Climbing in Ouray Ice Park Photo: Scott Willoughby

The thrill of ice climbing is a curious paradox. As a rule, the closer you get to achieving your desired goal, the more danger you are in. In other words, the closer you are to the top, the farther you have to fall, with nothing but a pair of ice axes and a brittle slab of nature's most slippery surface to cling to.

Sure, ropes help. But when your anchor is comprised of the somewhat dubious amalgamation of hydrogen and oxygen occurring only when the mercury falls below 32 degrees, it doesn't exactly inspire confidence. Anyone with a cooler or a cocktail glass understands that ice breaks. And that's just the tip of it.

"The hazards of ice climbing tend to be most of the hazards of the mountains," 15-year ice climber Mark Davis of Telluride Mountain Guides tells me as we step into crampons and rope up. "Besides taking a big fall, there are the standard hazards of avalanches, hypothermia and the like. But if you can get your skills in those areas up to par where you can predict some of that stuff and move within that environment and really respect it, then really the hazards I think are pretty minimal."

Sweet. Now all I need is someplace to practice avoiding avalanches, hypothermia and, oh yeah, falling off a frozen waterfall. That rules out the living room.

Fortunately, I've found another option - the Ouray Ice Park.

Since its creation in the winter of 1993-94, the Ouray Ice Park has served as a popular ice-climbing playground that mitigates most of the hazards traditionally associated with the sport. Learning to climb is better here than almost anywhere.

Perhaps the easiest comparison to the Ouray Ice Park is that of an indoor rock climbing gym, except for the fact that it's outdoors and situated on the steep, natural terrain of the Uncompahgre Gorge at the south end of a box canyon in remote southwest Colorado. The similarity lies in the design of the park, where ice is "grown" by manipulating a nearby aqueduct with what amounts to showerheads used to spray water over the edges of the mile-long gorge. The result is a series of designated routes that can be accessed safely from December to March.

Davis and I opt for a route called La Ventana, a grade 5+, steep, narrow pillar of more than 100 feet in the park's lower gorge. Thanks to the relative safety of top-rope anchors in the rock wall above the gorge, I was reasonably confident even with my limited experience on ice. I swung my axe, kicked in my toes and started up the route.

"Here in Ouray, ice climbing really is a lot less of a savage thing..."

The axes stuck deep into the tacky ice and I gradually pulled myself up the pillar, hand over hand, attempting to keep my weight on my feet. I felt the adrenaline surge as I reached ever higher up the pitch, my legs trembling with nearly the entirety of my frame rested on my two big toes. Even armed with the knowledge I was in the safest ice-climbing environment imaginable, the intensity was immeasurable.

Soon enough, though, I reached the top of the route, sweat dripping down my face as I rappelled back down the face and swapped out on belay for Davis, who greased the route effortlessly. Growing more skilled and confident with every swing of the axe, we climbed without incident for four more hours before rolling up the ropes and walking back to the SUV for a cup of coffee in town.

I asked my mentor about the difference between climbing in the park and heading out onto the big faces in the wild. We agreed that a few more sessions in the Ice Park would be a good idea before attempting anything too big, but the skills I'd developed in only a day would get me by on the right ice. And that was just fine by me.

"A lot of people have taken the skills they develop here to the big mountains. But for others, this is it," Davis said. "And I think that's cool. The park opens the door to weekend adventurers who aren't necessarily going to climb Everest or some fat peak in Patagonia. Here in Ouray, ice climbing really is a lot less of a savage thing."

— Scott Willoughby, Livin' the Life for MountainZone.com