SELKIRK ALPINISM

By E.G. Lunceford Img Feb. 10, 2026

The first winter ascent of Chimney Rock was driven by a fierce but friendly competition between Chris Kopczynski, John Roskelley and Jim Spearman — all from Spokane. Over the course of five years, Kopczynski attempted the ascent twice with snowmobiles and twice purely by skis, sometimes traveling all the way from Coolin, when the East Shore Road was not plowed. Portering 110-pound packs over 26 miles on skis finally brought Kopczynski success on Feb. 22, 1973, when he and Will Parks aided the heavily rimed West Face Direct, rated 5.7 A2. 

The second winter ascent quickly followed in March of the same year by Gary Stitzinger, Gary Johnson and Dan Kurtz. They used the West Face Standard Route pioneered by the first ascent party in 1934. Kurtz and Stitzinger were Sun Valley ski patrollers, while Johnson was a smokejumper and marine deputy. Stitzinger was also a smokejumper until he broke his femur on a jump outside of Plains, Mont. from striking a subalpine fir tree going 25 miles per hour. Like the first ascent party, the trio skied all the way in from East Shore Road in a single 10-plus-mile day. 

The third known winter ascent of the tower was also the first winter ascent of its taller, more imposing east face. Fremont Shields aid climbed the Free Friends route in his telemark boots, making sketchy free moves sans crampons to gain the little roof on the last pitch. Alex Broughton — a willing partner but not much of a climber — belayed, and Fremont’s dad, Royal, spectated. 

Johnson, who was on the second winter ascent team, was family friends with the Shields family. Johnson had, in part, inspired Fremont’s brother, Kip, to become an Alaskan smokejumper. Johnson had perhaps also planted the seed in Fremont’s mind to make a winter ascent of his own. Fremont was 20 years old and made the trip over Christmas break while he was home from the University of Idaho in December 1997. 

The last known winter ascent of the tower was done by the author with the use of a snowmobile to reach the Horton Ridge trailhead. From the trailhead, I skied a few miles to the west ridge of Mount Roothaan (7,326 feet) and pitched my tent like the parties before me. The next morning, with avalanche conditions being stable, I skied down the north face of Roothaan and skinned/front-pointed up to the base of the tower. I built an anchor designed for upward force, flaked out my eight-millimeter rope and began the cumbersome task of self-belaying on a clove hitch and micro traxion. 

The first pitch is always the crux in my mind, and this day was no different. The ledges formed by the overlapping flakes were covered in ice thick enough to swing an axe into. I was relieved when the first pitch was behind me, even though it is only rated 5.5 (an extremely moderate difficulty-grade). The second pitch is my favorite and felt smooth and easy with the exception of a 30-second moment when my front and secondary points got snagged in between loose, stacked blocks that shifted and vibrated when I tried to wriggle my foot loose.

The drama having passed, I reached the belay and rapped back down to retrieve my equipment before top-rope soloing back up on my micro trax. The final pitch involves a step-across move — where you span your legs over a void, wrap your fingers over a good, sharp edge and shuffle around to the tower’s northwest edge. 

Here I encountered snow climbing, before a final steep mantel before arriving on top. I relished the sunshine and moderate temps before rigging my rappels and skiing out of the basin. Back on the west ridge of Roothaan, I packed my tent and skied off through a challenging crust. I was very cautious not to catch any edges that would launch me head-first into a tree well, but once came very close. My 55-pound pack made me top heavy, but it was an absolute joke compared to the 110-pound packs carried by the first winter ascent team. 

Returning to my snowmobile, I found that it would not run properly, and I decided to ski back to my truck, several miles away. Shards of hoar frost sparkled in my headlamp beam and the rimed tree needles gave me a peaceful feeling, almost making me forget how bad my thighs were burning trying to control my speed over the icy and crusted snowmobile track. 

Even after reaching the truck, I still wasn’t out of the woods. The road conditions were treacherous, and I came close to sliding off. Except for that, I was able to steer into the bank, ride up on it and almost flip the truck before coming miraculously to a stop on a sheet of polished ice. 

I was home and well by 11 p.m., happy that I’d completed a little novelty climbing mission I had dreamed of doing for a decade. My smarter friends went roadside ice climbing in Troy, Mont. — suspecting that I would subject them to some mishap or another. 

They may still get dragged into helping with a snowmobile recovery.

E.G. Lunceford

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