Editor’s Note: Sawtooth Mountaineering was Boise’s first climbing shop. It was founded by Lou and Frank Florence. The shop was an important link between many of Idaho’s premier climbers and the development of Idaho’s technical climbing scene. Bob Boyles (quoted on Page 23 of the book) noted the shop’s importance as a hub for local climbers, stating “The thirty or so most dedicated climbers in the Boise Valley often hung out at Sawtooth Mountaineering to share stories . . ..” This group of climbers, centered on the shop, are credited with some of the most challenging first ascents in Idaho. In this article, Frank recounts his and the shop’s history.
I grew up on Long Island (New York), hardly a mountainous setting. My early camping and hiking trips were in the Appalachian and Adirondack Mountains and I was introduced to mountaineering in 1970 as a student in NOLS. I stayed on with NOLS, eventually working as a course instructor in Wyoming and Washington State.
Bob Boyles and Lou and Frank Florence on the summit of Grand Teton. Mike Weber Photo
In 1972, I joined my father, Lou Florence, in bringing a small outdoor recreation equipment store to Boise. Our business (Sawtooth Mountaineering) promoted climbing, hiking, and cross-country skiing across Southern Idaho, from Slick Rock to the Lost River Range. We offered introductory climbing classes and fostered enthusiasm for climbing by hosting a speaker series with some of the leading climbers and alpinists of the day, including Royal Robbins, Henry Barber, Doug Scott, Bill March, and Sawtooth pioneer Louis Stur.
British Mountaineer Doug Scott lectured twice at our shop. The first time was in 1975. Scott came to Boise to give a talk about his recent ascent of the Southwest Face of Everest. He wanted to get in some climbing while in town and a posse quickly assembled. We went out to the Black Cliffs for what turned out to be a toasty day. Scott asked what had been done and what hadn’t and then led through a couple of each.
Scott came through Boise again in 1977 to give a slide show at the shop after his epic descent off The Ogre. And again I and a few others got a chance to climb with a famous alpinist. That time we returned to the Cliffs and he led what is now called the Doug Scott Route. Nice route, too. I remember Scott stopped at one point after trying a move and then pondered it a bit before he led through the sequence. When he came down, I asked him what he thought about it, especially that one section. “It’s all there,” he replied. “Just a lack of balls.”
Doug Scott at the Black Cliffs (1975). Left to right Bob Boyles, Bob Henry, Doug Scott and myself. Lou Florence Photo
Through Sawtooth Mountaineering, we conducted popular introductory clinics in cross-country skiing and helped develop an early network of ski trails around Idaho City. Long-time staff members Ray York and Gary Smith, as well as Lou and I, trained and volunteered with Idaho Mountain Search and Rescue. Days off were spent exploring the many crags local to Boise: Stack Rock, Slick Rock, Table Rock, Rocky Canyon, Morse Mountain and the Black Cliffs.
I frequently partnered with Bob Boyles and Mike Weber on technical climbs, but in the mid 1970s, there was a free-wheeling mix of local climbers who swapped leads including Tom McLeod, John Platt, Art Troutner and Charley Crist. It was a time of discovery as there was little in the way of guide books and, championing clean climbing ethics, we clanged our way up the cliffs using hexes and stoppers. We became better climbers as we challenged one another on new routes locally and expanded our alpine skills into the Sawooths and Lost River Range. In the Winter of 1974, John Platt, Jerry Osborn, Walt Smith, and I skied across the White Cloud Mountains from Obsidan to Robinson Bar. In 1976, I summitted Denali with friends from Seattle and the following year made the first Winter ascent of Mount Borah’s North Face with Art Troutner, Mike Weber and Bob Boyles.
Sawtooth Mountaineering closed in 1980 and I returned to college and a career in geology. That took me out of Boise but, from time to time over the years, it’s been my pleasure to renew my acquaintance with the Sawtooths and the Lost River Range and those same partners from back in the day.
During one of Doug Scott’s lectures at Sawtooth Mountaineering, Bob Boyles secured a signed copy of the famous climber’s posters.
Editor’s Note: see additional photos assembled by Jacques Bordeleau at the following link: Gordon K. Williams Photos
My friend, high school classmate, climbing and adventure buddy Gordon Williams (aka Stein Sitzmark and, on occasion, “Imstein”) passed away on Tuesday July 23rd at age 69 and 3/4. He leaves a lot of good friends and his loving family behind.
Gordon was trained to be a registered surveyor but was also an artist by choice and inclination. Many folks enjoyed his keen wit and loquacious manner. He was interested in many, many things, but his photography has been a major achievement since the late 1960s.
