Icefall Mountain (+ Strike & Cuesta Peaks)

After a few years of avoiding each other (“honestly Vern, it’s me, not you” 😀), Phil Richards and I have been getting out on some mighty fine adventures already this year. In early summer we did a 2-day excursion into Kellwasser and Little Brother Peak, followed by a 3-day trip exploring the Drummond Icefield. Apparently we were getting along just fine because we planned another excursion the weekend after I returned from 2-weeks of sucking on wildfire smoke in the Okanagan.

I’m not sure when we first discussed Icefall (“Ram’s Head”) Mountain but I have emails from 2017 where he was busy proposing trips into upper Martin Creek and Icefall Mtn, so it’s been talked about for at least a decade. Since then, we’ve both spent considerable time and energy exploring landscapes all around Banff National Park’s most remote area. Trips that stand out for me include a 2019 Heart of Banff trip, a 2020 trip into Mount Harris and Augusta, a 2022 trip up the Ram River, and a 2023 trip up Laughing Bears Creek. There’s a lot of miles and meters contained in those trip reports folks. 👣🏔️

It’s hard to explain to folks who aren’t familiar with the area just how remote and hard-to-access the Upper Ram or Martin Creek landscapes are. It became very obvious as Phil and I planned our trip. Just trying to find photos of potential routes on Icefall Mountain was more work than it should have been. When we did find images looking in the right direction (at the south face), they never showed the full mountain. Ram’s Head might be over 3200 meters high, but it’s so buried in the landscape (surrounded by other 3200m peaks) that just looking at it is nigh impossible, nevermind accessing or climbing it.

In September of 2001, Rick Collier’s party took 2-days just to bike and hike the 42+ kms into the Ram Glacier via Hummingbird Creek and the Ram River. With our UL backpacking gear and techniques Phil and I knew that whether we went in via Quartzite Col and the Clearwater River or the Ram River we could get close to Icefall Mountain in just 1 day. Comparing the two routes they were remarkably similar in stats with the Ram Glacier at 43 kms and 1000m gain and the Clearwater River at 36 kms and 1000m gain. The latter route has off trail travel up Martin Creek so time-wise the two routes would be very similar. In the end we chose the Martin Creek access because we also planned on a scenic exit via the hanging valley of Upper Martin Creek.

Before going any further into our trip however, let’s briefly delve into the original ascent party’s 1977 access and ascent details. It turns out they were much smarter than us and used a heli to penetrate the eastern Rockies! They made up for such an easy access method with a much more involved egress than either Rick or we used. Following is an image of the original trip report as detailed in the 1978 Alpine Club of Canada journal by Judy Cook.

So there ya go! Helicopter beats Ultra Light, but it does feel like a bit of a cheat doesn’t it? Their route is very impressive though, with hardly a mention of any difficulties despite the NE face of Icefall being pretty darn severe in any angles I’ve seen. The 2nd recorded ascent of Icefall didn’t happen until 24 years later.

Of course all this rambling has gotten me WAY off track for a proper trip report because now I’ve laid out a whole bunch of detail on the route before even telling you how the heck we GOT to it! And it turns out that getting to it would somehow involve two unofficial outliers of another obscure mountain - Dip Slope. Let’s get back to the start of this dang adventure, shall we?

Day 1 - Devon Lakes - Strike & Cuesta Peaks

I picked Phil up at his place in Canmore at 06:00 and by 07:19 we were marching out of the Mosquito Creek parking lot for the 2nd time this summer. We were packing light for an intense 3-day trip. I had my 22-litre Black Diamond Distance pack and Phil had his 24-litre Pa’lante. We made short work of the first 4 kms of trail before branching left up North Mosquito Creek towards the infamous Quartzite col.

I remember way back in the day when nobody seemed to know where the heck this access route into the Siffluer River valley was. I first traversed it back in 2013 on a trip into the Devon Lakes area to climb a bunch of peaks. Since that trip there is now an easier line skiers right of the older route with cairns and even a trail beaten into the rubble for most of it.

