Training for my New... Whatever-I-Want

Before I started climbing I had spent over a decade of my life training for distance running, races ranging anywhere from 2 to more than 30 minutes. During that period I also studied human physiology at university. As a result, the method and science of how you train is more than just a passing interest for me.

When Steve House and Scott Johnston came out with their book, Training for the New Alpinism, I immediately got a copy and read it cover to cover. At this point if you're interested in such things you've probably already flicked through it yourself. There have been plenty of positive reviews so I'm not going to review it here (though it is the best book I've read on the subject, and I've read every single text that they reference and then some). Instead I'm going to briefly discuss how I used their expertise to create my own training, which is essentially why they wrote the volume. So, here after I will assume that you are familiar with Training for the New Alpinism or are at least familiar with endurance and strength training concepts.

Since starting climbing my training has definitely been a little ad hoc, though somewhat consistent. I had a list of workouts that I felt I should be doing and I tried to do each one once a week. The list included endurance laps at the gym, climbing outside, hill running, general strength maintenance exercises, etc. I would then try to get out in the mountains to tick off objectives whenever the conditions were good and I had time. I kept a training log during this time, mainly because it helped me stay consistent, but I rarely reviewed it. After reading Training I went through my log and tallied my weekly volume, something I haven't done in a few years. I immediately noticed that my random mountain adventures were making my volume very inconsistent. A weekend climb tagged on the end of a week of training would double or triple my volume. I would then be so run down the next week that I would be forced to miss a lot of training. As a result I started to plan ahead so that things evened out and my body didn't get over-stressed.

The next thing I did was to go through all the exercises in the book, I took a week to teach myself some new tricks and assess my over-all strength. I then assumed that my regular regimen was a more than sufficient Transition Period and started the Max Strength Base Period recommended in the book. I selected to use hill sprints and pullups once per week, and squat hops and pullups for my second workout. I also decided to forgo any Zone 3 (threshold) workouts and crag an extra day instead. This is against the advice of the authors but they were writing for an experienced climbing audience. I've only been climbing for two years but I've probably averaged at least one threshold workout a week for the last 13 years. Do the math, I can benefit way more from working my way through new movements on another 5.10 than I can from doing the 763rd 60 min threshold run of my life.

I did this base period for eight weeks, slowly building my volume. That just finished and now I am doing three weeks of Muscular Endurance Base (gym laps with weighted pack and boots, and ski touring with a weighted pack). My goal is a week of productive moderate alpine solo climbing in mid-late June. I will rest one week after my shortened Muscular Endurance Period before starting the trip. 

My last week of Max Strength finished with a squat/pullup workout Friday, a 20 mile run Saturday, and then Sunday I exceeded my weekly volume by hiking up to the Trout Creek cliffs and climbing Goldrush. This is a sustained 5.10- hand crack, capped with an overhang that I struggled to climb six months ago, but now feels quite easy. I guess that's progress for you.

This past week I climbed for 41 min in the gym without coming off the wall while wearing a 30+ pound pack and some Nepal Evo leather mountaineering boots. Saturday I was hoping to get in an easy two hour workout skiing up Mt. Bachelor with a pack weighted with extra water bottles. Instead I got to the summit (~2,500 ft of gain) in 68 minutes and it felt like the easiest thing I'd done all week. So instead of taking Sunday off, as planned, I went multi-pitch climbing. This week is my last week of hard training, but honestly I'm so excited for a week in the mountains that it's hard to not start packing the car already... at least I know that my patience is paying off.

Sisters and Broken Top from the summit of Bachelor.

Tumalo and Bend from the summit of Bachelor.

Myself, confused by how I got here so quickly. Obviously cotton t-shirts count as high performance apparel.

Broken Top: 5th attempt, getting greedy

Having not gotten out much since my sublime experience on Mt. Jefferson, I was stoked to have a free weekend with a good weather forecast. I decided that it was about time I sent Broken Top via the High Noon Couloir and began convincing myself it was a good idea. I tried hard to ignore the fact that I was tired from a combination of lots of work and lots of training over the past week. I also tried hard to imagine that the conditions were good, despite over 20 inches of snow in the past three days and reports of wind loading and avalanche hazard. My one concession to the unknown conditions was to bring a range of climbing gear that weighted my pack and did my fatigued body no favors.

