Hey folks,
With the rain and all that crap going on outside the past month, things have been slow around here recently. But the weather has turned and I'm heading back to the 'Gunks this weekend and I promise more is to come.
Also, Jeremiah has two posts on the way, too. Can't wait for those.
For now, however, my latest post on Climbing.com is up. It is about the experience of being a judge at comps. It's a quick, fun read. Enjoy!
Hey folks,
I just wanted to let you know two things: 1) that Greg and Jeremiah's Climbing Blog is definitely not going away and; 2) another venue has been added to the list of places to read about our adventures.
We first started out as Greg's Climbing Blog, which was sporadically published with a few of Greg's climbing adventures. Then Jeremiah came aboard and he added a different flavor. Instead of Greg's fight against fear we now started seeing commentary on a climber's life. This is the point where the blog began to grow to where it is today. From there we added Greg's Route Index, a an organized way to research all of the climbs that Greg has done; from campfire stories to route descriptions, to photos of each pitch, it's all there. Under this new format the blog has thrived and is currently enjoying it's best season ever by number of readers. Thanks to everyone for reading. We honestly appreciate this!
And now our expansion has continued to Climbing.com. Greg has taken on the task of becoming a Reader Blogger for the storied magazine's on-line edition. He is very excited about this opportunity and plans to write more commentary than ever before. So please visit the site today and check back often.
And there's more, too! We're in the early stages of creating a review page (it's now up) where we review gear, restaurants, and accommodations in climbing areas. That site is still under construction, but we're getting there. We thank you for your patience.
Also to come is Jeremiah's newest series called A Guide's Life: seeing life through a climbing guide's eyes. This will be his commentary on life as a climbing guide with all of its ups and downs. It is sure to be a good read.
Again, we can't thank you enough for all of your support. Please keep coming back. We promise more adventure and great stories, and I'm sure we'll find even more new stuff to write about going forward.
Sincerely,
Greg and Jeremiah
We had two goals in mind: "Birdland" and "Bonnie's Roof", and we had a strategy to bring it all together. Unfortunately, the lingering effects can still be felt. "Birdland" was a leftover goal from last year. I had fallen on both pitches, but I knew what I had to do this time. The moves on the first pitch, the mental crux where one preses the left foot on a slick knob and leans back on good side pulls in order to bring the right foot up high, had stumped me last year and I had been thinking about it all winter long. I was going to send, and I knew it, even if it was through deduction. But first it was time for a warmup. "Ratherbe" had recommended "Layback", a chimney start with a juggy layback to the top for a good first pitch, and an easy traversing 5.1 for the second pitch. The second pitch is probably the best 5.1 pitch I have ever done. I know, it's only 5.1, but seriously, have you ever been on a 5.1 that had dynamic moves? This was such a pleasure. I highly recommend it. However, this means that you'll have to do the first pitch. It was a slick chimney that I fell on, but not because it was difficult (OK, it was difficult, but that's not why I fell). Just as I got up into the hardest part of the chimney, where the gap in the rock became a full-on chimney with arms, legs, back, and body were fully tensioned, just as I was about to slide up and grab onto the block that caps the chimney, and just as I was feeling secure, the nastiest spider I had ever seen in the east crawled straight down toward me from behind the block above me. I don't like spiders, but I can deal with the spiders we have in the northeast. Other than Cambridge, MA, where the Chilean Recluse Spider lives as a result of someone accidentally bringing one back from Chile and allowing it set up shop in various locations in Harvard Square, there really aren't any poisonous spiders out here. There's copperhead snakes slithering in the cracks throughout the 'Gunks, but no nasty spiders (I hate snakes, too). Someone later suspected that it was a Wolf Spider, but those are brown. This was black, and it clearly had the venom bubble on its back with a menacing pattern for what appeared to be more than just decoration. He had successfully blocked me from moving any higher. Had I slithered up, I would have easily either squished him with my back, which would have probably hurt because I was sure he wasn't going down without a fight, or he was going to be quick enough to dodge my slow-moving body and crawl up my shoulder blade and rest right behind my ear, where I couldn't see him but could feel him, where I'd know that he was there and would wonder if his jaws were open and ready to rip open my flesh the moment I swung my hand behind my ear to brush him off. I imagined his open mouth sitting an eighth of an inch above my skin with his mind saying, "come on buddy, just try to knock me off, I dare you." And even if I had brushed him off, regardless of whether he bit me in retaliation or not, I would never be sure if I had brushed him off completely or if he was waiting somewhere else on my body where he would have the attacking advantage if I so much as hinted at any aggression. I said "screw it" and hung on the rope. I don't have that much pride anyway. I tried to take a picture, but my hands were shaking too much and the photos were blurry. I wish that it was still there when we got down, but it was not. I turned to "Ratherbe" and said: The truth is that I knew I would send. It wasn't because I knew it, The second pitch of "Birdland" is completely different from the first. The first is very thin, crimpy, and technical, with tenuous moves in don't fall situations at several points in the first half of the pitch. But the second is all pump and pull. You get to the roofs and go. Once you commit there's no turning back, and the crux isn't even the first roof, but the first roof definitely takes something away, enough to make the second roof that much more difficult. I got to the first roof and was immediately discouraged. All winter long I had imagined the first moves of the first roof to be a side pull up to a sloper that lead to a juggy side pull higher up. But I had remembered incorrectly. The first side pull was much higher than I had imagined, and that meant I was going to have to move off tricky feet and small fingers. The jug that I wanted was even