Our packs and feet still felt light as we descended off the rubble north of the col into the lovely environs of the upper Siffleur River valley. Although there’s no beaten trail across the valley towards Devon Lakes there is a hint of one forming in places. We found an efficient line across the surprisingly undulating terrain before crossing the Siffleur Trail and finishing an ascent to the highest Devon Lake. I lost the bet of how many tents we’d spy here - there were none.

Hiking to Clearwater Pass under the imposing faces of Willingdon, Crown and Tower Peak triggered memories of a trip in 2013 where the weather didn’t fully cooperate.

Spotting Kellwasser Peak across the valley brought back more recent memories of interesting weather. On this trip we were also expecting mixed conditions - between smoke, rain and t-storms it was promising to be “interesting”. Thankfully none of those things were affecting us just yet as we crested Clearwater Pass and gazed down the valley stretched out below.

As we started down the Clearwater River Trail someone (ok it was me) suggested that we consider adding a peak onto our approach to Martin Lake. In my defense there were two good reasons for this suggestion. Firstly, Phil confidently assured me that the approach gully into Icefall Mountain was “only a couple of kilometers up Martin Creek”. This meant we could end up with 4 or more hours at camp under that gully with nothing to do but suffer sunburn and bug bites. ☀️🦟 Secondly, I knew that the two lofty outliers of Dip Slope Mountain were on Phil’s list for a while already and we were going to walk right past them.

Phil’s initial reaction was NOT accommodating my idea. He went quiet for a few moments. I kept at it, gently assuring him of the logic of my idea. Slowly but surely he came around until he agreed. It turns out that a few of our assumptions might have been a little off… 😀

We continued marching down the trail until we were directly across from our new objectives. I have to admit that Strike Peak was looking darn big at this point - it looked much more reasonable from kilometers away at Clearwater Pass. Now that we were essentially right under it I silently questioned our sanity of simply treating an ascent as a simple “add on” to an already big day. But of course I kept those thoughts to myself. Phil, as we discussed much later in the day, was having the exact same sanity check. Funny how that happens.

Naming Notes

I haven’t taken to naming unofficial summits in the past, usually using robotic names from bivouac or other sources. Similar to “Kellwasser Peak”, since the elevation of both outliers is over 3100 meters and both are visible from the Clearwater Trail and many other surrounding peaks I thought it made sense to get creative. The rock in this area was laid down flat, layer on layer, on the floor of a warm shallow sea. Then the Rockies happened. The whole stack got shoved sideways and tilted, and it’s been sitting there at an angle ever since. Everything is still in layers — they’re just not level anymore.

Geologists pin down that tilt with two measurements. Dip is how steeply the layers lean and which way they lean — the direction water would run down a tilted roof. Strike is the level line running across that same slope, at right angles to the dip. The line of the gutter. Neither one means much on its own; together they tell you exactly how a slab of rock is sitting in space.

Dip Slope Mountain gets its name from what happens when the tilted layers become the mountainside. Instead of cutting across the beds, the slope simply follows one of them — a smooth, uniform ramp, the top of that tilted roof. The far side, where the layers get chopped off, is a cliff. That lopsided shape — ramp on one side, cliff on the other — has a name of its own: a cuesta. Dip Slope Mountain is a textbook example.

So the mountain already had the dip. Strike Peak supplies the other half of the measurement, and Cuesta Peak names the shape all three of them share. I thought it was cute but YMMV. Use the names or don’t - I won’t be insulted but you should thank me for the free geology lesson. 🙂

After emptying our already anemic packs of anything camp related, we set off through tangled forest to the Clearwater River sitting just below the trail to the SE. We thrashed our way through a mild swamp before starting up more tangled forest granting access to the lower west slopes of Strike Peak.

Already from much earlier vantages the route looked remarkably straightforward. The only unknowns were accessing easy west and SW rubble slopes and overcoming the cliffy summit block of Strike Peak. The first unknown was cracked with a crack (I love Rockies crack). After bashing through willows and deadfall - thankfully a short-lived obstacle - we found ourselves at the bottom of some cliffs. Normally this would have sucked, but in this case we were staring up at a steep dirt gully breaking right through to the top! A moderate scramble and we were through the first obstacle. Even better? A short walk atop the cliffs and we discovered an even easier gully for our return.

