Lottery Lower offs

What sparked this feature was rewatching the now-infamous Scott Adamson Zion ice climbing video on YouTube. Although there are hundreds of YouTube videos of climbers on vertical ice — filmed from below, from the side, from above, and self-filmed — a genre that now includes plenty of falls (get your shit together people!) it’s still rare to capture the experience of delicate ice climbing, where the ice is no thicker than your front points — at best — or backing off a scary climb; both vital mountain skills.

One rare example appeared in 2023: footage of the late Scott Adamson, who disappeared on Ogre II in 2016 (obituary here), climbing ice in Zion.

Whenever this video pops up on YouTube, I always watch it, because it brings back a feeling many ice climbers know well: the rising panic you have to control as you push on, up ice that’s rapidly dwindling — getting thinner, narrower — often without gear. You’re praying you’ll make it to one of four things:

• (1) better ice or easier ground,
• (2) a runner,
• (3) a belay,

(4) a miracle top-rope from above (it’s a testament to Scott's character that he doesn’t ask for one from the cinematographer), and for the cinematographer that they don’t offer one.

Lottery lower-offs

One of the scariest scenarios a run-out climber can face is finding themselves at a dead end in every sense of the word — whether on rock, ice, in the mountains, or on a big wall. Fear is fear.

• They can’t climb higher: there’s no more ice, snow, holds, or placements.
• They can’t push on: not because it’s hard, but because it’s impossible.
• They can’t fall or “give it a go”: there’s either no protection, or the protection is bad, questionable, or so spaced it’s only protecting the belayer from a factor-2 fall.
• They know that if they fall, it will be very injurious or fatal.
• They can’t down-climb or reverse. They’re fully committed.
• There’s no solid lower-off.
• They’re stuck.

I’ve experienced this a few times — usually after going off route and hoping it would work out (positivity bias will kill you), or watching partners do the same. It’s easy to do on complex routes with sparse or vague information.

Sometimes you end up falling anyway, after trying something desperate — pushing on, or attempting to reverse — only to discover the fall is long and terrifying, but not fatal.

Other times, you find something to lower off from. Something you’d never normally trust. Something you wouldn’t hang your coat on. But it’s all you’ve got.

I’ve got plenty of examples of this sort of situation. I’ve called it a lottery lower-off here, though it used to be called a shoelace retreat (which is exactly what it sounds like).

One of the more hair-raising examples was Paul Ramsden down-climbing a full pitch of overhanging snice (snow-ice) on Mount Dickey, protected by an ice hook and a size-3 Bird Beak — which would have had about the holding power of a snowball. He had no gear in because it was snice, and at around thirty metres he punched through and discovered the layer was only an inch thick, with powder underneath — and overhanging. Paul made it back to the belay in one piece. I doubt he’d have survived a fall.

Another was me lowering off a very poor knifeblade in an expanding crack. It held while I lowered, but ripped the next day when I jugged back up, dropping me onto my next piece — a Leeper cam hook. If that had gone, I’d probably have been a goner.

Ian Parnell once did a pendulum off a tiny flake — instead of lowering, he swung to a crack. The flake was as thin as a saucer and about the size of a packet of cigarettes, jammed in a crack and held only by his weight. If it had snapped, he’d probably still be falling.

My wife once quested up the wrong line on Tribal Rite on El Cap (A3+), missing a traverse of hook moves left. Knowing the pitch was meant to be hard, she made it harder still, assuming it had to get easier eventually — or reach a belay (again, positivity bias). After much shouting about it being A3+ and not A6, she spotted hook edges below her and realised the mistake. There was no real lower-off — only trusting the shipwreck flakes again, this time protected by her haul line clipped to a skyhook above. That hook flicked when she finally reached good placements. On a big wall, sometimes being on a skyhook feels as safe as you’ll ever feel.

I could go on. The point is that dead ends happen, and retreat is sometimes unavoidable.

In Scott’s video, he gets one good tool placement, clips both ropes, and lowers. You can tell the tool is solid, and Scott likely knows he has a high chance — say 95% — of it holding. It’s fast and simple, but not the safest option.

The need for speed might come from a higher risk tolerance, from being filmed, or simply from extremis — choosing the first escape plan that appears, with better ideas only arriving later.

If Scott’s tool had ripped — because of indirect loading, ice thawing, or side-loading — he’d have taken a monumental fall, possibly fatal. There’s a runner below, but it’s unclear whether it would have held such a load. If it failed, the result would be a factor-2 fall, dependent on an unknown belay.

So what are the alternatives?

The in-and-out belay

The most common way to reduce fall distance while lowering is to clip one rope into the lower-off (the lowering rope) and use the second rope as a belay. You pay out on the lowering rope while taking in on the belay rope, meaning the closer you get to the belay, the shorter any potential fall.

It sounds simple, but it’s easy to tangle ropes or lose track of which is which. If you have time, separate them first, even tying off the belay rope to keep it clear.

Paying out and taking in simultaneously isn’t too hard — one hand lowering, one hand taking in and locking off.

An alternative is to belay the second rope directly from the anchor with a Munter hitch. This separates the systems and is far better at handling high-impact or factor-2 falls than most belay devices.

In-and-out problems and fixes

The classic failure is running out of lowering rope, leaving the climber hanging. How serious this is depends on where they are.

There is a fix — but it needs to be planned in advance. Otherwise, you’re into improvised load-release Prusiks.

To lower 35 metres on a 60-metre rope, you need extra rope. This can be taken from the belay rope as you lower. To pass the joining knot, lower using a Munter hitch (ideally from the anchor). When the lowering rope runs out, let the joining knot pass through the Munter. Once the climber reaches the belay, they can untie and retrieve both ropes.

Self-rescue

If you don’t trust your belayer to manage an in-and-out system, or want them focused solely on belaying, the leader can self-lower using their own device.

If a knot must be passed, a Munter hitch is simplest. Otherwise, friction hitches can be used, ideally with a releasable load-strand Prusik.

The Prusik Method

A commonly suggested tactic is lowering on both ropes with a Prusik attached to the up-strands as a backup. If the lower-off fails, the Prusik might catch.

Might is the keyword. The fall could be large, the cord likely thin (5 mm), and failure is possible. You also need your hands off the Prusik to avoid locking it, which is hard when terrified.

This method also requires the belayer to be directly below. Otherwise, you’ll end up hanging somewhere between anchor and belayer, increasing force on the lower-off through direction change — dangerous if it’s an axe, piton, hook, or slung flake.

Diagonal or traversing dead ends

On traverses or diagonals, lowering often isn’t possible. You have to reverse. Leaving a piece behind to protect against a swing can help — a small sacrifice to create a “baby bounce.”