I met Gordon soon after his family moved to Ketchum in the mid-1960s. Although I was a year ahead of him in high school, we were almost the same age. Like many have since, I found him interesting and likable, but we were not close friends in high school. However, I must confess to being the person who introduced him to roped rock climbing.
The Early Days
In the Summer of 1969, Jim Cockey took an afternoon to teach his younger half-brother Art Troutner and me some key elements of roped rock climbing near McCall. We learned how to belay climbers with a rope, hammer in pitons to anchor belays and rappel off a rock cliff, in a few short hours of instruction. I went home to Ketchum and ordered a climbing rope, some soft-iron pitons and aluminum carabiners from REI. I then proceeded to share my inadequate and dangerous knowledge of the rudiments of roped technical climbing with Gordon and his high school classmate, Chris Hecht. They were instant converts and soon Chris thereafter ordered better climbing gear. That Winter, we read up on climbing techniques and practiced climbing knots until we could tie them while stoned.
By the Summer of 1970, we were ready for real mountains. Gordon, Chris and I started with a bang by climbing 10,981-foot Boulder Peak near Ketchum in early June. Next, we convinced a number of friends to hike into Wildhorse Canyon in the Pioneers for the 4th of July weekend. But during that weekend, Chris, Gordon and I encountered steep and difficult rock on the North Face of 11,771-foot Old Hyndman Peak and an oncoming thunderstorm convinced us to retreat.
The Decker Flat Climbing & Frisbee Club
For our next trip into the Pioneers, we were mentored by my “somewhat” experienced climber-friend Harry Bowron, who summered in Stanley. Harry had been exposed to roped climbing on various Sierra Club trips and had recently survived a long National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) outdoor skills course in the Wind River Range. His knowledge and abilities helped our climbing skills considerably.
It was a hot day in late July 1970, during our hike into Mount Regan above Sawtooth Lake. Pursued by evil, we hurried up the dusty trail. Our packs were heavy, each with 60-70 pounds of climbing and camping gear. It was a hot, humid and windless morning. We were sweating hard and were being chased mercilessly by a full-strength squadron of horseflies.
Flies dive-bombed us incessantly, trying to break through the curtain of insect repellent we had drenched ourselves with. They grew in numbers until it was difficult to see the sun through the voracious fly swarm above our heads. Frenzied buzzing horseflies became noisily trapped in our long hair and select kamikaze flies would creep between our sweaty fingers to inflict amazingly painful bites.
It was starting to look like we might become the first known case of climbers eaten by flies when suddenly all the horseflies dipped their wings, did a double roll and turned tail. They flew off down-canyon–a roaring cloud of instant misery. The reason for their retreat stood by the trail: snarling evilly, shovel in hand. Even horseflies don’t mess with SMOKEY THE BEAR!! Of course, a sudden breeze might have helped too.
We had arrived at the Wilderness Boundary!! There beside the plywood Smokey was an 8-foot tall, solid redwood sign proclaiming:
ENTERING SAWTOOTH WILDERNESS AREA
CHALLIS NATIONAL FOREST
PLEASE REGISTER FOR YOUR OWN
PROTECTION!
We had some fun filling out the overly-detailed registration form, but then none of us wanted to put our name on it as group leader. In a moment of inspiration, I exclaimed “Let’s call ourselves the Decker Flat Climbing & Frisbee Club” and, since I thought of it, I get to be manager.
We had elections on the spot and Gordon chose to be Social Chairman, Harry Bowron, Treasurer and Joe Fox, Member at Large. The next day we climbed Mount Regan (which was somewhat challenging) and had a great time. Our mountain fun was just starting. We never had scheduled meetings or dues but, in order to become a member, you had to go climbing with another member. Of course, Gordon took his duties as Social Chairman seriously. He was soon adding females to our club. I must admit to being jealous of Gordon’s social skills in the 1970s and 1980s. His girlfriends were always attractive, assertive and intelligent. Gordon was a “babe-magnet” of the first magnitude. Thus he was the perfect Social Chairman.
In the early 1970s, Idaho mountaineering was a different world than now. It was a world without good USGS maps, climbing guidebooks, cell phones, GPS devices, an internet to access for climbing information and satellite rescue beacons. Thus, we suffered considerable obstacles to safe and sane mountaineering but, let me assure you, rock climbing and mountaineering in Idaho was a helluva lot more adventurous and a lot more fun then than it is now. Amazingly, although some of our climbing students suffered long scary slides on steep snow slopes, there are no serious climbing injuries or deaths in the history of the Decker Flat Climbing & Frisbee Club.