Approaching Broken Top (don't worry, these are not my tracks, I know how to use skins).

I slept in Saturday morning, hoping that I would recover from the week in a single night. I lubricated a scratchy throat with copious tea, ate an insufficient brunch, and packed my gear. I drove up to the Dutchman Flats snow park around 1 PM and started the now familiar skin out to the wilderness boundary. Given the forecast and the weekend I should not have been surprised by the large number of snow mobiles. I generally don't have a problem with the sled-necks, provided they keep their distance and be respectful, but when they decide to gun it within feet of someone on skis they can take their two-stroke motor and shove it up where the sun doesn't shine. I could go on about the inverse correlation between the size of your motorized toys and the size of your manhood... but I digress.

Looking south to Mt. Thielsen.

I dumped my pack on level ground by the last tree and skied into the crater. I didn't think to clip out of my skis and check snow conditions in boots. I also didn't stop to consider how much of the rock bands were buried beneath snow when compared to November. Instead I skied only far enough to see that there was probably sufficient rime and ice on the rock sections to scratch my way up. I skied down to camp, ignoring the ugly turns on the breakable crust. I could tell it was already below freezing and I just told myself that the snow would be nice and solid when I woke up.

Ball Butte on the left and Tumalo in the distance from my camp site.

Alpenglow on Ball Butte.

Alpenglow beneatht the clouds.

Once back at my pack I set up my tent and started melting snow for dinner. The cold air and wind made it slow going and I eventually had my "minute" rice and dehydrated lentils as a tepid soup. I went to bed and soon realized that it was going to be a lot colder than the initial forecast. I shivered most of the night, hugging my cold water bladder and wriggling around trying to keep my feet warm. I finally gave up and started melting water for breakfast at 3 AM. After eating cold water and instant oatmeal mixed together, I battened down the tent against the wind and shouldered my too heavy pack.

I skied up the crater until the angle steepened too much, then stepped on the snow, broke through the crust, and sunk up to my waist. Luckily a nearby fan of rime debris provided firm footing and I carried my skis cramponless up the 45 degree neve to the base of a rock buttress beneath the Eleven O'clock Couloir. There I dug a platform and put on my pons and harness. I stashed my skis and started up the firm debris trail again, but before I could reach the rock the snow returned to breakable crust on waist deep fluff. I tried traversing but it only got worse so I down climbed to slightly lower angle snow and tried traversing right to the next rock buttress, hoping to find something solid enough to safely reach the rock and ice above. I had no luck and the wallowing was so prohibitive that I actually lost elevation traversing. Halfway across the snow field I looked up and considered how ridiculous the whole thing was. I didn't think an avalanche was likely but I'd seen one in this exact same place before and I knew from floundering in the stuff that if it did slide it would be so big no one would find my body until August. More importantly, it was impossibly frustrating and my boots were half filled with snow, making it no fun. Deciding it wasn't worth it, I fought my way back to my skis and descended to more level snow.

The moon was obviously out of alignment, as I didn't have any luck, but it sure looked pretty over Bachelor in the predawn.

Sunrise happens fast... but not fast enough when you can't feel your toes.

I skinned over to the west side of the crater and then back to the east side, looking for something accessible, trying to find some justification for coming out there. Tired, cold and hungry, I ate a granola bar and waited for first light before skiing back to my tent. I packed and skied vigorously for a couple miles until my feet warmed up. I thought the worst was over once the sun rose and I was warm enough to skin in my t-shirt, but within a mile of the car a cloud rolled in and a mini-inversion on Dutchman Flats left me shivering and coughing. I reached the car around 9:45 to find my extra water and food frozen solid. I drove into town and gorged on deli food from Devore's before going home to spend the afternoon as a sleep-deprived zombie. Overall, I was annoyed that I wasted a weekend doing something so worthless, but you have to try to succeed and in the end it's all training anyway.

