On first acquaintance the SE Face of Kyzyl resembles something out of a Tolkein fable; a mile high gothic cathedral laced with glittering streams of diamonds and pearls. Viewed head on from the glacier it forms an almost symmetrical triangle of vertical rock, composed on either side of monolithic towers rising up towards the apex at the mountain’s summit. From the summit to the glacier falls a giant arête, one and half times the size of El Cap – no doubt a worthy challenge for those pushing envelopes in the field of aid and suffering. Immediately left of this was our own intended route, an icy gully-come-groove that also ran the entire height of the face.
"the upper section would require the mixed skills of a Jedi"
Neither of us had ever entertained anything quite like it. It resembled something akin to a giant version of the hardest of Scottish gullies except without a definite crux – it was simply vertical, overhanging or extremely thin and tenuous all the way to the top! What was apparent was that the lower half would likely be ascended on pure steep ice, whereas the upper section would require the mixed skills of a Jedi. Route-finding high up wasn’t obvious either.
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Es invokes the Thunder Gods before yet another storm arrives at Advanced Base See larger pic
Shortly after relocating Base Camp another storm came in. The air temperature rocketed and plummeted with beguiling speed and frequency, engendering a sense of objective uncertainty that we could have both done without. But we had gradually learned to ignore the weather throughout the first part of the trip. Our barometer hadn’t budged despite countless severe weather changes, from baking heat through to electric snow storms and we’d long since abandoned any hope of accurate prediction. The only thing that was certain was that the weather wouldn’t stay fair - no chance - which in reality meant we were likely to be under pressure high up. We had agreed that starting out in a storm wasn’t rational behaviour (though in retrospect it may have been) and that as soon as it cleared we’d make our first move. After two days the snow stopped.
We left camp at around three in the afternoon, hoping to rattle up the introductory pitches and find a bivouac before dark while the sun was off the route. This would leave us well placed for an early attack at first light, before the sun had risen on the far side of the glacier and started to wreak havoc on the thin ice above us. On such an inescapable fall line this was a major concern that proved ultimately to be our nemesis. We took synthetic sleeping bags, a small homemade bivvy shelter, a stove and enough food for five days (our estimate was for a maximum of four up and one down). Our rack was minimal, mainly ice screws and pegs and roughly equating to that suitable for an icy Scottish winter route but with a small sprinkling of aid gear lest an emergency arose. The weather could only be described as ‘showery’ at best.
"we cowered uncomfortably under an overhang and sure enough the deluge began"
After about 300m of straightforward 60o ice and a fruitless pitch searching for a bivouac site out of the firing line we eventually gave up and simply made one from the ice. It was never going to be comfy but at least in this instance it seemed safe, despite Es very nearly demonstrating the speed of his sleeping bag on an unplanned descent. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to attach himself first.
The next morning wasn’t promising. Around 2am, after a few hours of rest but little sleep, we made a brew and talked tactics. Despite the sky clearing to a myriad of stars the temperature still only hovered around zero – far from ideal with a million tonne guillotine of ice hanging over our heads. But it seemed to be getting colder, much quieter, so we decided to give it a go.
Starting out in the dark and making reasonable progress over Scottish V ground, we soon reached the base of the route’s most prominent singular feature - a giant cul-de-sac sporting a 250m ice smear, and crowned by a threatening ring of Damoclean icicles. At this point the sun slowly started to make its presence felt, the heart-lurching "whrrrrrrr" of falling ice steadily becoming more continuous and rapidly heightening our awareness. I led a particularly nasty and crumbly icy mixed pitch to the right of the gully bed before Es set off very gingerly back onto the main fall. However he was barely three placements from the belay when I suggested we might want to take refuge before our options ran out. He agreed, we cowered uncomfortably under an overhang and sure enough the deluge began.
Now we knew during the night it hadn’t been particularly cold but this was getting genuinely hot, very hot, and it soon became ridiculous. Within two hours of the sun’s rays reaching the line of the route the water was flowing. And flow it most certainly did! By lunchtime what had been a continuous plume of the most impeccable, creamy water ice had a veritable river running straight down the middle of it, so that all we could do was sit and wait - and hope. Even if it became colder out of the sun in the afternoon it was going to take a day at least to refreeze, and that meant another wet, uncomfortable bivvy. There was no choice but to retreat. Guy Robertson
12/9/2002