Gordon glissading “way too fast” on our way down from climbing the highest peak in the Sawtooths (June 1971).
Gordon As A Climbing Pioneer
In the early 1970s, Gordon was active in attempting the first Winter ascents of some Sawtooth Range peaks which even difficult to climb in Summer. There were some setbacks, but he was integral in the first Winter ascent of the difficult pinnacle, The Finger of Fate, and a large peak with no easy way to the summit, Mount Heyburn.
In mid-March 1971, Gordon, his Seattle friend Roxanna Trott and I enjoyed a somewhat unconventional moonlight Winter ascent of Boulder Peak. We knew the snow was very firm with near zero avalanche danger (despite our lack of avalanche awareness training). Gordon and I departed Whiskey Jacques at 1:00AM with a drink, picked up Roxanna at her place, drove to Boulder Flat and skied into the Southwest Side of Boulder Peak on Styrofoam-hard snow under a full moon. We arrived on the summit at dawn and were back in Ketchum for a late lunch.
Here’s my photo of Gordon & a friend Roxanna Trot, on a winter moonlight ascent of 10,891’ Boulder Peak near Sun Valley.
Pioneer Cabin
In 1972-1973, Gordon, Chris Puchner, Robert Ketchum and others worked on the now locally-famous restoration of Pioneer Cabin above Sun Valley. Pioneer Cabin (a 1937 Sun Valley Company high mountain ski hut) sits on a scenic ridge at the edge of the Pioneer Mountains. Here’s a link to an Idaho Public TV article on the cabin which mentions the history: Outdoor Idaho. Gordon’s hard work on Pioneer Cabin and his insistence on painting the DFC&FC slogan “The Higher You Get, The Higher You Get” on the newly-repaired roof of Pioneer Cabin made both him and our club famous in western mountain lore. The story has appeared in several outdoor magazines.
Gordon and the Finger of Fate
Gordon was active at rock-climbing and mountaineering through the 1970s. Gordon really enjoyed climbing the challenging Open Book Route on the Finger of Fate in the Sawtooths. By 1978, it was a routine climb for him and Mark Sheehan. On one of these outings in 1978, they were hit by a severe thunderstorm just below the top of the Finger. Suddenly lightning was hitting nearby peaks and it was raining hard. They could not climb the final difficult summit pitch in the rain and with their single rope, descending the Open Book Route was unthinkable. Getting off the rock was essential and they started to down climb on what seemed to be a safer alternative. As Gordon rappelled, the rope slipped . . . but I will let Gordon tell the story.
Gordon’s Close Call by Gordon K. Williams
In late July 1978, I hiked into Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains with my friends Mark and Gail Sheehan. We were off to do our favorite rock climb, the Open Book Route on The Finger of Fate. By 1978, I had climbed the classic Class 5.8 route a number of times and it had become normal for us to hike in, climb the route and return back to Ketchum on the same day.
The Finger of Fate as viewed from the Southeast.
Perhaps we made a bad choice. The weather was deteriorating and we put on the climb anyway. That is how we first met Brent Bernard. When Brent and several of his friends had arrived at the base of the Open Book, we hadn’t yet finished the first pitch. They sat down to wait for us. While waiting, they looked at the sky. The sky told them to back off. Theywalked away. That was a good choice.
Twenty feet of steep snow guards the bottom of the climb. In early July, it is cold on the North Side. First thing in the morning, that snow is hard. We chopped steps,kicked the snow off and gingerly stepped onto the rock. You must immediately swarm upa blank section with wet boots. Thismay be the crux. There is no warm up. There is not much to work with. Go up or go home.
From the belay ledge, I watched Mark Sheehan levitate up the first pitch. It is the only place big enough for two and a welcome refuge after working around the forebodingoverhang. Looming at the top of a perpetually cold jam crack, the clean overhang extinguishes hope.There appears to be no way around it.One must push up under that overhang then exchange heel for toe in the crack. Turning around to face out puts your head where the next move becomes visible. Exit right onto the face for a “Thank God” handhold that is nearly beyond your reach. Swinging across on one hand brings you to where it is possible to work up the face and mantel on the ledge. Some consider this the crux problem. On arrival, Mark expressed pleasure. We were having fun.
