Ice Climbing in Ouray Colorado

On the outskirts of an old mining town at the foot of the San Juan Mountains, lies one of the most accessible ice climbing areas in the world. Ouray Colorado attracts a multitude of climbers from around the world each winter. Measuring up to 60 metres vertical, these icy apparitions of still life cling to the edge of a narrow gorge. Ouray, an ice park artificially created by means of an old water pipe diverted across the top of the canyon to form frozen falls. Valla! Instant ice climbing.

Beautiful shades of white and blue ice encompass the canyon, imitating the natural flow of a waterfall frozen in time. But if this is what fake ice looks like, what does real ice look like? Streams running down through the mountains contain sulphur which produces a rusty tinge through the ice, it almost appears like the ice is dirty. Nonetheless both the artificial and natural formations make for an impressive climb.

While on exchange at the University of Northern Colorado in 1996, I met Toby, an avid ice climber and president of the university outdoor activities club. His tales of adventure in this alpine wonderland was inspiring, and a driving force behind my interest in ice climbing. I figured, being a rock climber I should be able to make the transition quite effortlessly. However this misconception would be quickly dismissed. The realisation was that ice climbing was an entirely different sport demanding a distinct approach, technique and physical ability. The next few months learning to ice climb would prove challenging.

Spring break was upon us, and although a little late in the season, the plan was to spend four days putting these newly acquired ice climbing skills to the test. I was up for the challenge, but little did I know this would be a test of character as well.

As we approached the narrow gorge and peered into this frozen colossus for the first time, I was breathless with anticipation. Ice cliffs of the likes I have never seen before. A vertical wonderland overwhelming, but inviting nonetheless, Ouray had got my attention. As I descended into the icy depths of the canyon, the rushing water below drowned out any sound from above. From the bottom of a 60 metre frozen waterfall, the view was quite intimidating. This was my first ascent on such a sheer ice face, and caution seemed to be the order of the day. But it wasn’t long before I got a feel for the ice. The tricky thing about ice climbing is knowing when and how to take a rest, as your arms become weak very quickly.

Just when I thought there was an end in sight, things changed dramatically. I was two thirds of the way up the climb, and I had wielded my ice axe a little too hard and it was planted solidly in the ice. And as I gave one last tug the ice axe dislodged, striking me across the top of my eye, at the same time propelling me away from the ice as I fell about ten metres giving my belayer above, one hell of a jolt. I was in shock, but I seemed to be ok, until I saw the ice in front of me slowly turning red. I was hanging 50 metres below, no ice tools, trying to nurse an injury that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Perhaps this was cause for concern!

It’s funny how other people panicking can escalate your own fears. But I was determined to stay calm in this situation. The plan was to set up a system to haul me back up. But patience was not a virtue with me, and half an hour later I was still hanging there, cold and wet as the midday sun started to melt the ice. I convinced myself that this incident was a minor setback and it was not going to get the better of me. I continued my ascent, this time more determine not to make a mistake. As I swung my ice axe over the top of the ledge you could see the relief on my bloody face, I was told. But my “would be” rescuer, Toby, also shared this sentiment.

The next few days would see us increase our intensity as we tackled climbs that required a further degree of difficulty. The climbing area in Ouray is quite diverse and the grades range from intermediate to advanced. Often our rope fell a few metres short of the base of a climb, and a hanging start was required. In this instance the crux of the climb seemed to be the start. Although I was being belayed from above, a hanging start meant that the stretch in the rope was at least a few metres, which made it difficult to stay close to the wall. I started up a narrow pillar of ice that was barely connected to the base of the canyon, similar in structure to a stalactite hanging from the roof of a cave.

Almost all the climbs in Ouray involve a little lateral thinking. Nevertheless my attempt at this particular climb was less than graceful. I became separated from my ice tools once again, but this time it was less of a drama and more of a comedy. My second rescue attempt was hilarious. Well, after I was out of it, I thought it was. Exhausted from attempting to retrieve my ice axes, Toby abseiled down to remove my crampons, so I could use him as support while I untied myself from the rope. 15 minutes and ten frozen fingers later, I managed to untie the rope and once again I was firm on solid ground.

My relief was short lived as the task at hand was now to make my way through a canyon of ice that was rapidly melting and in turn creating 3 feet of raging waters. Amazingly I managed to traverse down the canyon across bridges of ice before finding an appropriate exit. However I did stumble across a victim that wasn’t so lucky, a deer had fallen into the canyon and was fully preserved beneath the ice. It was quite an eerie sight and a harsh reminder of how unpredictable the elements can quickly become.

I am happy to say that by the end of the four days there were little or no incidents to write home about. And despite the mishaps and learning curve involved with ice climbing, it was a sport I embraced whole heartedly. My only problem now, was that I craved more. I would have to wait until winter to join those die hard ice climbers making their winter pilgrimage to Blue Lake in the Snowy Mountains for Australia’s answer to Ouray.