Mt Slesse, N.E. Buttress, 1979
Written by Peder Ourom
Mt Slesse, N.E. Buttress, Fraser Valley, BC
Grade 5, 1200 metres, 5.9+
July 1979
Joe Buszowski
Peder Ourom
Joe and I had driven up late in the day, anticipating an early morning start. We were at the logging harvesting heyday for this valley and could drive up and up and up the switchbacks almost to the Alpine. Joe owned a huge monster Ford truck with a custom camper built on the back, a great vehicle for grinding up the switchbacks on the rough logging roads. On longer trips like the Rockies or Bugaboos, the huge motor burned though vast amounts of both gas and oil. In every small town on the journey you needed to stop and fill the tank. Luckily fuel was 20 cents a litre.
Passing huge stumps that were mounded in heaps, we arrived well into the evening at the tip top of a very active logging site. Soon after our ascent a downturn in the forestry industry was to curtail log hauling from this sidehill. The beautiful freshly fallen fir trees that we passed grinding up the hill were never removed and 45 years later the now rotten logs still remain. At 5 a.m. the next morning, the loggers arrived and were both pissed off and amused to discover us camped at their landing. At their suggestion we moved the Ford gas eater to another spot that faced slightly downhill in order to facilitate a jump start if necessary, with the side benefit of the truck still existing at the end of our climb.
The logging was so high on this slope that the approach to the start of the rock took only an hour, even with our heavy and stuffed packs.
I did not know it at the time but I hate mixing climbing and camping. I love both of these activities; however, pulling hard moves above questionable protection while a pack full of camping gear pulls you backward toward the abyss, is a technical climber’s version of hell.
A snow patch midway up the climb did look like a good water source and without it the loads would have been even heavier. Accompanying us on the climb were the logging signals. Pull out the slack on the haul back line, beep beep. Go ahead with the haul, beep, beep, beep. Looking up and around, you were in an Alpine paradise. Looking down, you could view the devastated valley forests.
The decision was made to climb with double 9mm ropes and to use our newly purchased Chouinard approach boots instead of carrying an extra set of EB Super Gratton rock shoes. We had the latest Sac Millet packs from France, American MSR helmets, grey knee length socks, and wool knickers. We were dressed up full Euro style with our bright headbands adding a dash of California to the mix. We planned on traversing across the base of the pocket glacier in order to avoid the bottom 10 slow and difficult pitches. This is a dangerous approach, especially in early summer before the pocket has slid. Climbers have died here a few times over the years and its current condition remains a very popular topic on internet forums today. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, this “seasonal” glacier now barely exists in the late summer.
The rock is also extremely slick from all the ice polishing. Above you as you traverse the slabs that lead to the buttress looms the East Face Wall. Two thousand feet high, steep and frightening, with the only weakness being a nasty looking 1000-foot chimney corner on the left side. Mountain conversations at the Ivanhoe often discussed this wall and who would be the first to climb it.
On a determined attempt by Don Serl early in the early 1980s he climbed up the “approach” slabs to the sheer wall using mostly free climbing techniques, and then from a high point of around 8 pitches retreated by rappelling. This huge route would take more than a couple of days to climb.
My thoughts were that it required massive (El Capitan) amounts of aid gear to be carried way up to the base, ropes fixed, belay bolts hand drilled, and just a whole hell of a lot of work in general. Although many other attempts were made over the years until finally in 1994 Sean Easton and Dave Edgar were the climbers that put in the work required to climb up the deep corner and out the right trending overhangs, and then finally heading up easier ground on the more featured upper wall.
A decade later an easier route up the face was free climbed by Tony McLean and Jacob Cook. Considered a death route by many climbers, it is an extremely dangerous route and best avoided. Neither route has been repeated to my knowledge.
After traversing the polished slabs, the northeast Buttress traverses across a large and broken ledge system. Kicking down blocks and throwing off holds, you eventually end up out on the prow of the Buttress. This was a much better place to be, as we were no longer threatened by the frightening Serac’s and the icefall out of the pocket glacier. The climbing itself was not that good. Water drained on the route from the mid-route snow patch, and the leading was slightly terrifying. It was the Matterhorn of our imaginations, as we had to climb on wet and greasy footholds while carrying heavy packs and then hammer in pitons and nuts at belays.
Before the final section of difficult climbing, we stopped for the night. Heavy loads are an agony to carry up an alpine route, the trade-off being that you are super comfortable at night. Some of our deluxe equipment included Camp7 down sleeping bags, ensolite pads, and a Svea 123 gas stove. The stove was primed by splashing fuel on the top before igniting it and then waiting for the flames to die down. Getting the stove “lit” was always an exciting moment, as this stove was notorious for exploding into a ball of flame.
In the morning, we continued on up the route, without any major issues. After all, we were now very experienced Alpinists after the previous days’ alpine education. The last couple of rope lengths to the summit were on extremely lightning shattered rock. We paused for a few quick photos and then rappelled down to the base of the summit towers. The last task that remained was to descend back to Joe’s battered truck. We may have been done with the mountain, but Slesse was not done with us.
Two descents are possible from the Slesse peak. One involves a huge almost 20 km hike and takes you down the opposite side of the mountain. Then you would need to go back up the road another 10 km to get back to your vehicle. This route is the standard mountaineering approach and descent. It is also much easier and considerably longer than the more direct crossover peak descent option that we chose.
Unfortunately, this descent route off the mountain is both difficult and confusing. There are many cul-de-sacs and misleading goat trails to confuse you. Eventually finding the route after a number of attempts, we crossed over to the side of the mountain that we had started from. All that remained for us was the final steep hillside and a wasp nest or two. We had climbed the Matterhorn of the Fraser Valley on our first attempt, and had a new tale to tell for the following Wednesday night drinking session at the Cecil Hotel.