Unfinished Business on Skogshornsdiederet (M5, 300m)
The temperatures on Skogshorn had been well below zero since the weekend before last. The ground was no doubt fully frozen, but there had been no snow to really bring the mountain into a proper winter condition. At first it looked as though Skogshorn was going to get a good dump of snow prior to the weekend, then it looked as though there might possibly not be that much after all. A quick check on with someone in Hemsedal on Thursday confirmed 4-5cm of snow in the valley and with more expected it sounded as though Skogshorn would have a suitable winter jacket. With wind coming from the south, and widespread rain at lower elevations, together with a relatively mild freeze on Skogshorn I was also optimistic that the humid air would help form some Scottish style rime on the south face.
I haven't climbed much on Skogshorn for a multitude of reasons. Firstly I've found it really hard to find suitable partners who are psyched enough for long mixed routes and who have enough experience. Getting the right conditions is also hard due to the south facing aspect that strips easily. I'm happy to climb in harsh, less than perfect conditions, however dry conditions do not inspire me at all. I want the ground to be fully frozen, with enough snow coverage to require a full mixed climb style, rather than just a drytooling and/or rock climbing style. I've climbed a few routes in Scotland where conditions have been very lean, and consequently easier, and they have left me feeling underwhelmed and empty, as though the game hadn't been played fairly. It also hasn't helped that I've been out of action for two of the four winters whilst residing in Norway, which has naturally halved the statistical probability of other factors dropping into place.
I had travelled up to Hemsedal by public transport immediately after work in order to maximise sleep time. Erik and Nikolay had driven up later in the night. We rose at 6am, in the car park at Ulsåkstølen beneath Skogshorn, with a plan to be under the route by 8am. We were a bit slow getting away but at least we made up time on the approach. This was Nikolay's third attempt at the route in winter, meaning he was naturally well-versed with the approach.
Once beneath the face we soloed the first few metres of easy ground to a snowy ramp, from where the climbing began proper. The actual dieder was still out of sight but a short leftwards rising traverse would quickly gain access. As anticipated, the face was covered in a thin layer of rime that gave it a very Scottish complexion.
My eagerness to lead the first pitch went unopposed, although a little more composure wouldn't have gone amiss once I was underway. The opening moves were not the most reassuring due to much of the rock lacking positive holds. Fortunately there was a good hook out right and a peg over me to install confidence. I scratched around for something positive overhead in order to aid the traverse leftwards but I found only sloping rock. I spanned an arm out left, so that my body formed a T-shape and in an eye-blink my right axe popped and I was bouncing on the end of a half rope a short way above the ground. It wasn't the most auspicious way to start my winter season.
The ropes had only passed through the belay plate a few metres before I felt one of them go fully tight. Erik had also popped off the traverse in similar fashion, which quite frankly quietly made me feel a little better about my brief airborne moment. Laughably, given this was Nikolay's third attempt, all three of us had already blown the onsight in one form or another, although at least a clean ground-up ascent was still possible due to falling off right at the very start.
Nikolay's second pitch started surprisingly slack in angle verses the relative difficulties. In fact Nikolay looked almost to be lying in the snow, rather than back-and-footing his way up the vague slabby corner. A little higher the difficulties became decidedly more acute, where a short steep step over a smooth slab needed to be surmounted. We watched Nikolay's right crampon scratch around on the slab from the belay, his last piece of gear a marked distance below him now. His axes looked solid enough in contrast and with patience he found a good frozen turf placement with which to pull through.
Erik's third pitch aesthetically followed a prominent corner crack, which varied in size from a tight chimney to all sizes smaller. Entering it looked a desperate affair. Instead much of the climbing relied upon some thin footwork up the slab to the right, together with some vital, deep, often bomber hooks within the crack, where there also lay some decent gear placements.
The route-finding on my fourth pitch looked less obvious. The corner itself kicked up into a steep, verglassed slab that looked absolutely desperate for the feet. Instead it looked much easier to climb the gentler slabs and grooves to further right and then cut back in a little higher up, although the degree of difficulty looked hard to gauge due to ever increasing snow covering the rock. This slightly easier angled pitch in particular seemed to be the resting place for much of the spindrift that fell down the face, and so it was particularly buried.
