SPINDRIFT MEMORIES - 30 DAYS ON BAFFIN ISLAND'S WALKER CITADEL

Twenty-four days on the wall, 22 pitches; two-thirds height.
A winding snake of open-book cracks consumed every blade, arrow, RURP, and beak in our arsenal. Giddy cracks to pitch 25. Pitch 26 was mine and, in my opinion, the sweetest. Natural hooks into tied-off No. 1 blades, then mandatory RURPs. An overhanging micro-seam. I felt so heavy with plastic boots, the tiny cables creaking as I weighted each piece, my body hanging out. It wasn’t possible to bounce-test. After 50 feet, I faced the long-ride-reality moment if a RURP blew, highlighting one variable of the thousands for which we climb big walls: Russian Roulette Aid. Then hooks on expando flakes ended my eight-hour shot of adrenaline.
On day 29, Josh and I jugged to my high point. Soon, Josh’s tagline dangled in space as he disappeared into the sky. Russ and I joined him in a shallow corner, water seeping from a roof above. Russ climbed through, cursing his way out of sight through an overhanging squeeze. Two hours went by, then, barely audible: “I’mmm . . . onnn . . . the . . . summittt!” Josh and I remained calm — until we were on top with Russ, it was premature to celebrate.
Josh cleaned, and then fixed my line. I had to lower out 40 feet into 4,000 feet of space and watch as my tattered 10mm static turned into 8mm from the weight-and-stretch as I jugged. I stopped 30 feet from the summit and embraced the moment, bathed in the 24-hour sunlight that had turned this expedition into one continuous day. I joined Russ and Josh on top at 3 a.m., our 30th day on the wall. I peeled off my long underwear, so caked with dead skin, sweat, and filth, it appeared painted with pancake batter.
For a month, our only focus had been this wall — I’d forgotten about bills, work, and the rat race. A switch flipped, and my body and mind prepared for an end to our time here and of our wall marriage. Two days after summiting, we stood in puddles on the frozen sea. With the initial fixing, the climb took 36 days. We named it Mahayana Wall, a VII 5.10 A4, after the form of Buddhism focussed on the greater vehicle toward the awakened state of mind, something we’d learned much of on Walker Citadel. It was June 18, and patches of slush and meltwater covered the sea ice. We set up camp in the mire and radioed our Inuit guides.

My grandmother picked us up at the Fresno airport. Back at her place, she threw two pounds of bacon on the stove and served up succulent sandwiches. Her husband — my grandfather — is the one who moved to Yosemite when he was 13. He’d laid the path to Yosemite, which most certainly led me to the Walker Citadel. Both grandparents have since passed away, and for what it is worth, I dedicate this story to grandparents everywhere.
Now, 10 years later, I am a full-time dad when not traveling. I still chase adventure, searching for the same magic I felt on the Walker Citadel, though my passion for climbing is fueled mostly by my daughter. I want to share a big secret of life with her: if you truly believe in yourself, you can do anything.

Mountain Hardwear athlete Mike Libecki is just back from his fifth trip (and a new first ascent) in east Greenland. He lives with his daughter, Lilliana, near Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah, with their dog, cats, and potbellied pig.