As we hiked on top of the cliffs, now in a lightweight forest, we marveled at the scenery. There was some haze (smoke) rolling in but it wasn’t affecting dramatic views of Tower Peak across the Clearwater River. The route worked perfectly and slowly trees gave way to rubble until we were under the enormous and foreshortened SW face of Strike Peak. All was still OK at this point. Despite private doubts, we were now happy with our decision to tag a few 3100 meter peaks on our first day. It’s always nice to get up something early on a trip - especially with a mixed weather report over the next couple of days.

And then, a couple of thousand labored steps later all our positive vibes died a horrid, choking death. 💀 Why? Conditions deteriorated shockingly fast. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by thick smoke. Any views vanished along with our mojo at this point. It was super depressing to be honest. I was hoping for amazing views over an alpine lake sitting south of our position and I could hardly even see it at this point. 😢

Another death blow to our psyche was the fact that Strike Peak is vastly foreshortened when seen from pretty much anywhere other than on it. The uniformity of the ascent slopes combined with other giant peaks next to it, make it look short ‘n easy. Easy it is, short it is most certainly NOT. Two hours from the Clearwater Trail, I was finally approaching the south end of the summit block. My views over the Cuesta Peak induced some involuntary vomit 🤢- it looking much further and higher than my poor smoke-addled brain could handle. I ignored it for now.

Phil was a tiny dot far below me as I looked for an easy line to the top. Thankfully, as we suspected, the SE summit slopes presented an easy line and soon I was hiking over the dramatic east face to a small summit cairn sitting along an exposed ridge. I made the traverse to ensure there was no register (there wasn’t) before scooching back onto less exposed terrain that seemed just as high. I tried to take some photos but they were deeply and depressingly muted by all the smoke. Sometimes I want to give up on scrambling the Rockies. It’s getting pointless to tag summits in gorgeous, remote areas when you walk away with nothing but possible lung cancer and barely usable photos. 🤷

Phil eventually joined me at the summit and was clearly even more bummed about the conditions than I was. He encouraged me to go for Cuesta Peak right away (time was slipping by fast) and let me know he wasn’t going to follow - he would wait for me somewhere below Strike Peak. I reluctantly agreed (I don’t like leaving trip partners behind) and quickly started a descent towards a distant looking Cuesta.

After retracing my approach down the south ridge of Strike, I descended on rubble and scree down east slopes to the Cuesta col. I was pretty much running at this point, considering that Phil was now waiting for me and time was quickly slipping away from our day. We had a target of 1800 to be back on the Clearwater Trail and I was pretty sure we weren’t going to make that time.

Despite the smoke, views from the col were respectable over a few small tarns and ascent of Cuesta’s western flank was easy and relatively quick. There is a good reason to do Cuesta even though it’s the exact same height as Strike and that reason is the views you presumably have into one of Banff’s most remote valleys - Roaring Creek. I say “presumably” because predictably, my views were quite muted thanks to the f’ing smoke.

Starting back towards Strike was a little depressing. My legs were getting tired at this point from all the slipping around on rubble and I didn’t feel like ascending all the way to my top-out point under Strike’s summit block. By saving a tiny bit of elevation gain I ended up too far south of Strike and had to traverse NW to get back onto our ascent line. All well and good but it all took time and energy and with essentially no views the whole enterprise started to feel rather pointless.

I reunited with Dr. Phil and we continued a steep descent, retracing our approach down forested slopes, across the swamp and the Clearwater River and reuniting with our camp gear at 1900 hours. Yup. An hour later than we’d hoped. It took us just over 5 hours to tag the two peaks which actually isn’t bad when you consider it was roughly 10 kilometers and 1500 meters of height gain and we’d already done almost 1000 meters and many kms by this point.

But. It turns out that in all our excitement to tag Strike and Cuesta on day 1, we may have turned our original plans into dust and ashes. ⚱️Phil decided it was time to get real with his estimates of what we had left in our day and I spent a few moments realizing I’d forgotten a key piece of gear.

