Mike Burns is a member of the Climbing Committee, Chair of the Leadership subcommittee, member of the Waterfall Ice Course committee, and is on the Mountaineering: Freedom of the hills 7th Edition Revision Committee.

I was still groggy after the hour-long drive from the Lake Louise Hostel to the trailhead. But when my friend Gene Yore opened the tailgate to his truck, the cold air seeped through the cab like a shockwave and chilled my neck. Goosebumps ran down between my shoulder blades. I woke up like a shot.

Having placed my boots next to the heater vent to keep them warm for the approach, I was happy to put them on but as I opened the truck door, the full blast of the icy winter air surrounded me. Expletives were exchanged as Gene, Bert Wailes and I railed against intense cold. I could feel my nose hairs begin to freeze up. When we left the Hostel the thermometer outside the lobby had read -20C (-15F). We knew it would be even colder a couple thousand feet higher on the climb.

We shouldered our packs, donned headlamps and made our way through the light forest of the Canadian Rockies, our boots squeaking on the dry snow. I hiked with my down parka on, something I had only done once before on summit day on Denali. Frost, condensed from my own breath, formed on the hair sticking out from under my hat.

After nearly an hour of "athletic at times" walking, the sun began to lighten the sky and we broke out into a large basin. The three of us stopped to marvel at the enormity of Murchison Falls, a massive four pitch piece of ever-steepening ice rated Grade III, WI 4+. We made our way to a nearby rock and donned our harnesses and crampons. I whirled my arms like the blades of a Chinook helicopter in an effort to warm my hands, then loaded my down jacket into my top-lid and converted it into a hip pack for the climb.

As we were free soloing the easy grade-two ice to the base of the first pitch, I drove my tool a little too deeply into a thin section and bent the tip of my recently sharpened pick. More cursing as I tuned it on a protruding rock. After reaching the base of the first pitch it became apparent that nobody was too thrilled with the prospect of leading in sub-zero conditions. After a quick round of "rock, paper, scissors", Gene won the honors. Never one to complain, he cruised his way to a spectacular ice cave, set up a belay and reeled us in. We climbed side by sideÑone of the many advantages of using double-rope technique. By the time we reached the belay my hands were burning from the intense cold. I secured my ice tools and spun my hip pack around my waist. My fingers now numb, I fumbled with the zippers to free my jacket.

After a brief respite to warm up, it was my turn to lead. I peered out from the ice cave around the corner to the vertical ice and exposure beyond. My hands were crazy cold; I could barely move my fingers. Looking at the next pitch and thinking about my hands, I told Gene I couldn't lead it. I glanced over at Bert and knew there was no way he wanted to lead it either. Gene looked back at me and smiled, handing me his pair of fleece mittens. I shoved my hands into the mittens and made a sigh of relief...chemical hand warmers. As I curled my frozen fingers around the heat packs, my hands rewarmed quickly, burning with what is referred to as the "screaming barfies". Gene told me to wait a few minutes until my hands warmed, then I would feel better. Sure enough, the feeling returned and I soon felt like climbing again.

I reached out of the cave and turned a screw into extremely hard ice. Once the step out was protected I launched up the vertical pillar. My hands felt good as I swung my tools. A thick layer of brittle, exfoliated ice lay on top of the good ice beneath, and I watched the surface of the ice as my tools struck. If there wasn't too much fracturing I would use the placements. If a dinner plate formed, I would hack at the surface to reach good ice beneath. The climbing at that temperature and under those conditions was tough, but exhilarating.

After climbing the pillar I reached easier ground and ran the rope as far as it would go. I brought Gene and Bert up simultaneously and Gene prepared for the next lead. As Gene launched up the third pitch, Bert and I watched huge plates of ice scatter down the ever increasing exposure. I though to myself that if there was this much falling debris on a rock climb people would call the route suicide. Gene brought us up to another cave, at the base of the final pitch.

After organizing our gear, I stretched out of the second cave. This time I reveled in it; my body loose and warm from the first two pitches. I placed a screw off the belay and lead out, climbing with laser focus. The exposure was awesome, but I only looked down as far as my crampons. My ax sticks were good and I elevated up the pillar. I soon found a small step, which allowed a rest in order to place a screw for the next short vertical section. I grabbed the newest, sharpest screw on my rack. It started well but soon slowed as it reached beneath the surface. I strained to get the hangar flush with the ice, but once it was in, I knew it was bomber. I lead confidently above the piece.

The angle of the ice now backed off dramatically, to near horizontal. As I reached the top of the waterfall a huge hanging valley opened up before me. I made my way right to the anchors and brought up Gene and Bert. As I belayed, I gazed off into the distance. I could see the Icefields Parkway and the mountains to the West. Behind me was the graceful, sloping valley atop Mount Murchison, and below me thousands of tons of ice.

After Gene and Bert reached the belay, they focused on preparing the rappel. Curious, I ascended a small rise to get a better look at the valley above. About fifty feet from the belay I found an amazing boulder with crisscrossing streams of frozen water plastered along its side. It was beautiful and stunningly temporary; in a couple of months the ice would all be gone. As I gazed beyond the boulder, up into the basin, I saw two frozen waterfalls, perhaps twenty minutes away, that did not appear in any guidebook. But it was time to descend.