Gordon at the top of the jam-crack lead on the second pitch of the Open Book. The crack ends under the overhang and climbers are forced out right onto thin holds. Mark Sheehan Photo
Our plan had been to travel light and fast. One rope, three slings and about a dozen chocks would be enough. We had everything necessary and nothing more. Heavier clouds were beginning to build. They told us to pick up the pace. Two more pitches would bring us to the top of the Book. Then send a short pitch up the ski tracks, crawl under the summit block, jump the gap and bag the summit. We would rappel from an old bolt and down climb to another short rap above the saddle. Our plans began to change half way through the third pitch.
Lichens cover most of the rock on the Finger. Lichens are composite organisms consisting of a symbiotic relationship between an alga and a fungus. The fungus surrounds the algal cells, enclosing them with complex fungal tissues unique to lichen. Lichens are capable of surviving extremely low levels of water content. When fully hydrated, the complex fungal tissues become slippery. Rehydration requires several minutes. We were still adapting to light rain and slippery rock when thunder started echoing off nearby mountains.
Suddenly our location near the top of a prominent pinnacle seemed imprudent. We were climbing a lightning rod. Mark and I are both afraid of lightening. We wanted to get down fast. From the ridge above the Book we had two choices.Knowing the South Side to be much shorter, we decided to rappel that way. Mark split the coil while I threw a sling over a horn on the ridge. No time to tie knots at the ends – throw the rope. More thunder and louder now we were in a panic to get off. Assemble four carabiners as a brake, clip into the line and ease gingerly to the edge. Wind was whipping rain from every direction. I would be careful not to slip on the wet rock or rap off the end of the rope.
Starting down with feet spread wide I was leaning back perpendicular to the wall so my boots wouldn’t slip. Descending slowly and looking down for more foot placements, I felt the line above release. Turning my head to look up, I saw the rope and anchor slingwhipping against the sky above. My rappel anchor had slipped off the rock horn and I was accelerating in free-fall with hundreds of feet to the floor… adead man falling.
Instantly I understood this to be the end. There was no hope of surviving such a fall. Anxiety and fear disappeared.Perhaps I stopped thinking. Time did not compress or elongate. There was certainly no flipping through old photos or videos of past events…no life flashing by. This was the end of the film, the part where the screen goes blank.
I haveno recollection of hitting the wall. It knocked the wind out of me.I came to my senses gasping for air, unable to get the first bite. It was a raw shock, being jerked from some quiet place back into my body. Everything was confusing. I was hanging upside down pressing lightly against the rock wall. Nothing made sense. How could Mark have caught me? My hands found the rope and I struggled to get back upright. Stepping onto a toehold produced sharp flashes of pain in my left ankle. It was broken.
Mark was peering down from the ridge. Raindrops were hitting my face. The situation was coming into focus. He hadn’t caught the rope. Instead, it had snagged on the rock face. My rappel brake was jammed. This had prevented my sliding off the end of the rope after slamming into the wall. I used one hand to loosen the brake while holding onto the wall. Easing weight onto the rope again, I rappelled to a ledge fifteen feet below. Off rappel, a flick on the rope set it free from the snag… first try.
Mark was stranded on the ridge and the threat of lightening was not yet past. He had to get down. We were too far apart to throw the rope back up so Mark rummaged into his pack for cord. He lowered it… too short. Next he pulls out his boot laces and tied them onto the cord. Altogether it reached and I sent the rope up. Mark set a new anchor and rappelled to my level.We followed the ledge system around the East Side back onto the North Face trying to find the top of the PT Boat Chock Stone. We had enough gear to set two more rappel anchors and it would take five to get off the pinnacle. Several years earlier, we had left slings retreating down the Chock Stone route.In spite of their age, we hoped they might still hold our weight. They did.
Gail Sheehan was waiting at the bottom, wet and worried by our extended absence. We were greatly relieved to be off the rock. Climbing with a broken ankle was difficult, but hiking was out of the question. We had several miles of rough terrain to negotiate before getting to the lower end of Hell Roaring Lake. From there, another two miles of easy trail ran back to the car. Again Mark rummaged into his pack pulling out a Swiss army knife with a saw. He cut free some planks about an inch thick from the shell of a rotting hollow log. He then fashioned a splint that allowed me to walk by transferring some of my weight past the ankle and onto my left hand. It worked pretty well. Gail had taken all of the weight out of my pack and we three set off down the mountain. It was torture. By the time we reached the lake, I was exhausted and ready to confess. Mark offered to carry me. I said yes.
We rearranged the rope into a long mountaineer’s coil,split the coil into halves from the knot and draped it over Mark’s shoulders with the knot behind his neck. My legs ran through the coils transferring my weight onto his shoulders in a piggyback carry. Mark didn’t have to hold my weight with his arms.Gail carried our three packs. We set off down the trail. It was torture. After a few hours, Mark was exhausted and ready to confess. Gail was pretty much used up too. It was raining and the three of us were sitting on a log in the dark. We were too tired to start again. It was a low point. That is when Brent arrived.