As we continued marching down the trail Phil exclaimed that the point of turnoff up Icefall Mountain wasn’t 2 kms from Martin Lake, but closer to 6 or 7. Oops. I in turn informed Phil that I’d forgotten my sleeping mattress. At first glance these two missteps seemed very bad. I right away started thinking I might not even be able to stay out 2 nights and Phil mused that there was no way we were going to make our proposed camp for the night. I’m sure our tiredness and frustration with the smoky conditions contributed to our catastrophizing over the next half hour or so. Put it this way. The humans hiking down the Clearwater Trail in the early evening hours of August 21, 2026 were not putting out positive vibes.

One of the things I require in a trip partner is someone who isn’t afraid to make an audible or two. Obviously we’d already made a huge audible today in the form of two unplanned peaks but now we had to make more. The weather forecast was already unpredictable for the next two days and now we also had a gear issue and a timing issue to consider.

The gear issue wasn’t nearly as bad as it first sounded. I’ve forgotten my sleeping pad before - on Mount Sir Douglas - and that time I slept on scree. We were surrounded by a moss covered forest and I was pretty sure I could survive for sure one night and possibly two as long as we camped in a suitable spot. The timing issue also wasn’t horrible. We decided to camp either right at Martin Lake or slightly before it - taking advantage of the mossy forest floor and hoping to beat darkness before setting up and eating supper. And yes, we had the requisite permits to camp in the area. Briefly stopping along the lovely Clearwater Lake cleared our thoughts and I felt slightly better about things as we continued on.

As evening slowly transitioned towards night I spotted a perfect spot for my tent. Close enough to the river to get water and surrounded by a soft forest floor we decided we were close enough to Martin Lake to stop. In hindsight the area right at the lake would have been perfect but we found ourselves rushing to beat total darkness as it was. Another 1.5 kms at this stage wasn’t worth finding a hardpack site and having to hike back up the trail. The site we found worked perfectly and by 20:30 we were busy boiling water and setting up the tents. We agreed to set the alarms for 05:45ish and set a whole bunch of conditions for the following day.

I got extremely lucky with my tent. As I lay down for the night I felt surprisingly comfortable! There was a little hollow in the ground in the exact right place. I could lay comfortably on my back, stomach and even side. YES! Maybe this whole “sleeping mat” thing could be eliminated on more trips. UL gets even more UL. 😀(I jest of course, but the whole experience has made me consider a small foam mat rather than my current puncture prone setup.) Another bonus? With almost 2 inches of extra headroom my tent felt enormous. 🎪

Day 2 - Icefall Mountain

I managed to sleep as well as I usually do in the backcountry and woke before my alarm. A snooze later and we were both up and at ‘er. After Phil checked the forecast and I confirmed a decent sleep, we agreed that we’d be tagging Icefall as a day trip from our camp. Sunday we would march back up the Clearwater to Quartzite Col the way we’d come. My visit to the bottom of Martin Creek falls would have to wait another year or two. We kept breakfast liquids only and by 06:20 we were tramping down the Clearwater Trail towards Martin Lake.

Crossing Martin Creek just downstream of the lake wasn’t as chilly as expected and before long we were turning off trail, heading west along the north shores of a calm, glacial blue, milky body of water most people will never see.

Phil is likely the most traveled Martin Creek person alive. He’s very likely the most traveled Martin Creek human in history! This was his 4th or 5th time up the valley so I was taking advantage of (and very grateful for) his experience on my first excursion here. He’d been along both sides of Martin Lake and assured me that despite some deadfall issues, the north side was the way to go. Already early on we were on a mix of animal trails, mossy forest floor and stretches of annoying deadfall and willows.

A gorgeous sunrise and the sublime environs of the lake slowly settled into my soul. This is what we live for. Compared to the low moments the previous evening everything was looking pretty darn swell. As we continued past the lake on some annoyingly rough and wet hillocky landscape we were happy to note that the smoke was more muted than the day before - at least for now.

From the west end of Martin Lake we slowly made our way up its namesake creek following a surprisingly robust animal trail on its north side. Don’t get me wrong about the trail. It was very similar in nature to the one we’d discovered on our first foray up McConnell Creek back in 2020. It was distinct enough to give a huge mental boost to the bushwhack, but not maintained in any way by humans. This meant fallen trees, vanishing in open areas and going off in directions that didn’t assist.