We expected the left and right variants to split somewhere on this pitch and after a quick collective discussion we were no more unanimous as to which way we should head. At least I had free rein to make a judgement based on what I found. My simple criteria was aesthetics, quality of climbing and difficulty in no particular order and I was happy enough to go with what felt the right mix of these elements when the two ways actually presented themselves.
The volume of powder covering the rock made the pitch somewhat time-consuming. The lack of positive hooks or turf also meant a lot of hunting around for placements. Firstly I would need to sweep the same snow in order to find something for the axes, and then I would need to sweep same snow that now lay where foot placements were sought. Then there was more sweeping for gear placements (or lack of them) of course. A lot of the shallow corners were sealed, with no possibility for gear, meaning the pitch became notably runout. At one point I was maybe 20m above my last runner, which was out of sight. At least the slabby style of climbing meant I didn't need to overly commit to any sequence of moves, although down-climbing would have been a horrific affair, so in effect I was committed to pushing on upwards. The lack of positive hooks made me cautious about pulling too hard with my axes. Often I just used my axes to keep me in balance whilst I moved my feet higher. High foot placements were obviously to be avoided on this basis. The style was essentially the same as when I have soloed anything suspect in the past, whereby I tried to spread the load between limbs as evenly as possible to avoid over-reliance on any single point in the event of failure. Sometimes it was better to use a high knee, and then bring my weight over it in order to extend the scope for a better axe placement a little a higher. At one point I found myself on two knees in an attempt to avoid an sort of mantle, to the mild concern of my partners below, although I was always in balance.
A matter of metres from the belay the level of drama rose when a heel backstop of one crampon my managed to hook itself to the strap of the other crampon, pinning my heels together. Luckily good gear was just below me, although falling in such an arrangement would probably not have been the most pleasant or controlled. After trying and failing to separate my crampons with brute force I took a closer inspection and eventually managed to unhook one from the other.
I pretty much used up all the 70m rope lengths on the pitch but the downside was that I found myself hanging from my belay a couple of metres below the anchor points, bridged across a sort of stepped chimney. It was comfortable enough to belay but when the other two joined me I realised the problems associated with it's cramped nature, and due to the anchor points being out of reach. It was impossible for the others to join me at the same level and also very difficult for the others to independently clip into the anchors in order to rearrange the ropes for the next leader. In hindsight I should have led on in order to find a more spacious belay rather than stick with the plan of switching leads at that point. The practicalities of climbing as a three is something I am less experienced with.
The fourth pitch had jointly taken two hours and by now it was dusk with the hardest pitch still to come. Dusk in early December is of course barely 4pm. To this point the climbing had been fantastic, and with so much turf on the route it seemed well suited to mixed climbing. What's more, the suspect rock that often is often prevalent on Skogshorn in summer was now well frozen in place.
This was our high point as it turned out. Two of us were keen to push on, one of us was keen to go down due to tiredness and feeling cold. That's the democracy of winter climbing though, where it's only right that everybody is in. Had we pushed on, and assuming we reached the top, we would quite possibly not have been back at the car until midnight. In truth we didn't know how much climbing was still to come. Maybe we had one more hard pitch of climbing, maybe this was where the real difficulties began. At least the abseils were easy to equip, and only at our high point did we need to leave any gear behind. It was around 6pm by the time we were back at the base of the route. It felt late but in reality we would be down for dinnertime.
As for guidebooks, they were not much help. The winter guidebook gives only an overview description of the route whereas the summer guidebook description and topo doesn't make much sense. The right variant is described as starting on the sixth pitch but pictured as starting at fourth pitch. There's a lefthand fork to the main line at the seventh pitch but this is discontinuous with no explanation. The jammed block is pictured as being on the sixth pitch but described as being on the seventh pitch. The left and right variants are shown to split higher, in the upper quarter, in the photo topo than the hand drawn topo, under halfway. And so on...
I haven't climbed much on Skogshorn for a multitude of reasons. Firstly I've found it really hard to find suitable partners who are psyched enough for long mixed routes and who have enough experience. Getting the right conditions is also hard due to the south facing aspect that strips easily. I'm happy to climb in harsh, less than perfect conditions, however dry conditions do not inspire me at all. I want the ground to be fully frozen, with enough snow coverage to require a full mixed climb style, rather than just a drytooling and/or rock climbing style. I've climbed a few routes in Scotland where conditions have been very lean, and consequently easier, and they have left me feeling underwhelmed and empty, as though the game hadn't been played fairly. It also hasn't helped that I've been out of action for two of the four winters whilst residing in Norway, which has naturally halved the statistical probability of other factors dropping into place.
