And then some. The climbing is no big deal. Low angle with some short, steep sections. Seemingly plastic ice. A good spot to belay off left from a big tree, as long as you don't traverse too far right.

The problem was, well... the ice. It was popping and gurgling and crunching underfoot. It was as bad here as anywhere on the route, and in spots, much, much worse. We noticed that no one had climbed the final pitch, including a couple of guided groups (all of the parties had topped out or bailed by now). Everyone had walked off to a snow patch on the left of the route. It was getting dark.

I asked Brian what he wanted to do, remembering the less than pleasant and very steep walkoff down the left side of the slide from last year, a jaunt I wasn't thrilled to do again, much less in the dark. Brian wanted to finish the route. I couldn't argue. As long as the route didn't blister and pop we would finish without incident (we later heard that numerous dam breaks had happened over on this side of Willey's all day, which was what the bailing of other parties was all about).

Brian: We were almost at the top and it seemed silly to have come all this way and not finish up. So I headed up once again crashing my way through thin sheet of ice placing an occasional screw. It was easy and I was gunning for a tree on top.

I flaked the rope and Brian started right of the steepest section, hoping to finish quickly by taking the path of least resistance. He took a couple of steps and the ice started crumbling beneath his crampons. He paused, listening to loud pops just beneath the ice's surface. I was getting more and more spooked. Eventually he moved up and began to trend left, above me and out of sight. He placed one screw up right and clipped our blue double rope. This was the last evidence I saw of him for some time.

After a few minutes Brian called down to me and asked how much rope he had left. I glanced down and figured about 20-25 feet. Not much. I called out the number to Brian. He asked if I was sure about that. I yelled that I was pretty sure, yep.

From here things got... somewhat unorthodox, as I would put it later. I'm not going to relate details, but suffice it to say that Brian and I won't let it happen again.

Brian: The lines came taut like two guitar strings at a most uncomfortable spot. I actually had to squat on the bulge to give myself a little slack.

I actually blame myself for this little incident. I got tunnel vision as I went up. I was determined to top out and didn't much care if the ropes would let me. I was so tantalizingly close I just didn't want to believe that I was going to have to set up another belay.

After our little cliffhanger I pulled up a steep bulge and got two good sticks, then kicked a frontpoint high. As my monopoint made contact, six square feet of ice collapsed beneath my feet and my body tugged downward. I held on to my tool placements and kicked my other foot up and right. Another four square feet of ice collapsed underneath the bulge. Brian yells something I cannot hear. I shore up my feet and kick both again, this time at an angle decidedly and wholly steeper, as in overhanging, due to the fact that i am now essentially pulling a roof. I suck it up and pull up and over. I am exhausted and want this thing to be finished.

As I continued up and cleaned the screw off right, looking at Brian on the other side through dim light, belaying me off a birch tree, Brian tells me where he was when he realized he was out of rope. I can see his point. Not a good place to be, on a small, sharply downsloping slab with no good ice for a belay, six pitches up. I tell him I'm off to the top of the route, that I'm not interested in pulling over to the belay to regroup.

I climb the last half pitch of Willey's Slide without much of any thought in my head. I don't bother with pro. Then, from below I hear, "Your first ice lead. In the dark. Congratulations."

I sling a tree and bring Brian up. He pulls up the last few feet and collapses on the snow. It is dark and cold. I fish out my water, which is frozen. I have to pop the crusted ice at the top with an ice tool. We eat GU and coil ropes, then slowly descend steep, loose snow and rock by headlamp to the base of the route. Once at the train tracks Brian looks up and points out Orion, bright against a midnight blue sky.

Brian: What I mostly learned that day is that leading ice is a whole different thing. If I could transform that terrain to its rock equivalent I wouldn't have even thought twice about it. I also learned that I have to work on my French technique. We could have made far better time if I were more comfortable on the low angle stuff. (Alternatively, who wants to practice that?) Having said that, I felt really good about myself. Yeah, it's only Willey's Slide but I was proud of myself. I had led six pitches of ice and even though I was scared at points (and that really only a function of being uneasy) I had kept the lid on all day and stepped up to the plate. I had the confidence I needed for the days ahead.

It was a beautiful day.