Phil remembered almost every problem area and navigated us over, around and through them with ease. His experience here saved us at least an hour or more and can not be understated. We avoided wading the fast flowing Martin Creek for the most part sticking out of the creekbed but wading some side creeks out of necessity.

Only 2-hours into our day we were already at our access drainage leading up to a still unseen, huge alpine bowl sitting SE of our objective. We had no idea if this steep creekbed was going to work out or not but we gamely set out to try! It not only worked, it worked out perfectly. After a short bushwhack to “shortcut” our way into the proper gully, we found ourselves hiking and scrambling up medium to large boulders with running water the whole way up. We wondered about some of the tighter terrain but every time it looked rough we found a way up and through it.

An hour and a half from Martin Creek and many hours and kilometers from the trailhead we were finally ready to set eyes on our peak. It was time to find out if the last decade or so of musing, dreaming and planning was going to result in success or failure. I was nervous as we entered a giant valley of rock, surrounded on every side by impossibly steep curtainwall cliffs.

Ever since Phil first mentioned Icefall Mountain to me I’ve been intimidated by it. It’s not only lofty at over 3200m, it’s remote and obscure and as a consequence there is simply no reliable beta. The first ascent party went up a face that is never going to be repeated. Rick Collier details his trip on bivouac.com as usual but unfortunately it is rife with obvious directional errors.

I only knew of one other person who’d attempted Icefall Mountain since Rick. In 2025 Devan Peterson ascended Nordic Ridge and then tried to find Rick’s route to no avail, choosing eventually to skip it and tag Mamen instead. It turns out that Phil and I had one important bit of luck on our side. We were approaching the mountain from the SE rather than the NE, more on that later. While planning the trip, we’d always assumed that we’d have to find our own way at least to the upper mountain. What were the odds we’d intersect with Rick’s route from the Icefall / Ewe col SE of the mountain?

As our objective slowly came into full view we realized any of our plans were done before they’d even started. 😮We’d hoped to utilize “scree slopes” to the upper SW summit block but there was no scree. Despite Google Earth looking tame and satellite imagery showing promise, the only terrain SW of the summit was cliffs, cliffs and more cliffs. As a matter of fact, almost the entire bowl around us was ringed by huge stone walls, hundreds of meters high. Impressive, but also restrictive. And this was when we finally realized that our only remaining option was to intersect Rick’s route and Phil immediately spotted a rising rubble bench that might just do the trick. It truly was the only option from our vantage. And now I’ll get back to Rick’s report.

After a lengthy 2-day approach on bikes and foot up the Ram River, Rick and his team arrived at the Ram Glacier. After an ascent of Nordic Ridge they rambled on towards Icefall Mountain. I’ll quote his trip report as follows. Note that the strikethrough bolded text is incorrect directions which led to much confusion as we tried to suss out his route. Now that I’ve done his route, I have corrected him in bolded text and added quoted bolded comments referencing my detailed map labels.

We donned full battle gear - crampons, harnesses, prussiks, ropes, etc. — at the edge of the Ram glacier and sidehilled over to the col SE of Icefall (GR 553428). Then began a very complex route-finding adventure: we first contoured on scree (“Bench 1”) under the huge cliffs on the W S and SE side of the objective until we reached a long couloir (“SE Gully”) leading upwards along the side of a set of cliffs blanking out the W SW ridge of the peak. We ascended the mud and scree of this couloir from about 9400’ to 10,000’; then turned left around a scree corner (“Access Bench 2”) and onto a wide bench (“Bench 2”) leading back down the W SW ridge above the cliffs mentioned earlier but below a second band of cliffs rising to the N that blocked access to the crest of the ridge. One can drop down W SW along these cliffs and find several possible places for an ascent up this second cliff band to the crest of the ridge - the farther W SW one traverses, the easier the access routes (“Transition Summit Block”). From the crest of the W SW ridge, one drops down slightly to the N and then contours (“Bench 3”) and ascends scree around the buttresses of N NW-facing cliffs. There will undoubtedly be (as there were for us) several dead-ends and retreats while trying to break the barriers of this cliff (“Bench 4”). We finally found a 30’ scramble (“Crux Gully”) on snow-covered rock up to a last scree bench that led around several towers and then up to the broad scree summit at 10,570’.