They had waited at the cars. They knew something was wrong and were just about ready to drive out to call for help. Brent decided to walk up the trail a short way and see if he might find us. That is what he did… barefoot in the dark. We put my shoes on Brent and he carried me the rest of the way out to the road. Our self rescue had come to an end.
Life After Climbing
Around the time of the accident, he and Mark Sheehan bought an old hotel/boarding house at the onetime mining town of Triumph a few miles southeast of Sun Valley. In the early 1980s, they remodeled it into two separate two-story homes, with lots of room for possessions and the range of woodworking machinery he had acquired. Gordon’s half of that project provided him the comfortable home he had lived in since then.
Gordon knew he was lucky to have survived the accident and as a result he climbed less after that near disaster. I think flashbacks of his near death fall continued to bother him. By the 1990s he was hardly climbing at all, but Kim Jacobs talked him into climbing the Open Book on the Finger again in 2003, although she led all the pitches.
Somewhere along the way, Gordon and I adopted a toast that amused us both. We had both suffered close calls in our climbing and whitewater rafting careers and we both knew we were somewhat lucky to still be alive and healthy. Thus was born our, “Here’s to cheating death” toast at the end of every day of outdoor adventure. As some of us may have noted, “Life is so uncertain” and Gordon and I, and our friends appreciated that we had lived, for the most part, lucky and blessed lives.
In the late 1990s, Gordon started going to Nepal with small groups that were guided by his old friend Pete Patterson and Kim Jacobs. Gordon fell in love with Nepal, its people, and especially its mountains. He made 7 trips to Nepal between 1998-2008. I was lucky enough to accompany him and a small group of friends on two 16-day treks through some of the most spectacular mountains in the world.
Gordon was not doing what we considered mountain climbing but, in 2005, we did steep hiking up to a 17,500-foot summit for a spectacular view of nearby Mount Everest.
In 2010, my wife Dorita and I started doing regular multi-day climbing trips to the spectacular City of Rocks. Gordon was invited and soon joined in enthusiastically, but didn’t climb much. With the urging of our “old” friend, noted climber Jim Donini, we started sponsoring yearly camp-outs for mostly older climbers. Although Gordon seldom climbed at these meetings, he enjoyed being around other climbers and the scenic crags of the area.
At our gatherings, climbers from all over the U.S. enjoyed Gordon, his good temper, his stories, his wit, and his wisdom, as did we all. This year, including 4 nights at the City of Rock outing, my wife Dorita and I got to enjoy Gordon’s fine company on some, or all, of 10 precious days.
Here’s my 2008 photo of Gordon and a merchant of Lo Manthang in remote Mustang, Nepal.
Gordon also became involved in white-water rafting in the 1980s and survived many challenging river trips, including two Grand Canyon adventures. In 2016, we finally enjoyed a multi-day river trip with him, thanks to our mutual friend Chris Puchner. We loaned Gordon our “sportscar” raft and he navigated it down the large and sometimes scary rapids of Idaho’s Main Salmon River without mishap.
Part of the fun of being around Gordon was his rich imagination. His little plastic friend Piglet traveled many places with him and proved fascinating to Gordon’s many female friends.
Here’s Gordon at the City of Rocks sharing a drink with Piglet while my wife Dorita politely averts her gaze.
Although Gordon continued to work part-time, he was usually willing to go explore old mines or Native American rock art with us.
This photo of Gordon was taken this Spring as we were hiking back from a 1880s mine we explored west of Hailey.
Final Thoughts
I deeply appreciate that except for a miraculous catch of Gordon’s falling rappel rope by a rock flake, during a thunderstorm on the Finger of Fate back in 1978, we almost certainly would have lost Gordon 41 years ago. So we have been in the bonus Gordon round for many, many years, which I know we are all grateful for.
So we have been blessed that Gordon survived not only that 1978 storm and rappel failure, but he also graced us with his lively presence until now.
[Editor’s Note: Art Troutner is a pioneering Idaho mountaineer who was involved in many firsts in the 1970s including the first Winter ascent of Mount Borah. In this article, he writes about a difficult first ascent of the Lick Creek Range’s most compelling North Face.]
On July 4th, 1973, Bill Whitman (19 years old) and I (18 years old) made the first ascent of the North Face of Snowslide Peak. We took my brother Jim Cockey’s rack of Lost Arrow pitons and around ten Bongs and my diminutive rack of nuts and chocks along with one 90-foot length of Goldline nylon rope and an assortment of white slings, also on loan from my brother.
