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2002
Mugs Stump Award Winners:
Libecki—The Viking's Shield, Fjords of Eastern Greenland
Mike
Libecki
 Fantasizing
is one of my favorite pastimes. The beauty of fantasizing
is that you can do it, anytime, anyplace, about anything.
You can fantasize about battling sinister, fire-breathing
dragons, rescuing sweet, voluptuous maidens from the dragon-guarded
dungeons, or about the possible, quite pleasurable reward
given by the beautiful, virgin maiden for performing such
a dangerous and heroic rescue. In the last several years,
though, I have found new favorite fantasies, usually about
seeking out tall, luscious, virgin big walls, then climbing
them, completely alone, for weeks at a time. And what could
be better than actually making such a fantasy real? Isn’t
that one reason that God put us on this planet, to make
our deepest fantasies come true? I like to think so. After
all, since we are all going to die anyway, why not live
life in the most amazing way we can? Every day I remind
myself that this is not only just life, but the chance to
choose the highest quality of life. My Grandmother taught
me that. And thanks to Grandma’s
advice, another fantasy of mine came true last year.
When
I received the package postmarked Greenland, I knew what
it contained, my smile
gleaming. My friend Hans Christian, a surgeon in eastern
Greenland, had sent me rare Danish military photos of Greenland’s
east coast taken from an airplane flying at 30,000 feet.
When I was in Greenland the year before to climb the Fox
Incisor, I inquired about the possibility of finding such
photos. I wanted to find never-before-seen, world-class big
walls to climb. Since Greenland is governed by Denmark and
Hans Christian is a doctor for much of the Danish military
in eastern Greenland, the photos turned out to be rather
easy to acquire. These photos would change my life.
At
a nearby hobby shop I found the perfect five-inch-diameter
magnifying glass to start
the fantasy research. With photos covering my furniture-less
living room floor like a lush
growth of lily pads in a pond, I hunched over the photos
like Sherlock Holmes hot on the trail of an evildoer. I focused
intently on every detail, searching for clues that would
lead me to the secret, virgin big walls. Several eye-straining
hours later I had pinpointed four small areas on the map,
each about the size of a dime, that appeared to be families
of steep, massive, granite walls. These areas were 250 miles
apart from one another, spread out along Greenland’s
majestic eastern coast. The minuscule, jagged-edged shadows
around the snowy, sawtoothed peaks suggested that the walls
were quite steep, perhaps vertical, but it was not for certain.
These shadows could be the clues to the ultimate walls I
was looking for. “My dear Watson, I think I’ve
got it!” (I was reminded that Holmes’ last case
was in the high Alps of the Bernese Oberland.) Further
research showed that these areas were very remote, possibly
untrodden except by the local Greenlandic Inuit people and
early Viking explorers.
One
of the four areas became an objective for my Year of the
Horse Expeditions—2002.
The next thing I knew I was dragging seven huge 69.5-pound
haul bags (an overweight fee is added for bags over 70 pounds)
into the airport. As I often have done, I decided to go alone
on a grand expedition, alone on my horse in full armor to
battle the fierce and evil dragon. Alone to rescue the sweet
maiden from the dragon’s
dark dungeons. Alone to seek out ultimate adventure
on possibly one of the greatest expeditions of my life.
My
stallion reared back high and proud into the air, his whinny
roaring into the night like a freight train’s
whistle trumpeting fathomless courage and irresistible
victory. Dust exploded off the earth from his thundering
hooves as we sped into the night under the eerie, yellow
moon.Well, actually, I tucked my airplane pillow under
the back of my head, pulled up my little blue airplane
blanket, opened my new Stephen King book, and sipped
tomato juice with lemon. The airplane rose off the tarmac
at sunset. We headed east toward the dragon’s lair,
hidden somewhere among the huge walls on the eastern
coast of Greenland.