(Interestingly, the fact that Rick’s “col SE of Icefall” was one of the only accurate directions, ensured my success on the peak since that was our only available target from the SE valley floor.)

As we hiked to the rubble slopes granting access to the start of our ramp, we marveled at the complex and gnarled rock staring back at us from the Ram Head’s south face. YIKES. Two obvious cracks split the vertical cliffs but they looked mighty fierce from afar! Both had snow and / or ice. The lefthand one had no exit to the upper mountain while the righthand one involved more snow on exit. We were in runners with no snow or ice tools. Uh oh… There wasn’t much to do but either keep going or start crying. I decided the best tactic was to assure Phil that “it looks totally doable to me”, despite feeling a little less sure inside. I’ve come to realize over the years that sometimes delusion is the best way forward. 😀

The good thing about the huge couloirs splitting the south face was that it instantly snapped Rick’s problematic directions into sharp focus. Once we knew where his initial scree traverse started and where his first couloir was, we could easily follow the only possible line from there to the SW end of the summit block. Of course we couldn’t see anything beyond, but it got us a darn long way up this giant, assuming we had the conditions, gear and gonads to take his line! 🎳

As we started the grind up loose rubble to the start of bench #1, I was worried about more than just the huge couloir and upper mountain. Looking along the rubble bench, everything looked doable until about 1/2 way where a gully hid itself from view. I’ve done enough traverses to know these gullies can be very problematic. Future Vern problem. We started the long traverse under a hot summer sun with smoky skies overhead (thankfully not quite as bad as the day before).

As we slogged our way slowly along bench #1, everything worked out. I was trying to find and follow various goat paths but in some places it was loose enough that I was kicking steps as if on snow. It reminded us of Cataract or Augusta in places. As usual, the closer we traversed to cliffs lining the top of our bench, the more likely we were on a goat path. Even better? The huge couloir splitting the south face looked more and more doable as it got closer to it.

As we got under Rick’s line from the SE col things ramped up a notch. Slabs interrupted our line of rubble and despite remaining easy, the consequences and likelihood of a slip increased dramatically. Phil was a fair way behind me at this point but I kept forging ahead as the bench curved around the curtain walls towards the bottom of the SE gully / couloir. There were some minor gains and losses along the way and I could see there was a pretty big drop to access the gully.

At this point I looked back to see Phil was stuck along the slabby section. I yelled over to him that it was relatively easy despite appearances and eventually he worked his way through it and approached my position. But his attempt at the Ram’s Head was over. 🙁 We chatted for a bit and he assured me that he was not feeling it beyond what he’d already done. I was very disappointed for him at this point because he’d been hoping to tag this peak for so many years. But I agreed with him that things were about to ramp up significantly from here to the summit.

As Phil turned back and slowly became another tiny dot along the massive rubble bench to the valley below, I took a moment to assess my own position under the huge snow filled couloir splitting the giant south face above me. I felt small standing here. It’s hard to explain but when you start the day with someone and spend the whole approach chatting, bouncing route ideas and in their company, it feels very vulnerable to be suddenly alone.

Although the gully was less steep than it first appeared from afar, it was still plenty bloody steep! The lingering snow didn’t help. At first I considered crossing it to the far side, hoping I could sneak up beside it. This idea was quickly squashed by the hardpack snow, exposure below and unknown exit conditions above. I was left with one option - ascending steep slabs climber’s right of the gully. A huge sigh, a deep breath and up I went.

As usual with these things, it all started fairly tame before everything ramped up, literally and figuratively. Slowly the slab and ribs steepened, everything became harder with pebbles scattered all over the place, falling from above. The whole couloir was obviously a giant terrain trap for hundreds of vertical meters of hovering terrain and I did not take my time ascending it for that reason! I knew I could descend the terrain but still hoped I’d find a way down the center of the gully beside the snow somehow. Future Vern problem.

I exited the ribs and found myself in a rubble bowl, horribly loose and very steep that presumably led up to an exit line to the upper bench #2 traverse that was still out of sight. Another deep sigh and I started up, hugging cliffs where possible to make the struggle a bit easier.