Sunrise behind Ball Butte.

Ditto... I expected a chorus of angels but the heavens were silent.

Stuck in the Snow

We finally started getting the winter everyone wanted here in Bend. It started by dumping beautiful dry powder in the mountains and I responded by heading up between work shifts and running several laps on the Tumalo bowl. I did seven laps, plus skiing to and from the car in roughly 4.5 hours. Which I think is pretty good. I remember hearing that 45 minutes is a good time for a lap on the Tumalo bowl, I was averaging around 27 minutes a lap and surprisingly didn't feel too tired afterwards.

Tumalo Bowl pow slayin'

Then the snow storms pushed down into Bend and things got a little crazy in town. The roads have been pretty terrible and I could force my way to the mountain but honestly I feel pretty unmotivated to bounce along in 4WD behind a bunch of other cars as we crawl up to the mountains. Instead I took advantage of the rare two plus feet in town and skinned from my apartment to Pilot Butte (a state park in town that involves a road and trail to the top of a 500 ft butte with nice views). I met another skier, Nick, en route and by the time we got to the summit it was obvious we weren't the only ones with this idea. It seemed like everyone with a back country setup had the same thought. I counted at least seven different groups skiing or boarding off the summit, several with GoPros... go figure. The ride was short and a little rocky but enjoyable, honestly it needs a proper base and a steeper slope with this much powder.

Pilot Butte summit

Skinning home after Pilot Butte

The next day I went to the Bend Rock Gym, which just opened a big expansion. I had tweaked my wrist earlier in the week trying to climb a surprisingly good thin hands and ratchets crack they have installed in the gym. It seemed like easy climbing didn't bug it though so I just started running auto-belay laps. I ended up climbing 1,540 ft, climbing up and back down 26 routes, in under two hours. I did most of it in two 45 minute blocks where I never got off the wall and simply traversed between auto-belays, tagging the ground and the top of the wall on each lap. I then started thinking how Honnold and Florine climbed 3,000 ft on the Nose in 2.5 hours with much of it run out simul/solo 5.10. That makes me really appreciate big wall speed climbing!

http://bendrockgym.com/

Anyway, in short I'm stuck at home between weather and other obligations for a couple weeks at least. I'm psyched for the opportunity to climb High Noon on Broken Top now that there will be less rock exposed. I also can't wait to get back on Hood and climb Reid Glacier Headwall and the North Face. But in the meantime, I'll be running, lifting, climbing and ski touring because I'm obviously still weak and pathetic.

The Colchuck F#&% Up

On Thursday night I got a last minute invitation to try climb Triple Couloirs on Dragontail Peak that weekend. I really wanted to do this route and check out the Enchantment/Mt. Stuart region, having never been there before. I packed my stuff up that night, got up early and drove to Leavenworth the next morning. My partner arrived shortly after I did from Seattle. He had been up until 4am the night before at a concert and wasn't packed yet. Several hours later he was ready and we left the trailhead at 5:15pm. Our plan was to ski the 8.5 mile approach in and camp at Colchuck Lake. The terrain was rough and my partner, due to lack of sleep, lack of experience with his skis, and presence of a very unwieldy pack on his back, made slow progress. Seven hours later we were still not at the lake and stopped to set up camp. It was after midnight.

Looking up Mountaineer Creek from our campsite beneath Colchuck Lake.

 Needless to say, we did not get the alpine start that would have been necessary for climbing such a long alpine north face route on a sunny March day. We slept in to 11am. I was determined to go up and do something, anything, to salvage some of the time and gas money I had spent to get out there. My partner said he still needed to adjust his crampons for his boots so I went up to Colchuck Lake to wait for him.

Dragontail on the left and Colchuck on the right from Colchuck Lake.

Colchuck Lake is right beneath the north faces of Dragontail Peak and Colchuck Peak. These mountains rise more than 3,000ft above the lake in steep granite buttresses and spires. It is spectacular.

