Riding Out the Storm

All photos by Drew Smith

The scene reflected in Drew’s camera lens confirms how ridiculous our situation is: Siebe’s shivering at the hanging belay. He’s been waiting to belay me for over an hour. I can see Sean, too. Like me, he’s trying to dig ice out of a frozen crack. Instead of climbing, I’m hammering at ice with a nut tool. We’ve been on the wall for 11 days now and have been waiting out the weather for the past seven. We’re in Patagonia on pitch 23 of Riders on the Storm, with hard climbing still ahead of us. I’m starting to wonder if our only chance at freeing the route depends on how much we’re willing to suffer. At this point, I’m hitting the ice more to stay warm than to clean the pitch. What am I doing here?

I’ve been climbing for a couple of decades, but this is the first time I have even considered climbing in these conditions. Temps are below freezing. The wind is howling. The rock is filled with ice. I can barely feel my fingers in my gloves, and I can’t feel my feet at all. At the same time, the prospect of being stuck in our portaledge for another two days during the incoming storm has persuaded me that we have nothing to lose by trying.

One by one, I go over each move and piece of protection of the attempt in my head, addressing every risk involved. I try to fuel myself with positivity, but the weather, the exposure and my teammates’ silence make all my doubts seem louder and louder.

I remember so well being right here almost 20 years ago. Back then, I had absolutely no idea that the experience would shape the following 18 years of my climbing. I was in my early 20s, diving into my first time climbing an alpine big wall. I was like a kid in a candy store, hungry for adventure but with so little experience. Now, I am a married man in my 40s. My climbing has improved in many ways, but I have also witnessed the heavy consequences of misjudgments or random mountain hazards on this kind of terrain.

I am not so sure if back then I was less aware of it or if I was just less scared of getting hurt, but being back here after all this time makes me realize that I think a lot more about the consequences than I used to. I accept backing off things more easily than I have in the past. Thanks to the powerful experiences I have earned while climbing big walls all over the world, I have gained a life I love, a life I think I am scared of losing more than before.

Now we’re back on Riders on the Storm and trying to put up the first free ascent. I remember this pitch, in particular, being very tricky, climbing through very thin cracks to overcome a perfect golden shield of granite at the steepest part of the wall. It is the key to unlocking the upper part of the route and barely goes free. Each hold is crucial, climbing through clean features with the exposure of 800 meters (about 2,600 feet) of air above a magnificent Patagonia landscape. It’s my definition of a perfect pitch. At least when I’m not scraping ice from it.

I feel the pressure weighing heavily on my shoulders knowing that today’s slim chance of progress depends on me. Sean’s stoic attitude makes it hard for me to read his emotions. Is he still really believing it’s going to go today? I imagine pulling hard moves, barehanded, in this icy crack. As a spindrift refills all the holds I have just cleaned, I can’t ignore the hopelessness of the situation anymore. “It’s extreme,” is what I manage to say.

Sean turns to me and simply replies, “We are here now. We must try it. Make it in good condition.” Then he keeps cleaning.

He was right. There was no point in questioning what we were doing. By sharing my doubts, maybe I had wanted a bit of compassion, but Sean knew that in this moment empathy could easily slip into overthinking. We needed to stay mentally strong. I just needed to shut off my brain and keep scraping out the ice so that when the time to climb comes, if it ever comes, we would be ready. We had no reason to believe that it would get warmer or that the wind would die down. But we were still better off up here than stuck in our portaledge for another day.

Over the years, I have wondered where my motivation to get out of my comfort zone comes from. If I was alone, I would have given up for sure. But with everyone here, I can dig deeper because we all share the same dream.

Two hours later, the pitch is finally clean enough for an attempt. I warm up by practicing the moves one last time on top rope, forcing my fingers to get as numb as possible. It’s the best way I’ve found to get the most out of my fingers in extremely cold conditions. The pain is so great when the blood rushes back into my fingers that it makes me want to puke. Soon after the pain goes away my fingers can resist numbing out for a bit longer. While I repeat the crux sequence several times, I start noticing the holds getting slightly damp and the wind calming down, giving me that bit of hope I needed.

I lower down quickly to the anchor where Siebe is waiting. Everybody gets in position as I rack up, already rehearsing each move of the route in my head. As I unleash from the anchor, my heartbeat vibrates through my body. I am so excited that I feel shaky on the first few moves, but as I get farther, I fine-tune my pace and get in the flow.

The rock is freezing but I climb quickly, ­executing each move as practiced. My fingertips start to numb out as I enter the crux sequence. All of a sudden, my 30 years of climbing experience seems to come together, just in time for me to face this challenge, which right now seems to be the hardest thing I have ever faced. I feel the energy of Siebe, Sean and Drew climbing with me. As I lose feeling in my fingers, with each move I try to compensate by squeezing more power from my body. The key hold on the last hard move has filled back in with snow, but I dig my fingers in and give everything. It feels like a miracle that I am still hanging on with my fingertips unable to feel anything. From there, an easier corner leads me to the top of the pitch. Relief surges through my body as I clip the anchor. There’s still 18 pitches to go, but I high-five Sean and Drew at the belay while Siebe screams from below to congratulate me. It was my lead, but they all seemed as happy as if it was theirs; because in a certain way, it was, and it made the whole experience even more rewarding.

Nico Favresse, Sean Villanueva O’Driscoll and Siebe Vanhee put up the first free ascent of Riders on the Storm over 18 days from January 24 to February 10, 2024. This photo essay captures key moments from the send.