Squamish Feature in Alpinist 43 - A tour de force

[squamish climber]

Have you seen the latest issue of Alpinist? It’s an sweeping collection of stories, history and photos taking up over half the magazine.

Tami Knight takes the drivers seat writing the main feature with her characteristic wit and satire. Others take turns shotgun including a nice look back at Squamish by Peter Croft, a proud and solemn profile of Jim Baldwin by his friend Hamish Mutch and an amazing story behind Genius Loci by Hamish Fraser. Ander’s Ourum and Sonnie Trotter also contribute a personal perspective about the history and unique ambience of Squamish.

On the photo front too, the Chief’s range of emotions and light are beautifully captured. The cover photo by Rich Wheater of Andrew Boyd and Sig Isaac on the Opal is a stunning shot showing the scale of the wall and unusual light and dark rock. Local photographers Chris Christie, Paul Bride and Andrew Burr also use their talent to capture the steepness, difficulty and perfection of the Chief.

The editors at Alpinist kindly sent me some images and article intro to tease everybody. Go pick up a copy, it's going to be a seminal piece of writing on Squamish climbing.

Check out the cover photo:

Andrew Boyd and Sig Isaac on The Opal (5.13a), Squamish, British Columbia. Boyd freed the crux pitch in 1998. Marc Bourdon and Jeremy Blumel made the first continuous free ascent in 2004. All four men have contributed significantly to recent Squamish climbing history. Rich Wheater

Opening Shot

Matt Maddaloni and Nathan Kukathas on the 2011 first ascent of Pan’s Labyrinth (A4+), in Squamish. Maddaloni says, “It felt like an expedition to another country.” Although Squamish is only an hour from the city of Vancouver, much of the area has a unique, wild ambience. The indomitable Fred Beckey explains, “The Chief, Smoke Bluffs, the nearby alpine peaks, the forest, waterfalls, and lovely Howe Sound are an environmental glitter.” Chris Christie

Great panorama of the routes on the Chief

This photo illustration is a composite of images taken from an airplane at 250 meters above sea level. The result is a full view of the Stawamus Chief, flattened to accommodate just two dimensions, with a selection of routelines overlaid. Tim Tallevi

Myth & Mayhem
Squamish Crag Profile
Tami Knight

North of Vancouver, beyond Horseshoe Bay, Highway 99 clings to steep and heavily forested mountainsides as though it’s about to slough off. In fact, parts of the pavement have collapsed, tossing hapless cars, houses and people into the deep waters of the Howe Sound. Both the road and I are now more than fifty years old. For me, it’s always been the main conduit to adventure. I grew up in Vancouver. My family drove here for the first time when I was seven, merely because the highway was new. It still hadn’t been paved all the way. My nine-year-old brother and I anticipated the gravel washboards with our bones. Through dusted windows, great sweeps of stone soared impossibly high, introducing my brain to a vastness the playground had never offered: the Grand Wall of the Stawamus Chief; the broad open slabs of the Apron.

“Stop! Stop! We want to slide down that rock!” my brother and I squealed.
“Only climbers with ropes and pitons can climb there,” Mum said. She knew what she was talking about. The photos in her wood-covered album displayed the ice axe on her army surplus pack; the dark, rubbly chimney of the Black Tusk. If we were to slide down on our bums from the top, she explained, we’d fall shrieking to our deaths.
Dad didn’t stop driving. Although the rock song of this massive pluton kept calling, I was still carrying a Mickey Mouse lunch pail to school. The Chief was, well, monumental in a way I had zero language to express.
I finally returned to climb here in the summer of 1977. Infinitely older and wiser at seventeen, I wasn’t thinking of a buttslide anymore. Emboldened with slings and ’biners, Hexes and Stoppers, my partner Brian Sheffield and I felt ready for a multipitch slab route. The trail parted salmonberry bushes and led to chopped steps up an ancient fallen log. The wind blew the stench of the pulp mill back toward Vancouver. I adjusted the bright orange coil of rope around my shoulder. The sheath smelled of warm dirt and tree-filtered sun. Cedars and hemlocks sheltered us as we clambered toward the sparkling granite arcs.
We climbed the Sickle without much ado. The next Saturday, we were back for more. Compared to my $3-an-hour Sunday job at Capilano Pet Hospital, Squamish was pure freedom. No sick cats and dogs. No cleaning up poo. Only the feeling of moving over rising waves of stone, placing my hands and feet on crystals. I asked Brian to store the rope at my house just so I could look at it.
Our first years out climbing bury themselves like the growth rings of a tree closer and closer to the central axis of our being. A core section taken in the distant future shows those great rings have forever altered any further growth. Many of us who began on these walls still understand our sense of place in life relative to the time we spent in Squamish….

Links

Printed copy of Alpinist 43 is in our online store: http://shop.holpublications.com/alpinis ... ummer-2013
Digital edition of Alpinist 43 is downloadable on our app: alpinist.com/app
Just the Squamish Crag Profile is available digitally for $3.99 in the app: alpinist.com/app

[bennygroundh20]

Peter Crofts article that talks about the Golden Age in squamish is awesome, nothing like hearing some great stories from someone who experienced it first hand and helped lead the charge.