The next three days passed quite uneventfully. Snowstorms and sometimes rain changed the landscape considerably and the almost continuous roar of rock slides and avalanches cascading down the mountains around us made up for the otherwise missing entertainment. Time had to be spent in the damp sleeping bag by reading, writing and eating. Finally on July 22nd there was a visible tendency for the weather to break. It was quite warm during the day, actually too warm to start out into the avalanche filled couloir. We decided to leave for our final attempt on our mountain toward the evening, hoping that it might be a little colder by then. Well equipped and much wiser by now to be prepared for bivouacs and better food, we finally left our tent at 8:15 p.m. This we all knew would be our final chance. Time on the expedition was really running out.

As we approached the bergschrund, now partially filled by avalanches, to start up into the couloir, Jim Davies arrived suddenly in his helicopter to pass on an urgent message to Klaus. Quickly we discussed a possible airlift with Jim up and preferably over the col to Centennial Glacier. Jim was willing, but could only land us on top of the "Strip Col", as fog was already rolling in on the lower part of Centennial Glacier. Nevertheless it saved us 6 hours of steady climbing of a part we had already done twice before. We could barely make out some of our previous footprints down the slope, most flags were snowed in, and once more the going was tiring, breaking in at times up to our hips. The first icefall was successfully navigated and a new route now visible to the right passed quite close by the actual flanks of Centennial and Québec. It meant circumnavigating some nasty crevasses in the second icefall. Again it began to snow lightly and after a passage through some seracs and a final pitch over a bulging ice shoulder I found a way to a little cirque with an ice and snow head wall, a most welcome wind shelter. A small crevasse with an overhanging shoulder was quickly prepared in snow-cave fashion as our bivouac; it is now midnight, the darkest time of the day. The aluminum rescue blankets formed our tent-like roof, ropes were spread over the seat and soon the primus was humming. We put on all our spare clothing, quite a task in this confined space; it was snowing very heavily by now. And it kept snowing almost all night. Seven long hours were spent half dozing, crouched under our blankets. Finally it was time to move on. Our last gas supply was used up for a morning drink, and enough fluid to fill our bottles for the climb. We got up at 7 a.m. and moved on by 8 a.m. It had stopped snowing and visibility improved so much that we had little difficulty in finding our way through the third icefall. We changed leads frequently in the deep snow to save strength.

By 10 a.m. we finally broke through the fog cover into brilliant sunshine. To our right a most impressive overhanging ice cliff with glittering long icicles formed a screen to an ice cave behind. A flat little area below was a welcomed rest place. We had a chance to rearrange our gear and to investigate our way up to the col. The steep snow slopes proved just a little longer than estimated and it was 1 p.m. when we finally reached Centennial Col, with a breathtaking view over to the west side. Mounts Saskatchewan, Manitoba, Ontario and the greatly crevassed glaciers leading towards these peaks, lay far below us. We had lunch, cached most of our things not needed and started off by cutting a path toward the actual rock ridge. In parts the almost horizontal section was double corniced and greatest caution on my part was necessary. After l 1/2 hours of snow tunnelling, ice cutting and the preparation of a trail to make a safe return route, I finally reached the rocks for a safety belay to bring up the party one by one. The actual climb began with steep and rotten rock partly covered by powder snow above us. The exposure was also great; it took all my finesse and technical ability to get over the first vertical pitch. I had to climb free, since pitons would not hold in the rotten rock. This pitch was followed by a shallow gully with hardly a hold in it. Two more leads, and all 4 were roped together on 2 ropes. This brought me to the foot of a snow and ice chute ending with a short but very exposed rock chimney. (For an example of this type of climbing, see the Frontispiece). At the end of it was a wedged rock blocking the way through. As I tried to place a rock piton, the whole block started to split through the middle, and only by sheer luck was I able to pull out the piton without dislodging any parts of the rock. Howsie was directly below me, and some very anxious moments passed until I could get to the outside of the chimney and climb over the block without any further belay. A short traverse to the left and once more I had a safe stance to bring up the party. The view was just magnificent and we all enjoyed the climb and the companionship of each other. One more rope length, and an unpleasant traverse to the right, at the head of the gully, and a half decent rock on a little subsidiary ridge was under foot. A few more moves, a sharp little cornice, and the first major obstacle, the main gendarme, was reached. It was 9:30 p.m. Snow, rock and ice were all very poor, and the exposure generally great. Again the southwest ridge upwards was very serrated, steep and double corniced. Only the view is magnificent and Mt. Logan looked really what it is: A giant of a beautiful mountain.