After
several unexpected, bad-weather days in Iceland, the wind
and rain stopped long
enough to allow my plane to continue its journey to Kulusuk,
Greenland. From there a helicopter shipped me fifty miles
to Tasiilaq, a small town populated mostly by Greenlandic
Inuit, Greenlandic Huskies (there are almost as many sled
dogs as humans), and a handful of Danes. Tasiilaq was the
nearest town to my final destination, and I hoped to find
someone with an Arctic-worthy fishing boat to take me over
300 miles through ice-laden seas. After talking with several
of the locals, my hopes were short-circuited. I was told
that it was simply too dangerous to take boats where I wanted
to go. This was, to say the least, a less-than-ideal situation.
But I remembered that patience and optimism always rule,
and that a situation would present itself, as it always does.
I
bought a six-pack of Carlsberg, a couple of pieces of fish
jerky, and proceeded to hydrate
while pondering my options. Halfway through the tasty Pilsners,
a Danish friend of mine walked up with one of the local Greenlanders.
He translated my needs to the local man, as he spoke no English.
This Inuit fisherman decided he would try to take me where
I wanted to go, for quite a fair price, of course. He made
it very clear, however, that it would be at my own risk.
As we talked, I learned that the fisherman, along with the
friend who would accompany us, were known as the most experienced
seamen in these harsh Arctic seas. Rapid communication now
took place through my translator friend, details were settled,
such as where I would be dropped off, how long it might take
to get there, and what hunting we would do on the way. I
received more warnings of how dangerous the ocean would be.
I caught the message that huge sea swells and sea ice could
easily lead to suffering and disaster.
 Two
days later, at 3 a.m., we started out to sea. The 24-hour
sun circled above the fishing
boat. Myself, the two fishermen, and ultimate enthusiasm
occupied the boat as I watched
Tasiilaq fade away.We disappeared into a maze of bright
sea ice. As I gazed out over the ocean, I could not even see
water: it looked to be completely frozen over. Neon turquoise
glowed from under cracks in the ice. The ice was so thick
that we had to literally push our way through shattered ice
pieces with the boat, moving at the pace of a slow walk.
Icebergs as big as apartment houses teeter-tottered up and
down in the sea. Every once in a while, with sounds like
buildings crashing to the ground, massive icebergs crumbled
and exploded, while thundering white waves large enough
to excite a surfer crashed in every direction. Most of the
time the endless maze of sea ice and giant icebergs turned
us around, pushed us miles and miles in the wrong direction,
and hinted at the impossibility of reaching our destination.We
saw many different kinds of seal, huge whales bursting out
of the water to breathe, and breathtakingly beautiful polar
bears dog-paddling through the frigid mazes. It was one fantastic
moment of awe-stricken reality after another. Did I mention
something about fantasies coming true?
In
this area of Greenland the local people still rely on hunting
as a major source of food.
I have great respect for other cultures and their ways
of living, especially since I have had the opportunity of
being close to so many in my travels around the world. I
have to admit, though, that I was a little torn watching
them hunt the whale, and polar bear; this is something that
I am just not used to. The two fishermen respectfully acknowledged
that their people have survived because of these animals;
most of the meat would be taken home to their families. The
skins would be utilized for warmth, the bones made into traditional
carvings and jewelry. This has been a way of life in Greenland
for well over a thousand years.
The
men and the fishing boat did not give up the struggle against
the stubborn sea ice,
and after 100 hours without stopping, we were only a few
hours away from my destination. It was nearing the end of
summer, so the 24-hour light started to hint at darkness
for about an hour each day. There was still enough light
for the fishermen to work rotating shifts, one driving the
boat while the other slept. Less than thirty miles away from
my destination,my map noted an old Inuit ghost town. As we
neared the ruins we could see old wooden homes that seemed
to fall apart in front of our eyes.We stopped to take a closer
look. I found remnants of old toys, broken-down dog sleds,
rusty fuel barrels, clothing, pots and pans, rustic wood
burning stoves, and even several gravestones. It looked like
the people literally up and left without taking anything with
them. I later found out that this small village disappeared
during the mid-1900s.
