Canadian Alpine Journal/Volume 1/Number 1/The Ascent of Mt. Ball

by John D. Patterson

THE ASCENT OF MT. BALL

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By John D. Patterson

It came about in this way:

On the 31st of May, 1904, journeying from Calgary to Glacier, in the hope of spending an idle day or two under the hospitable roof of Glacier House, and while the train was making its usual twenty-minute stop at Field, I had the good fortune to see in an eddy of the crowd which was swirling restlessly along the station platform, the bronzed, cheery faces of those sturdy Swiss mountaineers and guides, the Kaufmanns—Christian and Hans.

My resolution to spend but two days in the mountains and to do no climbing so early in the season, was not proof against the call of the Rockies that came with the warm hand clasps of those friends of the previous summer, and "Is the snow in good condition?" seemed under the circumstances, the only possible greeting.

That the snow was not "good" did not matter, when Hans, following my inquiring gaze to the top of the mountain in the shadow of which Field is so comfortably tucked away, said that we might try Mt. Stephen. Five minutes later my bags, recovered from various parts of the train, were being carried to a room in the Mt. Stephen House.

In the evening of the following day, content in the successful ascent of Stephen, our conversation naturally turned to the mountains, and to a discussion of the virgin peaks within easy reach of the railroad. Mt. Ball and the north tower of Mt. Goodsir were, in the estimation of the guides, best worth attempting, and of these two, Christian, doubtless influenced, good sportsman that he was, by the memory of his defeat when, with Mr. Edward Whymper's party, three years previously, an unsuccessful effort had been made to reach the summit of Mt. Ball, declared it to be the better mountain.

All this could have, of course, but one ending. The journey to Glacier was abandoned, and before the afternoon of June 2nd was far advanced, a little pack train of four horses was on the trail from Banff to Castle Mountain station, where, alighting from the train early next monring, we found it awaiting our arrival.

While the packs were being adjusted, the guides found a man—Joe Smith—to ferry them over the Bow river, and at once started off, agreeing to meet the ponies on the trail not far from the mouth of Little Vermilion creek. This proved a fortunate arrangement, for the water at the ford was so deep that the horses had to swim, and on account of the swift current they could carry only light packs. Two crossings had to be made before our small amount of impedimenta, the packer and myself were safely landed on the opposite bank.

The trail to Vermilion pass lay along the north side of Little Vermilion creek, and was frequently intersected by timber roads leading to the camps long ago deserted, though doubtless busy enough in the days when ties and bridge timbers were being secured for the construction of the railway.

A bridge in fair repair, about five miles from its mouth, made easy the crossing of the turbulent creek. Between the bridge and the pass we followed the shore of a little lake which, our packer assured us, could always be relied upon to yield a fair basket of trout.

A good deal of snow was encountered in the pass, and the ponies which had not been halted for a midday feed and rest, gave evidence that the work was telling on them. Once well over the summit, however, the trail was better; the two miles to Mr. Whymper's former camping ground was quickly negotiated, and free of their packs, the tired animals were soon quietly feeding in the abundant grasses at the foot of the slide opposite the camp.

It was now four o'clock; eight hours had been required to cover the ten or twelve miles that lay between us and the railroad.

The trail over which we came had an especial interest, as we realized that we were following the footsteps of Sir James Hector, then Dr. Hector, who had given to Mt. Ball its name, when in 1858, with the Palliser expedition, he had crossed the Vermilion pass on his way to the Kootenay.

Reluctantly enough, we turned out of our blankets at two o'clock on the morning of June 4th, and at three precisely, in the uncertain light, we commenced our climb. The way led through timber, thick at first, but gradually becoming more open as we made our way upwards. This forest had apparently never been burned over, and everywhere the ground, the fallen trees and the rocks were deeply covered with thick mosses.

The guides, yesterday so cheerful and talkative, were now as silent almost as the trees about us. Earnest work was ahead, and it was delightful to observe their keen eyes noting every fragment of the mountains appearing through the open spaces. No one had ever gone that way. Landmarks might be valuable before the day was done.

An hour or more had gone, when at timber-line a low rock wall, easily surmounted, brought us well upon the buttress at the west flank of Mt. Ball. The ledge upon which we landed was wide, but covered with scree to an extent that made the going slow, and when the slope was at all pronounced, somewhat uncomfortable.

About nine o'clock we rested for a few minutes, and shortly afterwards came to a snow-field from which we had a good view of Storm mountain, and could see the route taken by Mr. Whymper in 1901. From this point we kept to the arete, and had some interesting rock work because of the loose snow, which made it impossible often to ascertain the condition of the rocks in which we were seeking to establish hand and foot-holds. At eleven o'clock, upon leaving a small table, from which we enjoyed extended views to the north-east and south-west, we found a col lying between it and the mass of the mountain crowned by the summit—our goal,—and owing to the treacherous condition of the snow, the very crest of this col, sharp as it was, had to be followed. Fortunately it was not more than forty feet across, for even with the confidence which the rope inspired, it was far from pleasant with such uncertain footing, either to look down upon the precipitous snow-field to the one side, or at the short and hardly less steep slide terminating at the edge of a perpendicular rock wall, on the other. From this point the ascent was more rapid, and no further difficulty was experienced until we arrived at the edge of a snow-field leading to a saddle about 150 feet below the summit. From the earnest conversation of the guides, held in their own language, which I did not understand, it was evident they feared that the snow might avalanche if an attempt were made to cross it. Consequently, we kept close to the wall marking the western edge of this field, and by clinging to projections from the rock and cutting steps in the bergschrund when opportunity offered, we climbed the steepest part of the slope and then quickly made our way to the saddle.

Upon rounding a bastion at the point where we came to the edge of the snow-field, just referred to, it was evident that we should succeed in getting to the top, but from the saddle itself we had our first view of

MOUNT BALL FROM STORM MOUNT

THE WAPTA ICEFIELD—MOUNT COLLIE IN DISTANCE

the actual summit, which too evidently was upon the cornice overhanging the northerly face of the mountain. The extent of the overhang and the probable security of the huge cornice were carefully noted, and as soon as the final climb up the rounded side of the snow-field lying above us was made, we were happily congratulating one another upon having accomplished the first ascent of Mt. Ball. Before venturing upon the cornice, I left my place in the middle of the rope and had an end made fast to me to enable the guides to anchor as far back as possible, while upon hands and knees to guard against breaking through the crust, I made my way to the actual crest of the mountain, 10,825 feet. It was then 12:35 o'clock, or nine hours and thirty-five minutes since we left camp. The weather was clear and we were favored with good views of the peaks in the surrounding ranges.

The conformation of Hungabee, and especially of Deltaform, made them easily distinguishable among the Ten Peaks. In the direction of Mt. Assiniboine the atmosphere was comparatively thick, and we did not have a satisfactory view of that splendid mountain. As there were no stones at the top, we built a cairn at a point where the rock outcropped on the saddle just below, and then, luncheon finished, we spent a considerable time in looking at the interesting crevasses in the glacier lying under the north face of the mountain and in examining the massive cornice overhanging the glacier on the mountain top. A suggestion of this most interesting feature may be had through a reference to the accompanying photograph, taken in connection with his topographical work, and kindly supplied by Arthur O. Wheeler, F.R.G.S., etc.

We arrived in camp again at about six o'clock, having made the descent without noteworthy incident, in five hours.