The Original Route (5.10, 700′) – Beehive Peak, MT
This past weekend, Sarah and I got on the hardest alpine climb we’ve done yet: The Original Route (aka Javaman, 5.10, 5 pitches, 700′), on the south face of Beehive Peak near Big Sky, MT.
After failing in the Bridgers the week before, we were both feeling a bit down, but still wanted to get out and try again. On Thursday, Sarah said she had energy and wanted to do a big day Saturday. I was excited to hear it and began listing some possible areas we might go to. Sarah found the Original Route in the guidebook, and we speculated if we were ready for such a difficult (relative to us) climb. We’ve been training for the past 9 months, but pushing grades in the alpine is not something to take lightly.
After some thought, we decided we were indeed ready to give the Original Route a shot. On Friday, however, the weather forecast was showing a 30% chance of rain in the morning and a 50% chance of thunderstorms in the afternoon. Rain wouldn’t be a big deal, but standing on top of a 10,742′ peak in a thunderstorm is obviously a bad idea.
Instead of scrapping Beehive all together, we decided to do a shorter, less difficult climb: New World Route (5.8, 3 pitches). This would get us up and down much quicker than the Original Route, and we’d beat the afternoon thunderstorms.
On Saturday, we woke up a 4:20 AM, made snacks, filled up our water containers, did one last weather check, and hurried out the door. The drive to Big Sky was uneventful, and we began the hike in at around 6:15 AM. We tried to push our pace a little, but not so much as to burn ourselves out before the climbing.
[image error]Quick photo stop on the hike.
[image error]Early morning at Beehive Lake.
When we got closer to the formation, however, we realized a party of 3 had reached the New World Route ahead of us. Since their leader was just starting up the snowfield and neither of us enjoy climbing below others (rock fall potential and speed considerations), we chose to change plans. We debated for several minutes, trying to decide if we should do a 2 pitch 5.7 route on the right side of the face, or opt for our initial plan of the Original Route.
Doing the shorter, easier climb felt like a bit of a cop out, so we decided to go for the Original Route. The weather was looking good (no rain and few clouds in sight) and the hourly forecast I’d checked when we woke up said the strongest likely hood of thunderstorms wasn’t until 2 PM. If everything went according to plan, we felt we’d be able to summit and get down before then. We racked up, tied in, and I set off up the first pitch.
So many things were running through my mind as I began climbing. Was I making a mistake? Were we pushing too hard? Was it smart to get on the hardest alpine climb we’d ever tried with a marginal afternoon weather forecast? I shut out the doubts, telling myself we could always rappel the route if things got nasty. It would be expensive to leave that much gear behind, but retreat was possible.
The start of the route is in your face and bouldery 5.9, so I had to focus on making smooth, deliberate moves. A fall here would likely mean a broken ankle or leg, and I had no desire to hobble back 4 miles to the car. I linked one move into the next, pulled up over a bluge, and found a perfect section of crack for gear. Several minutes of climbing later, I was building an anchor and bringing Sarah up.
Pitch 2 is the crux, and thinking of it made me nervous. The first pitch had felt good, however, so I figured I should be OK. Sarah gave me the gear she’d retrieved, and I took off again. Given the vagaries of the available beta for this climb, I didn’t really know what to expect. I kept pushing upward, through the first section of 5.9 wide crack, which went down smoothly. The pitch went on and on as my remaining gear dwindled. Where is the crux? I carefully crimped and edged my way up a slab, and then saw it, ten feet of vertical corner. I’d arrived!
Which was a good thing, as I only had a couple pieces of gear left. I plugged a cam under an overlap below the roof, and looked up nervously. I generally like corners, as I find good ways to stem and rest. Unfortunately, this one had a slab below it, with no place to get in gear high enough to prevent decking initially. Just don’t fall.
I pasted my feet on the left wall of the corner, reached up, and searched for holds. Nothing. There were some slopers and a weirdly angled crimp, but nothing good enough to get me to commit. I studied both walls further, discovering a crack out left that I’d totally missed. The problem was that it was too far away to hand jam, or even comfortably stem on. But, it was the only option, so I got my feet up once again, and this time, I stabbed my left foot as far over as I could. My leg was uncomfortably high, and didn’t feel particularly solid, but it was working. I smeared the right side of my body into the corner, found some shitty holds for my hands, and brought my right foot up. I repeated this process a couple times until the crack arched over into reach.
Looking down, I realized the slab was uncomfortably far below me, and I was once again facing a fall with potential injury. Get some gear in. I was still solidly jammed in the corner, with the crack out of my view, so I groped around in it, trying to decide what size piece might fit. Big blue C4, I thought, thankful to still have one on my harness. It was even racked on the correct side. I uncliped the piece, and blindly placed it into the crack, trying to sense the lobe expansion. Feels good.
