Scaling the north face of Glacier's Cataract Mountain

During my days working at Glacier National Park's St. Mary’s, my mornings would often start with an easy scramble up a nearby summit to stretch my legs.

It was during one of these journeys that I first ascended from Piegan Pass up class-two boulder-hopping to the summit of Cataract Mountain. 

The climbing, anything but arduous. Standing atop its diorite-block-laden summit, my stomach turned as my deteriorating hiking shoes inched towards the precipice of overhanging rock guarding the harrowing north face. Years later, on a frosty spring ski tour of Mount Siyeh’s west face, the dramatic north face of Cataract demanded my full attention once more as we took a break below its sheer bluff. 

The abrupt aspect of Cataract thrust skyward, its distinct horizontally banded layers of limestone and diorite waltzed through my mind in a frightful dance. Rolling the idea of climbing the face through my mind (along with all the other loose nuts and bolts) always unnerved me. A confident and levelheaded partner would be required to set foot on the chossy face. 

Relaying the idea to long-time climbing partner Adam Cazell stirred enough buzz to launch us into action. Cazell’s battle-tested mind made him a perfect candidate for the harebrained idea to breach Cataract. 

Trekking up the Lunch Creek trail, we dropped down toward Piegan Pass, leaving the trail and heading cross-country towards the base of Cataract’s north face. Turning the final corner, our collective breath was snatched from our lungs as our reality began setting in while we gazed towards the thousand-foot Nordwand. We avoided eye contact with the beast until we dared peer skyward to choose our point of attack. Avoiding the directissima into the jagged overhang guarding the middle of the face, we focused our attention to the left, where a major crack system drew us to its base.

Gearing up and saying our goodbyes to the horizontal world, we cast off into Cataract’s sea of steep vertical rock. My rubber climbing shoes clinging to the walls on either side of me as I stemmed above Adam, belaying me far below. The climbing had its moments of pure joy, contrasted with adrenaline-fueled sections that required manual breathing and a level head to ascend higher. 

Swapping leads, Cazell styled his first lead of the day, setting us up below a steepening series of cracks that would prove the first crux. With gray clouds moving in overhead, small raindrops began coating the yellow-tinged rock around us. 

Taking the sharp end, the crucial pitch was composed of long runouts between gear that required me to move explicitly, a single move at a time, holding my breath and hoping that more cracks for protection would reveal themselves. Reaching a loose overhang, a lackluster piton was hammered into the wall before a wild stemming sequence through a tooth-shaped roof pull was dispatched, bringing us eye-to-eye with the overhanging headwall. With adrenaline filling our gums, we decided to break for lunch and make a decision. 

We came loaded for bear, but climbing the overhead obstacles just didn’t seem right. As a team, we decided to traverse along the broadway ledge to search out a better option to reach the summit. Moving horizontally a rope length to the east, we established a belay below the daunting diorite headwall. A Jenga-block pitch of intimidating chockstones was resolved by Cazell’s precise climbing. Casting off from our comfortable belay, tedious face climbing with little protection brought me to an exciting chimney and stemming sequence to set a perched belay with the summit in sight.

“How’s the last pitch look?” echoed Cazell as he nearly reached the belay.

“Short and straightforward,” I responded. 

Only the former was true.

Gazing upward, my eyes filled with amazement as Cazell picked his way through the moss-filled cracks. Pulling on gear as the difficulties of the final vertical pitch demand his complete focus. After a well-fought battle till the last drop, Cazell whooped in rejoice as he reached the summit ridge of Cataract. 

Belaying me up, my mind surged with excitement as the brisk air gliding across the summit rushed through my helmet-covered hair. Rejoicing, we watched the final minutes of daylight cast dramatic colors across the clouds dancing high above. 

Standing atop unscathed reminded me why we climb, not to prove to the world we can survive these dramatic environments, but to prove to ourselves we can come together and trust in one another to realize a unified goal. For now, we celebrate and relax, appreciating what we accomplished and dreaming of where we're going next. 

    SETH ANDERSON PHOTOGRAPHY   

    SETH ANDERSON PHOTOGRAPHY