Type Three Fun

And the Flake of Death in the Bugaboos

Like all great adventures, this one was born out of an evening with friends, burgers and beers. My friends Krista, Glenn and Deb were outdoor enthusiasts and I was always up for an adventure. After I heard about their f uture trip to the Bugaboos, Krista said, “You should totally come.” I replied, “I’ve never really climbed, is it technical?” Her response laid the trap for the biggest adventure of my life, she said, “If you can climb a ladder, you can climb in the Bugaboos.” She convinced me I could learn to climb and would be a natural.

I hurried home to sign up for the six-day “Intro to Alpine Rock Climbing” course through a climbing school. I was confused trying to answer their pre-trip survey asking “Which of the following knots can you tie?” My answer was “none.” The next survey asked: “Which of the following grades can you comfortably lead or second: 5.6, 5.7, 5.8 etc.?” I googled seconding and 5.8 climbs.

Reviewing my prior climbing achievements, I recalled the daring scramble up a dusty hill side at age 12 in gym class and that time I climbed to my second-f loor balcony at 3 a.m. because I locked myself out. Surely, I thought, I can climb in the Bugaboos because I can climb a ladder. In the following weeks, Krista taught me knots, glacier safety, survival and rescue skills. I paid for my trip and set a plan to not die on my first adventure in the mountains.

I bought shoes, a harness, a chalk bag and a helmet and spent countless hours tying my Canadian Tire rope into knots following YouTube instructions. I declined invitations for beers on Friday nights, preferring to practice crevasse self-rescue in the dark of night as I hung from the top of my back balcony. Each weekend, my friends patiently taught me the basics as I climbed at the Calabogie Crag.

Just 10 weeks later, I found myself climbing the steep slope to the Conrad Kain Hut at the base of the Bugaboo Glacier. Our guides were seasoned and acmg/ifmga certified. I learned later that our guide Nick was previously an instructor to the British sas special forces for alpine and wilderness safety. After the 3:15 a.m. alarm rang, I prepped my barely-used harness, shoes, unscratched helmet and the crampons Deb had loaned me into my pack. Within 40 minutes, I was stepping beside eerily dark blue crevasses that showed at least 10 metres of depth before plunging who knows how much farther. I tried to recall my YouTube instructional videos for ice-axe self-arrest and gave my friends a look that I’m sure was part fear and part exhilaration.

That was simply the gentle beginning of adventure. After a magnificent sunrise was the next section with Glenn on rope about 10 metres beneath me. Glenn estimated that this section was 5.8 and we watched as our expert guide showed us the safest route. Just as he reached a large f lake that looked like a solid hold he said, “This here f lake is a piece of garbage. Don’t pull out, only down.” To convince us of its poor quality, he let a piece of it fall down the 200- metre exposed drop that I was trying desperately to not think about.

As I reached what I now refer to as “the f lake of death,” Glenn screamed “Wait, I need to find a hand hold.” I looked down to make sure the blunted toe of my hiking boot was securely perched on the threemillimetre foot hold. As I tried to convince my quivering fingers to pull down and not out on the f lake of death, I thought, “This is where I die. This is how it ends. At least it’s a beautiful view.” After what felt like two minutes, but was probably just a few seconds, Glenn said the two letters I was holding my breath for. “OK,” he yelled. I continued the climb and advised him of the safest part of the f lake of death to use. When I reached the anchor, I realized it was indeed “bomber” and that at no time, was my life in real danger.

After two more hours of climbing and simul-climbing with big exposure, we reached the summit. The 360- view of pristine glacier pierced by granite spires was something you’d normally only see from an airplane window. We ate lunch on top of the world and began our descent. After negotiating the growing crevasse openings and slip sliding down the glacier, I realized just what an accomplishment I’d completed. They say there are three types of fun. Type one is like sex and drinking. It’s fun thinking about it. It is fun doing it and it is fun to reminisce. Type two is like that time you did something super scary, but as soon as it was over, you wanted to do it again. Type three fun is scary when you think of doing