Heading for the blue ice of Norway for the first time this season? Stop sharpening those tools and check out these top tips from Chris Franks – you’ll be climbing frozen waterfalls like a pro in no time.
Norway was once unheard of a winter climbing venue, its routes unknown to all but a few mountain guides and a handful of connoisseurs. But an explosion of popularity (and a Rockfax guidebook) has turned Norway into an ice climbing hotspot; areas like Rjukan alone sport over 170 lines from WI2 to WI7. Opinions differ as to the quality of the climbing – some say it’s the best in Europe while others say it’s the best in the world.
But if you’ve not been to Norway, all the stunning blue ice on offer can be rather daunting at first. So here are a few tips from a fellow novice to help smooth your inaugural ice visit.
Train your calves
Most of us can remember the first time we front-pointed. That unnerving lack of confidence; that bizarre lopsided feeling as you try to balance on the steel points. And that excruciating burn in the lower legs that, for many of us, was probably the first time our calves hit failure. It’s easy to overlook the calves. We walk around on them all day every day but despite this natural conditioning, unless you climb like Dave MacLeod, your calves won’t be up to the demands of Norwegian ice.
For the average climber, some preparatory training is in order. I find that a few sets of single-foot calf-raises (with some added weight) twice a week works well, enabling me to scale multi-pitch WI5 routes without calf burnout. There are other exercises to choose from of course – just be sure to do something. A hundred metres up some frozen waterfall is no place to relive your first front-pointing moments.
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Break yourself in gently
Secretly, I knew it wasn’t a good idea. From the moment I saw it, a little voice had said, “Chris, this isn’t a good idea.” As soon as I’d started climbing, my limbs had quickly realised that it wasn’t a good idea. But pig- headed ambition had silenced all dissenters and I’d floundered on up the route, becoming stuck three-quarters of the way up. And, as I hung there in desperation with my axes wobbling loose, my brain finally got the message: this wasn’t a good idea. Inevitably, I came off.
Luckily I was only seconding, but I’d still been overambitious. I was attempting a thin, steep line by the Indre Haugsfoss near Hemsedal (about Scottish VI, 7) but it was only my first day in Norway and I just wasn’t up to it. There’s no shortage of good warm-up areas to choose from (places like Golsjuvet at Gol, where the frozen river banks sprout magnificent free-standing pillars) and get used to steep ice again.
After a couple of days, you’ll be ready to move on. But I’d resist the initial temptation to go straight for the 300m vertical monoliths. You’ll only end up learning the hard way.
Practise your Abalakovs
It’s got to be the most tactless joke I’ve ever heard. “Invented by Mr Abalakov,” said Martin, our guide, as he finished tying off the cord, “who died the next day when his anchor failed!” It would have been amusing – had we not been perched high on the Grotenutfossen in Hemsedal, staring down a 200 foot drop and about to trust our lives to the ridiculed device.
Abalakov threads are essential in Norway. The same relentlessly steep fjord walls that give us the winter ice also preclude any method of descent other than the way you’ve come. There’s no choice - you have to abseil back down, and, with every inch of the route frozen over, you’ve no option but to cut an Abalakov thread belay.
It’s a good idea to construct some practice anchors on your warm-up day. You’ll need a 22cm screw, a threader (a metal wire with a hook on the end), a knife and some 7mm cord. And if, after painstakingly preparing your first live anchor, you’re still having doubts as you’re edging over that precipice, just remember one thing: it’s stronger than a single ice screw (it can take well over a ton of weight). And Vitaly Mikhaylovich Abalakov lived to be eighty.
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Bludgeon with care
I’d never been hit so hard on the head in my life. My neck concertinaed like a squashed paper bag. My ears reverberated like a cathedral bell. As the stars eventually stopped circling, I vowed to never again dislodge debris like the piece that had just hit me.
The surest way to learn the folly of reckless axe work on water ice is to be on the receiving end underneath – especially if you happen to be on a hanging belay, 300 feet up the vertical headwall of the Kjorlifossen at the time. On extreme ground like this, it’s easy to succumb to preservation instincts and just bang in the axes as hard as possible. But, as anyone who’s ever witnessed this from below will testify, water ice doesn’t respond well to such treatment.
So, when you’re clinging desperately to your route with your arm cocked, resist the urge to bludgeon and take a moment to place your axe with a little more precision. Aim for pockets rather than bulges, and for milky, aerated patches rather than the clear blue stuff – such spots are much less likely to crack. If you’re seconding, consider flicking into the leader’s placements – it saves a lot of time and effort, not to mention the skull of anyone climbing beneath you.
Don’t be too SAD
It started almost the moment I arrived. The dark low clouds oppressed my spirits and I found myself longing for a good stiff wind. The bleak landscape didn’t help, with its unbroken snow disturbed only by pine trunks and the faded colours of a few scattered chalets. No wind ever came and during my first week in Norway, I saw the sun for just two hours. By the end of the trip, I was definitely a bit SAD.
SAD (Seasonally Affected Disorder) is caused by prolonged absence of sunlight and sufferers experience lack of energy, social withdrawal, concentration difficulties and decreased sex drive. With its long, dark winters, Norway is particularly conducive to SAD, so don’t be too perturbed if, after a few days in Norway, your mood darkens somewhat. It’s not you, it’s the climate.
The best cure is to get onto some steep ice. After all, if you’re battling up some WI5+ classic, it’s unlikely that you’ll experience any lack of energy, introvert tendencies or wavering concentration then. I’m not sure if it helps with the sex drive though.
Leave the phrase book at home
Save your baggage weight. We Brits are so hopelessly inferior to the Scandinavians when it comes to languages that there’s no point in taking a phrase book - virtually everyone in Norway speaks excellent English. Even if, out of courtesy, you fancy trying to get your tongue around ‘Unnskyld meg, hvor er frosset foss?’ (‘Excuse me, where is the frozen waterfall?’), no-one’s going to understand your diabolical pronunciation. You might want to remember ‘Snakker du engelsk?’ (‘Do you speak English?’) – in response to which, you may hear derisory chuckles and ‘See paven katolsk?’ (‘Is the Pope catholic?’).
So, if your sense of adventure has awakened and you’re pecking the air with your axes, why not try some Norwegian ice for a change? Be warned though – you’ll soon acquire a taste for the place, and won’t be a Norway novice for long.
BMC member Chris Franks is based in Cambridgeshire. After surviving years as a Norway ice novice, he’s looking forward to returning next year.
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