese Drawer. It might just be the most important part of a Refrigerator, in fact. I'm from Wisconsin where it's legally mandated that you eat a minimum amount of cheese every year (it stimulates the economy or somesuch, plus it's delicious) so cheese is in my blood, and thus I was on the prowl for some Parmesan for my spaghetti. In a Refrigerator the Cheese Drawer is usually the smallest section. Why is that? I can't say, it's absolutely unconscionable, I know, but it's true; usually the Cheese Drawer is short and squat, a little narrow, confining, just not big enough for the wide range of cheeses one must have at all times. Once again Ice Mountain's Refrigerator provided just such a Cheese Drawer, the rocks hugging in to a thin chokepoint. Not much opportunity here for thinking; pitifully, unacceptably lacking in options you must move through quickly lest the lack of options, the lack of soft mozzarellas, spreadable cheeses, goat cheeses, etc. (area in which to dodge rockfall like a beast), be enough to nearly end your mortal soul (take a huge barrage of rockfall to the face).

I climbed through the Cheese Drawer swiftly, not wanting to either see the terrible lack of Cheese (either literal, edible cheese or figurative cheese climbing) nor get beaned by a boulder. I was still in bulletproof snow, in double middle dagger position, and this being the most dangerous part of the couloir it was in my best interest to get it over with. The higher I climbed the higher the consequences.

Above the Cheese Drawer is the Top Shelf. This has nothing to do with alcohol, it's merely the place that is warmest in a Refrigerator. Sometimes it's downright sizzling, as far as Refrigerators go, either by temperature standards or by sexy-ass climbing standards. No snarky picture here, y'all. This Refrigerator proved to be no exception: the angle of the couloir here must have been sustained 60 degrees, with the same bulletproof snow. It hadn't yet gotten enough sun to soften and provided fun, exacting climbing nearly 1,000 feet above the basin. With gentle foot placements and gentle pick placements I crept up the last couple hundred feet and snuck around the cornice to climber's right, reaching the top of the snow.

At last I had reached the Freezer. This might be a Refrigerator but what good is a Fridge without a Freezer? The Freezer is where one often stores their desserts such as ice cream, ice pops, sometimes baked goods, things like that. You know, the good shit. A real connoisseur also stores his Class 3 and Class 4 scrambles in the Freezer. I mean really, where else would they go? This is just basic common sense, people.

In the Freezer I immediately faced a stiff Class 4 headwall.

It may have been short but it was not easy, and while it wasn't terribly exposed in its extremely close proximity, a fall would land on rocks; two or three feet to the right Ice's southwest face sloped away and out of sight, and another two or three feet to the left was the rest of the Refrigerator. A couple of shallow seams and crimps, a flake only a finger pad deep, and a high smear to sloping, reachy jugs was all there was to get up the wall. It may have only been ten or so feet high but it was a gnarly ten feet. There was potential to climb down the southwest face a few feet to some ledges but that looked worse, somehow, than the headwall.

I first attacked it with my crampons still on, thinking they'd be great on the tiny edges of the wall. I'm short and with how reachy the moves were my crampons just didn't feel secure. I felt like I would skitter off at any moment. I only tried once or twice before taking my 'pons off and just going with boots. This was better but still not great. I just didn't have the sensitivity or grip I wanted in my boots. I tried a few frustrating times getting a move higher and down climbing, then going up and down climbing, over and over. I was honestly pretty scared of these few moves. They felt too committing for my taste. I knew I could just down climb the couloir and go home but to turn around with less than 100 feet to go because I was scared of some Class 4? Pft, hell no.

I tried a couple more times and got up the headwall but the move at the top didn't feel particularly reversible, since it required a high smear in a shallow dish at about waist level. I went towards the summit and everything was loose, which made things worse, so I turned around and down climbed left out onto the southwest face, making a short traverse around the corner on thin, questionable edges to the top of the couloir; there's no way in hell I would have wanted to down climb the headwall in boots.

I caught my breath for a minute and switched my boots to my trail runners. Those offered both sensitivity and grip. The headwall took one attempt and the loose junk on the ridge didn't feel particularly bad and before long I found myself on the summit of Ice Mountain, having ascended the Refrigerator. No fancy anatomical lesson here, kiddos, but if you really want you can imagine your potato and tortilla chips here, your pretzels, whatever. I didn't have any of those things though, but some chips and salsa (kept somewhere near the Leftovers) would have been an amazing snack up there. While I was exhilarated to have climbed a coveted route by myself I didn't stay longer than it took to snap a few pictures, since I left my pack at the top of the couloir, plus I wanted to get down and off the snow before it got mushy.

I scrambled back to the couloir, again going around onto the southwest face, switched into my boots, then began down the couloir.

I was able to go much, much faster down than up but the snow was still steep enough for me to want to face into the slope and go with middle dagger position. I was finally able to turn around and plunge step after down climbing the top two thirds, smiling like a big dumb idiot as I did so. I'm sure there are many who read that and can sympathize; that's pure joy, ladies and gentlemen. Joy is the secret ingredient in everything in the Refrigerator.

I was able to make it to the rocks on the other side of the bowl quickly, where I made one final footwear change back to my shoes. I remembered having to lose elevation to get to the spot I was in on the ascent so instead of going up over the mound of boulders I traversed skier's left on some grassy ledges, then "skied" down the first snow field in my shoes and back into the forest. A short willow bash put me back on the good trail and, while it was once again back to being mundane, I felt a little spring in my step. A couple of hours of easy peasy hiking took me back to the car, with my first sighting of another human since the night before. I had done it. I had cleaned out the Refrigerator couloir and I planned on wrestling the Grizzly couloir the next day as well, back to back Sawatch classics. (Trip report for Grizzly couloir the next day.)

Statistics

Climbers: Ben Feinstein (myself)
Total distance: 18.94 miles (this is almost certainly incorrect)
Total elevation gain: 3,868 feet
Total time: 9:51:15
Peaks: One ranked 13er

• Ice Mountain, 13,951'

Splits: