Martin Feistl finds his Daily Dose of Luck on Hammerspitze in Pinnistal, Austria

On the 24th of January Martin Feistl made a hugely impressive first ascent in Pinnistal, a small side valley of the Stubaital close to Innsbruck, establishing the mixed outing 'Daily Dose of Luck' (400m, WI 5, M4) on the Hammerspitze. The 27-year-old Austrian pushed things to the extreme, climbing completely on his own and without a rope to self-belay. Here are the details of his quite remarkable climb.

WITHOUT A ROPE, ALONE, INTO THE UNKNOWN
I haven't been into the Pinnistal valley that often, but every time I go there I always walk in with my eyes wide open. I think it's fair to say that whenever I go into the mountains, I suffer from an almost morbid, childish urge to trace route lines in my head. Every drip, no matter how small, is registered and linked to other slivers of ice via thin cracks.

On the day of the first ascent of Men with Morals (170m, M8, WI 6, trad) I noticed a huge column high up on the west face of Hammerspitze. With the warm weather front about to hit us, it was clear that the next day was my only option if I wanted to give it a go. And after my fruitless search for a climbing partner, I came to the conclusion that it was probably less risky to try the line tomorrow without a rope, than the day after tomorrow with one.

I could have taken gear with me to self-belay, but somehow the idea of rope-solo climbing in winter doesn't appeal to me at all. Everything takes too long and anyways, on ice you just don't fall. That's how I learnt to climb ice. And for reasons that are not always entirely clear to me, this is how I've always gone about my climbs. In general, on the vast majority of routes that I solo, I try to do without everything that can provide more security than my belief in my own abilities. Physically, but especially mentally. It's probably one of those ego things.

So there I am, sitting inn the first bus that takes me to the Stubai, before skinning for almost 3 hours, past countless kick turns to reach the almost unbelievably hidden couloir and the base of the route. I think about how ironic it is, that I'm searching for ice and the last thing I want - a cool ski descent - is what I discover. I don't even like skiing. Especially not with the huge clumps of snow stuck to my skins. The closer I get, the more certain I become: there's no way I should even start climbing it without a rope. I won't even manage to reach the ice, the wall below looks too compact and too high. But who cares, at least I found a nice ski descent. I start considering whether I can stash my gear at the base and find someone to climb the route with through the night, in order to avoid the excessively high temperatures. Then suddenly I turn the last corner and a system of ramps springs into view that, with just one blank section, leads easily up to the ice. Jackpot!

I carefully inspect the terrain above and come to the conclusion that I can climb up and down without any major problems, if the ice seems too ruined by the heat. I start to trudge off. It is the first time that I climb with crampons and, completely knowingly, without a rope. It feels strange. Unusually naked but also light. Deep down inside me, I believe that one of the reasons I've never fallen while ice climbing is because I've been luckier than others. Or is it perhaps skill? A mix of both? In any case, the fact of the matter is that, in contrast to rock climbing, in winter I climb steep ice with a rope with exactly the same arrogant mental mindset as when I solo a route in summer: no falls allowed. Thinking about it, isn't the idea of climbing without the rope in winter actually far more obvious than it first appears? Then why haven't I done it for so long? Because it's boring. Climbing alone is just dead boring, and it's usually over very quickly. Anyways. What also stopped me for a long time was the fact that while climbing ice I have to rely much more on my gear than just my fingers in summer. Having said all that, now I'm here, on my own. Without rope. Once again, because I believe I can.

The trudge doesn't leave me with much energy to ponder, and then all of a sudden I'm standing below the slab that leads to the ice. Thick tufts of grass hang down and when I carefully hit one of them with my axe, I notice that they are wonderfully frozen! While on the one hand this turf makes the climbing easier, it also makes me wonder about the quality of the ice further up.

I set off, reach the lower ice but soon abandon the thick tongue, which has already significantly detached from the underlying rock, in order to reach the base of a column via the safe depths of a chimney. I bash the column a few times with the back of my tool to hear and feel how it behaves. Surprisingly hard but, as expected, obviously affected by the exposure to the afternoon sun. Hardly any water flows down it and the sun has ensured that all the tube-like structures have already disappeared. Actually it looks pretty easy. Nevertheless, I unpack the leash. It's a backup, akin to a chalk bag when free soloing in summer. Definitely aid, but more mental than anything else seeing that I clip it to the zip of my pants. The consequences are just too serious if I do drop an axe. Because that would mean the end to the confidence in my own abilities, and all I could do would be wait until someone brings me a second ice axe. Unlikely.

After 8 meters I reach a thin crack that runs around the entire drip, but has frozen back together. This doesn't surprise me all too much, but I still make sure to keep moving upwards. Kind of difficult. I often hit the ice a second or even third time, and apart from the fact that then I can hardly remove the tools, this does me no good. Normally I never climb like this. I'm certain that with a rope and 3 ice screws I'd have climbed these 50 meters far faster. Exciting, but with similar consequences to a groundfall. Maybe what I'm doing is even safer? Stupid attempts at justifying my actions.

I notice that I'm climbing slowly and have too much time to think. I take a selfie, get annoyed with myself for not having anything better to do than take that photo, and accelerate. 1.5 hours and a few easier steps of ice later, I reach the path just below the summit in the raging storm. I sit down on some tufts of grass and suddenly realise what I've just done. I've just established a 400m long ice and mixed climb. Onsight. Free solo. Hmm. That's awesome, isn't it? But now what should I do? Normally I hardly share my solo efforts; my fear of being influenced indirectly usually gets the better of me. But in principle I always publish my first ascents, in great detail. In this case though I can't. Having climbed without ropes, I don't even know how many pitches I climbed! And what about gear? Belays?

I watch the storm for a while as it forms snowdrifts and then slide on my back down the gully to my skis. Now the warm temperatures are really kicking in and I have to make sure I'm out of the steep terrain before everything falls down on me.

At around midday I'm back home in Innsbruck, once again with a first ascent in the bag, once again in my backyard mountains and once again without a car. A privilege that cannot be repeated and praised often enough here in Innsbruck! Consequently, every valid repeat of this line should also be done “ecopoint” – i.e. without the use of cars or helicopters. But you could take one or two ropes with you. For all those who care about you, so that your dose of luck doesn't run out in a single day. It should last a lifetime.