Munising — It was only 6 degrees in early March. There were no signs of winter coming to a close. The snowbanks on the road were over six feet high. The winds across frozen Lake Superior were whipping up wraiths of white snow across the ice.
In such moments, nature appears not indifferent, but downright cruel. It’s a different sort of life up here that attracts those looking to tame it and to seek thrills from its malicious edges.
There were very few hotels open, and the exceptions were almost without vacancy, mostly because of snowmobilers and ice fishermen. They were hobbling around in massive snowsuits, getting their last polar fix. No one comes here for palm trees and piña coladas.
As if to compound the effects of the cold, I was recommended a place called Whiskey Dick’s. And while drinking American liquor, which had just been taken off the shelf in my home country—the soon-to-be 51st state—I eavesdropped on some locals: Several people had gone through the lake. Just this week.
I also overheard something crazier: Some visiting scuba divers, who were diving under the ice, had become deputized by the local police for a special mission to retrieve three bodies deep underwater, as though sleeping on the lakebed.
Up here, no one knows what kind of adventures await. The next day, I tried ice climbing for the first time.
Ice climbing is one of those sports that almost requires more time for preparation than for doing the thing. Like its warmer twin rock climbing, it requires lots of gear: harnesses, helmets, fancy ropes, carabiners, and special shoes. But then also more gear that’s ice specific: pick axes, ice screws, crampons, as well as several layers of clothing, since the activity will have the climber idling in the cold, then sweating, and then idling again.
I rented some gear from a club in Fenton called Peabody Ice Climbing. There one can also try ice climbing in the winter. The owner, Garrett, has built two giant ice towers at forty-five and seventy-two feet. These allow experienced ice climbers to train and novices a good introduction before going out into the wild.
Garrett also set me up with my guide and instructor, Chris, who would take me for my first climb.
From Sand Point in Pictured Rocks, we walked along the lakeshore until we arrived at some incredible frozen waterfalls. Actually, these formations weren’t waterfalls at all—at least not by hydrological standards. They were more like giant icicles.
It can happen in many ways. Sometimes groundwater, which lies under the frostline, seeps out from cracks in the rock. Upon exposure to the frigid air the seeps turn into ice.
Or, if snow melts during a warmer day and starts to drip off the edge, it can then solidify as temperatures drop at night. Over time, this process accumulates until the icicle starts looking like a waterfall—one that God pointed his omnipotent remote towards and then hit the pause button.
It’s undoubtedly the incredible landscape that makes this sport so special. But it takes lots of planning and preparation.
A location must be decided upon, as well as how to get there, which is sometimes only reachable by foot. All the equipment must be assembled and double-checked (then triple-checked) for safety. Because the climbs occur in the wilderness, far from help, it’s also important to be ready for any situation such as injury, hypothermia, and hunger.
The sport has its dangers. The ice can break. The climber can fall. Or the ice can fall and land on a climber. Every subtle change in temperature can change the ice. What was safe one hour ago could have since become deadly.
Upon arrival, the set-up needs attention: Routes must be devised; the ice must be tested; knots must be tied. Then you can start having fun.
While harnessed in, I swung my axes into the ice at about head height. These special tools look like garden sickles, which I used instead of hands to latch onto the ice. Then I kicked my feet which bite into the ice because of the attached crampons that look like bear claws.
The motion of ice climbing is less like a ladder climb and more like a caterpillar crawl. The feet follow the hands, creating a peristaltic wave that inches slowly up the ice.
It’s a lot of fun. But then, it’s not exactly “fun” in the way many people usually conceive of fun—like alpine skiing or snowmobiling fun.
And the reverse is also true.
While we were walking back, one of the women taking the course saw a snowmobile in the distance and said, “I don’t really get the point of snowmobiling—it doesn’t seem fun.”
And I think if she asked the man throttling across the lake, the feeling would probably be mutual. What’s interesting is that some sensibilities favor activities that are loud and fast, while others prefer ones that are quiet and slow.
But maybe that isn’t such a bad thing. Maybe these different preferences reveal something far deeper.
Ice climbing is one of those sports that attracts people who want to explore. Why? For the sense of achievement and conquest. That’s the psychology that founded America in the first place.
The ice climber carries on that part of the pioneer’s spirit: Whenever he stumbles upon the most dangerous parts of nature, rather than fear it, he starts to conquer and play.
Mitch Miller is an adventure writer and conflict journalist. He’s more than happy to join in on any extreme activity, and can be reached at mitchenjoyer@gmail.com. Follow him on X at @funtimemitch.