When my brother had gone off to college, he loaned his climbing equipment to Bill who was forever borrowing it to climb Slick Rock. We suspected Bill’s infatuation with Slick Rock was more often than not used as a ploy to introduce some young lovely to the wonders of rock climbing. We hoped the best for Bill in his endeavors but never found out the results as he was not a braggart. All the same, due to his frequent infatuations, he racked up quite a lot of rock time on Slick Rock. So Jim figured Bill was a worthy recipient of the gear. Lord knows I had considerably less of the gumption that Bill showed for getting out on the rock.
The North Face of Snowlide Peak. The V-climbed by Troutner and Whitman is just right of center. John Platt Photo
All the same, I was intrigued by Snowslide’s imposing North Face and thought it was something I’d like to work up to. The fact that none of us knew anyone who had climbed it was an incentive that was hard to ignore. When I was 16, I was working on a house my dad and uncle were working on in Stanley, I used my free time to started gaining some climbing experience in the Sawtooths.
Art and Jerry on the way to start the Open Book. Kathy Troutner Photo
Now comes some jostling of my memory as to the sequence of events, but I believe the house construction was the same Summer that Jerry Osborn and I attempted the Finger of Fate, climbed the Stur Chimney Route on Heyburn, and climbed the back side of Finger of Fate.
From left to right: Art Troutner, the photographer and Jerry Osborne. Art Troutner Photo
Jerry lead the first pitch which, though not very exposed, is the most technical pitch. From there we traded leads. We used 2 ropes and 3 climbers. Jerry brought along a photographer acquaintance who we roped up between us.
The attempt on the Finger of Fate involved a nasty slog in overripe Spring snow. I feel that we, in our utter ignorance, were smiled upon by the gods as I now know that the snow should have slid and ended my little story right there. At some point in the day, we realized our predicament and shifted over to the south a bit to some thin snow and navigable rock where we “felt” safer in our retreat to our sodden camp. We avoided a possible disaster and learned a lot from the experience.
So working up to the Snowslide climb included a couple trips up the Open Book on the Finger and a trip up Warbonnet with Pierre Saviers. One of the Open Book excursions was in September 1972. This was a 2-team effort that met at the top for a group photo which included one of our party (Tom McLeod) posed while intensely studying his Physics book. Tom’s photo won the honor of gracing the Wall behind our physics teacher’s desk.
Anyway, by the time July 1973 rolled around, I must have felt enough seasons had taken place to attempt the dark and vertical North Face of Snowslide Peak. The day of the climb we were up at dawn, drove my Mom’s Citroen at speed to the trailhead and were hiking by 7:30AM. About 45 minutes later, we arrived at the lake and made our way around to the base. Here we encountered the permanent snow field (not anymore) that wedged up against the start of the climb. This was a favorite boot glissading spot on previous trips to the lake.
Bill Whitman on a Winter climb of the Finger of Fate.
The “route” from here was pretty simple. The face is concave but trending to a V shape on its right side. As long as we stayed in the V we knew it would lead us to the high point of the face. As the face is very fractured for its entire length we just ascended what looked easiest and didn’t stray too far left or right. There were plenty of holds but many of them were loose. We had to be very careful to not drop any rocks down the face as we belayed. All in all, it was not pleasant rock to deal with. We never felt very confident in the protection or the belay anchors we set.
The overall face is very steep with several small, reach-over type, overhanging ledges. Fortunately, there were places where we could gather our wits a bit and rest. I remember them as pockets where 2 could sit. The rock was consistently loose until a couple of rope lengths from the top where things improved.
As it is a north facing, very steep face, the temperatures for the 4th of July were quite cool. While climbing, we watched folks at the lake bathing. It seemed quite incongruous but also somehow reassuring or even comforting to see some normality as we felt quite cut off from that.
We realized early on in the climb that retreating off this thing did not present a pretty picture. The realization was that the best way down was up. So, we got lucky. The face was consistent: loose holds and steep, but doable. Just had to pay attention to the holds and not drop anything on the belay man.
We got to the top around 3:30PM to the sounds of bleating sheep who were grazing unconcernedly right up to the 800+ foot drop. We were elated to have arrived! The sheep not so much. Our reward? Beer and Brass Lamp pizza by 6:00PM.
The first winter ascent of the Finger of Fate was made on March 19, 1973 by James Christopher Hecht, Harry Bowron, Gordon K. Williams and Joe Fox. I was part of the support team which also included Art Troutner and John Platt. I took the color photos. I developed the black and white photos that were shot by the ascent team.