A foot above, the crack arched into a nearly horizontal rail, juggy in a few places. The feet still weren’t good, and I was tired from the strenuous gear placing position, but at least I had pro in. Once on a jug, I took a quick look at the cam. Not a perfect placement, but probably the best I’ve ever done blindly. I quickly did the final moves, built a belay with my last three pieces, and tried to steady my heavy breathing as I brought Sarah up. 5.10 climbing at 10,500′ is hard on the lungs. The guys on New World Route congratulated me as they set off on their 3rd pitch.
[image error]Sarah getting comfy at the 2nd belay. The crux corner drops down just to the right of her feet.
From here, we had a decision to make: Stick with the original route, or try one of the numerous variations that split off at this point. Since the variations are less well documented, and we were aiming for speed, we stuck with the standard path. I took the gear from Sarah and set off on the traversing 5.7 pitch, which I think I did part of correctly, but then got off route. It turned out OK, because I ended up belaying on a nice ledge in the right general area. Unfortunately, for Sarah, this pitch is not well protected for the 2nd for most of the way and does have some scary, loose rock on it. Thankfully, we both got through without falling or pulling anything off.
The next pitch was another 5.9, but it was a short, exposed roof pull/traverse. After the battle with the 5.10 corner, I was feeling a little drained, but made quick work of it. The climbing eased, and I began running it out, moving as quickly and efficiently as I could. Now that the hard parts of the technical climbing were over, I only worried about weather and the descent.
More easy climbing passed, and I found myself wondering if I might make it to the top in one long pitch. The more I thought about it, however, the more I doubted it was possible. The last two pitches would be around 75M if I combined them, and we only had a 65M rope. Simul-climbing through the 5.9 roof would not be a good option. Instead, I plugged two bomber cams into an overhanging corner, and tried to keep up with the belay as Sarah nearly sprinted up to me. “I heard thunder,” she said breathlessly as she approached.
“Then let’s shift gears,” I replied, taking the few pieces of gear I’d used on the last pitch from her. She quickly put me on belay, and I launched up the final pitch. The climbing was easy, and I soon arrived on a nice ledge. Above me, only 4th class remained. I yelled for Sarah to take me off belay, hauled up the slack between us, and threw the rope around a solid horn. Terrain belays are nice.
The few tiny clouds we’d spotted at the 2nd belay had grown into massive, dark thunderheads. Thankfully, the lightning still sounded far away, and we hadn’t seen any cloud to ground action yet. We quickly packed the rope, put on our approach shoes, and scrambled to the summit.
With no time to pose for a nice photo, I quickly snapped a few pictures to remember the summit by:
[image error]
[image error]A little nervous, and a little out of breath.
After tagging the summit, we quickly scrambled our way down into the descent gully. There is a large slung block at the top to rappel from, but we opted to down climb as getting the rope out would take longer. After a few exposed moves, the gully opened up and we we began churning through scree. Every foot we descended, my anxiety about the weather decreased, while my nerves about entering the snowy 4th of July Couloir increased.
While packing on Friday, I had asked Sarah her opinion if we should bring ice axes or not. One of the guides said the snow was usually easily avoidable on the descent, so we opted not to bring them to save weight and bulk on the climb. We were about to see if we’d made a bad decision.
As we moved further down, Sarah spotted a large fluffy mass crashing down the gully ahead of us. “Mountain goat!” We watched as the spooked fluff ball sprinted headlong down before us. “Wish we could move that fast,” Sarah said, laughing. “Hope he doesn’t get hurt.”
On the way up, I’d spotted an alternative descent that would keep us out of the couloir and completely off the snow, but would require traversing the ridge; prime lightning strike territory. So when we reached the saddle that would take us into the 4th of July Couloir, we crossed the ridge and began heading down. From here, we had just a few hundred feet left to descend.
The scree quickly turned to snow, and we pondered our options as it began to intermittently rain and sleet. The snow was soft enough to kick steps with approach shoes, but it would be a long, tedious, and (without an axe) potentially dangerous decent. Instead, we opted to down climb the troughs that had formed on the sides of the gully, where snow melted away from the rock.
This progressed fairly well, until we reached an overhang with bad feet and hands. A few difficult, scary moves later, and we continued motoring down the trough. At one point we kicked steps across the couloir, changing sides to reach easier terrain.
When we finally made it to the bottom, we both cheered. It was good to be off the peak. The weather wasn’t improving, and we decided to keep our harnesses and gear on until we reached a safer location. After twenty minutes or so, we felt comfortable enough to pack everything up for the rest of the hike out.
[image error]Looking back. The 4th of July Couloir (path of our descent) is the snowy ribbon left of center.
We took our time getting back to the car, feeling excited for what we’d accomplished. Many people were hiking up to check out Beehive Lake and the beautiful scenery despite the rolling thunder. The lot was overflowing with cars by the time we got back. When we stopped our timer for a round trip time of 8 hours, 54 minutes. It was a good day in the mountains. 
