A Winter Attempt of Canadian Border Peak: Adhering to Rule #1

TLDR: February 5, 2024. Ben and I set out to Canadian Border Peak for a Winter Summit bid after an rare high elevation melt-freeze cycle. We retreated 100m from the summit, choosing to return home over risking our safety for the summit.

Background

CBP route in red, raps in blue and purple

Canadian Border Peak is a gnarled, rocky peak in the Chilliwack River Valley. It is neighbour to American Border Peak, with the 49th Parallel passing between. Both are rarely climbed due to their loose rock and steep, jagged features.

Ben had done a September ascent of CBP in 2022, but I had not yet attempted it. The crux was a slabby 5.6 section, with poor protection. Hopefully, we would have a nice layer of alpine ice covering this pitch. Easier to protect and safer to climb.

The Game Has Rules

4 am. I woke to my alarm. I kissed Jas, whispering in her ear that I love her, and that rule number one is to come home safe and rule number two is to have fun.

Jas rolled over and whispered back: "rule number three, party".

We both giggled, embraced, and I crawled out of bed to make breakfast as Jas went back to sleep.

Soon after, Ben rolled up in his Hilux Surf, and we rumbled off towards Tamahi FSR. After about an hour of driving, crossing some washed out sections of road, we set off up the overgrown FSR.

Adhering to Rule #2

There are three entirely subjective types of fun in the world, which are highly accentuated in the mountains.

Type 1: fun in the moment.
Type 2: might involve suffering or fear in the moment, but fun after the fact.
Type 3: it's not fun, not now, not ever.

It was a great opportunity to test out gear, skill, strength, and endurance. Climbing steep snow is incredibly taxing, and I quickly realized that my lightweight 3/4 shank boots were not quite up to snuff for anything more technical than this. The slight flex in the sole felt a bit insecure while standing on my crampon front-points for the rocky ledge traverses. Thankfully, the chossy rock was frozen solid, making it feel a bit more secure. Despite heading into unfamiliar terrain, my confidence in my gear grew as we continued further up the mountain. I started to have fun, enjoying the physical exertion and spectacular terrain.

We negotiated our way up gullies, across ledges, and over rock and snow. I was glad that Ben knew the route from his summer ascent. It wasn't a particularly warm day, but I had to delayer from overheating. Climbing the steep slopes had turned into a full body workout of plunging ice tools and kicking crampons into the styrofoam-like snow.

For sections at a time, I settled into a rhythmic state, plunging my tools, kicking steps, up and up. Fog rolled in and out, hiding and exposing snowy gullies and rocky bluffs. We wouldn't want to fall here, that's for sure. Concentrating on my movement, I followed Ben up a gully. A few rock bands disrupted my flow, and I balanced on my front-points over the rock.

We soon arrived at a wind-drifted scoop under a striking snow spine. The arete rose up into the sky, like a stairway waiting to be climbed. Up until this point, the climbing had minimal technical sections, just significant exposure. Even if we wanted to, there was no gear to place, so it was faster to climb unroped. Speed in the mountains is equivalent to safety. More time to assess the terrain, make decisions, and make it down before dark. After a short snack break at the base of a steep snow spine, I took the lead breaking trail up the stairway of snow.

Ascending the windswept spine of snow was quite interesting. Each side of the arete had a different texture of snow. I could often kick a large step on the leeward side of the spine, plunging the shaft of my ice tool deep into the snow. Meanwhile, the windward side proved to be denser, requiring more strenuous front pointing with my crampons and daggering with my ice tool. This juxtaposition in conditions was both entertaining and tricky, disrupting my rhythm, but engaging my mind.

Adhering to Rule #1

After maybe 200 hundred vertical metres of steep climbing, we encountered some shallow sections of snow, with a layer of loose rock underneath. We circumvented these areas as best we could, arriving at the base of the crux pitch. Much to my dismay, the highway of styrofoam snow ended...

Above us lay steep, exposed rock with a dusting of snow. Just out of reach was a thin section of snow that looked like it could be possible, yet I had no idea how to get up to it. Ben looked at me, and asked, "do you want to lead this pitch?"

I took a second glance at the daunting features above...

Not only did it look difficult, but sparsely protectable up higher, the rock too brittle and the snow too thin to trust in cams and ice screws. Snow covered the cracks where cams and nuts might go, making it difficult to spot where fall protection could be placed. Also, we didn't have the right size gear to build an anchor. The cracks nearest us needed a size 1 or 2 cam to build a belay anchor, and I only brought a size 0.75 and smaller. The snow around us was too thin and insecure to build an ice anchor. My boots were too flexible to frontpoint on rock, and my skill and confidence in this terrain were still in their fledgling stage. If I tried to lead this and fell, it could mean serious injury if not worse for both of us.

Who knew how long the last 100m of ascent would take, plus the time to descend to the car. Add on top of that my current level of fatigue and we were looking a long time on the mountain ahead of us if we continued. I remembered that Jas and I had plans to go to dinner at my in-laws that night... pushing on to the summit would certainly make me late.

Perhaps you're thinking that all of these were just excuses, and I should have just manned up and taken the daring lead. We were so painfully close to the summit, afterall! 100m from the top...

I recalled what I whispered in Jas' ear that morning. "Rule number one, come home safe."

The thought of pressing on left my mind as quickly as it arrived.

TerraiN beyOnd my currenT skill,

Arms fatigued,

Calves Howling, inAdequate gear, poor protectioN, Clouds rolling in, timE pressure...

It all spelled an obvious answer:

"Not a chance," I replied, mere seconds after Ben asked.

"Great, neither do I," Ben replied.

One of the best things about Ben's and my partnership in the mountains is our similar level of skill and risk tolerance. While we certainly have our own strengths and weaknesses, what matters most is that we can quickly assess options and make decisions together.

With that, we began our descent. Calves burning and arms tired, we down-climbed the snow spine staircase. I was shocked how quickly Ben moved down the spine. Meanwhile, I took my time, carefully reversing my steps as I learned to trust my movements.

I met Ben down at the snow scoop, where he took a snack break. We flaked the ropes to rig the rappel using a single piton and some webbing that were already there. A bit leary of putting our trust in the piton alone, we backed it up with a cam in case the piton failed.

Both unsure of who would do the first rappel, Ben kindly offered, stating that "I'm not married, I'll go first."

The piton held, so I removed the cam and rapped off the piton. It was a pretty straightforward rappel, just shy of 60m.

The rope got stuck when we pulled it, so Ben climbed up a short way to free it. Meanwhile, I set up the another 60m rappel on a rock horn.

Soon, we had finished downclimbing back to our snowshoe stash, and began our trudge back through the forest to the FSR and down to the car.

Tired, relieved, and stoked. We made it so close to our goal, yet kept summit fever at bay in lieu of making the wise choice of retreat.

The summit is only a small portion of the experience, afterall. I got to share the approach catching up with my good friend, experience a winter alpine environment, and test my "metal" in a new medium of mountain travel. I can gladly say we kept Rule #2 - enjoying Type 1 and Type 2 fun, without any Type 3 fun. Most importantly, we maintained our grasp of Rule #1 - get home safe.