Our first day was spent skiing up Hell Roaring Road down in the forest, the end of the road being Camp I. Semi-unplanned as it was we hooked up with a Boise contingent of the DFC&FC* on the ski in, boosting our group to seven adventuresome lads. The second morning we were greeted with scenery. The fickle “Finger of Fate” is seen pointing skyward in this view from the outlet at Hell Roaring Lake, flanked by the Arrowhead and the Birthday Cake on the skyline. *Decker Flats Climbing & Frisbee ClubLooking southwest from the Hell Roaring Lake outlet toward Imogene lake, which is up and around the spectacular canyon beyond. This was my first Winter expedition and, at this point, I remember being extremely impressed with the snow forms on the mountains. Everything about the Sawtooths was magnified by being there in winter. I was 22 years old in 1973 and it may as well have been the Himalayas to me.The 2nd day we humped from the road end to Hell Roaring Lake, where the climbing began. Carrying heavy packs up to High Camp II was tough. The 3rd morning dawned a little funky but cleared up after a while.The North Face of the Finger, showing the “Open Book” route in deep shadows, not a nice climb in Winter. It was attempted repeatedly before selecting an alternate plan.Gearing up in the morning. Nice equipment, huh? I believe those are my Hickory 215CM Sundins Mountain Skis from REI, with screwed in metal edges and my surplus canvas + aluminum frame pack. I fondly remember treating the ski bases with Pine Tar so wax would adhere properly. I don’t miss doing it anymore though. The Silveretta cable bindings were versatile and enabled amazing Winter travel, though stylish turns were difficult. Also my classic aluminum cup.Gearing up in the morning. Nice equipment, huh? I believe those are my hickory 215 cm Sundins Mountain Skis from REI, with screwed in metal edges, and my surplus canvas + aluminum frame pack. I fondly remember treating the ski bases with Pine Tar so wax would adhere properly. I don’t miss doing it anymore though. The Silveretta cable bindings were versatile and enabled amazing winter travel, though stylish turns were difficult. Also my classic aluminum cup.Soft morning light kisses the powder snow ‘Good Morning’ as Gordon leads off toward the climb on Day 3.Skiing up from Camp II the morning of March 19, 1973. A cloudy dawn turned into a fine day.A closer look at the Open Book Route.Ascending the colouir to the West Ridge saddle.Looking back down the col toward Camp II, with someone working their way up the track way below.Sitting atop the buttress west of the Finger and making a plan before the climbers scramble back down to the saddle and head up the West Ridge Route.Rappelling down the buttress back to the saddle.The Finger of Fate as viewed from the buttress, with Hell Roaring Lake snowed over down below, looking east toward the Sawtooth Valley. Our cars are waaaay out there. Big bad Castle Peak is on the horizon.If you see the rope, follow it upward and you’ll notice Gordon’s head (center) peering out from a belay position above a pitch.A casual belay.Looking down at the saddle.The Buttress west of the Finger as seen from the Finger. I took up a position on top of the buttress with my Graflex to shoot pics back toward the Finger while the rock climbers worked on their goal. You see the route up and down the buttress in the disturbed snow.Looking toward the Arrowhead, Sevy Peak and the Birthday Cake displayed prominently on the skyline.The view west from the Finger of Fate. Chris is coming up.Belay on! View is to the NNW with Decker Peak the more distant summit on the right.Harry leads a nice pitch.The lads are now seen (lower left if you look closely) watching as Harry leads a line. These are the pics I shot from over on the buttress.Looks like Gordon is belaying the next climber up while Harry pokes around.Making a leap of faith. There is a large gap from one boulder to the next, which takes a measured leap to do properly. Don’t come up short, but don’t overshoot the landing either.Harry on the summit block.Detail summit photo of the first Winter ascent (March 19, 1973). Left to right: James Christopher Hecht, Harry Bowren, Gordon K. Williams and Joe Fox.
Bob Boyles, Mike Weber, Art Troutner and Frank Florence made the first Winter ascent of Borah’s North Face. Below you will find one of the few photos they took during the 16.5 hours they climbed and photocopies of 2 Idaho Statesman articles published at the time. Below you will find reminiscences of the climb from Bob Boyles and 3 Idaho Statesman articles which covered the climb.