I had travelled up to Hemsedal by public transport immediately after work in order to maximise sleep time. Erik and Nikolay had driven up later in the night. We rose at 6am, in the car park at Ulsåkstølen beneath Skogshorn, with a plan to be under the route by 8am. We were a bit slow getting away but at least we made up time on the approach. This was Nikolay's third attempt at the route in winter, meaning he was naturally well-versed with the approach.
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| The approach |
Once beneath the face we soloed the first few metres of easy ground to a snowy ramp, from where the climbing began proper. The actual dieder was still out of sight but a short leftwards rising traverse would quickly gain access. As anticipated, the face was covered in a thin layer of rime that gave it a very Scottish complexion.
My eagerness to lead the first pitch went unopposed, although a little more composure wouldn't have gone amiss once I was underway. The opening moves were not the most reassuring due to much of the rock lacking positive holds. Fortunately there was a good hook out right and a peg over me to install confidence. I scratched around for something positive overhead in order to aid the traverse leftwards but I found only sloping rock. I spanned an arm out left, so that my body formed a T-shape and in an eye-blink my right axe popped and I was bouncing on the end of a half rope a short way above the ground. It wasn't the most auspicious way to start my winter season.
At least I knew the peg could be trusted on the second attempt, which I didn't waste much time in beginning. More scratching around overhead revealed nothing more, but with a bit more composure, patience and care, and with a more solid right axe, I managed to better position my feet in order to span further leftwards with my axe to a generous clump of reassuringly well frozen turf. I shuffled my feet leftwards on poor holds and no gear except for the rapidly disappearing peg. One foot skated but my axes were buried in turf by this point.
As soon as the climbing progressed to a more upward orientation things quickly felt less sketchy and I could relax a little more. I soon gained the dieder, although the climbing initially just followed snow slopes with a few moderate steps. Largely it was a question of just post-holing through the shallow coating of powder, and then sweeping it for holds where the steepness briefly kicked up. With gear somewhat sparse I took the opportunity to make use of the first proper belay stance at around 40m. With 70m ropes I could arguably have pushed on a little further in hindsight but at least shorter pitches helped keep everybody warm and spirits maybe higher.
As soon as the climbing progressed to a more upward orientation things quickly felt less sketchy and I could relax a little more. I soon gained the dieder, although the climbing initially just followed snow slopes with a few moderate steps. Largely it was a question of just post-holing through the shallow coating of powder, and then sweeping it for holds where the steepness briefly kicked up. With gear somewhat sparse I took the opportunity to make use of the first proper belay stance at around 40m. With 70m ropes I could arguably have pushed on a little further in hindsight but at least shorter pitches helped keep everybody warm and spirits maybe higher.
The ropes had only passed through the belay plate a few metres before I felt one of them go fully tight. Erik had also popped off the traverse in similar fashion, which quite frankly quietly made me feel a little better about my brief airborne moment. Laughably, given this was Nikolay's third attempt, all three of us had already blown the onsight in one form or another, although at least a clean ground-up ascent was still possible due to falling off right at the very start.
Nikolay's second pitch started surprisingly slack in angle verses the relative difficulties. In fact Nikolay looked almost to be lying in the snow, rather than back-and-footing his way up the vague slabby corner. A little higher the difficulties became decidedly more acute, where a short steep step over a smooth slab needed to be surmounted. We watched Nikolay's right crampon scratch around on the slab from the belay, his last piece of gear a marked distance below him now. His axes looked solid enough in contrast and with patience he found a good frozen turf placement with which to pull through.
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| Nikolay shuffling up the start of the second pitch |
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| Midway up the second pitch |
Erik's third pitch aesthetically followed a prominent corner crack, which varied in size from a tight chimney to all sizes smaller. Entering it looked a desperate affair. Instead much of the climbing relied upon some thin footwork up the slab to the right, together with some vital, deep, often bomber hooks within the crack, where there also lay some decent gear placements.
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| Erik on the third pitch |
The route-finding on my fourth pitch looked less obvious. The corner itself kicked up into a steep, verglassed slab that looked absolutely desperate for the feet. Instead it looked much easier to climb the gentler slabs and grooves to further right and then cut back in a little higher up, although the degree of difficulty looked hard to gauge due to ever increasing snow covering the rock. This slightly easier angled pitch in particular seemed to be the resting place for much of the spindrift that fell down the face, and so it was particularly buried.