Instead of climbing the ridge we now traversed out to the south flank onto steep snow on ice. We got up in the fall line, steps having to be kicked and ice screws placed every 80 to 100 feet. Although the going seemed a little easier the exposure was quite formidable. The slope inclined about 50 to 60 degrees. Rope length after rope length I had to kick steps and only slowly were we gaining altitude. A prominent rounded boulder type rock seemed the obvious assembly place for the whole party, the only safe spot in this steep south flank. By now it was midnight. It became quite dark, and a cold wind had sprung up. We debated our situation and estimated the approximate time ahead of us to reach the peak. We pulled all our down jackets on. Stan and Klaus passed the retrieved ice screws and pitons to me, and after a short break we were once more on our way.

Now I had to traverse in order to avoid steep rock above, and take the fall line of another flat gully. Most of the time now the ice under the snow was too thin to support an ice screw properly. Once in a while I broke through to the rock underneath, but all efforts to place rock pitons were foiled, due to the unbelievable rotten rock conditions. Most of the climbing therefore was free and unbelayed. A strong wind carried ice particles which in turn hit my face and it was almost a battle under blizzard conditions. The boys below me suffered still more. Due to the very poor visibility they had a hard time to guard themselves against falling rock and ice. I was always conscious of our return and tried to prepare the route to my best ability. Finally the moon came up and it was a glorious night. Quite eerie though, and even close distances were hard to estimate. By about 2 a.m. July 24th I had reached the end of the gully and a vertical rock out-crop about 15 feet high proved to be quite an obstacle. I brought Klaus up on a piton belay, and he in turn had Howsie coming up. Some rather thin handholds to the inside corner of the rock permitted finally a lower traverse. A small crack led to a step up over the bulge onto a snow shoulder to the left of the rock. A fierce wind was hitting me with full force and only by crouching could I circumnavigate this point. I little realized at the time that I was actually moving on the outside corner of a huge cornice somehow attached to this rock out-crop. Below me about 2800 feet was the cascading, and almost vertical W.N.W. face of Centennial Peak. A short traverse to the right and once more I was above the rock and the rest of the party. From here on the ridge started to lean a little back, mostly snow covered rock, with cornices either way. I quickly explained the situation ahead to the party, and went on again towards the peak. About 60 more feet on this ridge and I reached the partly snow covered rocks of the southwest peak. To my half right, E.N.E., a light drop off toward a serrated and corniced snow ridge led on to the central peak, which from my vantage point seemed somewhat higher in appearance but this was hard to estimate in the half-light. It was 2:30 a.m. and light conditions were still quite poor, the cold and the wind were fierce.

After some soul-searching I retreated down to the top of the last rock out-crop in order to convey what I had found. Since all of us were extremely tired and it would have taken about another 30 minutes to bring the entire party up, we decided that the team effort was undeniably great enough to claim the peak reached by all, even though we were half a rope length apart. The central summit mentioned before, remained unclimbed. It was now 27 hours that we had been climbing steadily and all our strength started to dwindle. Klaus felt quite sick and we were all on the verge of falling asleep. Howsie, Klaus and I were also bothered by totally frozen boots and extremely cold feet. My little spare gold line proved, at this point, very useful and a rock nose on top of the bluff provided the ideal rappel anchor. With great caution we rappelled off the peak, realizing that one wrong move could be fatal to the whole party.

It was 6:45 a.m. when we reached with great relief Centennial Col. Mt. Logan and all surrounding mountains looked just great, with the morning sun well advanced. We left at 7:15, again setting a hand line for safety down the very steep, long slope. Our aluminum rappel picket was lost at one point high up on the ridge, so parts of the wooden marker sticks were used to substitute as an anchor. Only Howsie managed a spectacular head first glissade, when suddenly under his weight the wood stick broke. Stan and Klaus directly below in the fall line were able to stop him just in time, ahead of a gaping crevasse. As the steepest of the terrain eased off we now started to kick our steps down through the third icefall.

Just as we reached a shoulder to have a look down over the rest of Centennial Glacier, a small black speck above the ice became rapidly larger and soon the unmistakable noise of a helicopter engine bounced off the mountain flanks around us. Jim Davies never looked better to four mountaineers. One at a time Jim ferried us down to the top of Strip Col first, and from there on again two and two down to our tent. Howsie's magic produced at once an open champagne bottle, foaming vigorously at this altitude. What a delightful way to soothe our parched and dehydrated throats! We were all elated about this sudden and effortless finish after the constant strain on body and mind while climbing up and down, hour after tiring hour. Howsie and I broke camp, while Stan and Klaus were ferried back to Prairie Glacier. A quick change over at "Divide" into the waiting Beaver and soon the sensation of flying in this immense mountain country engulfed us for the last time. After some 56 hours of climbing and flying we could finally bed down at Kluane Staging Camp, getting the chance for a long overdue rest and sleep.

- End of article. Copyright by the Canadian Alpine Journal, 1968. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

To view the photographic essay with notes from  Stan Rosenbaum, please click here.

To read the "Weekend" magazine report published in 1967,  please click: "Climbing for the Centennial".