Trip Log: Ice Fest 2024

Far away from the beach towns and umbrella drinks of the world, there exists a very cold reality. A place where what flows during the warm days of summer slows to standstill under winter’s trance. Cascading waterfalls gone icebound, stoic, and climbable. Forget those Fiji water commercials and welcome yourself to the New Hampshire town that saw temperatures plummet to -109F in February of ’23. Winter climbing has been celebrated in the Mount Washington Valley for the last 31 years. It’s an ice climbers playground chock full of burly old school classics, multi-pitch moderates, and mixed lines that have pushed the understanding of rock and ice movements. It’s not Ouray and it’s not Canmore, but it is the place that ice climbers from there talk about. It’s Northeastern alpine and it is the home of Mount Washington Valley Ice Fest. It’s North Conway, New Hampshire and besides, with temps in February of this year reaching a balmy 35F, conditions in the valley looked about as close to the tropics as you can get. Still no umbrella drinks.

The crew discussing where to best drop ropes at a busy Arethusa Falls.

The small New England town rests in the shadow of Mount Washington, the tallest and perhaps most notable peak in the Northeast. Washington’s notoriety, however, is not only derived from its 6,228 ft. elevation, sitting substantially lower than the +10,000 ft. peaks that soar over much of the west, but rather, for it’s ability to produce wildly intense weather systems. Remember that Mt. Washington was responsible for creating that heart shattering temperature of -109 and if you are familiar with the area, you’ll know that of all the nefarious weather patterns which proudly call the Northeast their home, the Presidential Range usually tops that list. Even when it’s not capping the extreme ends, Mt. Washington boasts a lower average temperature than Mt. Rainier despite being nearly 8,000 feet closer to sea level. The cold descends and clings to the shadowy cliffs and ledges of the valley, transforming the falls and runoffs into translucent towers of frozen blue. A blank canvas for winter expression and an experience unique to a select few parts of the world.

In 1993, Rick Wilcox and Nick Yardley created the Mount Washington Valley Ice Fest and it has been the primetime gathering place for Northeast ice ever since. Wilcox a.k.a. “the guy who climbed Everest before it was cool”, and his wife Celia, are the owners and operators of IME (International Mountain Equipment). That shop and it’s associated climbing school, IMCS (International Mountain Climbing School) are prominent forces in making the Ice Fest dream come alive and stay alive in the area. Showcasing an amazing array of clinics, guides, climbs, screenings, athletes, and gear demos, the event has grown to become an access point for any and all who wish to find their way to ice and heed the call of the cold. Chasing the chill, we found ourselves on a dark mountain highway tracking some 400 miles north and mostly east in hopes of quality ice and standing outside for a long time. The encompassing darkness soon gave way to a large sign reading “International Mountain Equipment”, marking the end of one journey and the start of the next. We were meeting some of the same New York crew we linked with in the Gunks, this time, subbing chalk and rock shoes and for ice tools and crampons.

Exterior of International Mountain Equipment

Interior of IME with owners Rick and Celia Wilcox chatting behind the front counter.

Jess getting gear in order for the next days climb.

Details of a night hike out of the crag.

After an initial night of introductions, gear gathering, and banter; the following day saw us in the Echo Wall Lake/Cathedral Ledge area. The crew this trip was rolling deep and flooded the crag with good energy as well as an array of experience. For some it was their first time out in winter conditions nonetheless ice climbing, for others, high level rock climbing was a constant but ice was a new medium to dive into. Then, of course, there were the rope guns. The ones who are versed in the icey dark arts, possessing the line share of experience necessary to be anointed the anchor building position each day. “In the mountains, there is always something to be learned and something to be taught.”, noted one of the rope guns the evening prior. That idea was vividly demonstrated throughout a group of strangers and friends, each representing their own distinct sets of skills and perspectives relating to the mountains. It is one of the core reasons we as people go into the mountains. Being able to play, learn, and live a life informed by the landscape is what keeps us human, whether or not you’re in the mountains at all. So with a day of acclimating ourselves to the ice, we took that energy to the crag on day two, Arethusa Falls.

The crew rolling deep and taking in the sunshine en route to Arethusa Falls.

Approach to the falls.

Jess exploring the walk around route to the top of the falls.

Brisk temps and the mile and change approach woke us up but catching sight of the falls made any thought of fatigue a distant memory. Picks, clicks, and zips filled the base of the falls with the familiar sound of rattling gear. One rope was out right, the pitch starting low angle and progressing into a near vertical pillar of frozen runoff. The other, better line was just off the center of the falls, starting right of the melted patch of falls, increasing to a flat and blank section, near vertical, running to the anchors. A clean, direct climb on an 80 foot plus section of crystal blue face. We cycled through laps on each, a few crew putting down classy examples of how to send the center line. In-between climbs the preferred activity of choice was to hike around the side of the falls, take in the view, and slide that trail back down. Adults like snow slides too, everyone does. It sounds elementary but points to something interesting that professional climber Ian Welsted alluded to in a presentation the previous night, noting that for him at a certain point “the act becomes an expression”. No, climbing mega lines in Pakistan and snow slides in New Hampshire are not the same thing, but at a certain point, whether it's remembering how to be a kid or its pushing the limits of what's physically possible in the mountains, there is a common thread through the hills that pulls us together.

Adonijah sending his first ice route.

Assorted gear racked on a harness.

Kyle swinging an ice tool before making his next move.

Crampons busting though sift ice.

Cordelettes on top of a rope bag.

Kyle just before topping out to clean the anchors on the final climb of the day.

Cam and A.J. staying warm in-between climbs at the base of Arethusa Falls.

Securing a carabiner getting ready to belay.

Boot and crampon mid route.

Kyle mid-swing on a beautiful section of blue ice.

View across the crag from mid way up the falls.

Embodying the pure stoke of ice climbing.

Distant rolling peaks from the top of Arethusa.

For winter communities across the map and across pursuits, the momentum that gatherings like Ice Fest provide, play an integral roll in shaping the scene and where it will continue to go. When the everyday climbers, the locals, the first timers, the weekend warriors, and the big mountain pros all come together with a common pursuit and shared expression, it’s something special. Yea, it’s about ice and celebrating winter stoke, but that’s just the jumping off point. You make friends from places you would otherwise never, you hear stories and perspectives that open your own, and you get to dance your way up ice pillars. Most likely, you will get to ask yourself the question “why the hell do we choose to do this?” But that question is far less interesting than what you experience when continuing on. The constant through it all found via the simple, intoxicating motions of “pick, pick, pull, kick, kick, stand.”

(L to R) Danny, A.J., and Adam discussing the fundamentals of ice anchor building.

A belayer pulling rope with personally tapped tools clipped to their harness.