Bill March was a British mountaineer and ice climber who, along with Rick Albano, is credited with the first Winter ascents of Leatherman Peak and White Cap Peak in 1975. He came to Idaho at the request of his friend Harrison “H” Hilbert and was associated with the Idaho State University Outdoor Program in the 1970s. The American Alpine Club has a brief biography which is worth a read. Click on the following link: Bill March
The late Chuck Ferguson (1940-1998) is not as well known as one would expect, considering his accomplishments as an Idaho climber with a peak (at least unofficially) named after him. I met Chuck in the early 1980s during my working at the Idaho Falls YMCA. I was organizing community fun runs in Idaho Falls and Chuck ran in all of them. As a public school math teacher, Ferguson was a stickler for accuracy and I was told more than once that my 10K courses were not measured accurately. I did not realize he was a climber until 1993.
I discovered that he was more than a runner when I climbed Peak 11509, now named after Chuck. Perhaps a good starting point for my discovery was August 15, 1993 when I finally climbed the peak. The 11,509-foot, cliff-rimmed mountain that divides Dry Creek and Long Lost Creek on the back side of the Lost River Range is a daunting challenge. The day before (from Far and Away Peak) I had spotted a gully on the Southwest Side of the peak that looked climbable. It was and when I reached the top, it looked untouched. But then I found a little meat snack tin tucked into the rocks. Inside the tin was the name Chuck Ferguson along with the date June 29, 1978.
Anyway, after my adventure I felt compelled to call Chuck and compare notes. Turns out he climbed the dicey East Side line from Swauger Lakes to reach the summit. His route involved crossing a catwalk snow bridge on the peak’s narrow South Ridge. Apparently we had something in common, as we climbed together over the next several years on a dozen peaks or more peaks.
During his life, he climbed Borah Peak 25 times and climbed hundreds of other Idaho peaks and undoubtedly recorded several first ascents including a difficult route on Brocky Peak in the Pioneer Mountains. Looking over Chuck’s peak list, I see Warbonnet was the second peak he did after Borah. Talk about diving in head first. In addition to Brocky, his other first ascents are Pegasus (July 29, 1994) and Straight Shot (October 21, 1995). He shared his climbs with relatives, colleagues, students, and friends and left an enduring legacy in Idaho’s climbing history. Climbing was something that he was good at, but Chuck’s passion was running.
He completed 100 of the 26.2-mile marathons and several ultra-marathons, almost winning the Lake Tahoe 72-miler. He began climbing mountains in 1976 as a training tool. All together, Chuck climbed over 200 peaks, including 54 Colorado Fourteeners. Warbonnet was the second peak he did after Borah on July 16, 1977. In fact, he and David were first known Idahoans to complete the 54 Colorado Fourteeners on August 21, 1998.
Chuck Ferguson (left) and David Ferguson (right) in Jones Creek after climbing No Regret Peak (July 1994). Rick Baugher Photo
Evilio Echeverria was on a personal quest to explore the world when he arrived in Sun Valley from Chile in 1953. He took a job as a waiter at the lodge where he met Louis Stur. Stur quickly invited him into his climbing circle and the two shared many adventures over the next 3 years. The following photos were provided by Dr. Echevarria. The photos document a period during which written Idaho mountaineering history is hard to find. Dr. Echevarria contributed to the second edition of the book.