Up
until this point we had been traveling along the coast
on the open ocean. We now turned west and headed deep
into a winding fjord no more than a couple of miles wide
in
most spots. Steep granite walls rose higher as we went
deeper into the fjord. Good God, not one climber had ever
seen this place! Was this really happening? The walls were,
at minimum, 4,000 to 5,000 feet high. Ominous ice caps peered
over the top of the granite formations. Countless waterfalls
crashed to the ground from thousands of feet above. It was
like a fantasy birthday party, and all of these monstrous
granite walls and towers were giant pieces of birthday cake
topped with white, creamy frosting.
At the end of the fjord it was not hard
to decide where to make my base camp. Giant
granite towers loomed in every direction. Just a quarter
of a mile away, a river flowed out of the lush
green valley that I would call home for the next 30 days. As soon as I got
my bags ashore, the two fishermen immediately vanished up the river,
returning an hour later with four huge salmon. We
ate two of them raw—Greenlandic
sashimi.
From
the time we left Tasiilaq—100 hours earlier—the
two fishermen and I had not spoken
a word to each other. Instead we laughed, gestured, and looked
into each other’s eyes for
communication. Just before they left me, one of them pointed
to the seals that lounged nearby on the broken
sea ice and started to mimic a polar bear. He was warning me that where
there are seals, there are polar bears. My only defense would
be to use my 30–06 rifle, my 12-gauge shotgun
with slugs, my bear spray, or to get on one of
the towering granite walls as quickly as possible.
If a bear came while I slept on the ground, I would
be a very easy, tasty meal.
Absolute
utter aloneness. Solo. Silence. I started sobbing like
a small child who has lost his parents in an amusement
park. Frightened, but excited and curiously free and completely
alone, I was happy. I felt an overwhelming joy, ultimate
enthusiasm, and magical emotion. The fantasy I dreamed about
was really happening! I continued to cry like I hadn’t
in years. I soaked myself with tears. I was feeling the awesome
presence of being alive. I thought about how several months
ago I hunched over the aerial photographs taken of this exact
area. I now stood in front of the walls
I had fantasized about. I cried and screamed and yelled and jumped and threw
my arms in the air, howling like a mad werewolf. I was
enjoying myself! I continued to cry. I don’t know if
I have ever cried so hard in my life. I could
not stop. I had forgotten how good it felt to cry. Then I
started to laugh, so hard that it hurt.Absolute utter aloneness.
Solo. Silence. I slept like a baby for the next 18 hours.
 I
spent several days reconnoitering the area. Serpentine
glaciers, neon-blue glacial pools, flowers and plants
of every color of the rainbow, and, of course, huge granite
walls and towers surrounded me. My base camp was about
40 feet from the Iceladen ocean. Seals sunbathed on
the sea ice a stones-throw away. I decided to attempt a
route on a prominent tower a couple of miles
from my base camp.With a nod toward
the rumors of early Viking exploration in the area, I called
this tower the Viking’s
Shield. It took me six days
to shuttle my loads to the base.
The wall was much bigger than
I thought and ended up being
just over 4,200 feet high.
The
first 1,800 feet consisted of splitter cracks and dihedrals,
no harder than 5.10. From
this point a 1,500-foot steep headwall
demanded delicate aid climbing, pushing
what I usually call A3+, or in other words, very spicy. For
example, some of the pitches called for expanding beaks,
hooks of uncertainty, and, of course, rotten madness. The
headwall led me to an 800-foot snow and ice-ridge, with consistent
5.6 climbing to the ice-capped summit. I climbed capsule
style, fixing no less than 1,000 feet at a time. Of course,
my Year of the Horse costume was present for the summit photos.
I spent 22 days making the first ascent of this beautiful
virgin tower.
