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Homage: Ice Virgins
  EnlargePhoto by Julie Ellison
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As I steered into the pullout for the Little Eiger crag in Clear Creek Canyon, near Golden, Colorado, I spied the display for my external thermometer—it read 8°F. Not a comforting sight for someone who longs for weather warm enough to sport flip-flops and tank tops. My idea of a climbing day is clipping pre-hung draws and not dying. Seems reasonable, right? Taking 15-foot whippers on over-bolted sport projects is about as dangerous as I get. You can imagine my fear when my roommates, who are equally as soft as I am, decided it would be a good idea to experience the wonders of climbing on frozen water.
The only activity we had mustered during three to four days of steady snowfall last winter was to bundle up and walk the half mile or so to the Coors factory for our three free beers on the infamous short tour. Generally, we don’t mind lazy winter days of drinking, but for some reason—maybe it was the beer—we decided it was time to brave the cold and wet sport of ice climbing. Dumb.
After locking down some ice axes, crampons, and ice screws, our mission was set: serious toprope action at the incredible ice of Clear Creek Canyon’s Little Eiger. As our ragtag group of sport climbers fumbled out of the cab, I noticed how out of place we really were. For one, our clothing was a mismatch of old ski gear and work clothes (aka insulated Carhartts). As I exited my truck, I noticed another car behind us. From the looks of things, the guy was a real ice climber. Covered head to toe with expensive climbing outerwear, shiny boots, and fancy ice axes. Revealing our undeniable level of gumbiness, we asked him a few questions.
The fancy ice climber was there to solo all three steps of the waterfall we were attempting to toprope. We walked across the highway and down into a snow-covered gully, where we saw our objective. The 35-foot freeze loomed over us like a snow leopard ready to pounce. Taming the snow cat was no easy objective as we struggled to posthole our way up the hill and scramble onto an ice ledge to set the TR. That sounds easy on paper, but don’t be fooled: Locating the anchors and setting the rope was one of the most terrifying and uncomfortable experiences of my life. In fact, it was so uncomfortable (i.e., freaking cold) and terrifying (i.e., “I’m going to slide down this snow slope and break all my appendages”) that we couldn’t find the courage to rig up our ice adventure. Meanwhile, our little buddy from the parking area was soloing our grand objective. Despite our relative n00bness and apparent lack of experience, we noticed he didn’t seem to be solid enough to be soloing. In fact, it was downright scary to watch him climb. But hell, what did we know?
After returning to the base of the climb, we were obviously a little disappointed that our adventure was getting foiled. Plus, it was too cold to just be sitting around in a frozen canyon. As solo guy prepared to rap back to the base, we asked if he could thread our rope through the anchors. He obliged from his perch atop our small, frozen goal, and we proceeded to spend half an hour throwing him our rope. After snagging the cord, we relaxed, confident that our plans of bashing ice would finally come to fruition.
