Dancing with gravity

Tim Glasby on the adrenaline-fuelled pull of ice climbing, perhaps the most intense of all extreme sports

Just outside the small town of Ouray, nestled in the San Juan mountains of southern Colorado, sits the Uncompahgre gorge. It's cold, around -7°C, but I'm sweating. It could be the brisk march up the hill, or it could be fear. Despite years of experience, ice climbing still provides the same buzz of apprehension, the same level of uncertainty, the same sense of danger. Of all the extreme sports, it's perhaps the most extreme of all.

"Le Pissoir" is a thin, cylindrical tentacle of ice hanging down from the gorge rim. It's about 150ft high, but no fatter than a factory chimney, corrugated with delicate flutings and weird cauliflower-like knobs. And it glows: a mysterious shade of blue radiates from within.

On my feet are rigid, plastic boots, clamped to "Pitbull" crampons: lightweight metal frames with 14 razor-sharp teeth pointing down, and two more pointing forward. Kicking these into the ice gains the climber a tenuous purchase, enabling the shifting of body weight, from arms to feet.

I take careful aim at a patch of smooth, solid-looking ice, swinging my right ax from the shoulder once, twice, until the pick lodges firmly above my head with a distinctive "thwunk". I repeat the process with my left ax, and then pull my body up. After 30 minutes of alternately kicking my feet and swinging my arms I'm about 100ft up this pencil of frozen water. The sturdy, plastic-like solidity of the first 50 feet have given way to a honeycomb of brittle air pockets. I have to work a lot harder now. At this height, a mistake could be fatal-as one famous exponent of this dark art once said: "the ground is hard, and it's forever". Each swing of my ax cleaves off huge chunks of ice, which bounce and crash to the ground with a loud crack. My forearms burn from the strain, my calves are filling up with lactic acid and becoming uncomfortable. I gulp for precious air, my lungs battling against altitude and temperature.

Placing my tools as meticulously as a surgeon, I delicately pick my way to the top of the climb, pull myself onto level ground, and with waves of euphoria and nausea simultaneously washing over me, finally shake out the cramp from my aching limbs.

It's this triumph of the body in the toughest of conditions, the juxtaposition of pain and gain, which keeps climbers coming back for more. As professional (sponsored) ice climber Lucy Creamer says, it's a "bittersweet" sport. "The constant fight against the cold can be a painful one, but the buzz I get from climbing-mixed with the uncertainty of success-makes it one of the most full-on outdoor experiences you'll find anywhere," she says.

It's these types of experiences that have led some to liken ice climbing to a dangerous "dance with gravity", a kind of "vertical ballet". But for the majority, the sport doesn't need to be quite so extreme. In fact, the beauty of ice climbing is that you can make it as safe, or as extreme, as you want. Tailor-made holidays in easily accessible locations offer how-to courses, guided by professionals.

"Ice climbing is a unique experience that has given me a lot of satisfaction," says Creamer. "It is a fantastic way to experience the elements at whatever level you choose." A good starting point for beginners is the UK.

Both Scotland and Wales offer some great routes. You could join a weekend course at one of the excellent outdoor centres, or even hire a guide to show you the best climbing routes in the region. Plas y Brenin (www.pyb.co.uk) in Snowdonia, or Glenmore Lodge (www.glenmorelodge.org.uk) in the Cairngorms have a choice of packages. But be careful the weather doesn't turn. "Mountaineering and ice climbing in Scottish winter conditions can be as extreme and challenging as virtually anywhere on the planet," says Dave Turnbull, chief executive of the British Mountaineering Council. That said, he recommends Ben Nevis or the Cairngorms on a "blue-sky Scottish day in crisp, winter conditions" as the perfect antidote "to the pressures of commercial life".

The next port of call for many climbers is the French Alps. For my money, the Haute Alps—also known as the Ecrins Massif—offers some of the best conditions for ice climbing in the world. The area enjoys 300 days of sunshine a year, as well as more than 500 ice climbs of all sizes and grades. A one-week beginners' course, offering all tuition, food and accommodation will cost you £990 with AlpBase (www.alpbase.com).

If you have more time and fancy something further afield, then
try a Jack Roberts Skills Clinic (www.jackrobertsclimbing.com) in the ski resort of Vail, or the Ouray Ice Park (www.ourayclimbing.com), both in Colorado. Guides can be hired for as little as $150 per day for a one-to-one.

Both areas also offer skiing, boarding and ski-touring, but two-minute approach walks, mild winter temperatures, and abundant sunshine combine to make Ouray one of the best destinations for climbing in the world.

When you're a little more competent, or if you want to jump in at the deep end, the only place to go is Canada. The routes are longer and approaches are made by ski. Try the OnTop school (www.ontopmountaineering.com) in the popular areas of Banff and Lake Louise. If that doesn't offer a challenge, then nothing will.

Tim Glasby is an ice climber and photojournalist