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Bella Coola Symphony 6/8Upon our return to Symphony Lake, we found that the others had first walked up the northwest ridge of Jezebel, a low peak a couple miles southeast of Beelzebub. Then, approaching from the south, they reached the notch at the foot of Beelzebub's northwest ridge, which they ascended to the summit. To move camp, they crossed a saddle in the ridge which runs northeast from Jezebel. Traveling through a glacial basin, they then crossed another pass into the head of the glacier which drains the west side of Mount Ratcliff. From this camp they scrambled up the long rock slope of Ratcliff's west face, topping out on the broad summit ridge. Climbing upward to the south, they soon reached the summit. This route was easier than that of the first ascent the previous year, and was almost entirely on rock. They then descended Ratcliff's west glacier, crossed the tip of the Jacobsen Glacier, and returned to Symphony Lake. The day our group returned to Symphony Lake, Phil was in camp by himself. The other three had crossed the lake on a raft they had constructed. Leaving camp at 5 a.m., they had climbed the slope to Symphony Saddle, just east of Musician Mountain. Moments before darkness they returned, and said that upon reaching the saddle that morning they and seen a large rocky peak several miles down the valley. In a marathon effort, they had ascended it by its southwest face, using the rope in one place. It turned out to be the most southerly of the four peaks which comprise the crest of Ape Mountain. Although it was not the highest, they did not have the time to continue on. Even so, by the time they were back in camp they had traveled twelve miles and climbed a total of six thousand feet, pretty good for one of Leslie's age. The next day the airplane arrived, bearing with it Frank Cook, and leaving with the Fireys and Frank de Saussure. This left six of us, and we combined into a single group, but bad weather prevented further climbing.
1964In June of 1964, Dick Culbert and Glenn Woodsworth ventured north of the Bella Coola Valley, travelling up the Salloomt River. They climbed Kalone Peak and Mount Creswell, and made the second ascent of an intervening peak which had been occupied by the Topographical Survey. North of Talcheazoone Lakes, Preterition Peak fell, as did two peaks on the ridge leading south from Mount Stepp. Two years before, I had found an old cairn at the head of the Salloomt. Dick and Glen spotted three more in the same area, including the one on the summit of Mount Stepp. It is probably a fairly safe assumption that these were left years back by Torger Olson, an early resident of Bella Coola who had roamed extensively in the Salloomt area.In late July I returned to Symphony Lake with my wife, Frances. Our objective was the Aurora Tower, climax of the Borealis group. Having first seen this peak from the airplane in 1961, I had long been anxious to attempt it, for it appeared to be quite difficult. Rising more than four thousand feet above its base, it had appeared from the air to be a sheer-walled tower, with no apparent route. An air of mystery had surrounded the peak from the first, for we were unable to determine its location. In the fleeting view from the airplane, the direction in which it lay had seemed apparent. But study of the map revealed that we must have been mistaken, for no peak of such magnitude existed where we thought we had seen it. Later reconnaissance proved the map mistaken. Crossing Symphony Saddle, we descended into the valley of Borealis Creek. On the small glacier at its head, we came across a mangled goat carcass. The animal had been ripped apart, and splintered bones testified to the strength of the assassin's jaws. Lower down, grizzly tracks in the mud further reminded us of the necessity for unceasing vigilance. In the midst of the valley, a waterfall offered a study in color-metamorphic walls of red were set off by clinging patches of greenery, while the white cataract gave birth to a mist which sparkled in the sun light. A pleasant mossy walk took us down onto an alluvial flat below the snout of the Borealis Glacier. Walking across the flat, we came across more grizzly tracks, these disconcertingly fresh. We camped in the flat above a large meadow. Directly above rose Aurora, and we studied it intently. Next morning we were under way quite early, for the route was uncertain, and a change in the weather was imminent. Climbing up the talus below the southwest face, we reached the foot of a prominent watercourse which streams down the wall. Tackling the wall just left of this; we were immediately confronted with high angle clambering on a narrow rib. At one point we had to climb a tree to surmount the pitch, but after a couple of hundred feet the wall spread out and lay back at a lesser angle. Easy scrambling for several hundred yards brought us to a steeper section again, but this was overcome with just one difficult move. Clambering up over easy ground, we came out on a rounded shoulder overlooking the top of the watercourse. At this point the water issues from the foot of an immensely long snow-filled couloir. The couloir is a very prominent feature on the south side of Aurora, seemingly reaching all the way to the summit. It has been formed by the more rapid erosion of a dike of white rock. Although the dike extends all the way to the base of the mountain, the couloir follows it only two-thirds of the way down and then breaks away, spilling water and snow down the southwest face. Donning crampons, we entered the couloir. Switchbacking steadily upward, we were impressed by the ease with which we were bypassing hundreds of feet of difficult red rock. At one point there was a short discontinuity in the snow, and we had to climb up on smoothly polished outward sloping holds. The snow was generally quite clean, indicating sound rock above, but in one section we climbed swiftly and silently up a slope littered with debris. After more than two hours of steady climbing, the couloir started a sweeping "S" curve, and we felt the summit drawing near. Approaching the top, the snow became steep and soft, and surface avalanching obliterated our steps. Clambering up onto a final island of rock, I peered over and found that our climb was just beginning. Far from being on the summit, our rock perch was merely a platform which a smooth crest of snow curved gently up to the left, and terminated abruptly in a sheer wall of grey rock. Only one flaw in this barrier seemed to offer any hope, and I struck off across an exposed snow slope which led toward a cleft in the wall. Laboriously plowing a hip-deep trench in the soft snow, I reached a point from which I could see further into the slot. Higher up, a massive cornice of snow was poised over the route! Hesitating, I reluctantly concluded that the risk would be greater than could be justified.
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