Tuesday, August 24, 2010
August 24, 2010
Sean and I arrived in Stockholm midday on Sunday, August 15th. John Magnussen picked us up promptly and drove us to the rink. We were both exhausted, yet we put on a happy and excited front and went along with the tour of the Nacka Ishal. The whole scene looks like something one would see in Siberia. As you turn into the rink, there is an enormous gravel soccer field to your left. The rink is to the right and looks like a large blue barn. John showed us the 'weight room' inside of the rink. It consists of a a bench, a squat rack, a few bars, and bunch of plates of different weights. The walls of the room are wooden planks that do not reach the ceiling. The ice sheet is the smallest in all of Sweden, but its normal size for the States. The practice that was taking place during our tour was by far the best part of the Nacka Ishal. The 96's that were playing all had phenomenal hands, and they all looked like they were having fun. There were no wind sprints or Russian circles, only small games.
My first practice was quite similar. The emphasis was on puck control and passing. For some reason I was able to disregard my fatigue and my jet lag and embrace the situation for what it was. 24 hours earlier, I was on my to the airport in New Jersey. Here I was, playing hockey with a team consisting of all Swedes fresh off the airplane, and I was loving it. I was able to delay the shock of where I was and all of the emotions that I was feeling. Once I got off the ice and settled into the Park Inn in Hammerby, the shock set in.
On Monday night, Sean, Kathy, Paul, and I went out to dinner in Stockholm with a friend of Chris Brady named Sven, his wife, and his daughter, Alice. They were extremely nice and gave us plenty of tips about the city. I had some delicious swedish meatballs for dinner. Alice gave us her phone number and offered to take us out and show us around the city. After dinner, Sean and I walked around the city for awhile. One thing I noticed is that everyone here is good-looking and tall.
Stockholm consists of eight islands connected by bridges and tunnels. So nearly everywhere you look you can see a view of the water. The city is beautiful right now, but everyone keeps warning us about the impending winter and how it all changes come October.
Every day brought a similar regime. I would go the rink in the late afternoon. My team and I would run 2-3 miles before going on the ice. I was not prepared for the running part. I kept up with the team, but it seemed like they were having fun while running, as they were laughing and joking. I, on the other hand, was cramping and short of breath. I hid it well though and finished right with the team. One day brought a different pre-practice exercise. Our trainer brought us to this muddy patch of grass and started to yell orders in Swedish. The goalie on my team translated for me. He wanted us to lay on our backs, while our partner straddled us and tried to keep us pinned. I was supposed to try to flip onto my belly. At first I thought it was a joke, but when I saw my teammates doing it with smiles on their faces, I knew I was mistaken. So over the next thirty minutes or so, I proceeded to wrestle with my sweaty teammates in the mud. After, one guy said to me, "I bet they don't do this in America!"
On Sunday, we played our first game. My game was home and Sean's was away. The team we were playing was a little bigger than us, but I could tell that they weren't that skilled in warmups. So in Sweden, they have a few different rules: the clock counts from 0 to 20 and there is a cut between each period and after warmups. I was a little nervous at first, but my teammates were encouraging. The Swedes are much more supportive to their teammates than Americans are. My nerves went away after I had a nice rush and got a good shot on net. The first line on our team is special. The center is a 5'8" kid who practices with the men's team as well. His hands are unbelievable and he can get out of any situation on the ice. We ended up winning the game 5-3. I had one assist and finished +2.
My next game is Thursday and then I have another on Sunday.
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+2! The hockey sounds great - the whole thing - teamwork, passing and exposure to other players. i guess your away games will be on a huge sheet of ice. you are off on a great adventure and your blog is excellent - almost as if you had an English teacher in the family. i'm posting the below the event you didn't see it - Nico and Philip's excellent adventure in the Tetons - incomplete, but will post the remainder later:
ReplyDeleteFive Mountains, Three Days
Because alpine climbers know it is prudent to save daylight, and because creation is rarely so beautiful as at dawn, an “alpine” or pre-dawn start is traditional for a big day of climbing. Hence 4:00 a.m. found us at 9,000 feet, climbing steadily up a switchbacked trail from Jackson Hole toward Teewinot (12,325 feet), leaving the last of the pines, first light spreading over the Bighorn Basin.