Closeup of the north face of Dragontail with the Triple Couloirs route marked.

Once the misbegotten partner showed up we crossed the frozen lake and began skiing up the slopes under the granite faces in time to see a party of four descending from the Triple Couloirs route. They said the route was not in shape, merely sugar snow on bare rock, making it impossible to climb. This made us feel somewhat better about fact that we had completely blown any chance we had at attempting it.

Under the north face of Dragontail, watching climbers retreat from the first couloir of the route (in the oval).

Close up of the four climbers down-climbing from the first couloir.

From the base of Dragontail we skinned up the Colchuck Glacier. My partner, tired and hungry, opted to stop halfway up. I continued to the col between Colchuck and Dragontail where I was greeted with an amazing view of Rainier to the south. I stashed my skis at the col and ran up to the summit of Colchuck Peak where I had an awesome view of Adams, Rainier, Stuart, and Glacier Peak, as well as almost every other craggy and glaciated summit in the Washington Cascades.

Looking south at Rainier from the Colchuck-Dragontail col.

Dragontail from the summit of Colchuck Peak.

The big north face of Mt. Stuart from Colchuck.

Glacier Peak from Colchuck.

I descended back to my skis and then skied the 2,500 vertical feet of sustained steep slopes back down the glacier to Colchuck Lake. Almost all of this run had 4-6 inches of dry powder on it. It was by far the best back country ski run I've ever had and almost made up for the past 24 hours.

Looking down the Colchuck Glacier to Colchuck Lake... getting ready to shred some gnars!

Looking back up at the col and the awesome ski descent I just had.

Once back at camp we settled in for an early night. I had not anticipated staying two nights but the ski out was not something we wished to repeat in the dark. I had little food but my partner offered to share his. We got up early the next morning. The 7.5-8 mile ski out to the car took a little less time on the way down, only six hours.

Skiing over bridges when the snow is higher than the hand railings is scary... this totally counts as 4th class right?

The partner crosses bridge #2... slowly.

Waiting is not my strong point. I'm a skinny guy and if I can't avoid a heavy pack altogether I like to go fast so I can get it off before it permanently alters my puny skeletal structure. I took off once we reached the last downhill section of road to the car. Here I unpacked, stretched and re-hydrated for half an hour before my partner arrived. I'm not sure what the trouble was on that last section but having watched him struggle for the past 3 days, I'd wager he fell over at least five times in that half hour.

The mountains from the Bavarian wonderland that is Leavenworth, WA.

We drove out to Leavenworth. From there I drove home to Bend, stopping in Yakima to pig out on tacos and ungodly amounts of pastry from a Mexican bakery. In the future I will be asking a lot more questions and spend more time on minor objectives before committing to a long alpine route with someone.

Broken Top: attempt 2/Crook Glacier

Sunday I got a late start and drove up towards Mt. Bachelor to give Broken Top another try. For my first try see my Ball Butte entry. I left my car in the Mt. Bachelor parking lot around 10:30 and made good time. I linked the XC ski trails to Flagline and followed the snow mobile access road from there. I hitched a ride with a friendly snow mobiler named Jerry, who dropped me at the base of Ball Butte and saved me well over a mile of flat skinning. From here I dropped down into the valley beneath Broken Top and headed up to the Crook Glacier cirque.

Approaching the Crook Glacier cirque on a really warm Sunday.

The forecast had called for a high of 28F but obviously the weather men at NOAA were wrong. Temps were very high, especially in the direct sun on the south side of the mountain. I made slow progress climbing up to the glacier in the heat, and lost a lot of water to sweat.

Obviously I'm picking the wrong days to play in the snow this winter.

I stopped under the last tree to take a drink and study the south face. As I watched, an avalanche rolled over a 300ft cliff and set off a very large slab avalanche on the slopes below. I didn't comprehend what I was seeing at first because there was no noise. A couple seconds later I heard the roar as the sound waves reverberated down the valley. Obviously 60+F temps on south facing slopes, with 18 inches of fresh snow on top of an old ice layer, make for unstable conditions. Needless to say I had no intention of climbing or skiing the south face of Broken Top after this.

