Report Type	Full
Peak(s)	Challenger Point - 14,086 feet
Date Posted	02/18/2016
Modified	02/22/2016
Date Climbed	02/16/2016
Author	druid2112

The Challenge is the Whole Point
The Challenge is the Point Challenger Point Tues 2/16 Solo winter ascent Challenge #1: Hotel Camry It's an odd thing to find oneself out of work for the first time since high school. Not since I finally gave up the paper route upon entering the 9th grade have I been without a job. Realizing that I date myself at the mere mention of such a thing, somehow the two miles each morning for what amounted to a mere pittance at the end of the week still seems oddly like a fond memory. Perhaps it was those cold mornings trudging through the snow in northern Maine for four long winters that outfitted me with a penchant for doing both winter hikes and solo climbs. Having time on my hands, this would be my third solo winter climb in 6 weeks. Always on a Tuesday, of late, owing only to idiosyncrasies of wife and school and scheduling. Of the three climbs, this was the one I was most looking forward to. The others, Princeton and Pikes two weeks apart in January, both fit the mold of trying something different to make an otherwise aesthetically inferior climb something to hang your hat on, or something to that effect. Princeton was fine, up over Tigger, the long road made bearable by snowpack. Crags was 17 miles of zero degree trudge, but did afford a rare opportunity to be alone on the top of Pike's. Challenger would be different, while at the same time familiar. It was late last March that I made the hike up the basin, camped below the lake, and took on OB Couloir the following morning. I still cling to fond memories of my decrepit three-season tent on the snow, and my one sided conversations with Mr. Beam at the campsite. Such is the life of the solo hiker. I made the trip to the winter trailhead in exactly three and a half hours, prepared the pack, prepared the bedding, and settled in for a 90 Shilling and a chapter of my book. After a wardrobe change in the middle of the night (the accommodations, it turns out, did not necessitate the long johns inside the zero bag), sleep fell over the Hotel Camry. Challenge #2: Basin Approach Hitting the trail at 05:43, I was in microspikes from the onset. The previous conditions report was spot on, and on boot pack I made the ridge in forty minutes. Those woodsy portions, with glow of headlamp from above and steady crunch underfoot, seem to go quickly, as a rule. The only complaint was the incessant ring of Vampire Weekend in my ear. I have no strong stance on the Oxford comma, but I do rather prefer to know more than a single lyric for my background music. Having seen Dr. Dog on consecutive nights the prior weekend, I was successful in replacing the soundtrack in my head. Soon thereafter I realized I scarcely knew any of their lyrics either. Removing microspikes for the valley portion, I was able to lose the lamp and gain some speed. With the onset of the switchbacks, I donned the spikes again and puzzled over the snowshoe tracks as I turned again and again, gaining elevation. Strange the latest tracks seemed to be oriented uphill. Was there someone camped up ahead? Was there a circuit route in this basin? No matter, once I reached the stream crossing I joined the clown shoe brigade, and just in time, it turns out. Headwall The climb up the headwall was trenched, again per the most recent conditions report. I followed the delightfully (and typically, it seems) circuitous, meandering path through the trees until reaching the meadow where the trench came to an abrupt halt. The mystery of would-be campers or through-hikers now forgotten, I marched on in reasonably accommodating conditions. There, the spot I camped last year. There, the sign marking the end of the trail for our hooved friends. And finally, the lake, white, frozen, and underfoot at 08:33. Challenge #3: Apron, ho! Delighted at the prospect of avoiding the up-and-around summer route, I headed directly to the far end of the lake. How rewarding to reach the shore to hiker's left of the waterfall in mere minutes. Heel lifters up, a direct line up the slope and I soon rejoined the trail. Here, even the sparse willows were welcoming, holding their snow underfoot, atypical but appreciated. At once I finally saw the day's objective, Challenger looming above, still and quiet. The sun was bright, the wind, save the occasional nudge, left me alone. First look at the objective I took a moment to look back across the lake, overexposed, a mirror with a two-footed scratch rudely drawn across its face. These are the moments when the would-be loneliness wants to take hold, seeing faint evidence of your impact on the scale of the surroundings. Had I the patience, I could stand and watch it slowly be erased by the breeze. Looking back I kept the snowshoes on for a good portion of the lower apron, finally finding a nice rock to facilitate another wardrobe change. Snowshoes and poles planted as visibly as possible (predictable, how they get swallowed up by the landscape on the return), crampons and ice axe deployed, I took a minute to survey the route. I knew the summer route wound up to the right, SnowAlien's most recent trip report recounted a trip up the rib to the left, and a lot of snow held the middle. As I stood gnawing on my modern day hardtack/pemmican (Cliff Bar, but you guessed that), I decided on... nothing, really. Gully from afar Challenge #4: Glad to be telling the story As a rule, I am pretty risk-averse. I am too old to be considered brash, or rash, or reckless in really any way. I was even inclined to use earplugs at the aforementioned Dr. Dog concerts, but couldn't bring myself to do it. But I considered it. I started up, the sun still bright, the breeze picking up a little now, and the temperature still below freezing, albeit not freeze-the-water-in-the-nalgene-in-your-coat-pocket freezing. I saw one raven. I heard my breath get a bit more labored. I kept going up. Part way up the apron/rib To this point, I was considering following SnowAlien, but couldn't help but notice the rocks on the