The North Ridge in front and the Northeast Face of Hyndman Peak. Evilio Echevarria PhotoHyndman Peak as viewed from the NNW. Evilio Echevarria PhotoApproaching the North Face of Hyndman Peak from Wildhorse Canyon. Evilio Echevarria PhotoThe North Face of Goat Mountain. Francis Willmarth of Berkeley, California. Evilio Echevarria PhotoOld Hyndman Peak as viewed from the north. Evilio Echevarria PhotoOld Hyndman Peak as viewed from Upper Wildhorse Creek. Evilio Echevarria PhotoThe WNW Side of Hyndman Peak. Evilio Echevarria PhotoFrancis Willmarth roping up on the North Face of Goat Mountain. Evilio Echevarria PhotoHyndman Peak and surrounding environs as viewed from the west. Evilio Echevarria PhotoOld Hyndman Peak as viewed from the north. Evilio Echevarria PhotoThe North Face of Leatherman Peak. Evilio Echevarria PhotoPeak 11090 as viewed from the summit of Mount Borah. Evilio Echevarria Photo
This is the summit ridge of what Louis Stur called Mount Hancher. [Editors Note: I am not sure which peak this is. The name has not stood the test of time]. Evilio Echevarria PhotoLouis Stur on the summit what he called Mount Hancher. [Editors Note: I am not sure which peak this is. The name has not stood the test of time]. Evilio Echevarria PhotoLouis Stur on the summit ridge of what he called Mount Hancher. [Editors Note: I am not sure which peak this is. The name has not stood the test of time]. Evilio Echevarria Photo
A panoramic view (left to right): Packrat Peak, Monte Verita and Warbonnett Peak. Evilio Echevarria PhotoLouis Stur ascending a slope in the Sawtooth Mountains. Evilio Echevarria PhotoLouis Stur and Freddi Haemisaeger on top of Horstman Peak in 1955. Evilio Echevarria PhotoLooking north from the summit ridge of Mount Bush during a solo attempt on the peak. Evilio Echevarria PhotoMount Bush as viewed from the northeast. Evilio Echevaria PhotoMount Bush as viewed from the west. Evilio Echevarria PhotoFrancis Willmarth surveying an approaching thunderstorm during a 1954 attempt on the North Face of Goat Mountain. Evilio Echevarria PhotoEvilio Echevarria during an attempt on the North Face of Goat Mountain. Evilio Echevarria PhotoThe final climb up Mount Borah as viewed from Chicken-Out Ridge in 1955. Evilio Echevarria Photo
I wrote this article about the first ascent of the North Face of USGS Peak for the Idaho State Bar magazine, The Advocate. They wanted me to write an article to demonstrate that attorneys could have a life apart from their legal practice. This article recounts the first ascent of the North Face. It was originally published in The Advocate, published by the Idaho State Bar in the July 1997 issue, Volume 40, No. 7. The peak’s page is found at this link: The climb took place in August 1995. USGS Peak
I climb with my wife. For us, spare time means weekends and vacations. The typical climbing weekend begins as the prior weekend ends. As our truck reaches the pavement. Dana, my wife asks “What shall we climb next weekend?”
“I’m not sure I can go. I have a hearing the following Monday.”
“Can’t you get ready before the weekend?”
“I’ve got to write three briefs this week. I’ll have to work all night.”
“The weather can’t last forever. We should take advantage of it.”
“I know, I’ll work late.”
“Me too. What shall we climb?”
“What shall we climb?” is a loaded question for us. Its kind of like “to be or not to be?” for poor old Hamlet. There are too many options, too many summits. We talk about the options and then agonize about the decision because time is so limited.
Monday and Tuesday. Work, work, work. At home, it’s chores. At lunch, its running. In between, we pick a peak: The North Face of USGS Peak in the Lost River Range. To our knowledge, the face has never been climbed. Its one of those peaks that has haunted us for a long time. Three earlier attempts on the peak over the last 15 years came up short. One brief is finished.
Wednesday. Wednesday evening is usually the drop-dead date for packing and planning. We must collect the maps, pick the route, pack the packs and buy the food because we will be too tired on Thursday. Brief number two is done by 4:30PM.
Thursday. Its time to finish the third brief and draft an outline for the Monday morning hearing. A new case comes in and I find an answer is due by today. Between witnesses and opposing counsel, too much time is spent on the phone. I run at lunch time. A case settles, gotta draft a release, oops, time to go home. At home, the garden needs water and the equipment needs checking. We look at the maps and go to bed.
Friday. The drive to the East Side of the Lost River Range will take at least 5 hours, so we plan our escape for the early afternoon. The third brief is done. At 3:15PM, we are in the truck and heading for the freeway. From Boise, we drive east to Bliss, Shoshone and Arco. Lava fields and small towns pass by and the mountains to the north and east grow closer. At Arco, we buy gas and drive east to Howe. Its 6:00PM and we are pointed north on Little Lost River Highway.