First avalanche rolled off the cliff at the top and set off the slab below.

Not wanting to waste the 10+ miles of skinning I proceeded onto the glacier to scope out future climbing and skiing lines. The Crook Glacier is surrounded by three peaks that form a south facing U. There are many couloirs, cliff bands, and spires. Most of the rock looks very loose but some appears to be relatively solid for Oregon Cascades. I think in the right conditions this bowl could provide amazing skiing and ice climbing.

Amazing skiing and climbing? If only this were granite/frozen solid/stable pow.

As I headed up the glacier I saw a NE facing ramp on the west peak. It was covered in snow and ended in a steep couloir that appeared to top out. It was shaded and showed no signs of avalanche activity. After considering the risks I approached carefully and skinned up to the beginning of the ramp. Here it got too steep and narrow to skin effectively. I tucked in under a rock buttress and took off my skis with the intention of climbing up higher. The shaded ramp turned out to have loose, unconsolidated snow that was very deep. After floundering around in snow up to my chest I gave up, put my skis back on and enjoyed a short but steep run back to the glacier. Although I was loath to leave so soon there was little else I could do. I headed back and got to my car just after sunset.

The ramp I approached. Again, amazing potential here but lousy conditions.

Amazing rock strata near the base of the ramp.

Looking out of the bowl from my high point before dropping in. You can see my skin track leaving the shade below.

I now feel comfortable with the long route between the road and Broken Top. Next time I will try in colder weather even if that means low visibility. Hopefully that will provide better snow and ice conditions and I can actually do something interesting.

My tracks entering and leaving the bowl.

Ball Butte... a typical day in the Oregon Backcountry

My buddy Mike and I set out early Saturday to try climb/ski Broken Top. This is one of the more picturesque peaks just outside of Bend with three craggy summits surrounding a small glacial cirque.


Mike approaching Broken Top in the predawn.

Sunrise on the approach, car dashboard said 7 degrees... mmm, mmm TOASTY!

Unfortunately it is an 11 mile round trip skin on flat ground to reach the base of this mountain. Of course in typical Oregon Cascades style the weather completely socked in the moment we got close and cleared out the moment we headed home. Mike's knee was flaring up from his new running regimen too, so we opted to go up Ball Butte instead which involves a 1,000 ft less vertical and a couple miles less of ski travel.


Mike on Ball Butte? Ball Butter? Buttery Ball?

On the way back I shredded some sweet gnar... radical overstatement dude! Overall it was a fun day but gosh darn did my feet hurt after that 5.5 mile skin out!

Mike being serious, or maybe understandbly grumpy, as we watch the clouds part.

As soon as we're a mile back towards the car the weather totally clears... WTF!? Ball Butte on the right.

Check out Mike's awesome video clip from the day... Mike, YOU are my hero! Ok that may have been too corny... whatever... watch the video!!!

Ball Butte Climb from Mike Arrera on Vimeo.

Relay to Rose Traverse

I can't say I regret moving to Bend: I have glaciated mountains on my doorstep, great access to ski touring, and world class rock climbing just down the road. That said, part of me always misses Reno and the Sierra Nevada: the solid granite rock and easy access to steep, high mountains is really amazing. So being home for the holidays I was very excited for the possibilities.

Overlooking Tahoe from a ski tour two years ago in Mt. Rose Wilderness.

The snow is deep in the Sierra for this early in the season and the snow storms have just kept coming. A window of sunny weather finally showed up on the forecast and I started planning what to do. Having no partner for ice climbing or steep skiing I set my sights on an overnight ski tour traversing the Carson Range (a sub range of the Sierra NE of Tahoe) from north to south. Unfortunately the next storm pushed in sooner than expected and I settled for a single day tour instead.

Tahoe in Sunny weather as I head into the mountains.