In early August my 34 year old nephew and I undertook the Teton Traverse, a three day ascent of eight major peaks in Wyoming’s Teton Range. The climb involved extensive alpine mountaineering to Class 5.7, “a vertical and near vertical route requiring skill and some strength, where an unroped fall would likely be fatal”.
While Philip and I have climbed and ice climbed fairly extensively, a trip of this duration and difficulty is beyond our expertise. Kevin Mahoney (mahoneyalpineadventures.com), who guides in the Whites Mountains all winter and in the Tetons all summer, led the trip, seconded by his climbing partner Ben Gilmore. (They are off to Nuptse in October.) Both have consummate experience and excellent judgment, and both are a pleasure to climb and camp with. We have climbed in the Whites with Kevin many times, and we arranged this trip through Exum, his Tetons agent.
At 53, I am the oldest by ten years in our four man party. I have always been fit but I know that one day my body will declare a limit, and I wondered if that might occur on this trip. While at 9,000 feet I felt pretty good, we were headed 5,000 feet higher.
Teewinot’s summit is tiny, round and about to fall into the canyon three thousand feet below. That was my impression as I clung to it, and seeing it from another peak confirmed my belief. The Tetons are only nine million years old, they gained most of their height in the past three million years, and they are growing still. As steep as these peaks are they are of course crumbling, and rockfall is the big peril here. Broken rocks litter the high terrain, from pebble to impact-crater size, and rocks fall all the time. You can take off your helmet – if you are on a summit.
Nico/Philip Part 2:
ReplyDeleteOn the Traverse we generally used two rope teams. Alpine climbers use only the degree of protection required, for otherwise it would take forever to accomplish the climb, and slow is dangerous. Sometimes we “scrambled”, climbing unprotected. Sometimes we shortroped, tethered to the guide by twenty or thirty feet of rope which he held in his hand, ready to make a quick terrain belay in case of a fall. And on steep rock the guide climbed ahead, placing and clipping to rope to cams or chocks – the modern equivalent of pitons - as he climbed, while Philip or I belayed him from below, ready to climb on when the guide had completed the pitch and anchored himself to the rock, and ready to hold the rope if he fell. It was exciting, a little scary, and a whole lot of fun.
From Teewinot we climbed down to a high saddle through which the winds of the world must blow, then up an intermediate peak. We then rappelled 300 feet (in three pitches, or stages) to another saddle.
Rappelling is a thrill, and there is that moment of truth when one leans back on the rope. If your anchor is bad, if there is a weakness in your gear, if you didn’t clip in properly, you will know it then, and you’ll have several in-flight seconds to contemplate the error.
From the next saddle we climbed another peak and again rappelled, this time to snow. The snowfield wasn’t particularly steep, but we didn’t have crampons and a slip would mean a long dangerous slide. We were glad for the light ice axes Ben and Kevin carried, with which we could self-arrest. Of course we could have roped up, but we were on snow only a short time.
We were now at the base of Owen, 12,928 feet. After several pitches of protected climbing interspersed with scrambling, we reached a “sidewalk”, with a retreating snowfield on one side, Doom on the other, and a four foot wide slab of inclined broken rock on which to walk for several hundred feet.
We reached Owen’s summit a few minutes later. Cascade Canyon lay at our feet and, when the clouds cleared, we could see the Wind River Range far to the east and the irrigated fields of Idaho to the west.
The sky spat snow and our summit time was short. A few rappels and some down climbing brought us to our bivvy site, on the west ledges between Owen and the Grand. This cozy spot offered warm afternoon sun and a few minutes to relax, and it had the advantage of an adjacent cliff that might protect against rockfall. As I lay in my bag that night I did hear a rock skip down the mountain from far above to far below, discernable seconds elapsing between each impact.
At last light I stepped out of the tent. Stars sprinkled the zenith. The narrow crescent of a setting moon sat over the west ridge of the Grand, not far above a wide red horizon and the black earth. Earthglow illuminated the moon’s dark face, and by the moon hung a bright yellow planet.
