Back in the Midwest when I first started climbing, my friends and I would start the day in the cavernous confines of The Alpine, a restaurant that ladled out great heaps of the artery-clogging fare for which Wisconsin is famous. After we were completely bloated we’d stagger out into the sunlight, fall into cars, and head for the local crag, satisfied that we were beginning our day with an alpine start.
Not even close. But the alpine start is a part of mountaineering tradition that well deserves its place, whether it means getting going at the crack of midnight, in the wee small hours, at oh-dark-thirty, or by first light. The reasons for an alpine start are many, and maximizing the number of hours available to complete the climb is only the most obvious. It’s about safety, not comfort. Many unanticipated events can conspire to use up your available daylight and your margin of safety. By getting an early start you give yourself the best chance to avoid the consequences of a set of options that’s ever diminishing, like sand in an hour glass. Descending is inevitably more dangerous than climbing, and retreating in darkness is the most dangerous descent of all.
Climbing in the early morning is usually easier and safer. Snowfields are firm, making step kicking or cramponing easier. Later, as the snow warms, it may turn into bottomless slush that makes for a miserable, wet ascent. If you complete the climb early enough, you have the option of waiting until that slope is in good shape to descend by glissading. If sloth robs you of time, the once-inviting snowfield may have turned icy as shadows fall late in the day and temperatures along with them. That could make the descent much more dangerous, even if you’re prepared with crampons or a rope. If you’re unprepared, the temptation will still be strong to shave your safety margin to nil in order to continue down rather than become benighted. A decision to be avoided by starting early.
Rockfall may abate during the night but resume with fury as soon as the sun warms the stone. One of the scariest mornings I can remember saw our party shortcutting beneath an icefall as fast as we could possibly move—not because of the ice, but because the upper surfaces of the seracs (blocks of ice) were covered with all manner of rocks lightly frozen in place. We knew that as soon as the sun came over a ridge and warmed those rocks, many would be on their way down in search of lazy climbers. Getting an early start up a couloir gives you the best chance of encountering the least amount of rockfall and icefall.
In the pleasant months of summer climbing, many mountain ranges see thunderstorms appearing in early afternoon. That’s the time by which you want to have already left the summit, for several reasons. The most obvious reason is to avoid being drenched with rain and assaulted by lightning. Rock is more slippery when wet—this not only makes it more difficult to climb on, but wetness encourages rockfall. The worst example of rockfall I’ve witnessed was a huge afternoon release of wet rock; two climbers perished.
Approaches as well as climbs should be started early, especially if they involve stream crossings, glacier travel, or bergschrunds. Snow bridges over crevasses weaken in the warmth of the day, and melting snow can substantially increase afternoon stream flow, making crossings more difficult and dangerous.
Getting an early start begins the night before or even the day before, with an ample dinner, casual but complete preparation, and a good night’s sleep. Lest you think you’re alone in your wakefulness, let me assure you that just about every mountaineer has trouble getting a restful night’s sleep before a climb. Anxiety is compounded by altitude and unfamiliar, often uncomfortable, surroundings. Minimize the worry by taking care of everything necessary to get you off promptly the next morning. That means having all your climbing gear accounted for and packed; your food and water packed; breakfast planned; a water bottle for the night; and your climbing clothes ready. There’s nothing like keeping mental track of a growing todo list to keep you awake.
Most climbers have personal recipes for getting to sleep; here are a few popular menu items:
Overeating, especially pasta and cheese
Alcohol, carbonated and otherwise
5-hydroxy l-tryptophane
Antihistamines, like Benadryl or Benahist, containing diphenhydramine HCl
Diamox (acetazolamide), 125 mg if the problem is nighttime respiration disturbance (periodic breathing) when new to altitude
Drugstore sleepers, such as Unisom, containing doxylamine succinate
Prescription sleepers like Ambien (Zolpidem, zolpidem tartrate) that act quickly, don’t disturb breathing at altitude, and avoid the morning hangover
Prescription benzodiazepine sedatives (Valium, Halcyon, Xanax, Versed, etc.)
Valerian root or other herbs
Melatonin
If you choose any of these, don’t experiment on your first big outing. You want to wake up alert and motivated, not hung over. If you’re sleeping at 8,000 feet or higher, be especially cautious with any substance that depresses respiration or acts as a diuretic (as do many of these and their kin); such side effects contribute to Acute Mountain Sickness. The best high-power option by far is Ambien; avoid the depressants.
