Tokyo Weekender - February 2016

ICE CLIMBING | FEATURE | 19
mornings and ice climbers do too, but they
really understand that dull and overcast
is better, as it has less effect on the ice.
The following morning granted us that. By
torchlight we ate, drank coffee and emerged
from the tent, heaved on our packs and
started down into the valley. It was certainly
cold as we walked into the wind that
howled from across the mountains, creating
the rush of freezing air. It was a bittersweet
trade off that we hoped was worth it.
The valleys were narrow and the
walls were multi-tiered, meaning little
sun crossed the faces, and unique rock
formations made channels for ice to collect
and grow in. To be “good,” ice has to be
uniformly formed, well bonded to the rock
beneath, and protected from direct sun that
can break it down. Tight, tiered valleys that
catch the snow are ideal for this.
The winding geography of the valley
meant we could only see small parts of the
walls above us, and through the purple predawn
light we began to get a notion of what
was around us. The walls were covered
in jewel-like ice that encrusted the rocks’
features to form chandeliers and pillars
that drooled down the cliffs and hung from
the roofs of caves. We found the ice to be
exceptionally clear, hard and well bonded
to the volcanic rock beneath. The rumors of
the area being left to obscurity due to lack
of capable climbers began to seem true:
in fact, by the look of it, the old crew had
barely gotten started. With the majority
of the walls either non-existent on the old
maps or barely recorded, for every ice line
mentioned we counted another seven or
eight not.
Deciding on a route to climb is always
hard and when there are hundreds of choices
and you’re working against dwindling
time, things only get harder. Lines were
everywhere but most looked exceedingly
tough—the stuff of days to work at. Our
time in the valleys
had shown
us that nothing
was going to be
easy, so the idea
of just taking a
token route was
off the table.
We decided
elegance would
give us the
right options,
and something
truly worthy
of shooting
for—even if we
failed. We went
for a line of
thin, intricately
chandeliered icicles that wove up the
back of a corner in the rock face. Unlike
many lines, this had ice to ground level
rather than starting with an overhang.
Your protection from falling are
threaded titanium tubes that have been
screwed into the ice and clipped to ropes.
Ideally a screw gets placed every five or
six meters but in reality it is wherever
you can get one in. Fat ice lets you drive
When done well, ice
climbing has a unique
dynamic, more tai chi
than brute force ... it is a
beautiful but totally
unnatural thing to do
the screws deep, but thin ice demands
total attention. It’s a matter of delicately
picking away, being careful to not
drive into the rock beneath. Over the 50
meters of a pitch this is exhausting, nerve
frazzling and totally absorbing. The irony
is that the effort of placing these screws
makes a fall more likely. The fact that
many ice lines can be easily climbed but
not made safe is fundamentally accepted
by ice climbers, and is exactly what we
had going on.
My initial fear quickly became total
concentration as I picked my way up the
wall of ice crystal, smashing away anything
threatening in a constant cascade
of tinkling ice shards. In the silence of
a frozen valley, ice climbing can sound
amazingly violent as every foot and tool
placement means smashing into fragile
ice. Ice is inherently frictionless, so your
only connection to it are the points of
metal. This makes those pick choices
very important and involves a process
of reaching high, swinging with careful
force and weighting the tool to make
sure it holds.
Over the 50 meters of vertical ice I
found placements just on the good side of
acceptable. I climbed silently and intently,
needing no overt communication with
the guy below who fed out rope exactly
as needed. When done well, ice climbing
has a unique dynamic, more tai chi
than brute force; with the right degree
of sensitivity it is a beautiful but totally
unnatural thing to do.
The line of ice topped out at a large
ledge that was safe to stand on, and to
our surprise diverted to form several
more ice falls up tiers of overhanging
rock above. Burned out from what we’d
already done, we left them for another
day, and named the new line Shimajiro
after a popular kids’ toy, and the face itself
White Dragon Wall. As we rappelled
back to the snow line the afternoon snow
began to thicken and clouds rolled down
the valley.
We spent several days in the various
valleys trying out new lines: some
worked out and others did not. Each day
we would return exhausted and cold but
high on the idea we were climbing new
ground, a buzz that gets rarer every year.
Since then we have returned every
winter, silently keeping the dates all year.
In keeping with the attitude of the locals
we haven’t pushed the location into common
awareness; the roadside verge is still
empty, the road still uncleared. The old
onsen has never reopened. We prefer it
this way: In a world of oversaturation not
everywhere needs to be on the map.
Ed Hannam is a strategy analyst for
Tokyo-based Tripleshot Consulting, which
has a long history of working in
complex and dangerous environments.
www.tokyoweekender.com FEBRUARY 2016