right hand side of the snow gully looked a little less steep, if spaced further apart. I kept mostly to the left, alternating between tundra, rocks, deeper snow, and snow that was deeper yet. At one point I found myself finally deciding I'd like to go right, but as quickly as I became decidedly resolute I became frustrated with wallowing. The snow, which had been pretty uniformly firm, was now strongly encouraging me to get off its lawn, as if this patch alone had decided to contest my progress. This was the one spot all day in which I would wallow. The rest of the snow, all day, when not ensconced among the rocks of various sizes comprising various ribs, was quite agreeable. I turned and headed back to the rib. Rib getting uglier I was down there once! I managed to make it up the rib for another 20, 30 minutes? Telling time, like nearly every aspect of this section was not easy. I did happen to look at my watch once. Past eleven already! I'm usually on the summit by this hour! I kept trying the snow, finding it much more agreeable than the rock/snow mix, and as the pitch continued to steepen, this was case to an increasing degree. More expedient, less frustrating. I finally reached a point where I needed to decide on a route. The rocks, oh the dreaded rocks, half hiding, inviting and repugnant, sensible and mocking, insolent at best, continued to conspire with the snow. I saw a path to the gully and took it. Rib view just before cutting over We'll just give it a test run. The snow, still, seemed suitable for scaling. I don't profess to know a lot about a lot of things, but I was convinced this snow was not going to slide. This was not a talk-yourself-into-it sort of opinion. I was convinced the snow was standing still. The pitch, however, looked daunting. Most critical was making sure I was standing still, or at least still standing and not toppling. I took a few steps out into the gully (can we call this a couloir already?) and immediately decided that I was through with battling the rib. Funny, as I had reminded myself repeatedly on the way up that February is not couloir season. Just say no to Kirk! And yet, here I was. Not Kirk, though, nor any other crew member. Just the gully. That's more like it I made good progress, as the gully became increasingly steeper. I felt, however, entirely more secure than I had on the rock/snow gauntlet. This was certainly pushing my limits as to what I am comfortable undertaking. There are those of you who may scoff at that, but the beauty of this sport is our individual levels of comfort, zeal, ambition, and preparedness. I was being deliberate. I was focused. I felt good about the snow. I felt the ice axe in my hand, gripped tightly and at the ready. I felt good. Truth is, I was undertaking exactly the kind of climbing I love. I suppose it was just a matter of expectations. I really had not expected to be doing this, but I was equipped, rational, and progressing. Sure looks steep Don't fall I finally topped out on the ridge, and without delay headed across to the summit. Mind the gap (and the cornice!). Steady as she goes, and at 12:28 reached the summit. Proof Pretty up here One more for the Duck Challenge #5: The summit is the halfway point The entire time I was climbing the gully, there was one thought I could not shake. You have to get back down this, you know. You realize this, right? Sure you do. In the midst of the climb, kick-stepping kick-stepping, peering around and trying to put together a plan, I had been weighing my options. After a PB&J on the summit, I made my way back to the top of the gully for another wardrobe change. Snow pants on, crampons back on, and batten down the hatches. I stepped carefully down the top portion, finding it easier than I expected. I reached what might pass as the top of the gully, the topmost portion of the snowpack, uninterrupted all the way to the apron. Without wasting time deliberating, rationalizing, or further complicating, I took a seat. This portion of the climb, from the top of the waterfall to the ridge, had taken how long? Somewhere in the neighborhood of two and a half hours. I put the ice axe across my chest, left hand gripping the top tightly, right hand gripping the handle tightly, point in the snow next to my right hip. I lifted my feet and started glissading, carefully keeping the crampon points out of the snow, while braking with the point of the axe. Wedgie aside, things went according to plan for the most part. Twice, in an effort more preventative than in response to impending doom, I rolled over to my left and drove the pick into the snow and arrested. Truth is, my right arm was getting tired breaking, and I needed a little pause in the ride. Lower down, I tried a couple more times, with mixed results, the pitch now more gentle and the patches of sloppy snow on top more frequent. I found my cache of gear, and carried the shoes and poles in my hand back to the top of the waterfall. I had made it down in forty-five minutes. Eyeing the ice on the way down Challenge #6: Trudge, trudge, trudge I am a skier. I'm just not that kind of a skier. In fact, I don't even own proper skis, let alone the AT skis favored by some of you for situations just like this. I remember Antero in winter a couple years back, the road never seeming to end, snow packed by snowmobiles, perfect for skiing. Princeton, last month, the road again better suited for a pair of skis than the snowshoes and boots I employed. This route was not as well suited as those, perhaps, but the endless trudge is always the dreariest portion of the hike. There is typically the promise of a far-off sudsy treat to encourage one's progress, but the trudge is invariably just that. Feeling pretty glad to have the hardest part over with, I set out with predictable resignation. Lake, basin, headwall, stream, wardrobe change, and finally in wet feet but only one blister, back down through the woods and to the car. Henry the Camry, stalwart, welcomed me again. Parting shot Trailhead 5:43 Lake 8:33 Summit 12:28 Leave summit 12:42 Lake 14:30 Car 16:36 Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow):

