Spindrift Memories (Hardwear Sessions)

By Mike Libecki

Spindrift Memories, Ten Years Ago: 32 days and nights in a portaledge on the 4,200 foot Walker Citadel, Baffin Island.

Russ Mitrovich

Russ Mitrovich enjoying the view on a haul day 3000 feet up 24 days on the wall.

Last year I was talking with Matt Samet, the editor at Climbing Magazine, about a bunch of my expeditions into virgin Earth in search of big-wall first ascents. We got on the subject of possible trips that might be a good sharing of adventure for their annual bad-ass Epics Issue. One of the first trips that came to mind was a journey that happened ten years ago, one that will never fall from the walls in the grand hallway of my mind. Huge framed memories from this monumental expedition are on display in the center of that hallway; I see them as I open my eyelids and start the day. I will never forget how my partners (Josh Helling and Russ Mitrovich) and I committed our entire lives in every possible way to get to the top of the north face of the Walker Citadel in Baffin Island. We spent 32 consecutive days on the side of the wall in a portaledge to complete the first ascent of the ominous north face of the 4,200-foot granite wall masterpiece (take El Cap, add another 1,200 feet of stone on top of it -- yes, a super giant).

Here are some journal excerpts from that unforgettable sufferfest. Check out the renowned Epics Issue of Climbing Magazine, the No. 270 October, 2008 Issue that goes on sale in September, for the full story and photos.

Journal Entry, May 19, 1998

The wind and snow are relentless, biting, hissing. We have stagnated here for three days. Avalanches explode in the distance. Then from high above--KABOOM! A massive shift in air pressure sucks the portaledge walls out, then in, like King Kong hyperventilating into our rainfly. Everything is shaking and swinging in the ledge. Then a freight train of snow. WHAM! The portaledge doors fly open, blasts of snow fill the ledge. We're lifted, and then dropped. With at least 700 pounds of humans and gear in the portaledge, and another 500 in the haulbags, the anchor shockloads violently. We are in a washing machine on arctic-mayhem cycle. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! We prepare to be thrown to our doom on the rock-hard sea ice, 600 feet below.

Journal Entry, May 23, 1998

Snow encases our nylon-tether portaledge fly. Tether:"A rope or chain by which an animal is fastened to a fixed object." We're nothing more than animals set free from the cages we call home, chained to this enormous wall. Eight days up here, could be 30 more. We've been trapped in the portaledge for six of those by a vicious arctic storm. I am still haunted by the avalanches that almost killed us four days ago. The reaper rode in with fury, trying his hardest to rip us from the wall. I never thought he'd let go.

Journal Entry, May 30, 1998
Rustling haulbags. I wake up. Russ sits up, too, holding a .44 six-shooter in each hand. "Did you hear that?" we both whisper. I pull a sawed-off 12-guage from my sleeping bag. Suddenly, the fly slashes open. Josh screams in pain--they've got him. I see clumps of ruby eyes--halved, glistening pomegranates--black skin, long, white-furred legs ending in a single hook slashing at my face. Giant arctic wall tarantulas. Ch-chik, baboom, ch-chik, baboom! Two down. "Die, f--kers!"

"Mike, wake up! The sun is out!" Josh tells me there are no giant tarantulas, only a nightmare, just the first break from the snow in nine days. Finally, the sun and I can see each other.