john_hilgeman
New member
The trip began in Boston on Friday, July 29. My friend and climbing partner, Alistair, and I were headed for a technical climb on Mt. Katagdin in Baxter State Park, Maine. The route was a moderately rated ridge climb called “Pamola 4”.
I took a half day from work so we could get an early start on the drive north to Millinocket, the closest town to the park entrance. With a stop in Bangor for some Indian food, the trip took about 8 hours, and we arrived at our host’s house in the town of Norcross (pop 16) at about 11pm. I had not met Mary Foller before and expected only a bed or a couch, but was greeted with a number of other offerings such as PBJ sandwiches and muffins that Mrs. Foller started preparing at midnight.
As we settled in from the long drive, we discussed our options for getting in to the park the following morning without a day pass. I had heard that a line forms as early as 4am at the gate and the rangers only allow a certain number of people into the park. We decided the leave the Foller’s house at 3:45am for the ½ hour drive to the park entrance. I went to bed slightly nervous that we might get turned away at the gate – since the weather this weekend was so nice it was certain that many people would be competing to get into the park.
I woke from my cell phone alarm at 3:30, got dressed, and moved into the living room from the small room in which I had slept. Alistair was already awake and chatting with Mrs. Foller. We grabbed our PBJs and muffins and headed for the car with our gracious host to see us off.
We got in line at the park gate at about 4:15am and there was already about 20 cars in front of us. Many people were quietly waiting outside their cars. While flattening my map on the steering wheel, I accidentally blew the horn and violently disturbed everyone’s peaceful wait time with an obnoxious salute, compliments of Ford Motor Co. As it turned out, the gate opened at 5 am. Alistair and I got in fine, but the gate closed behind us about 35 minutes later.
So, we drove to the Roaring Brook Campground, during which I accidentally flattened a squirrel with my back tire. We parked here and were on the trail by 6. The 3.3 mile hike to Chimney Pond was relatively easy and uneventful. The air was cool and comfortable. We gained 1600’ on this trail and arrived at Chimney Pond around 8am. We had been instructed to stop at the ranger’s station for a gear check and permission for a technical climb.
After the check, we continued on our way. There was what appeared to be a seasonal brook that fed into chimney pond on its south end. We scrambled around the pond and started to follow the dried streambed up into the talus fields that lie at the base of Katahdin’s garbage chutes in the great basin. Our target was a scree field that, from Chimney Pond, appeared to be in the shape of Italy. This scree field lies at the base of a well known feature (and winter route) called “The Chimney”. The Chimney is a deep depression carved out of the granite walls of the basin by thousands of years of rock fall and erosion. It is flanked on both sides by prominent ridges. Facing the mountain, the ridge on the left side of The Chimney ascends 1600’ almost directly to the summit of Pamola. This was our climb.
We arrived at the base of the ridge after one hour of hiking from Chimney Pond. The next hour was spent bushwhacking through the densest brush I have ever encountered. We ascended about 100’ through the brush, moving at about 3’ per minute until we reached the first clean rock and could begin our climb.
The rope, rack, and helmets came out, we checked gear, had a brief discussion of the upcoming process, and then began. I led the first pitch somewhat short. From written descriptions, we were expecting 3 pitches to a point where we could short-rope and scramble. The route winded a little more than I had expected, up good granite with decent holds and lots of protection. There were few moves that could not be protected.
As it was, it took 4 pitches and 4 hours for us to reach the section of 4th class terrain that allowed us to shorten the rope and simul-climb for about 1 hour. This part of the climb was pleasant and consistent, though I was already a bit nervous from a set of dark clouds that were looming over the opposite side of the mountain. At this point, I was also becoming concerned with our progress in time, as the prospect of climbing in the dark was less than appealing. I figured from the height of the sun (which mattered more than the actual time) that we had a number of hours left and were in a good position, but could not prevent myself from anxiously peering over my shoulder at the sun every 30 minutes.
We were now 5 hours into the technical leg of our ascent and approaching a steeper section that would require fully anchored belays. I was not sure how long this section was as there were no descriptions to be found of it before the climb. I was hoping for three pitches. I started moving through these new pitches and found the difficulty to increase while my patience decreased. I soon saw the first and only sign of other humans on the route in the form of an ancient piton, which I gratefully clipped into as I pulled around an exposed corner.
The definite crux came when I arrived at a 15’ high exposed face that I was hoping would lead to easier terrain beyond. I took a deep breath and pushed through this section only to peek over the top to find an extremely exposed, difficult to protect slab that looked like it led to another questionable arête. At this point, I was committed, so I decided to climb it and see what was offered from the top. The rope drag was so bad here that I felt like I was dragging 50lbs up the slab. Fortunately, I found a decent crack in which to place protection and got to the top. I was now on a knife edge ridge that offered 1 exposed move to easier terrain. I had to set the belay on a flattened part of the ridge because moving to the easier terrain meant pulling the rope around another corner. This was the most uncomfortable belay of my life. Not only was the rock ill at ease with my rear end, but the position I had to assume required me to strain muscles I didn’t know I had. In addition, the rope drag required me to haul with strength from this position as I belayed Alistair through this funhouse of a pitch. My nerves were frayed from this pitch – I just wanted a cheeseburger. Alistair reached me and it was his turn to “assume the position”. I could tell that he would have been quite happier enjoying a nice juicy burger as well.
I was hoping we were on the last pitch but only found yet more difficult rock above. I decided to use the entire rope length for a traverse. This traverse did not get us to the top but it worked beautifully. We were in a position where we could again short-rope and scramble. We moved up the remainder of the ridge in this fashion and 9 hours after we first tied in to the rope, exhausted and elated, reached the top of the ridge. We had followed faces, cracks, slabs, chimneys, corners, and arêtes to arrive a stone’s throw from the summit of Pamola Peak.