The good roads end at Clyde. We follow the Wet Creek Road west to the Dry Creek cut-off road which runs northwest. At about 6:45PM, we arrive at the shattered Dry Creek Dam which was, according to one story, blown up as a result of a water rights dispute in the 1920s. We stop for a break. The most difficult 4 miles and hour of the drive are ahead. The sun is dipping down behind the Lost River Range Crest. The shadows bring coolness.
The road down from the top of the dam is reminiscent of a roller coaster ride. One turn and the road is nothing more than a talus slope which pitches out and sharply down at a wicked angle. The Jeep bounces and stammers, the wheels throw gravel and its over. I release my death grip on the steering wheel.
It’s now time to ford Long Lost Creek for the first time. The creek is wider than I remember, but we plunge in anyway, making waves with our bumper. The gravel stream bed supports us and we cross without incident. Its starting to get dark. In another mile, we cross the creek again. A quarter mile farther and we reach a grassy, water-logged meadow. The stream has divided into numerous rivulets which liquefy the earth. No cell phone will reach a tow truck from this remote spot. We have visions of the truck sinking into the meadow and, tired of driving, consider setting up camp without crossing the meadow.
We realize that if we do not continue, we will have a much longer climb the next day. So we go on. Mud oozes and water sloshes around the truck. We creep from one mud hole to the next, finally reaching the mother of all mud holes. “What do you think?” Dana asks. “Someone drove through here,” I say without much confidence. We explore the mud hole on foot, it has a bottom, and we drive on. Suddenly, it’s over. There is dry ground under us. The road is now surprisingly good and the last bit goes quickly. We have made it to the proverbial end of the road.
The Long Lost Valley is a difficult place to reach but is well worth the effort.
Time to make camp in the twilight. The tent goes up, the sleeping bags are unpacked, the headlamps and novels are thrown in the tent, water is located, a late-night snack is gobbled up and suddenly it’s quiet. Massacre Mountain, a long hulking ridge, towers above one side of the valley while the canyon walls on the other side of the creek climb to the summits of several unnamed peaks. A deer crosses the meadow. The wind shifts slightly and the sound of the creek rolling down the canyon reaches our ears. It’s cool now. The trees sway with the breeze and I fall asleep while my untouched novel lays at my side.
Saturday. Well, OK, not the crack of dawn but a respectable 7:30AM. Time for a quick breakfast, then we load the packs. At 8:10AM, we’re on the trail, an old trail that has seen little use in the last 25 years. We hike through stretches of fir and pine separated by sagebrush-covered flats toward the headwall at the end of the canyon. The trail has disappeared. As the route climbs up a steep slope through an avalanche run, my legs remind me that it’s going to be a long day.
After the road ends, there is a sketchy trail that can be followed in places. It is, for the most part, missing in the meadows but appears in the trees.
A short distance ahead, we encounter a 100-foot waterfall dropping over vertical rock walls. Following the stream is out of the question. We located a route and start up the side of the canyon. The detour involves climbing 200 feet up a steep, dusty slope. From this point, a 75-foot loss in elevation brings us back down to the stream above the waterfall. The next obstacles (two smaller waterfalls) are not as time consuming to bypass. An hour has gone by.
The highest waterfall along the approach route.
A detour around a 4th waterfall brings us to a spot where the valley opens up into a hanging valley. A small tributary stream flows down from a side canyon, tumbling out of a long snow slope. Our route climbs up this slope to the cirque above. Do we get out our ice axes and crampons to climb the snow or do we climb the rocks to the left? Decisions, decisions. We opt for the rocks to save time. The slope is at least 300 feet high (100 feet higher than the Capital’s dome in Boise) and it takes us nearly 30 minutes to navigate our way to the top.
Above the waterfalls, the valley opens up into a spectacular high valley.
One hundred yards farther and we reach a small pond fed by melting snow. A thin glaze of ice covers its surface, a sure sign that the elevation is well over 10,000 feet. From the pond, we catch our first glimpse of the North Face of USGS Peak. The face is steep (as we knew it would be) but wow, it really looks steep. Slender snow ramps climb up the shadow-covered face. We snap a couple of photos and look at the wall through a monocular. Dana suggests a possible route. We discuss it. I give it my benediction, “Yes, it will go,” meaning that there are no obvious obstacles and what we see ahead of us doesn’t scare me.
