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Show I I MY FIRST TIME BY CONOR BARRY magazine t's cold. It's dark. The sun won't be rising above the rugged peaks to the east for at least another hour. My guide Lane Peters and I scramble over the creek and through the trees. There it is — The Great White Icicle, 650 vertical feet of ice nestled into a steep couloir. It's an intimidating sight, especially for a firsttimer like me. As we approach the base, I ask Lane why he started ice climbing. He says, "I suppose ice climbing was the natural progression from rock climbing. I'm always looking for the next thing — within limits, of course — and climbing ice happened to be it. The thing I like best about it, though, is the absolute freedom it gives me. Climbing in the winter has opened a lot of doors and provided experiences that were previously impossible for me." During the summer, gravity takes hold of the water that plummets down this face. Today though, we will be fighting against that same gravitational force as we attempt to ascend this frozen waterfall. I have some basic technical experience on rock, but ice is a completely different story. It seems so delicate and unstable, like it could come crashing down at any moment. I express my feelings of anxiety, only to be reassured with a casual, "You'll be fine." Not a big help. I'm not deathly afraid of heights, but just like any human being, I have a genetic inclination to survive. Heights are just one of those things that naturally instill us with fear. Your body knows that a large fall could easily be the end. Still, I buckle my helmet and strap on my crampons. It's too late to back out now I didn't wake up at 6 a.m. for nothing. After a quick rundown of how to swing an ice tool, we are off. The Great White Icicle is what's called a multi-pitch climb. It's too tall to climb with just one rope length — it takes at least four pitches to get to the top. Each pitch is its own unique beast, presenting us with different challenges. The only way I can wrap my head around the task at hand is to break it down one pitch at a time — it's a lot easier to manage. As I near the top of the first pitch, I start to forget about everything around me. I forget about the anxiety, I forget about the heights, I forget about the hundreds of feet left to climb. Right now, it's just me and the ice. Step by step, foot by foot, I climb. As I swing my ice tools, the ice cracks beneath them. Shards of ice break off and fall below me. Some manage to fall in my jacket before I realize I should have zipped it up. Every so often, a large chunk of ice called a "dinner plate" will break off. These are the ones you have to watch out for. When you break off a "dinner plate," you're supposed to yell "ice" to the climbers below you. On the second pitch, we are exposed to the ice falling from climbers on the upper pitches. We constantly hear "ice" yelled from above. My first instinct when I hear it is to look up and see |