In
the Arctic, storms can attack at any time. A sweet bluebird
day with sun warming your face and a breeze that would
make you think of Yosemite on a summer afternoon can literally
turn into a raging-maniac-storm-from-hell in a matter of
minutes. I have seen it happen. Fortunately, I love this
kind of spice. There is no doubt it is high on the list
of the important variables on a fantasy expedition. What
sweeter ultimate reality is there than being above the
Arctic Circle, alone, on the middle of a 4,200-foot wall,
shivering in your fragile, hanging-nylon-condo-tether, while a sinister
storm threatens to leave you, freezing to death,
dangling by nothing more than your back-up rope? Did I
mention that during this you are praying/begging to God
out loud, that you will never do anything wrong again if
He will just get you out of this alive? Well, it happened
once again, the threat of doom, that is. It was the second-most
frightening time in my life. When the storm hit, it was
after I had reached the summit and was on the way down.
I waited out that storm for three days with only enough
sleep to have nightmares. Over four feet of snow fell in
those three days. All of my anchors below were frozen over
when I reached them on rappel; some I could not even find. All
of my equipment was soaked through, including my clothes
and my skin.
 Suffering
is an important part of any wonderful journey. That weather
made me appreciate appreciation once again. I had experienced
only minor storms on the ascent; it seemed
too easy and it just did not feel right not to get worked
by the weather. Of course, at the time I wished it was not
happening. If the huge storm that slapped me in the face
on my way down hadn’t stopped when it did, it is hard
to say what would have happened. It could have turned into
one of those stories of the human will to survive.
As it worked out, I lost
only seven pounds on the whole climb and ran out of food for only
one day. My last bit of fuel ran out while
heating water for breakfast on the same day I got back on
the ground.
The
boat picked me up right on time. My two Inuit friends arrived
six hours after I had shuttled my last load back into base
camp.We all smiled, shook hands, and
loaded my gear into the boat. They disappeared again to catch
more salmon from the nearby river. Greenlandic sashimi once again. On the way
back to Tasiilaq we camped on the shore because the 24-hour
light had decreased to about 20 hours. Fall had arrived.
We hunted wild duck and seal for our meals. We laughed,
gestured, and looked into each other’s
eyes for perfect communication
without words
 Before
this expedition, when I was at home studying
the Danish military photos,
I had
found four areas of fantasy big-wall lands waiting to be
explored. Three are left to fantasize
about. The experience I had with the
local Greenlanders filled me with a joyous
emotion I can barely describe. 51 percent of the obsession/addiction
to go on grand expeditions is to
climb beautiful walls and mountains, frolic
in alien flora and fauna, and live a
life in utter sanctuary and solitude for as long as the adventure lasts.
The other 49 percent is to experience other cultures and
make new friends from new lands. The percentages may stay
the same, but the reasons are changing. I cannot imagine
any fantasy more real, emotional, or intense than meeting
and making friends with such magical people who have nothing
more in common with me than breathing the same air. Good God,
life itself is a fantasy in the making.
SUMMARY
OF STATISTICS
AREA:
Eastern Greenland (remote fjord, Southeast Greenland)
ASCENT: The Vikings Shield, Giving Birth to Reason
(4,200', VI 5.10 A3+). Mike Libecki,
solo. August 1-September 8, 2002, with 23 days of climbing.
A
NOTE ON THE AUTHOR
This
was Libecki’s third expedition to Greenland, during
each of which
he made a first ascent. He is planning
four more expeditions
to explore unknown
facets of Greenland’s climbing potential. This was also his eighth major
Arctic expedition, in addition to expeditions
to such places as China, Venezuela, and
Madagascar. Libecki, 30, is proud
to announce that he has just begun his most amazing and wonderful expedition
yet: fatherhood. Lilliana Taylor Libecki was born on March 27, 2003. Mike
would like to thank The American
Alpine Club’s Lyman-Spitzer Grant and The Mugs Stump Award for help in
making The Viking’s Shield possible. He lives by the motto: Pursue Passion (why
ration passion?).
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