By Freddie Wilkinson
We New Hampshire climbers like to think we're used to tough conditions. Brittle ice, no protection, minus ten degrees? Nooo proooblem... that's just like home. The thing is, you get so used to not having fun when you go climbing, that after a while, you sort of accept it as being just the way climbing is. You forget that you can choose other locales to go climbing, that there might be other routes that are warmer or sunnier or a tad easier, on which you might properly enjoy yourself. In New Hampshire, suffering is almost synonymous with winter climbing, and once you make that realization, it begins to seem fun again. Follow me? Anyways, I'm not sure if this curious mental state I'm speaking of influenced our decision to go try the North Face of Kantega this fall. It's freezing cold, uncompromisingly steep, and quite scary. Was our adventure just futile suffering, or a fun holiday? Read the following trip report, and you be the judge....

Kantega
Ben Gilmore, Kevin Mahoney, and I flew from Kathmandu to Lukla on October 7th and began trekking over the Zetra La pass into the Hinku Valley. We established basecamp six days later, at 5,500 meters on the west side of the Hinku glacier approximately two hours above Digkarka. The monsoon was late in departing the Himalaya this season, and despite that fact that it was already mid-October, it still rained on us every afternoon.

Kevin Mahoney on the approach
The face lies another eight miles above basecamp, though the terrain is a nightmare glacier of loose scree and rumble. It took us several days of scouting and load ferrying to establish an advanced basecamp on a glacial lake below the icefall leading to the face. We managed to find an easy path through the icefall, and spent a night bivied at 5,800 meters on the rim of the basin below the North Face, looking down at the distant lights of the Khumbu below. We then descended to basecamp to rest.
Before the trip, a chief concern had been whether it would be too dry, so we were relieved to see it was in a good nick, with broad swaths coated in a thick skin of white. But was that snow, ice or some combination there-of? We wouldn't know until we climbed the first pitch. Another issue we worried over was the bivouac. Climbing as a party of three, we knew we'd need to find a good site to accommodate everyone. This more than anything led us to choose a line on the left-hand margin of the face, the joined with the N.E. Ridge at about two thirds height. Large dollops of snow crowned the ridge, and we reckoned we'd be able to dig out a reasonable ledge or cave some where in the neighborhood.
As we rested in basecamp, the rest of the plan fell together. We'd divide our kit into two second packs, carrying a light bivy tent, food for two bivies, and plenty of warm clothes. In a fit of delusion, we also managed to convince ourselves that we could fit three guys into two sleeping bags zipped together. More on that later.
Rested and ready to charge, we returned to our ABC on October 23rd. That evening, we were surprised to hear the crunch of footsteps outside our Trango 3. It was none other than the Japanese hard men, "Jumbo" Tatsuro and Yuke.... I had met Jumbo on the Kahiltna glacier this spring, just before he made the groundbreaking first linkup of the Isis Face and Slovak Routes on Denali. These boys knew how to get after it. There are obvious potential conflicts in sharing such a steep climb with another party, so we were relieved to discover that they were intent on another line, a true diretissima of the face that led directly to the summit. So we could share the face easily...
The next day all five of us moved through the icefall and bivied below the face. Well Ben melted snow, Kevin and I made an exploratory recon past the schrund and onto the first pitch of our route. We were relieved to discover that the white stuff was indeed climbable -- it was nearly perfect neve.
The next morning we launched just before dawn. Ben took the first block, leading us through an AI 4+ pitch to reach the broad neve streak that gradually steepened and narrowed the higher we climbed. The climbing was near perfect, though protection was hard to find: ten or fifteen mandatory minutes of chopping through neve to find water ice. And sometimes even then, the screw would punch through into air or hit rock after a few turns. We ended up simul-climbing more than we wanted to. I took over for more leads, which brought us to right below an obvious crux section where our neve streak tapered down to thin, nebulous looking terrain.

Kevin Mahoney on Katenga
The angle of the face was steadily increasing as well and neared an honest plumb 90 degrees. The rocky bits appeared to be overhanging. Beginning his block in the afternoon and finishing by headlamp, Kevin did a great job safely navigating us through this three pitch section. (keep an eye on the Mahoneyalpineadventures.com blog for the blow-by-blow account of his leads). By the end of his block, it seemed we had reached the ridgeline, but, (surprise-surprise) another two hours of Patagonian-esque snow tunneling remained before we were safely installed in our bivouac.
The next morning we mustered for a 10 AM departure for the summit. We had hoped to catch the sun's first rays, but (surprise-surprise, again) we were only ten feet shy of the true ridge-crest. Further compounding matters, our threeman/twobag system (two zero degree MH Banshee sleeping bags zipped together) was plenty warm - but lacked the critical shoulder width necessary to comfortably rest without invading your partner's personal space. We were all psyched to get moving in the morning.
Ben began the day with another snow climbing pitch. This was a route-finding crux of the route, as we had to traverse around many snow flutings and mushrooms to access a gully high on the east face which would lead directly to the summit ridge. Mr. Gilmore brilliantly located a natural tunnel underneath the most imposing feature, and then followed it up with a steep AI 5 pitch in the start of the gully. I led a few easy pitches up the couloir, then Kevin took over. Holstering his tools, he excavated another tunnel, our second of the day, which brought us through a fluting and on towards the summit ridge.
By now the day had nearly slipped away. We topped out the east face at 5 PM, dropped a rope, and Ben purposely lead off kicking steps up the snaking ridgeline towards the summit. The ridge ended up being a little longer than we expected, and by the time we were all standing on top it was fully dark.
We carefully down-climbed the ridge, and then made six rappels and two belayed down-climbs to reach our bivy around 10 PM, twelve hours after leaving. Kevin flatly refused to spend another night in the man sack, and insisted that Ben and I each take a bag, while he curled up with all his clothes on in between us. I slept soundly, but I don't understand how Mahoney did it.
The next morning was the worst weather we had seen on the trip. A ceiling of clouds capped the peaks around us at about 7,500 meters, and snow squalls blew in and out of the valleys. We anxiously continued our descent down our route, making around 13 more rappels. Luckily the weather held, and our ropes only got stuck once.
As we finished our rappels, we were relieved to see the Japanese team also making their way down the face. Jumbo and Yuke had put in a magnificent effort, spending two nights in a hammock without a functioning stove. They were turned around above 6,500 meters -- very close to the summit.
Over the course of our three day climb, we enjoyed one hour of direct sunlight. The extremely cold conditions and frequent lack of protection, rather than sustained mixed difficulty, is what made this climb so challenging.
Kantega, north and east faces. The New Hampshire Route. AI 5+ (with some mixed) R/X 1,000 meters.
BIG thanks are in order to the Mugs Stump Award and Mountain Hardwear, who directly supported this trip.
Thanks also go to our other sponsors, including Julbo, Vasque, La Sportiva, Patagonia, Black Diamond, Petzl, and ClifBar, Darn Tuff.