We expected the left and right variants to split somewhere on this pitch and after a quick collective discussion we were no more unanimous as to which way we should head. At least I had free rein to make a judgement based on what I found. My simple criteria was aesthetics, quality of climbing and difficulty in no particular order and I was happy enough to go with what felt the right mix of these elements when the two ways actually presented themselves.
The volume of powder covering the rock made the pitch somewhat time-consuming. The lack of positive hooks or turf also meant a lot of hunting around for placements. Firstly I would need to sweep the same snow in order to find something for the axes, and then I would need to sweep same snow that now lay where foot placements were sought. Then there was more sweeping for gear placements (or lack of them) of course. A lot of the shallow corners were sealed, with no possibility for gear, meaning the pitch became notably runout. At one point I was maybe 20m above my last runner, which was out of sight. At least the slabby style of climbing meant I didn't need to overly commit to any sequence of moves, although down-climbing would have been a horrific affair, so in effect I was committed to pushing on upwards. The lack of positive hooks made me cautious about pulling too hard with my axes. Often I just used my axes to keep me in balance whilst I moved my feet higher. High foot placements were obviously to be avoided on this basis. The style was essentially the same as when I have soloed anything suspect in the past, whereby I tried to spread the load between limbs as evenly as possible to avoid over-reliance on any single point in the event of failure. Sometimes it was better to use a high knee, and then bring my weight over it in order to extend the scope for a better axe placement a little a higher. At one point I found myself on two knees in an attempt to avoid an sort of mantle, to the mild concern of my partners below, although I was always in balance.
The route angled back leftwards midway up the pitch and a little more gear eventually presented itself. Maybe this was where the route split, but if so then any way rightwards looked very indistinct and likely following similar slabs. Steeper, harder climbing up the left hand line sounded a far more attractive prospect in such conditions.
A matter of metres from the belay the level of drama rose when a heel backstop of one crampon my managed to hook itself to the strap of the other crampon, pinning my heels together. Luckily good gear was just below me, although falling in such an arrangement would probably not have been the most pleasant or controlled. After trying and failing to separate my crampons with brute force I took a closer inspection and eventually managed to unhook one from the other.
I pretty much used up all the 70m rope lengths on the pitch but the downside was that I found myself hanging from my belay a couple of metres below the anchor points, bridged across a sort of stepped chimney. It was comfortable enough to belay but when the other two joined me I realised the problems associated with it's cramped nature, and due to the anchor points being out of reach. It was impossible for the others to join me at the same level and also very difficult for the others to independently clip into the anchors in order to rearrange the ropes for the next leader. In hindsight I should have led on in order to find a more spacious belay rather than stick with the plan of switching leads at that point. The practicalities of climbing as a three is something I am less experienced with.
The fourth pitch had jointly taken two hours and by now it was dusk with the hardest pitch still to come. Dusk in early December is of course barely 4pm. To this point the climbing had been fantastic, and with so much turf on the route it seemed well suited to mixed climbing. What's more, the suspect rock that often is often prevalent on Skogshorn in summer was now well frozen in place.
This was our high point as it turned out. Two of us were keen to push on, one of us was keen to go down due to tiredness and feeling cold. That's the democracy of winter climbing though, where it's only right that everybody is in. Had we pushed on, and assuming we reached the top, we would quite possibly not have been back at the car until midnight. In truth we didn't know how much climbing was still to come. Maybe we had one more hard pitch of climbing, maybe this was where the real difficulties began. At least the abseils were easy to equip, and only at our high point did we need to leave any gear behind. It was around 6pm by the time we were back at the base of the route. It felt late but in reality we would be down for dinnertime.
It has been said that you want to be at the crux pitch before sunset, which we did not manage. It feels close to impossible to climb most routes on Skogshorn in December without a little climbing in the dark but for a future attempt it makes sense to start earlier, and do the lower pitches before sunrise in order to free up more light for the expectant difficulties higher up.
At least I have a new route to get obsessed about and one thing is for sure that I'll be back to try the route again at the next opportunity.
Footnote
Nikolay, together with Jacob Jutrum made another attempt a few weeks later during the Christmas period and this time reached the top. They kindly sketched a topo in three parts which I have included here with their permission.
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| Part 1 |
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| Part 2 |
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| Part 3 |
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