The Challenge is the Whole Point

The Challenge is the Point

Challenger Point
Tues 2/16
Solo winter ascent

Challenge #1: Hotel Camry

It's an odd thing to find oneself out of work for the first time since high school. Not since I finally gave up the paper route upon entering the 9th grade have I been without a job. Realizing that I date myself at the mere mention of such a thing, somehow the two miles each morning for what amounted to a mere pittance at the end of the week still seems oddly like a fond memory. Perhaps it was those cold mornings trudging through the snow in northern Maine for four long winters that outfitted me with a penchant for doing both winter hikes and solo climbs.

Having time on my hands, this would be my third solo winter climb in 6 weeks. Always on a Tuesday, of late, owing only to idiosyncrasies of wife and school and scheduling. Of the three climbs, this was the one I was most looking forward to. The others, Princeton and Pikes two weeks apart in January, both fit the mold of trying something different to make an otherwise aesthetically inferior climb something to hang your hat on, or something to that effect. Princeton was fine, up over Tigger, the long road made bearable by snowpack. Crags was 17 miles of zero degree trudge, but did afford a rare opportunity to be alone on the top of Pike's.

Challenger would be different, while at the same time familiar. It was late last March that I made the hike up the basin, camped below the lake, and took on OB Couloir the following morning. I still cling to fond memories of my decrepit three-season tent on the snow, and my one sided conversations with Mr. Beam at the campsite. Such is the life of the solo hiker.

I made the trip to the winter trailhead in exactly three and a half hours, prepared the pack, prepared the bedding, and settled in for a 90 Shilling and a chapter of my book. After a wardrobe change in the middle of the night (the accommodations, it turns out, did not necessitate the long johns inside the zero bag), sleep fell over the Hotel Camry.

Challenge #2: Basin Approach

Hitting the trail at 05:43, I was in microspikes from the onset. The previous conditions report was spot on, and on boot pack I made the ridge in forty minutes. Those woodsy portions, with glow of headlamp from above and steady crunch underfoot, seem to go quickly, as a rule. The only complaint was the incessant ring of Vampire Weekend in my ear. I have no strong stance on the Oxford comma, but I do rather prefer to know more than a single lyric for my background music. Having seen Dr. Dog on consecutive nights the prior weekend, I was successful in replacing the soundtrack in my head. Soon thereafter I realized I scarcely knew any of their lyrics either.

