An Epic Ice Climbing Adventure in Sault Ste Marie, Ontario
With ice axes, helmets and ice climbing boots secured on his pack, my climbing companion snowshoes across a frozen lake.
The Algoma sky is a shade of royal blue that I’ve only seen before in the Himalayas, when altitude, the cold and sun all work in unison. It frames the snow and ice beautifully as we crunch along in our snowshoes on the way to my first ice climb.
There are more accessible climbs in the area, but my friend has chosen this climb specifically to suit me as a beginner. I feel like Goldilocks as tells me the climb is not too tall, and not too steep. “It’s juuusst right,” I want to answer. I laugh to myself, because I’ve got packets of oatmeal in my backpack to warm us up post climb. Luckily, all the area’s black bears are hibernating.
When we arrive at the ice wall, I question his measurement capability as it seems quite tall to me, but I really don’t know any better. As he climbs up to set the top rope, his blue jacket is highlighted against the ice spires that range in colour from white to teal.
It’s mesmerizing, watching him swing back his ice axe and sink it into the ice. He kicks in his crampons and stands, ready to reposition his ice axes.
He’s told me that, like with rock climbing, ice climbing is all in the legs. I’ve never admitted that a couple days after each rock climb, I can barely lift a fork. Hopefully, I can improve my technique today.
“Rope!” he yells.
“Clear,” I offer back, and with that, a coil of pink and purple climbing rope snakes down and lands to my right. He’ll belay me using this lifeline.
He’s given me instruction about ice axes and crampons, and as I trace the figure-eight loop attaching me to the anchor above, I’m replaying his words: “Reach back like you want the ice axe to scratch your back, then sink it into the ice.”
I’m ready but scared. I don’t like to fail at anything, so attempting any new sport is laden with anxiety for me, especially in front of a friend. Before going rock climbing outdoors with him, I had at least tried it in a gym. This is outside my comfort zone, so my brain flip-flops between excitement and terror.
My first strike isn’t hard enough. The axe barely gets in, and it wiggles when I test it. Ugh. Too soft. I repeat the process, this time letting the axe do the work, and I watch it bite into the ice. I give it a tug—it’s solid. It’s going to take some wiggling to get my axe out. I reach higher with the second ice axe. I look down, pick my toes up and kick my crampon’s points into the ice. I wiggle my foot a bit and my foot holds. “Kick. Trust. Stand,” I repeat.
I look up for my next hold or ledge and remember that with ice, I make the path. How freeing! I’m actually scaling this massive ice formation. Aside from my irrational fears that the entire sheet of ice will give way with me on it, I’m doing well.
I pull myself over a ledge and am standing. I needed this break. My forearms and legs needed this break. My climbing partner cheers me on. I’m visually tracing the rope’s trajectory upwards. I’m more than three quarters of the way up and getting excited about reaching the top. Looking at the rope reminds me that the main rule is not to hit the rope with an axe or crampon, as sharp + rope = bad.
As I continue my last push to the top, I’m more confident now. Sometimes I have to kick multiple times when there is loose surface ice—but I’m getting it. I have fewer missed strikes with my sticks and points (and I’m picking up the lingo).
Reaching the top feels awesome. Looking down the ice is not my favourite, but I look out over the treetops and have a great view of a vast blanket of snow on the lake. It’s breathtaking. While the view is great, I am even happier that I didn’t let my anxiety keep me on my couch. I’m proud that I tried something scary and succeeded.
The descent is much more familiar. After I rappel down, my legs and arms are jelly. I’ve muscled too much and not relied on the equipment as much as I should have. Regardless, after a couple more climbs, some oatmeal (made juuuusst right) and hot cocoa made from snow boiled on a camp stove, I feel thrilled.
My climbing partner no longer guides, so I spoke with veteran guide Shaun Parent. He says that ice climbing around Sault Ste. Marie is defined by scale, variety and access. According to Parent, the region holds roughly 480 separate ice climbs, spread across locations like Searchmont, Agawa Canyon, Montreal River Harbour, Mamainse Mountain and Land of the Giants.
“Searchmont is ideal for beginners,” says Parent. “It’s an easy six-minute walk in, with routes that go from beginner to intermediate and straightforward access to the top.” It’s often where first-timers learn the fundamentals before venturing farther afield.
For more experienced climbers, areas like Land of the Giants, Agawa Canyon and the North Slope offer a very different experience. “These are some of the highest climbs in the mid-continent,” Parent says, noting that routes in the region range from 100 to more than 230 metres. “They’re higher, steeper and more committing—definitely intermediate to advanced terrain.”
Approaches are part of the adventure. Climbers typically snowshoe in, though some routes require snowmobiles, to reach the base of the climbs. “Access shapes the experience,” says Parent. “You earn these routes.”
Parent, who has been climbing since 1977 and guiding for his company Superior Exploration, Adventure and Climbing Co. Ltd. since 1989, has documented routes in over 50 guidebooks and maps across 22 climbing areas. He just released two more updated guides in January 2026, now available for purchase on his website.
After nearly five decades on frozen walls, Parent still finds motivation in the variability. “The ice is always changing. No two days and no two climbs are ever the same.”
What’s Parent’s favourite climb? The one he is the first to climb. Lucky for him, he has no Goldilocks issues, and he hasn’t found a climb that is too steep or too tall for him.
