Page 22 - RAFMA Winter 2003

Midnight
well, nothing ventured, nothing gained, or, more appropriately, no pain, no gain.
Mike and I set out that evening and had to detour via the landing site to cache some gear. We spent ten of the next fifteen hours pulking, but it did get us into position beneath a mountain we dubbed "the Shining Mountain", behind which was Peak 2680. After an all too brief sleep we were up early to enjoy o marvellous ski into a col beneath 2680. Face or ridge - decisions, decisions. Both lines looked superb, but the face might be like a Tate & Lyle slag heap. We decided to try the face ond if conditions were poor we could cut bock right to the ridge. We traversed a long way above a large bergschrund until we were directly below the higher right summit ond then we were off, front-pointing on superb neve with increasing exposure beneath our feet. Technically straightforward, the only real difficulty wos the last ten metres onto the ridge, where the face steepened and softened up. Mike ond I summited together on a narrow point of snow where three ridges united ot 2796 metres, over a hundred metres higher than advertised. What to call it? If anybody knows the Inuit for "the Big One" please email Mike or me - for the moment it perversely remains 2680bjerg.
The views from the summit were superb. To the east we could see the seo studded with newly calved icebergs. To the west the white expanse of the ice cop stretched out to infinity. Closer to hand we could see Camp 2 to the south ond some of the summits we had sat on a few days earlier. In the for distance behind C a m p 2 we could see the peaks surrounding Camp 1 and some of the routes we had done there. Rignysbjerg (1970 m) and the gully we had climbed on Deborohsbjerg were particularly prominent.
And to the north lay the Dark Side. Directly in front of us across a glacier lay an area of tortured rock and ice. The contrast to the Rignys Bjerg area was stork. Instead of broad glaciers with predominantly snow peaks, the area opposite consisted of sheer pinnacles of rock separated by narrow rubble-strewn glaciers. It was like Mordor on steroids. Just accessing these bosalt spires would be o major undertaking - climbing them looked virtually impossible. There were improbably steep and thin gullies of ice that stretched to three quarters height of some of these mouldering monoliths, but to progress to the summit would require
taking to the same crumbling, shattered rock we had experienced in the Rignys Bjerg; there would be the everpresent fear of rock fall not to mention ore attack. A major expedition with a death wish might just get into position and climb one of the peaks on the periphery - but that would only scratch the surface, there were several hundred of the spires. A future RAFMA exped could spend a fruitless month on the Dark Side - perhaps Phil Simister could be enticed out of retirement to lead it.
The following morning the Shining Mountain provided an uplifting final climb for Mike and me. Only a short ski from Camp 3, it offered us two snow ridges to the summit of what we agreed was the most beautiful mountain of the trip. It was a near perfect pyramid of snow, unsullied by rock and rising in majestic isolation from the centre of the glacier. Its 2497-metre summit afforded excellent views of Peak 2680 just behind and although it had been climbed previously we both felt privileged to sit on its summit.
We still had to pulk back to the landing zone, but this proved to be a breeze as it was mostly downhill and gave us the opportunity to ride the wild pulk. This involved me in the harness attempting to steer the accelerating pulk whilst Mike skied up and mounted it from behind. We whooped and hollered our way down the glacier for four or five kilometres as the GPS recorded a speed of over 50 kph. Back at base we just had to wait for the others to return, catch up on all their news and pack up ready for the flight home. A few of the local mountains were skied on the final day.
The Twin Otter arrived on time in deteriorating weather. The pilot was operating at his limits with eight pax and immediately announced that some of the kit would have to stay. We did consider leaving Phill behind, but as he had lost a lot of weight we decided to cache the rest of the food instead. We took off with the cloudbase ot about 1800 metres (bearing in mind that 2680bjerg is 2796 metres high), but this was no problem as our pilot simply flew to the coast beneath the cloud. Only when we sow the last mountain slip away behind us could we finally relax, a slate of mind which only lasted an hour before another corkscrew approach to Isafjordur was endured. We had survived and it was time for a wallet- bashing celebratory fish supper. Fortunately, the boats had come in and we all got a little fishie on a little dishie (in fact, it was three fishies).
RAFMA Journal 2003