Rebuffat Couloir, Tour Ronde, Winter

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I flew from New York to Milan, arriving at Malpensa airport 8 a.m. on Wednesday morning. I recollected my duffel full of mountaineering equipment, took the train to the city center, and then walked to my buddy Enrico’s apartment, 30 kilos on my back. He was finishing up work; we pored over avalanche forecasts and trip reports. We asked all our contacts for conditions, suggestions. We scoured the Facebook groups. We ended up choosing the Rebuffat Couloir on the Tour Ronde, a route no one had suggested, and for which we had absolutely zero conditions information.

The weather looked best for tomorrow. We woke up, 5:15 a.m., dragged ourselves to the car, and drove to Courmayuer. Parked, dressed, and just enough spare time for an espresso. 8:30 a.m., first lift up, and we were on it. American country music played through the stereo system on the shiny cable car. 9:00, suited up and ready for action, we stepped onto the glacier at 11,300 feet. I’d always heard alpinism in Europe was accessible, but this was next-level.

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North Face Cobra 60 First Impressions

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(“First impressions” is a bit of a misnomer for this post, as I’ve now used this pack for around 30 days. However, I used the older rendition of this backpack for 5-6 years, so in my opinion, I am indeed still forming my first impression.)

I beat the ever-loving-hell out of my previous Cobra backpack. For years, it served for any purpose I needed it: cragging pack, international travel, overnight backpacking, ice climbing, alpine rock climbs. That pack went with me to Europe, to the top of the Grand Teton, to Mount Baker, to alpine ice climbs in Rocky Mountain National Park, and elsewhere. It finally died this summer in Peru — split along the bottom after I overloaded it, trying to fit seven days of supplies in a 60-liter pack.

North Face generously warrantied that pack, sending me the updated version. I have now taken this pack on a few outings, including local day trips around Boulder, an overnight climb of the Fisher Chimneys on Mount Shuksan, and five weeks of climbing and cragging in Indian Creek, Utah. Here are my initial impressions.

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Rock Art

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I’ve just emerged from a seasonal sabbatical in the desert. As usual, we did a lot of rock climbing. The climbing out there is always good – but we won’t linger on that here.

One of the more fascinating aspects of the deserts of the American southwest is the cultural heritage. Artifacts and rock art from a number of Native American cultures are visible here. These things aren’t in a museum or on a heavily-trafficked tourist trail: for the most part, they’re just sitting in the desert, scratched on the side of soft sandstone walls or sitting deep within remote canyons.

There is a special feeling I get when I walk up to these sites. I am not a religious person, but from the first time I saw ancient petroglyphs scrawled on a wall, I felt a spiritual presence. There is no other word for it, and it’s a feeling I still get at many of these sites.

Primitive pictures carved into dark sandstone. Recoghnizeable figures include a person, a Kokopelli, handprints, and depictions of antelope or similar animals. There are also abstract shapes, including a triangle and a snake-like squiggle.

Andrew Gulliford, in his book “Bears Ears: Landscape of Refuge and Resistance”, writes:

“In Navajo belief, a dead person’s spirit may continue to reside where that person had lived and died. Their chindi or spirit may be lonely and seek to haunt or terrorize visitors.”

“Bears Ears: Landscape of Refuge and Resistance”, 2022, Andrew Gulliford, page 103

I don’t feel a malevolence, but I do feel a presence. I encourage you to visit yourself — maybe you will feel it too.

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Book Reviews: Two Epics

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I write you from the Moab public library – a remarkably good library for such a small town. Town is for resupply: ice cream, burgers, wifi. The rest of the Fall season we spend in the desert — the true desert: long drives, hot days, cold nights, far from service. A good book is essential. A long and involved one, ideally.

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