Third Time Lucky on Mount Robson
ON THE ROCKIES’ BIGGEST MOUNTAIN
I craned my neck back as far as I could, trying to take in the magnitude of what stood before me. I was dripping sweat, my shoulders ached from my pack and my feet burned, but my spirit soared at the gargantuan Emperor Face rising above the trees. It was the most impressive thing I had ever seen: a black wall erupting from the valley, 2,500 metres high, striped with grey ice and white snow, its pyramidal peak piercing the clouds above. It was July 5, 2018, my first attempt at Mount Robson via the Kain Route on the northeast face.
At 3,954 metres, Robson is the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies, and with 3,000 metres of relief above the Fraser River to the south, it’s by far the biggest peak in the entire Rocky Mountain chain. Yet it was born at the bottom of the ocean, hundreds of millions of years ago, when shallow seas covered much of western Canada. Thick sequences of sedimentary rock, mostly
limestone, were deposited by these seas, rocks that would one day form Robson and the rest of the Canadian Rockies. Eventually, these rocks were warped, folded, and thrust upward to Himalayan heights by the violent collision of tectonic plates. Robson was, for a long time, one of the lowest points in the range: it’s at the bottom of a syncline, a U-shaped fold in a sequence of rocks, a geologic void. Slowly, the mountains around it were worn away by glaciers and the pull of gravity, leaving Robson the highest peak for hundreds of miles in every direction, one of the greatest mountains on the continent.
I first became fascinated with Robson in 2017, after seeing a photo of its spectacular northern flank, with the glacier-draped North Face on the left and the immense Emperor Face on the right, towering above the turquoise waters of Berg Lake. Climbing it became my project. I roped Tyler Brilinski into joining me, and the planning and preparations began.
A year later, I stood at Berg Lake, looking up at the Emperor Face, dumbfounded by its grandeur. I stumbled around the lake, too awestruck to maintain a steady pace. At the far end, I caught up with Brilinski, and we continued along the Robson River to its source, the Robson Glacier. That night we bivied on smooth limestone slabs below Extinguisher Tower, a large hunk of rock that looms above the eastern margin of the glacier.
The next morning, breaking trail through shin-deep snow, we forced ourselves to move fast under the infamous Mousetrap Icefall, which was once smooth enough to provide the standard route up to the plateau beneath the Kain Face. Now, due to glacial recession, it’s a chaotic jumble of crevasses and precariously perched seracs. As we neared the far end of the icefall, we heard a thunderous crack and watched as a truck-sized block of ice leaned out from the wall above, then plunged toward us. It exploded just a hundred metres away, reminding us of the seriousness of our situation. We quickly shuffled away, heading towards the col between Robson and neighboring Resplendent Mountain.
When we arrived at the col, Robson’s summit was cloaked in cloud but everything around was clear. We lumbered along the sharp ridge toward Robson under our huge packs, through soft snow a half-metre deep veiling shattered limestone below. I moved slowly, carefully, as any mistake could send one of us tumbling 2,000 metres down to the valley below. At the base of the second of three prominent towers on the ridge, the rock reared back to near vertical, but the gully that allows passage through this step was choked with snow. I traversed out to it, hoping the snow would be somewhat solid, but when I reached the gully, I found soft fluff covering steep slabs. As I scratched away with my ice tools, searching for a crack or an edge, the exposure hit me.
My pack was pulling me back toward the void below, we hadn’t brought any rock gear, and the conditions were atrocious. I realized the risk was simply higher than I was willing to accept, and Tyler felt the same. Just as we began to turn back toward the col, the clouds parted, and I finally saw the true summit of Robson. On the left, the rime-plastered Roof Glacier spilled down toward steep cliffs below, and on the right, the black rock of the northeast face framed the smooth ice sheet of the Kain Face, our intended route. It was sublime, and I knew I’d return.
That night, bivied at the col, we were hit by a heavy thunderstorm 24 hours before any precipitation was predicted. When the rain stopped the next morning, we dashed up the broad west ridge of Resplendent Mountain as a consolation prize and
summited in a total whiteout. Back at the col, we packed up and started back to the car. Ten hours, three near-falls into cracks, and four separate thunderstorms later, we popped out of the forest at the parking lot, drenched and exhausted, but thrilled with our adventure.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had not been ready for the mountain. It was my first-ever climb in the Canadian Rockies; I hadn’t put in the time needed to learn how to deal with the loose rock, the soft snow, the foul weather, and the fickle conditions. We brought too much stuff and moved too slowly under enormous packs. And nobody climbs the Kain Face in early July. In mountains like the Rockies, patience is key.
In August 2019, I was back in the Canadian Rockies. I had spent much of the past year honing my skills on rock, ice, and in the mountains, and I felt better prepared to handle the great limestone peaks. My girlfriend and I had just wrapped up three months of incredible climbing with an ascent of All Along the Watchtower in the Bugaboos, and I felt on top of the world. She was heading home, and I was hungry for big routes in the Rockies. Although it was one of the wettest summers on record, I had managed to get up lots of stellar rock climbs and a few good alpine routes, including the Greenwood-jones on Mount Temple with Sam Foreman.
As it had been in 2018, my main objective in the Rockies was Robson. But partners, weather, and conditions wouldn’t line up. Simon Parsons and I had talked about climbing at the end of August but hadn’t made firm plans. Then on Aug. 23, he invited me to join him and Andy Lindblade (1999 Piolets d’or winner for his ascent of the north face of Thalay Sagar) on an attempt of Robson.