I usually don’t have problems falling asleep. I take care of the anxiety-minimizing preparations, set the alarm, pop in my earplugs, and drift into the arms of Morpheus; melatonin plus B-12 make for pleasantly vivid dreams. My problem is staying asleep. Winter makes this worse, when there are 14 hours of darkness and nothing to do but stare at the insides of your eyelids. A pee bottle is handy, even in summer, to minimize interruptions of torpor. The coldest time of night is the hour before dawn; that’s usually good for enough contributory discomfort to pry one’s eyes open—might as well get up and out.
Mountaineers learn to get out of the bag and get in motion promptly. That helps with attitude as well as with staying warm. Some who weren’t successful getting to sleep may want to start the day with modafinil (Provigil, Alertec), and so might even some who were. Some need coffee to get them going; some find coffee gets them going uncontrollably. Hot cocoa has smaller fangs and helps more with hydration. Few mountaineers seem to relish a big breakfast of any kind as part of a genuine alpine start; I’ll discuss eating options in Chapter 19 on performance nutrition.
When all else fails, and your alpine start or lack thereof fails to save you from the likelihood of a bivouac, don’t despair. There are hardly any mountaineers who haven’t found themselves high on a mountain, shivering in the darkness while watching the lights of warmer places twinkling in the distance below. They’ve survived, and you will, too. Maybe they learned a little more about suffering, but the mountaineers who faced the greatest danger were the ones who thought that a few hours of discomfort should be avoided by descending in darkness or deteriorating conditions. Resist the temptation to forsake your safety margin by rappelling into unknown terrain, descending an iced slope when you prepared only for snow, or exposing yourself to other objective hazards, simply to avoid a night out. Better to accept a few hours of discomfort waiting for first light. An unplanned bivouac in winter or in a storm can be more threatening and last longer, but if that’s a possibility, you should carry the minimum equipment that will get you through. There are plenty of stories about backcountry travelers who thrashed around off route in the darkness, getting themselves lost, fatigued, and hypothermic, but there are far more numerous, though less interesting, instances of climbers who did the sensible thing and hunkered down. For these sensible climbers, their greatest danger may have been dehydration and boredom. All this, by the way, applies to the typical summer bivouacs facing North American climbers. At high altitude and in extreme cold, bivouacs can become fatal.
Yvon Chouinard is often quoted as admonishing that if you take along bivy gear, you will bivouac. He was warning not only about the consequences of the additional weight carried but the consequences of accepting the attitude (or possibility) of defeat even before your climb sets off—not to mention the powerful disincentive of an option that will entail even more than the customary amount of suffering, should it become inevitable. So don’t plan on an unplanned bivy, but there are things you can prudently take along to avoid truly dire consequences if unforeseen circumstances cause delays and you become benighted. These items won’t contribute much weight or consume much space in your pack; together they’re lighter but more effective than an old-school shell parka:
Wind jacket. I’m expecting that you’ll carry a hooded wind jacket as part of your normal clothing in the mountains. If that isn’t the case, you’ll want to prudently pack one in case your estimate of time or weather proves inaccurate. For greater protection but less versatility, elect a waterproof, nonbreathable hooded rain jacket of lightweight fabric. Either option can be carried for less than 4 ounces.
Balaclava. A balaclava provides the greatest warmth for least weight because it covers your head and neck, your areas of greatest heat loss. A light version should be in your ten essentials.
Gloves. If you aren’t carrying climbing gloves, consider liner gloves for emergency use only.
Socks. Heavy socks would be a good idea if there’s any chance of an extended climbing day when you’re otherwise wearing only light socks.
VBL. A vapor barrier sleeping bag liner offers serious protection from the elements should you get caught out. A VBL made from silnylon weighs only a few ounces and is a better choice than “space blankets.” A similar alternative would be a bivy sack, which in modern fabrics will weigh as little as 8 ounces and could fit two compatible climbers in an emergency.
When you have to concede that you’re facing several hours of discomfort, invest the last daylight finding a spot that’s sheltered from wind and stonefall, preferably east facing. Put on all available clothing. Sit on your rope with your feet in your pack. Pull your arms inside your jacket and cinch up all openings. Cuddle up with your companions. And suffer. Be comforted by the words of Gaston Rébuffat:
The man who climbs only in good weather, starting from huts and never bivouacking, appreciates the splendour of the mountains but not their mystery, the dark of their night, the depth of their sky above … How much he has missed!