Email this article

Ice Climbing Bird Brain Boulevard

By Jared Ogden

I wasn't really a climber in the 1980s, when most of the big ice climbs were pioneered in Colorado. In 1990, when I moved to Durango, I certainly wasn't considering attempts on big, sketchy ice routes like Bird Brain Boulevard near Ouray. In fact, upon seeing the route for the first time, I asked myself, "How did it get its name and who would be crazy enough to do such a route, no less put it up?" A few years later I ran into Mark Wilford, one of the first ascentionists, who gave me the scoop.

In 1986, Colorado climbers Jeff Lowe, Charlie Fowler and Mark Wilford set their sights on a first ascent of what would become one of the most classic ice and mixed routes in the country: a 1,200-foot gash on a fearsome frozen wall of rock and ice just outside Ouray. Climbers had been eyeing the line for a while before the trio commited to it, but no others had attempted it, holding back for a time when it was perceived to be in good enough condition to climb. Meanwhile, Wilford, Fowler and Lowe, who had established several notorious ice and mixed climbs, both in Colorado and around the world, pooled their talents for a bid on the unclimbed line, which by that point had a foreboding reputation.

At the time, along with their storied routes, other climbs had been established on long ice climbs, such as The Fang in Vail and Bridalveil Falls in Telluride, but not of the scale and commitment as the one they were about to attempt. If any trio of climbers was the perfect match for such a climb, it was this one.

Lowe, in particular, was an alpine- and ice-climbing pioneer on several fronts. By the time of the ascent, he and his brother Mike had developed several key advances in ice-climbing equipment, such as Footfangs, a radical waterfall- and mixed-climbing crampon, and the Hummingbird ice tool system with interchangeable picks. Lowe also had a thriving clothing company called Latok, which outfitted the trio of climbers for some hard-core testing on the ascent bid.

So, decked with the latest technology and clothing of the day - and a lot of bravado - they shouldered their packs and marched to the base of the route, uncertain of the outcome.

Their first impressions must have been mixed with doubt and trepidation. But, inspired by the soundness of thunker ice and chimneys, the first few hundred feet passed quickly. Occasional avalanching of spindrift washed over them, but they continued on, past a cruxy pillar linking them to a ramp and another chimney. By now, about halfway up the route, looking up they must have been feeling more relaxed. Solid ice lured them on, however the spindrift was relentless. After climbing several more stretches of ice and snow pasted into shallow corners where protection was limited, they reached a large roof. With a third of the climb to go, this roof hung over them as the big question mark, where the uncertainty of pulling through the roof waited a reply. The roof was of rotten rock with a double body-length of horizontal climbing out under the roof - it looked impossible. Fortunately, a thin tongue of ice gained a corner of the roof, looking sketchy at best. It was their only chance, and retreat, for them, wasn't acceptable.

Making it past the roof proved less difficult than anticipated. In another stroke of fortune, a low-angled footledge made for an easy return to the main chimney system. On an airy perch at the lip of the roof a thousand feet up, the team rejoiced in its progress. Continuing up the chimney past an awkward chockstone, two pitches later the triumphant team stood on top of the route. Jubilant but tired, they rapped to the base having completed a historic first ascent of what is considered today a classic testpiece.

When I had racked up enough courage, I took it to Bird Brain Boulevard (rated WI5, M6, 350m, V). After swinging my ice axes into its characteristic rotten moss and ice runnels wedged in the Boulevard's chasm, it hit me that even equipped with modern tools, lazer-cut ice screws and flossy ropes, my experience was probably a close match to that of the first ascentionists. In their tracks, however, regardless of how characteristically similar the climb may be for each successive climber who attempts to gain on its loose rock and ice, one can only begin to understand the track of these true visionaries, point by sketchy point.

When I asked Wilford why they named it Bird Brain Boulevard, he simply said, "Well, you have to have a brain the size of a bird's to do a route like that."

Jared Ogden has been sighted in nearly every corner of the planet. A Durango resident and one of the world's premier climbers, Ogden specializes in bird-brain routes, in particular those that require the highest standards of rock, ice and alpine climbing.