Removing microspikes for the valley portion, I was able to lose the lamp and gain some speed. With the onset of the switchbacks, I donned the spikes again and puzzled over the snowshoe tracks as I turned again and again, gaining elevation. Strange the latest tracks seemed to be oriented uphill. Was there someone camped up ahead? Was there a circuit route in this basin? No matter, once I reached the stream crossing I joined the clown shoe brigade, and just in time, it turns out.

The climb up the headwall was trenched, again per the most recent conditions report. I followed the delightfully (and typically, it seems) circuitous, meandering path through the trees until reaching the meadow where the trench came to an abrupt halt. The mystery of would-be campers or through-hikers now forgotten, I marched on in reasonably accommodating conditions. There, the spot I camped last year. There, the sign marking the end of the trail for our hooved friends. And finally, the lake, white, frozen, and underfoot at 08:33.

Challenge #3: Apron, ho!

Delighted at the prospect of avoiding the up-and-around summer route, I headed directly to the far end of the lake. How rewarding to reach the shore to hiker's left of the waterfall in mere minutes. Heel lifters up, a direct line up the slope and I soon rejoined the trail. Here, even the sparse willows were welcoming, holding their snow underfoot, atypical but appreciated. At once I finally saw the day's objective, Challenger looming above, still and quiet. The sun was bright, the wind, save the occasional nudge, left me alone.

I took a moment to look back across the lake, overexposed, a mirror with a two-footed scratch rudely drawn across its face. These are the moments when the would-be loneliness wants to take hold, seeing faint evidence of your impact on the scale of the surroundings. Had I the patience, I could stand and watch it slowly be erased by the breeze.

I kept the snowshoes on for a good portion of the lower apron, finally finding a nice rock to facilitate another wardrobe change. Snowshoes and poles planted as visibly as possible (predictable, how they get swallowed up by the landscape on the return), crampons and ice axe deployed, I took a minute to survey the route. I knew the summer route wound up to the right, SnowAlien's most recent trip report recounted a trip up the rib to the left, and a lot of snow held the middle. As I stood gnawing on my modern day hardtack/pemmican (Cliff Bar, but you guessed that), I decided on... nothing, really.

Challenge #4: Glad to be telling the story

As a rule, I am pretty risk-averse. I am too old to be considered brash, or rash, or reckless in really any way. I was even inclined to use earplugs at the aforementioned Dr. Dog concerts, but couldn't bring myself to do it. But I considered it. I started up, the sun still bright, the breeze picking up a little now, and the temperature still below freezing, albeit not freeze-the-water-in-the-nalgene-in-your-coat-pocket freezing. I saw one raven. I heard my breath get a bit more labored. I kept going up.

To this point, I was considering following SnowAlien, but couldn't help but notice the rocks on the right hand side of the snow gully looked a little less steep, if spaced further apart. I kept mostly to the left, alternating between tundra, rocks, deeper snow, and snow that was deeper yet. At one point I found myself finally deciding I'd like to go right, but as quickly as I became decidedly resolute I became frustrated with wallowing. The snow, which had been pretty uniformly firm, was now strongly encouraging me to get off its lawn, as if this patch alone had decided to contest my progress. This was the one spot all day in which I would wallow. The rest of the snow, all day, when not ensconced among the rocks of various sizes comprising various ribs, was quite agreeable. I turned and headed back to the rib.

I managed to make it up the rib for another 20, 30 minutes? Telling time, like nearly every aspect of this section was not easy. I did happen to look at my watch once. Past eleven already! I'm usually on the summit by this hour! I kept trying the snow, finding it much more agreeable than the rock/snow mix, and as the pitch continued to steepen, this was case to an increasing degree. More expedient, less frustrating. I finally reached a point where I needed to decide on a route. The rocks, oh the dreaded rocks, half hiding, inviting and repugnant, sensible and mocking, insolent at best, continued to conspire with the snow. I saw a path to the gully and took it.

