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Outside Magazine November 2002

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The Hard Way
Unbroken Chain (Cont.)

THE GOAL HAD BEEN an enchainment—the scaling of several mountains or walls in succession. One of the most famous enchainments in the Alps is the ascent, one after another, of the Croz Spur, the north face of the Matterhorn, and the north face of the Eiger (although the purity of this alpine triple crown is spoiled by the use of a helicopter to get from peak to peak). In Yosemite, tearing up the northwest face of Half Dome and then The Nose on El Capitan is a notoriously difficult enchainment. The Cathedral Traverse in the Tetons (Teewinot, Mount Owen, the Grand) and the Bugaboo Traverse in British Columbia (the Howsers, Bugaboo, Snowpatch, the Pigeons) are two other magnificent linkups.

Enchainments are the ultramarathons of mountaineering. They are a traditional expression of an excess of mountain exuberance, that half-bacchanalian, half-masochistic joy that can be found in staying high and moving with speed and agility and confidence through difficult, perilous terrain.

Many enchainments are completed in 24 to 48 hours. In most cases, the climbers have done all the individual routes multiple times. But not always. Three years ago Steve Bechtel told me of an enchainment he and fellow Wyoming climber Mike Lilygren did sight unseen over 32 hours, trailhead to trailhead, in the Bighorn Mountains of northern Wyoming in July 1999. The five-peak enchainment encompassed Black Tooth, Woolsey, the Gargoyle, Innominate, and the whaleback of Cloud Peak.

"Utterly exhausting," Bechtel enthused. "Most of it was moderate class 5 with bad rockfall, although we did put up a dicey 5.11, which would have been beautiful in climbing shoes." (Steve did the whole enchainment in approach shoes.) "Yeah, it was great fun," Lilygren agreed. "The bivy was one of the coldest, most miserable nights of my life."

I'd never been to the Bighorns, but this sounded perfect. Given that an enchain- ment requires the legs and lungs of a cyclist, the honed technical skills of a traditional rock climber, and an alpinist's ability to sanguinely endure sleep deprivation and vile weather, you might think it hard to find a partner. Naw. I knew just the guy: Bryan Bornholdt, 42, math professor, father, devout Christian, fitness Nazi. Bryan lives in Fruita, Colorado, so he can bike and climb 12 months a year. He once cycled 330 miles north to south through Colorado in 24 hours. He climbed the west face of El Cap in a day. In Zion National Park he climbed Desert Shield in a day, and Fang Wall and Lunar Ecstacy and a dozen others. He was renowned for being relentless. I have friends who've quit doing things with him because, they say, "he's way too intense." I e-mailed Bryan.

"I'm in!" he replied. "I like the idea of going ridiculously light. Far too often we engage in things that we feel comfortable trying. Why not go for broke?"

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