Thankfully as I rounded a corner I spotted what looked like a straightforward exit to bench #2. As I ascended the terrain became a little more complex than I first thought but everything continued to work out as I skirted the very edge of the upper snow patch on more wet slab and rubble. I spotted and followed an easy line on the upper edge of the snow patch before stopping to assess my position.

I was now high on one of the wildest, most remote peaks I’ve ever been on. A bird soared high overhead and a cool breeze swept the beads of sweat off my forehead. There wasn’t much to do at this point but traverse bench #2 to its far SW end and see what lay in store for me around the corner. A relatively easy traverse included a shallow cave / overhang where the local sheep obviously hang out and soon I was popping around a sharp corner. Once again this route proved sneaky and tight with only feet to spare on either side of me.

Immediately to my right were steep cliffs leading up and to my left were more cliffs, dropping down below. So cool. This was now the phase of the ascent that was completely unknown and Rick’s report didn’t help much here.

From the crest of the W SW ridge, one drops down slightly to the N and then contours (“Bench 3”) and ascends scree around the buttresses of N NW-facing cliffs. There will undoubtedly be (as there were for us) several dead-ends and retreats while trying to break the barriers of this cliff (“Bench 4”). We finally found a 30’ scramble (“Crux Gully”) on snow-covered rock up to a last scree bench that led around several towers and then up to the broad scree summit at 10,570’.

Remember - his directions didn’t align with my location but I could clearly see what he meant by “buttresses” and “cliffs”. I shrugged and for the next 30 minutes or so it was one foot in front of the other with lots of cairn building along the way to guide me back. The first route I tried was the SW ridge direct. I knew it likely wouldn’t work because Rick would have tried it too - it was the obvious first possibility. I backed down at a steep wall, deciding that was over my pay grade. Traversing bench #3 led past several steep possibilities before arriving at a steep rubble gully that promptly delivered me onto my final bench beneath intimidating upper walls of rock.

As I traversed this upper bench I wandered past a few potential routes but none of them looked very much like “scrambling” terrain. And then I came to the end of my day. Impossibly steep walls loomed beside me and my luck with traversing benches finally ran out. There was no way up from here, I was officially stuck! As anyone who has done these types of trips can tell you, these are very low moments. Thinking about all the years we’d planned this trip plus the sheer effort of getting all the way here, through many obstacles and now the quest was done, 50 vertical meters from the top. 🙁

But of course the trip wasn’t over just yet. After a few depressing moments where I briefly considered I might be spiderman I turned back along my ledge and adjusted my expectations. Rick hadn’t mentioned the difficulty of their scramble but the implications always were that it wasn’t easy. It’s funny how a vertical wall makes other options look more viable than they did only minutes before. Soon I found myself looking up a very steep, narrow gully with vertical steps. This had to be it. I started up.

And up! The route was definitely SC7 but it was doable. A small wall at the bottom was easier than a 10’ one higher up. I practiced my downclimb moves a few times on ascent to assure myself that I could get back down it before heaving myself up and over and continuing upwards.

And then, finally, I broke free from ledges and gullies and cliffs and found myself on gently angled scree that almost had to be the “broad scree summit”. And it was! I’ve only felt this way a few times in my many years of Rockies scrambling. I couldn’t believe I was at the summit of Icefall Mountain and seeing a black pvc tube sitting in the summit cairn made me even happier. Morning smoke had also calmed and my views down the Ram Glacier and Escarpment River valleys were stunning. The only fly in the ointment was that Phil wasn’t there to enjoy it with me. 😐

I spent a few moments enjoying the views, taking in some of the most remote front range summits including Cheshire, Nordic Ridge, Mamen and Huestis.

I was hoping to be the first summit since Rick but of course there was one other in between us and of course it was none other than Mr. Zizka. I have shared more than one remote summit register with Paul so I didn’t mind. I’m quite used to being an FRA where the “F” stands for “Fourth” instead of “First”. C’est la vie! A few more minutes enjoying the accomplishment and I turned back.

Descent went quick thanks to the zillion small cairns I’d build along the way. The crux gully was just as challenging as I’d feared but practicing the descent moves on ascent helped greatly.