I drove to the south end of the range, parking in Mt. Rose Meadows at 8500'. I skied north up the valley, gaining a ridge that took me to the summit of Relay Peak (10,338'). From there I traversed a long ridge to Mt. Houghton (10,490') and skied down a short but steep couloir to the saddle beneath Mt. Rose (10,776' highest in the Carson Range). I skied up the ridge towards Rose, eventually stashing my skies due to exposed rock and rime ice, and continuing on foot to the summit. High winds on the ridge gave way to relative calm, allowing me to take some photos before my regluar NiMH batteries succumbed to the cold. I descended to my skis, skied to the saddle, ascended a skin track over the south ridge of Houghton and traversed west and down a creek bed to the meadow and my car. Total time was a little over 6 hours.

Heading up toward Relay Peak, the summit in the upper right.

No Bikes doesn't quite pertain to this season. My tracks coming along the ridge from Relay Peak.

Mt. Rose in the distance while skinning up to Relay.

The summit of Mt. Houghton looking west. Relay Peak on the left.

The couloir descending Houghton to the saddle beneath Mt. Rose is left of the towers.

Self photo on Mt. Rose summit with Lake Tahoe in the background.

Snowing and cloudy as I ski back to the car. So much for a full day of sun.

The First Chapter/A New Chapter

This is the first year that I have focused on mountaineering and its various children of related activities. I ran for 10 years at a some-what competitive level and, although I still run and race, I am really moving on to a new chapter. This chapter has to do with spending time in the mountains and generally making myself look really good when no one is around to see me (yes, that was a joke).

I'm bib 185 in this race. Photo by Keith Lemay.

As a kid I spent lots of time outside. As young as two I was going for hikes in the English country-side with my Dad. At the age of six I moved to Reno, Nevada at the base of the Sierras. By the time I was eight I was doing 10 mile hikes in summer and skiing in winter. At the age of 10 I climbed my first 13,000 ft peak and was comfortable on black diamond ski runs. In high school I got sucked into distance running. I got comfortable covering long distances quickly and being by myself in the hills. I managed to get out to the mountains a few times. A backcountry ski descent of Mt. Lassen in Northern California, hiking up California's Mt. Whitney, and backpacking in Nevada's Ruby Mountains all kept me interested in alpine sports. Ultimately running won out and these activities got put on hold.

In the Brooks Range, AK

It wasn't until after graduating from Western Washington University that I realized I wanted to spend more time in the mountains again. A summer in Alaska blew my mind open and made me realize what I was missing. An attempt on Mt. Baker with the outdoor program made me interested in climbing ice clad mountains. Right after graduating I went to Patagonia for 3 months. My intention was to skip North America's winter and run in the summer weather. I just ended up hiking and scrambling a lot in some of the most beautiful and iconic parts of Argentina and Chile. After a couple years living back in Reno I moved to Bend, Oregon with my girlfriend and decided to mountaineer and ski tour regularly.

Cerro Fitz Roy during my travels in Patagonia.

Goals started off fairly modestly... I wanted to climb every summit over 10,000 feet in the Cascades. I wasn't concerned with the route. I just wanted to spend time in the alpine, get comfortable on snow and glaciers, and enjoy a good view. Well, maybe I wanted to see how my running fitness translated to climbing and let out some competitive energy too. Ultimately I thought it would be fun to climb Mt. Sanford and Mt. Blackburn in the Wrangells of Alaska.

Sawtooth Ridge, Sierra Nevada, my favorite part of the range.

As I started doing more, and looking for people to go with, I got drawn into rock climbing. I started looking at more interesting technical routes on the mountains I wanted to climb. Now my peak bagging and hiking todo list has sections for technical rock and ice climbs. The mountains I am considering are much harder and the routes longer. It's going to be an exciting chapter regardless of what happens. I just know I want to go for it and see what happens. In the words of famous climber Alex Lowe, "the best climber in the world is the one that has the most fun." I want to be the best that I can be.

Leading Sky Ridge at Smith Rock, some random guy from Seattle snapped this and emailed it to Ian.