The day began, as any day should, with an exhilarating rappel. We landed in the Gunsight, a tight notch at the foot of the Grand’s north face, and we began our 1,200 foot, ten pitch ascent of the north ridge. We climbed the Italian Cracks variation, Class 5.7. It was vertical, just like the calendar pictures, with huge exposure (distance to impact), challenging, and a total gas.
Nico/Philip Conclusion:
ReplyDeleteNear the top we traversed to the Owen-Spaulding Route and scrambled to the summit, 13,770 feet. The sky was cloudy, cool and snowy, and we didn’t linger.
One rap, then a long difficult hike down sliding scree, perhaps two hours to the saddle between Grand and Middle Teton. Exum maintains two big beefed up tents there to accommodate those who attempt the Grand Teton by the Exum Ridge or Owen-Spaulding routes. We drank hot coffee and downed some calories and headed to Middle Teton (12,804).
This ascent included a long couloir (gully), no wider than a two car garage, sheer cliffs on either side, snowy and wet and filled with big flat rocks which slid at a touch, eager to break an ankle. We were glad to be out of it, although our next pitch was up a pink soapy granite, vertical and with few holds, possibly Class 5.8.
From the summit we rappelled and scrambled to the saddle between South and Middle Tetons, where we made a high camp at 11,600 feet. It was 7:30.
Two hours after dark the wind came up and heavy rain lashed the tents. Some time later the sound grew soft and I opened the flap to see snow. Of the snow one could only be philosophic, but the lightening bolt that struck quite near the tent was a different matter. I wasn’t sure of the plan for a sustained electrical storm – perhaps rubbing one’s rabbit’s foot, or thinking only pure thoughts. Unaccountably, there was only that single close stroke, as though the mountain gods were telling us “We’ve got this too, if you want it.” We didn’t.
In the morning we found three inches of snow, and ice underneath. Our route took us up South Teton (12,514) and down the Nez Perce – Cloudveil ridge, but instead we tip toed up South Teton, then retreated, struck the tents and hiked out the canyon, arriving down about four.
When I come back from a big trip it takes me a while to gain perspective on the experience. This trip is no different. The climbing was very hard and very sustained with truly intimidating exposure. While we all had our heads in the game, there was a lot of stress and tension in the experience, all positive and even joyful, but present nonetheless. While I’d go again tomorrow, these experiences leave their impact.
The day after we got off the mountain I stopped at the Visitor’s Center, killing time before my flight out. A young girl at a climbing exhibit pestered her father with questions he couldn’t answer, including “Yes, but how do they get to the place where they attach the rope?” I, perhaps unwisely, stepped in. I explained that a steep climb is like climbing a very tall ladder, except imagine that sometimes the rungs are far apart and sometimes there doesn’t seem to be a rung at all, or just a tiny piece of one on which you can just get the edge of your shoe. And sometimes instead of a good handhold there is only a little bump you can pinch or a crack into which you can jam your hand, but that pinch or jam gives you just enough balance to allow you to step up off your last bit of rung, and lets you find new holds.
At that point I had to stop, because something caught in my throat, and I’m not altogether sure where it came from.
I don’t want to overstate the matter. I was a guided follower, not a lead climber, on a route of some difficulty which many hundreds have climbed. Still this trip was so unusual, so intense and so beautiful as to remove me entirely from my routine existence, and I’m not really sure where it took me.
But I’d go back.
great job, maybe someday you can beat william and me in basement hockey! just kidding. HAVE FUN!!!
ReplyDeleteAllie,
ReplyDeleteI love reading your blog! What a tremendous experience. +2 is awesome and the girls are all beautiful....Sweden rocks! Can't wait for your next installment!
xo
Aunt Elly
Allie-Love the blog. Can't wait to read the next post.
ReplyDeletexxo
Allie, how great to read about your adventures! I love that about the weight room. But remember all those crazy extreme type competitions on tv where the guys are hurling big rocks? At least it's not that!
ReplyDelete