Then it was traverse bench #4, descend the steep gully to bench #3 and traverse back around the nose of the upper SW ridge.

A short traverse under one snow patch and above another ended bench #2 and I was back at the huge snow-filled couloir splitting the lower south face.

Arg. I had ascended on very steep slabs and ribs that were covered in small pebbles and dirt. This is my least favorite terrain to descend for obvious reasons. I wondered again about the snow in the gully proper - could I descend between it and the rock? Yes - the snow was hard enough that I could jam one foot in between it and the rock and the other foot balanced on steep rock. Without poles there’s no way this would have worked and in some of the steeper spots I had to be extremely careful not to lose grip but I made it down.

Now the easy part right? A long traverse of bench #1 and a descent into the hanging alpine valley where Phil was waiting somewhere. That was the theory anyway…

Phil told me later that he was watching me descend the upper benches and couloirs before he watched in disbelief as I slowly wandered way off route about bench #1 to the Icefall / Ewe Peak col. Of course he couldn’t do anything but watch since I was still a few kms away at this point. I was also in disbelief.

The views at the col were dramatic and I couldn’t believe we didn’t spend more time taking them in on ascent. After enjoying a few moments at the top of the Ram Glacier, I started traversing a wide scree bench under towering cliffs coming off Ewe Peak. Something didn’t feel right.

Why didn’t I remember the col from ascent? And why was my Garmin watch showing our ascent track MUCH lower down there where I currently was? At first I ignored these warnings. The niggling feeling got louder and louder until I realized that somehow I’d gone UP when I should have gone DOWN after the initial traverse along bench #1 from the bottom of the couloir. Uh oh. Now what? I was tired so rather than do the smart thing and retrace my steps back to the deviance, I decided to descend through cliffs between me and the proper bench.

Phil told me later that he was watching me go off route in despair until I suddenly disappeared down some cliffs and popped out on the right bench again! Needless to say he was relieved and so was I. After meeting and discussing my successful summit we turned away from the mountain and slowly made our way to the top of the access drainage.

We decided to descend skier’s left of the drainage rather than mess around with the wet boulders and steep terrain we’d come up. This worked well and soon enough we were back at Martin Creek, turning downstream for the long march back to the Clearwater Trail.

There isn’t much to say about the next 3.5 hours to camp. There were stretches of cheery chatter but also long stretches of silence, soaking in our long day and the wilderness we were in.

Phil knew this could be one of his last times in this valley since he’s been here so many times before. I was feeling the buzz of an unlikely successful summit and soaking in the beautiful valley. I had a feeling I’d be back at least once more.

Once again darkness was setting in as we silently made supper and enjoyed a warm bevvy before turning in for the night. Updated weather forecasts looked grim for exit day but that was future Vern’s problem. Right now I had to find that little hollow under my tent back - I had no mattress remember?

Day 3 - Exit

Sunday dawned cloudy but warm and dry. We packed up camp and just as we were leaving a small cold front blew through, threatening rain but only delivering a few drops in the end.

The next 8 hours were spent hiking 30 kms back to the parking lot in surprisingly nice conditions. Rain seemed to be falling everywhere except where we were hiking. The first part of the day was heading back up to Clearwater Pass and the Devon Lakes.

From Devon Lakes we hiked back across the wide upper Siffleur valley before tackling Quartzite col.

As usual it took a while to ascend but we took our time and it didn’t feel as brutal as it should have at this point in our trip.

While descending the col we passed two heavily burdened climbers who’d been on Mount Willingdon and Crown the day before. We skipped past them before continuing to North Mosquito Creek. While exiting Mosquito Creek we ran into a few more folks on their way to camp despite the threatening forecast - always nice to see folks getting out no matter what mother nature is throwing around. The crux of our day was dashing across Hwy #93 back to the parking lot.

It’s taken me a while to digest (and write) this trip report for a number of reasons. It was a big trip, physically and mentally, and it certainly ranks high on my overall “favorites” list for many reasons. There are some trips that just get done and they’re over. Other trips linger a lot longer. This is one of those. I found myself wanting to be back along the shores of Martin Lake already the next day.

I’ll be back.