This winter has been pretty bleak for ice climbing, and last winter wasn’t anything special either. Between the two, I feel like my skills have been slipping. So, in an effort to get in some mileage and feel comfortable on the ice again, Jen and I headed to Ouray.
On the surface, Ouray seems like the ideal place to do a whole ton of ice climbing. The park probably has more routes than the entire state of Utah (especially right now), so in theory you should be able to go there and climb until your arms explode or you develop footwork so precise that you can do surgery with your crampon. However, the ice park isn’t exactly a secret, so you have to share it with other people. Lots and lots of other people. I’ve had both good and bad days here in the past. Sometimes you can climb as much as you want, and sometimes it doesn’t seem like you accomplish anything but lots of walking around in crampons.
I don’t really mind driving six hours to Hyalite and only climbing two pitches a day, because that’s just how the canyon is laid out. But when you drive the same distance to Ouray and get in the same amount of pitches, it just seems like the ratio of driving to climbing is way off. Of course, sometimes you only get in two pitches because you’re brutally hung over from margarita pitchers at the Buen Tiempo last night, which is your own dam fault.
This weekend, however, we got pretty lucky and always seemed to roll into a zone just as a group was leaving. Jen and I also stuck to our guns and passed on the marg pitchers. So, after three days and a couple dozen pitches worth of climbing, I’m finally feeling like myself again. Plus I managed to get my new boots figured out. It seems that the secret to making the La Sportiva Batura fit my wide neanderthal foot is to do the double-twist trick over the top of the arch, skip the red grommets directly above the curve in the ankle, and then lace the upper as tight as possible before wrapping the laces around the back. Who knew?