I took a half day from work so we could get an early start on the drive north to Millinocket, the closest town to the park entrance. With a stop in Bangor for some Indian food, the trip took about 8 hours, and we arrived at our host’s house in the town of Norcross (pop 16) at about 11pm. I had not met Mary Foller before and expected only a bed or a couch, but was greeted with a number of other offerings such as PBJ sandwiches and muffins that Mrs. Foller started preparing at midnight.
As we settled in from the long drive, we discussed our options for getting in to the park the following morning without a day pass. I had heard that a line forms as early as 4am at the gate and the rangers only allow a certain number of people into the park. We decided the leave the Foller’s house at 3:45am for the ½ hour drive to the park entrance. I went to bed slightly nervous that we might get turned away at the gate – since the weather this weekend was so nice it was certain that many people would be competing to get into the park.
I woke from my cell phone alarm at 3:30, got dressed, and moved into the living room from the small room in which I had slept. Alistair was already awake and chatting with Mrs. Foller. We grabbed our PBJs and muffins and headed for the car with our gracious host to see us off.
We got in line at the park gate at about 4:15am and there was already about 20 cars in front of us. Many people were quietly waiting outside their cars. While flattening my map on the steering wheel, I accidentally blew the horn and violently disturbed everyone’s peaceful wait time with an obnoxious salute, compliments of Ford Motor Co. As it turned out, the gate opened at 5 am. Alistair and I got in fine, but the gate closed behind us about 35 minutes later.
So, we drove to the Roaring Brook Campground, during which I accidentally flattened a squirrel with my back tire. We parked here and were on the trail by 6. The 3.3 mile hike to Chimney Pond was relatively easy and uneventful. The air was cool and comfortable. We gained 1600’ on this trail and arrived at Chimney Pond around 8am. We had been instructed to stop at the ranger’s station for a gear check and permission for a technical climb.
After the check, we continued on our way. There was what appeared to be a seasonal brook that fed into chimney pond on its south end. We scrambled around the pond and started to follow the dried streambed up into the talus fields that lie at the base of Katahdin’s garbage chutes in the great basin. Our target was a scree field that, from Chimney Pond, appeared to be in the shape of Italy. This scree field lies at the base of a well known feature (and winter route) called “The Chimney”. The Chimney is a deep depression carved out of the granite walls of the basin by thousands of years of rock fall and erosion. It is flanked on both sides by prominent ridges. Facing the mountain, the ridge on the left side of The Chimney ascends 1600’ almost directly to the summit of Pamola. This was our climb.
We arrived at the base of the ridge after one hour of hiking from Chimney Pond. The next hour was spent bushwhacking through the densest brush I have ever encountered. We ascended about 100’ through the brush, moving at about 3’ per minute until we reached the first clean rock and could begin our climb.
The rope, rack, and helmets came out, we checked gear, had a brief discussion of the upcoming process, and then began. I led the first pitch somewhat short. From written descriptions, we were expecting 3 pitches to a point where we could short-rope and scramble. The route winded a little more than I had expected, up good granite with decent holds and lots of protection. There were few moves that could not be protected.
As it was, it took 4 pitches and 4 hours for us to reach the section of 4th class terrain that allowed us to shorten the rope and simul-climb for about 1 hour. This part of the climb was pleasant and consistent, though I was already a bit nervous from a set of dark clouds that were looming over the opposite side of the mountain. At this point, I was also becoming concerned with our progress in time, as the prospect of climbing in the dark was less than appealing. I figured from the height of the sun (which mattered more than the actual time) that we had a number of hours left and were in a good position, but could not prevent myself from anxiously peering over my shoulder at the sun every 30 minutes.
We were now 5 hours into the technical leg of our ascent and approaching a steeper section that would require fully anchored belays. I was not sure how long this section was as there were no descriptions to be found of it before the climb. I was hoping for three pitches. I started moving through these new pitches and found the difficulty to increase while my patience decreased. I soon saw the first and only sign of other humans on the route in the form of an ancient piton, which I gratefully clipped into as I pulled around an exposed corner.
The definite crux came when I arrived at a 15’ high exposed face that I was hoping would lead to easier terrain beyond. I took a deep breath and pushed through this section only to peek over the top to find an extremely exposed, difficult to protect slab that looked like it led to another questionable arête. At this point, I was committed, so I decided to climb it and see what was offered from the top. The rope drag was so bad here that I felt like I was dragging 50lbs up the slab. Fortunately, I found a decent crack in which to place protection and got to the top. I was now on a knife edge ridge that offered 1 exposed move to easier terrain. I had to set the belay on a flattened part of the ridge because moving to the easier terrain meant pulling the rope around another corner. This was the most uncomfortable belay of my life. Not only was the rock ill at ease with my rear end, but the position I had to assume required me to strain muscles I didn’t know I had. In addition, the rope drag required me to haul with strength from this position as I belayed Alistair through this funhouse of a pitch. My nerves were frayed from this pitch – I just wanted a cheeseburger. Alistair reached me and it was his turn to “assume the position”. I could tell that he would have been quite happier enjoying a nice juicy burger as well.
I was hoping we were on the last pitch but only found yet more difficult rock above. I decided to use the entire rope length for a traverse. This traverse did not get us to the top but it worked beautifully. We were in a position where we could again short-rope and scramble. We moved up the remainder of the ridge in this fashion and 9 hours after we first tied in to the rope, exhausted and elated, reached the top of the ridge. We had followed faces, cracks, slabs, chimneys, corners, and arêtes to arrive a stone’s throw from the summit of Pamola Peak.