Bob Boyles offered these details:
We climbed the North Face on January 8-9, 1977. The only reason we even considered doing the face in Winter was the drought of 1976-1977. The Winter started out very cold and dry, and it had only snowed a couple of times before we went. So we rolled the dice and hoped the face wouldn’t be loaded up and, luckily, it wasn’t. We got into waist-deep unconsolidated sugar snow on our descent, but it went all the way down to the rocks below and wouldn’t slide. It was weird because when you walked through it, it would push the snow 10-20 feet in front of you.
When asked about avalanche danger Bob pointed out that:
The North Face of Mount Borah has only been climbed two times in Winter to my knowledge and both were in 1977, two weeks apart. We did it first and another team from Ketchum (or maybe it was Idaho Falls) did it two weeks later after the cold spell passed. It never got cold again all that Winter.
What made the climb possible was the drought of 1976-77. During a normal Winter, the cirque would be a pretty risky place to climb. A couple of years after our Winter ascent, we went up in late September and, over a mile from the face, ran into the avalanche debris that carried Bruce Otto’s snow measuring equipment out of the cirque.
When we got over the cliff band and got a close look at the face, we could see that the whole thing had slabbed off leaving behind a 6-foot crown. The bivy site where we usually stayed was covered in maybe 30 feet of rubble. Realizing that more of the slab might come off, we hugged the left side of the moraine and did a different route far to the left of the face.
Curt and I did the North Face Direct the next year and the crown was still there presenting a short, vertical step that we had to climbed over. A few years later, another one came down the gully that crosses the main trail to Chicken-Out Ridge. Most people walk right through it without realizing what it is. That slide snapped 4-foot trees like toothpicks and ran at least a mile.
Bob pointed out the 1977 conditions were an extremely rare occurrence:
I fish for salmon and monitor the USGS Idaho streamflow site daily during the season. From USGS records, most of the all-time low streamflow rates for Idaho rivers were set in 1977. Those kind of conditions don’t happen very often and we knew it before we went for the North Face. We figured we’d get snowed out before we could get a climb in that Winter. If we had waited one more week the temperatures warmed (for the rest of the Winter) and we would have missed the arctic air mass that had set in. But…no one expected we’d see that kind of drought, and the face could have safely been climbed all Winter.
Bob also warns that “In a normal Winter,like we’re seeing this year, I would not go up on the face. One might be able to make it up the far left side of the cirque to gain the ridge, but that would bypass the entire face.”
Bob Boyles supplied this photo, the only photo his team took on their Winter ascent of the North Face in January 1977. Frank Florence Photo
The first article discussed the upcoming attempt.
Idaho Statesman Article
The second article covered was an announcement that the climbers had succeeded. My copy was not in good enough shape to photograph so it is transcribed here:
By TOM GROTE
The Idaho Statesman
Four Boiseans Saturday successfully reached the summit of Mt. Borah, Idaho’s tallest mountain, the father of one the climbers said.Lou Florence, president of Sawtooth Mountaineering, said his son Frank Florence, Bob Boyles, Art Troutner and Mike Weber completed the climb in the dark about 5:30AM [Editor’s note: The original article listed the climbers addresses.]
The climb was completed a day earlier than planned, Florence said, because the four did not have to ski part of the way to the mountain. “The wind had blown away the snow and they tookadvantage of the good weather,” he said.Three of the 4 weatheredin good condition. Boyles suffered frostbite on 3 fingers. “We won’t know how bad until we see them,” Florence said.
The climb to the top of the 12,622 foot summit was believed to be the first Winter ascent along Mt. Borah’s North Face. The climb began about 1:30AM Friday, Florence said his son told him during a telephone call from Arco after the climb. “They ran into a snowstorm a few hours after they started, but the weather then cleared,” he said.Two hours into the climb, the party ran into winds of 20-30 miles per hour, adding a significant chill to the 15-degree temperature, he said. All 4 climbers made the summit after. 28 straight hours of climbing, twice as long as expected.
The climbers did not stay long at the top and left no mementos, Florence said. “They were very elated when they reached the top,” he said, “but the bad weather forcedthem to a take another way down than they had planned.”The four ate snacks during the climb. They were driving toward Boise late Saturday and were expected back around midnight, he said.
The usual Winter route to the summit ridge is on the Southwest Face, Florence said. Although the climbers were taking the more difficult route, they did not have the worst conditions possible. Deeper snow and colder temperatures hamper climbers in February and March, but a January ascent still qualifies as a Winter climb, Florence said.All four are experienced climbers, but only Frank Florence had prior experience on Mount Borah. In January 1973, he reached the top but lost the tips of 3 toes to frostbite.Another group tried to climb themountain in July, but was forceddown by winds up to 55 miles per hour.