The forecast changed, it rained all day Tuesday, so we got a late start from Calgary and drove to the cabins just north of Robson
to spend the night. At 8:30 a.m. the next day, we left the car in a light mist and biked to Kinney Lake. Eight hours and 2,000 metres of hiking, bushwhacking and scrambling later, we were at the Robson-resplendent Col, having approached via the Patterson Spur. It’s an incredible route, weaving through hidden valleys, between glaciers, and around cliff bands, depositing you on the shoulder of a truly wild and serious mountain remarkably easily. That night we went to sleep with the summit of Robson shrouded in cloud and awakened at 4:00 a.m. to clear skies. We brewed up and set off, and as an orange glow tinged the eastern horizon, we stood atop the first tower on the ridge, the highest point of my attempt the year before. A thin lenticular cloud had crept over the summit, and Parsons and Lindblade were no longer psyched. They were worried it would be too windy above the Kain Face and were a bit beat from the big approach the day before. I desperately wanted to continue but knew that to go alone over such dangerous terrain would be unwise. So once again, I turned my back on Robson and climbed Resplendent instead. This time though, we had full visibility, and I was rewarded with spectacular views from the summit, particularly back at Robson, and my fire to climb it burned hotter than ever.
We spent the next day-and-a-half hiking out down the Robson Glacier and around the north and west flanks of the mountain, completing a circumnavigation, and once again I was awed by Robson’s every aspect.
Lindblade had to return to his home in Portland, but Parsons had a few more days free, so on the drive back to Calgary we scoped out potential routes. That evening we checked the forecast and were surprised to see that it looked better around Robson than anywhere in the Rockies. We batted around ideas, but it was clear that Parsons was most keen on resolving our unfinished business: the Kain Face. But he didn’t want to slog back up the Patterson Spur, so he suggested we take a helicopter up to the base of the Kain Face. It felt like cheating, so at first, I wasn’t interested. Then I thought of a compromise. What if we took a helicopter up to the col that we’d hiked to with Lindblade a few days earlier? The ridge between the col and the Kain Face had stopped me twice now, and I felt I had to climb it to really climb Robson. But hiking back up the Patterson Spur did sound tedious. Parsons agreed, and just like that we were getting ready to go back.
On Sept. 2, Parsons and I, joined by Grant Stewart, a Calgarybased climber, and Tim Banfield, a photographer, drove back up north towards Robson. This time, we passed the trailhead and the cabins and continued to Yellowhead Helicopters in Valemount. At 6:00 p.m. we boarded the chopper along with our pilot, Matt, and 10 minutes later we were at the col, watching the helicopter fly away. I zipped up my jacket against the cold wind that bit into my neck. It felt strange to be back so soon. We set up camp as mist smothered the summit pyramid, but just before we crawled into our tents the veil lifted, and we saw the summit backlit in brilliant pink.
The alarm rang at 3:00 a.m. I fired up our two stoves and marveled at the thick glaze of stars. Everything seemed perfect. A faint green aurora glowed on the western horizon, and the milky way sparkled directly over Robson. We ate a quick breakfast of cinnamon buns (courtesy of the heli-approach), Banfield took a few long-exposure photos of the magnificent nightscape, and then we were off.
I felt a tremendous sense of relief as we passed the second tower on the ridge and entered what was, for me, new terrain. As the sun peeked over Resplendent’s ridge, we crossed the glacier and reached the bottom of the Kain Face under cloudless skies. It was warm, almost too warm, as we roped up and crossed the bergschrund as two teams of two. A few simul-blocks of mostly step-kicking later, we crested the face and looked up at the wildly corniced ridge leading toward the summit. As we continued upward, I tried to choose the best path between the frightening cornices on the right and the 2,500-metre drop on the left. As we neared the monstrous gargoyles – wild, sometimes overhanging rime-ice formations – that guard Robson’s summit ridge, we encountered a small pocket of wind slab, but fortunately it wasn’t extensive.
Above it we traversed left under one of the gargoyles and, to
NOBODY CLIMBS THE KAIN FACE IN EARLY JULY. IN MOUNTAINS LIKE THE ROCKIES, PATIENCE IS KEY.
avoid crossing the potentially loaded slope ahead, we punched straight up through the rime where it was less than vertical, which felt like climbing a cotton ball. That left one final obstacle to gain the summit ridge – the remnants of a cornice that had fallen off, maybe three metres of 70-degree snow. Parsons went first and quickly disappeared over the crest. I went next, and as I looked down at the step I was kicking, I saw the full 3,000-metre plunge to Kinney Lake. I took a deep breath, stuck my tools into the opposite side of the ridge, grabbed the blade of snow with my hands, and stepped up. On the other side, instead of the gentle snow slope I was expecting, I saw an ice sheet dropping away at 50 degrees, leading to a shattered glacier that spilled into the milky waters of Berg Lake, 2,500 metres below. I took another deep breath, threw my right leg over the crest, and front-pointed across the knife-edge to the flatter ridge beyond. Suddenly, I was almost there. I trudged up the final slopes behind Parsons to the highest bump of snow on the vast icy plateau. I had climbed Robson.
We high-fived and quickly started down the rapidly warming snow slopes. A few belayed pitches to test slope stability, some V-thread rappels, and lots of exposed downclimbing brought us back to the col, where the helicopter whisked us away to civilization. Back at the car, I started thinking about my next trip to Robson.