Sky Ladders

Five Classic Alpine Rock Ridges for Everyman

My climbing youth was full of typically competitive mind games, raw enthusiasm, and very select objectives. I “hung” around Smith Rocks during Alan Watts’ heyday. I ventured into the Lake Clark National Park with Fred Beckey. I learned about Patagonia from a carpenter buddy, then went down and climbed the North Pillar of Fitz Roy. I was sculpted by great mentors… as well as by one insidious phantom.

I called him Mr. Hot Flash. He was the hypothetical super-climber, the one behind each of Climbing’s “best” ascents, and he never failed to put me on edge. After reading about his latest ticks, I’d feel compelled to get stronger/braver/faster. My best climbing, it seemed, was cheap beer compared to Mr. Hot Flash’s fine wine.

Of course, I had compared myself to the collective list, the entire Hot Flashes column, as if one guy had completed all the routes cited. It wasn’t healthy, that much I knew, and as my climbing matured, I began to understand that “select objectives” need not be pulled from Mr. Hot Flash’s tick list. Many of our continent’s most regal lines are not the most difficult.

The cure to my malaise was the classic alpine rock ridge. I had my first ridge encounter in the 1980s, on a 750-foot 5.6 called the Northeast Ridge of Sharkstooth, an obscure yet commanding molar in Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado. I remember sitting on a comfortable lunch ledge partway up, ravenous from the altitude but captivated by the lofty perch. On Hot Flash-style climbs, I’d always been fixated on completing the route. On this climb, I didn’t want it to end. I realized I’d really been missing something.

On the ridgelines, elegance trumps difficulty. The surroundings are always pristine, invigorating, and keep you fully alert. Being (usually) moderate, alpine rock ridges beckon anyone willing to rise early and hike far. They are always engaging, but not all-consuming, so there is time aplenty to revel in the movement and the partnership.

Though the technical difficulties are modest, the overall challenge is robust. Moving from cragging to proficiency in alpine rock climbing is like a promotion into upper management. The decision-making skills and satisfactions are a complete package. You must be both intuitive and rational about objective hazards, route finding, and pending weather — think “Spidey sense,” alpine style.

I’ve honed many important skills on ridges that I use in my cragging. One is lateral thinking. Ridges go up and down, and route-finding impasses can often be better out-flanked than taken by frontal assault. On harder free climbing, I now find myself alert to the tactical side-step that will sometimes shave off whole number grades. Another technique I learned while puzzling my way around many a ridge-top gendarme is subtle sideways hip-scumming. On the crags, the same trick yields handsoff rests in all kinds of terrain, from wide cracks to overhangs.

Alpine ridges have a rich history, and set the stage for North America’s quirky world dominance in offwidths, as well as speedy progress over loose and mixed terrain at higher elevations. They were completed by legends such as Conrad Kain — one of climbing’s early masters and an original “Mr. Hot Flash.” The pioneers appreciated the fitful anticipation that wrestles away restful sleep the night before. They noticed how the Big Dipper sank to the horizon just before the roar of a camp stove signaled the day’s first hot drink.

In my 25-year career as a climber and photographer, I’ve been lucky enough to climb and shoot a host of these ridges. There are too many to include, so I’ve picked five of my favorites. Just as Jack could not help but climb the proverbial beanstalk, so it is with these singular ridgelines. When the morning sun washes over an alpine ridge, the side opposite still deep in shadow, the scene hijacks the climber’s imagination. The line is clear and elegant, and it speaks: “Get up and go!”