The North Face of USGS Peak.
The intervening terrain is strewn with boulders and patches of snow. Although we picked the easiest route across the broken surface, it still takes 20 minutes to arrive at the face. It’s now time to unpack the ice axes and crampons and to decide whether a rope is necessary. The 1,500-foot slope above us rises at about 45 degrees. We opt for speed and leave the rope. Our ice tools are our only protection. The first pitch is 200 feet high, steep and the snow covering is still rock-hard in the morning shadows. At times, we hit water ice and neither the points of our crampons or the pick on our ice axes will make a dent. We use our ice axes to cut several steps across the ice and soon reach a rock buttress. Rather than remove our crampons, we climb up with our crampons clinking and scraping on the rocks. The footing is good and we scramble up the rock to the base of a snow chute that climbs to the summit ridge, another 1,000 feet above. Another hour has passed.
“It looks good.” We are now 500 feet up the slope and the base of the cirque is spread out below us like the view from an airplane. The tops of the ridges that enclose the cirque are nearly level with us but the summit ridge seems no closer than it was 30 minutes earlier. We use our axes to cut a small platform and sit down to rest. The snow has varied in quality as we climbed, from “Styrofoam like,” to water ice, to unconsolidated, rotten snow where we have fallen through the crust to our waists. Anything that gets loose on the slope will end up in the rocks 500 feet below in no time at all.
We continue cutting steps across water ice. Our quadriceps ache and our calves cramp, but we go on. We reach a rock band which constricts the snow chute and climb onto it for a change of pace. The rock quickly becomes too steep and we move back onto the snow. I’m counting my steps now to take my mind off my weariness. I set a goal. I’ll try to go 200 steps before I rest. I make it to 247. Time to cut more steps. Dana takes the lead. Each blow from the ice ax sends a cascade of ice down the slope. The air is completely still except for our labored breathing. Above the water ice, the slope moderates and the summit ridge cuts the sky. Another 15 minutes and we are on the summit ridge. The summit ridge is narrow but easy walking and we soon reach the top.
A small register in a can records only the name of Rick Bauger of Idaho Falls who climbed the peak from the south one year earlier. We snack, enjoy the view, discuss other possible routes on the peak and drift into our own little worlds. The wind picks up, reminding us that it’s time to go down. We both know the descent is probably more dangerous than the climb up. We say nothing. We’ve climbed together for nearly 20 years and safety concerns are communicated non-verbally. Two hours later, we are back in camp.
Sunday. Sunday we follow a trail to a nearby lake and hike to the top of the high point above it. It’s a nice change from the icy North Face but its anticlimactic. We still have the return hike, the swampy meadow, 2 river crossings, a talus slope and a 5-hour drive ahead of us. We decide to start for home. The next trip must be planned and, somehow, we have to get our heads back into our work.
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.
Below you will find Bob Boyles’ favorite photos from the first ascent of the Direct North Face of Borah (October 1976). The North Face of Mount Borah is considered by some to be one of the finest alpine climbs in Idaho and one of the few faces that holds ice during most years. The lower face starts at around 45 degrees and steepens to around 55 degrees below the summit pyramid. This route takes the left branch of the main couloir until it ends at the short steep rock step (Class 5.7) and then follows low Class 5, Class 4, and Class 3 steps directly to the summit. In the early season (late Spring and Summer), this route is usually a steep snow climb. In late season (late Summer and early Fall), this route can be all hard alpine ice (10 pitches, WI3). In good conditions, this route can be climbed in a few hours. In poor conditions, this route can take all day. The Southwest (Chicken-Out) Ridge is often used for descent.
Mount Borah’s North Face Direct Route. Bob Boyles PhotoMike Weber “frenching up” on hard ice.Bob Boyles high on the North Face.Mike Weber at the start of the main couloir.Mike Weber on belay below the crux pitch.Bob Boyles topping out on the North Face Direct Route.Mike on the summit of Mount Borah.Bob on the summit of Mount Borah.
—Idaho Statesman June 30, 1973
