BORAH, BORAH, BORAH: K7QS’ CLIMB TO THE TOP OF IDAHO

Being a native and virtually a lifelong resident of Idaho, and a devotee of outdoor activities including climbing, I had always wanted to climb Mount Borah. It’s about 500 miles from where I live in North Idaho, however, so I never got around to it. When I learned of ARS’s Top of the World recognition, the added impetus of my radio hobby was just what I needed to get me off my tail and down to the mountain. I recruited my climbing partner of the last 28 years, Rob Benedetti, and we set sights on the weekend of October 19 as our first mutually free date.

It’s a bit late in the year, but fortune smiled on us for this trip, and the weather was as fair and warm as we could hope for at this point in the season. Mount Borah is a magnificent peak. It was named for Senator William Borah, Idaho’s most influential congressman and, like his friend my great-grandfather, a rough and forceful politician who was a match for the Wild West violence of their pioneer day. Part of the Lost River Range, it is a massive block of stone that rears up out of the Snake River Plain to an improbable height. The northeast side is almost vertical, and the southwest aspect which is the gentler slope of the geosyncline is also extremely steep.

The sharp uplift of the mountain gives evidence of the tremendous tectonic forces in the area, and a 1983 magnitude 7.3 earthquake centered there is further proof. In a few seconds in that year, the mountain rose another seven feet. At the east side, right where the approach road ends and where we camped, a slip fault is still very visible, marking where the mountain rose above the plain. It forms a clear line for over twenty miles along the base of the range.

We arrived at camp just before sunset, and were greeted by the local band of antelope who gave us a display of running alongside our car. We were doing 35, and they passed us like we were standing still, clearly just cruising. When we stopped to admire them, the lone buck in the band accelerated from the back of the herd to the front and took them in a full circle around us, obviously showing off his harem.

They were still running at that pace when we lost sight of them miles away. The mountain was just as striking, bathed in orange alpenglow and rising at an acute angle above us. The perfect natural show was completed by a nearly full moon that lighted the mountain and the whole landscape for the entire night.

We got up well before dawn for an early start, knowing that our middle aged bodies would need plenty of time for the ascent and the radio operation if we weren’t to be pinched for time. We were greeted by the kind of star-flooded sky which only appears at high altitude in wild, unpolluted places. Sirius and Jupiter were like searchlights, and stayed visible until the sky was well lighted. We started up the trail by headlamp, but soon were able to see without help, climbing through the pine forest via a very steep but well-trodden path.

The trail continues all the way to over 11,000 feet on the smoother shoulder of the mountain before it gives way to broken rock. As we left timberline, we could see the shadow of the mountain sharply etched on the valley floor far below us.
The trail ends abruptly at a sharp rock rib which is the start of the famous “Chickenout Ridge.” It gets this name because at this point the strenuous but technically easy hiking becomes rock scrambling with a fair amount of exposure to empty air below, and many climbers turn around here. There are lots of comfortable “bucket” holds in the rock, but the exposure is not trivial, and at almost 12,000 feet the moves are strenuous enough to require serious attention.

The placard at the foot of the mountain recommends ropes and ice axes for everyone, but we left them, along with the snowshoes we'd brought along in case winter was farther along than we found it, at the base. They weren't necessary in these late season dry conditions, but I for one wouldn't have been ashamed for a belay in some of the spots that were a pretty hairy Class 3 and verging on Class 4.

We got off route a bit on the way up and had some dicey moments on snowy downsloping ledges traversing what at an earlier date in the year is the infamous Knife-edge Snowfield. I would definitely recommend snow protection gear there when the slope is icy. That section was more easily managed on the downclimb by a direct route over the spine of the ridge.

Once past this crux section, the route becomes a virtual trail again, winding along a high but safe ridge crest and working up the broken rock of the summit block. We were passed here by some of the younger climbers of the day, in a total of about a dozen who joined us on the summit on that pristine sunny Saturday. At 53 and having had to give up running for conditioning years ago, I was at my aerobic limit at that elevation and had to remember the techniques of Himalayan climbers: two or three breaths to every step.

I finally joined Rob, who is my age but still beats twenty-year-olds in marathons and biathlons, at the top after not quite five hours of climbing, having gained 5400 feet of altitude from the bottom. At 12,662 feet, the peak rises above everything around it and commands a view of spectacular mountains in all directions, especially to the west where the southern elements of the Sawtooths roll to the horizon in successive waves of rock.

After signing the register with my name and call, and after a quick bite of lunch, I unpacked my Wilderness Sierra and Whiterook keyer. My power supply is a pack of eight alkaline AA cells. I have a nice SST, but it’s a 40 meter model, and I took the heavier radio for the sake of having 20 meters in mid-day, and expanded frequency coverage. My antenna is a HB vertical which I made just two days before leaving, with teflon covered 26 ga. wire and four radials, with the vertical element attached to the graphite telescoping mast sold by WorldRadio.

I had used an MFJ antenna analyzer and trimmed it to exact resonance, in my back yard, at 14.060. My ZM-2 transmatch isn’t working, so I was forced to feed the antenna directly. I had real trepidation about its effectiveness, based on many stories of well-constructed verticals becoming hopelessly detuned in real life conditions. However, when I fired it up in camp on the night before the climb, it worked beautifully and got 599 reports from Seattle and Wisconsin, and it seemed to do just as well on the summit. To my surprise and gratification, there was a QRP contest in progress, and the band was thick with activity around 14.060.

I heard GM3KHH calling and tried to answer, but was swamped by operators on the east coast. N9AG was calling and contesting hard, so I answered him and he came right back, giving me a 569 from Ohio. I gave him the contest exchange and we both got what we wanted. He laughed and wished me luck when I told him where I was and why my fingers were too cold for smooth code. That was enough radio for me, and I packed up in anticipation of the long climb down.

The downclimb was of course faster than the ascent, but not much so. After years of mountaineering with heavy packs, my knees are a mess and veterans of surgical attempts to keep them going. Consequently, I go slow downhill and use a pair of poles for balance and shock absorption. The 5,400 feet of drop at a precipitous rate is a trial for even healthy knees, and I took it slow enough that as I write on the day after the climb my knees are neither sore nor swollen, but boy are my thighs sore!

We hit the car nine hours after leaving, as parched as a couple of dry sponges and tired but exhilarated. We were the first party to leave in the morning and the next to last to return, but I did have a heavier pack with my radio gear, and we were twice as old as the next youngest climber.

I had achieved one of my goals with the climb alone, and by claiming a spot on the Top of the World Honor Roll I had secured a prize that I felt should go to an Idaho native. Most of all, I had shared a beautiful day in the mountains with my old friend and climbing buddy, Rob. We’ve done a lot of more difficult routes, but at this time of life a perfect day out on a handsome peak has special appeal.

* * * * * * * * * *
Bob McFarland, K7QS, is a family doctor, climber / camper, and radio operator living in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho