Here’s a short story Kate wrote for the cleanestline blog about our new route on Ag. Guillaumet down in Patagonia, Argentina.

If you want to see more photos from the trip you can check out my gallery here.

Me feeling worked after a long day

Hard Sayin’ Not Knowin’ 5.10 A2 70° Ag. Guillaumet

Fitz Roy Range, Patagonia

Mikey Schaefer and Kate Rutherford   January 2009

Two mornings ago I dreamt my way across the glacier, trying not to face plant falling asleep walking.  At 4:30 in the morning we had sat on our packs, finally back at the base of Guillaumet after finishing a new route. We ate some cheese and salami, drank a bit of slushy water and decided we would name it ‘Hard Sayin’ Not Knowin’.

This was my second trip to climb in Patagonia’s Fitz Roy range, and it was the first time I had been on top of a peek. The 26 hours of decent weather we had just climbed through had looked suspicious. The wind had looked low, but so did the pressure. We were itching to climb, and so we started up thinking we would get hit by bad weather and just come down.  However, we never had reason to turn around and so a few hours after midnight we stood on the summit of Guillaumet, looking down the other side at the dark.

The snow had fallen strait down periodically through out the day, but as we rappelled, the wind kicked up, and the cloud we were in grew in to a thick fog. Eventually we dropped on to the lee side of the ridge, and aside from Mikey’s exhaustion, we easily raped the Amy Couloir to the glacier. It was my block, after Mikey had laboriously kicked a thousand steps up the icy final pitches.

Our day started at 3:30 in the morning well rested at Laguna de Los Tres, and after following 3 too many teams toward the Brenner Ridge route we fell out of step with the rest and figured we would just start up the East Face of Guillaumet. There was a short splitter off-width that Mikey started off on. It led up to fun cracks, a tunnel through a strange jumble of pillars, and up a 5.10 hands to tips crack.

Lost in the clouds

I lead the middle third of the route. Without gloves, I traversed left into another corner on disturbing loose flakes. Each crimp and foot edge had old snow to whack off before trusting cold fingers to keep holding on. I gave up and put my gloves on, scrambling up a snowy ramp. Kicking steps in my Mythos.  When I realized I couldn’t put cams in icy cracks it made me think, humm, “I’m so not an Ice climber.” The rock gods heard my wining, a perfect hand crack veered right, and I loved every jam in my gloved hands. Ok, maybe I could be an alpinist……

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