We'll just give it a test run. The snow, still, seemed suitable for scaling. I don't profess to know a lot about a lot of things, but I was convinced this snow was not going to slide. This was not a talk-yourself-into-it sort of opinion. I was convinced the snow was standing still. The pitch, however, looked daunting. Most critical was making sure I was standing still, or at least still standing and not toppling. I took a few steps out into the gully (can we call this a couloir already?) and immediately decided that I was through with battling the rib. Funny, as I had reminded myself repeatedly on the way up that February is not couloir season. Just say no to Kirk! And yet, here I was. Not Kirk, though, nor any other crew member. Just the gully.

I made good progress, as the gully became increasingly steeper. I felt, however, entirely more secure than I had on the rock/snow gauntlet. This was certainly pushing my limits as to what I am comfortable undertaking. There are those of you who may scoff at that, but the beauty of this sport is our individual levels of comfort, zeal, ambition, and preparedness. I was being deliberate. I was focused. I felt good about the snow. I felt the ice axe in my hand, gripped tightly and at the ready. I felt good. Truth is, I was undertaking exactly the kind of climbing I love. I suppose it was just a matter of expectations. I really had not expected to be doing this, but I was equipped, rational, and progressing.

I finally topped out on the ridge, and without delay headed across to the summit. Mind the gap (and the cornice!). Steady as she goes, and at 12:28 reached the summit.

Challenge #5: The summit is the halfway point

The entire time I was climbing the gully, there was one thought I could not shake. You have to get back down this, you know. You realize this, right? Sure you do. In the midst of the climb, kick-stepping kick-stepping, peering around and trying to put together a plan, I had been weighing my options. After a PB&J on the summit, I made my way back to the top of the gully for another wardrobe change. Snow pants on, crampons back on, and batten down the hatches. I stepped carefully down the top portion, finding it easier than I expected. I reached what might pass as the top of the gully, the topmost portion of the snowpack, uninterrupted all the way to the apron.

Without wasting time deliberating, rationalizing, or further complicating, I took a seat. This portion of the climb, from the top of the waterfall to the ridge, had taken how long? Somewhere in the neighborhood of two and a half hours. I put the ice axe across my chest, left hand gripping the top tightly, right hand gripping the handle tightly, point in the snow next to my right hip. I lifted my feet and started glissading, carefully keeping the crampon points out of the snow, while braking with the point of the axe. Wedgie aside, things went according to plan for the most part. Twice, in an effort more preventative than in response to impending doom, I rolled over to my left and drove the pick into the snow and arrested. Truth is, my right arm was getting tired breaking, and I needed a little pause in the ride. Lower down, I tried a couple more times, with mixed results, the pitch now more gentle and the patches of sloppy snow on top more frequent. I found my cache of gear, and carried the shoes and poles in my hand back to the top of the waterfall. I had made it down in forty-five minutes.

Challenge #6: Trudge, trudge, trudge

I am a skier. I'm just not that kind of a skier. In fact, I don't even own proper skis, let alone the AT skis favored by some of you for situations just like this. I remember Antero in winter a couple years back, the road never seeming to end, snow packed by snowmobiles, perfect for skiing. Princeton, last month, the road again better suited for a pair of skis than the snowshoes and boots I employed. This route was not as well suited as those, perhaps, but the endless trudge is always the dreariest portion of the hike. There is typically the promise of a far-off sudsy treat to encourage one's progress, but the trudge is invariably just that. Feeling pretty glad to have the hardest part over with, I set out with predictable resignation. Lake, basin, headwall, stream, wardrobe change, and finally in wet feet but only one blister, back down through the woods and to the car. Henry the Camry, stalwart, welcomed me again.

Trailhead 5:43
Lake 8:33
Summit 12:28
Leave summit 12:42
Lake 14:30
Car 16:36

Thumbnails for uploaded photos (click to open slideshow):

Comments or Questions

youngk2844	Congrats on the Summit 2/18/2016 9:00pm Nice description of the upper route. Glad to hear you made the summit. Sorry for the wandering trail in the upper basin. I was exploring.
BillMiddlebrook	Nice report 2/19/2016 7:51am and love the pics. Way to go!
SnowAlien	Congrats 2/19/2016 10:11am Glad to hear it worked out, lake crossing and all :)! Looks like a fun day.
moneymike	The title sucked me in... 2/19/2016 10:13am the writing kept me reading. Well done.
Axeman	lots of adjectives... 3/8/2016 6:41pm ...but I enjoyed the writing nevertheless! :D Great trip, inspiring...even though I wear earplugs :wink:

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