higher than that. But oh well. Such were the circumstances. I moved my feet high, dug my fingers in, pulled, stepped up, and found myself at the second roof. The second roof is less of a roof than it is a technical section with two crimps out wide to the right and thin feet leading up to a ledge. One can certainly pull the inside section of the little corner that one is standing in, but that is physically more difficult because it feels like a roof. The crimps are difficult because they aren't solid and are a bit airy, but they're definitely solid enough to trust. That's the thing, they have to be trusted. So that's what I did. I trusted them, leaned way out to my right, threw my left hand up to the ledge and scurried up. Easy. I was there. All I had to do was walk right, climb the final bulge, and walk left back to the belay ledge. But I wanted more. I wanted the 5.9 finish, the last roof. I thought about spoiling the 5.8 clean ascent, but I wanted the 5.9, and so I moved up and searched around. I moved left and realized the route went to the right. The downclimb was pumpy, so I rested before going back up. I moved up on the right and couldn't find the jug to pull over. I climbed down again and was once again pumped from that. I rested another minute and went back up. I found the jug and started to mantle up, but I couldn't. I couldn't move my feet and I couldn't push upward anymore with my lower arm. My upper arm was maxed, too. I had found my limit. It wasn't difficult. In fact, I'm not sure the third roof was any harder than the first two, but it was definitely pumpy and I was pumped already from the first two roofs. I just didn't have the strength to finish, so I very tenuously "fell" back on each of the jugs that got me to my high point. I didn't fall on or weight the rope, but to say I down climbed is exactly correct either. Each move downward was as much of a hold-on-and-collapse than it was a down move. I stood on the ledge and decided that the 5.8 was enough. I walked right, pulled the final overhang (not very easily, mind you) and breathed a sigh of relief as I secured myself at the top. "Ratherbe" then came up behind me and easily pulled the final roof for the 5.9 finish. It was a good route for both of us. That route had haunted me for over a year. I had fallen on multiple occasions on different spots throughout. I was happy to have knocked it off, but now I want to go back for the third roof. I was too pumped to lead the first pitch of the next climb, but I felt OK to give the next route a go. I was a bit nervous, though. I wasn't sure if I had another 5.8 in me, but the second pitch of "Yellow Belly" loomed anyway. I had told "Ratherbe" that I wasn't sure, but we each took a wait and see approach. She led the first pitch easily, and I followed with relative ease. It was a little pumpy, but it was 5.8 after all. I chalked that up to the grade more than my own physical deficiency. She said it was supposed to go up the blank face to her left, but she said the corner way over to the left was easier. The face did indeed look blank, but the crack looked thin and without good pro. If I blew the stemming then it was going to be a nasty fall onto blocks below. But then again, the face was blank. I chose to do the pitch. The first move off the ledge was OK, and it got me in a good position to scout the face. It was as blank as I expected. My only piece was a 0.4 Camalot at my waist that I wasn't overly confident with. If that blew then I'd plummet straight down onto "Ratherbe" who was sitting on a thin-but-good belay seat below. There was no need for both of us to get hurt, so I made the easy traverse left to the corner. But even then, I looked up at the corner and saw very little pro. The crack wasn't a jam crack, but more of a shallow finger crack used for balance more than anything. It would require good feet, and I couldn't see any let alone ones that were good. The face on either side of the corner was less than thin, too. Neither option looked good. I guess I should have done a better job of listening to myself. After what happened over Memorial Day weekend, I was sure that I had found a good way of identifying when I was ready and when I wasn't. It wasn't so much about the climb as it was about the decision-making. Last weekend I made the decision to do "Ant's Line" (5.9) and I did. And then I made the decision to not do "Birdland" and I didn't. Everything felt so good. I was so certain and secure with my decisions. But this time there was something hindering me. I wasn't sure what it was, but somehow my decision-making wasn't good. I actually knew I wasn't listening to myself, but I covered up the criticism with the "be bold" thoughts that were waving through my brain. Sometimes even when you know you're making a mistake you make it anyway because that's all you know what to do at that moment. It was as if my mind was sharp enough to realize I was doing something dumb and yet not focused enough to give me a reason why. Under most circumstances I would call this void "fear," but this felt more like stupidity. I traversed back up to the right where the face was. Face climbing is typically my strength. It may take me a while to trust the feet and hands, but once I go I'm usually in good shape and make it up clean. The corner looked as it if was too risky. I probably could do it, but I didn't like the fall. If I was going to do something, anything at all, it was going to be on something that I felt I had a chance on. That was the face. Closer inspection with my hands revealed that there were a few hidden and very positive slopers up high that couldn't be seen from below. But the feet were bad and would require smearing up to more slopers that I wasn't fond of. I moved farther right toward the initial moves off the belay ledge. I was about two feet higher than the start at this point, and so my perspective of the face was better. I found a way to get my right foot up high and crimp down on two tiny edges above. It worked. Two moves later and I was cruising through the jugs toward the infamous squeeze pod. Infamous isn't quite the word I'd use today. More like woodchipperly painful. It was probably the most awkward position I've ever been in on a climb. Seriously, my knees were practically higher than my ears and I wasn't even sitting down. But that was the easy part. The hard part is moving out of the pod, out the slick traverse, and around the arrete to really crappy holds - all when you're nearly too pumped to hold on. There are about five very strenuous moves in a row that are nearly all hands at the crux. The gear is good, but the fall is scary. I sat in that pod for about 20 minutes trying to find a way to get around the arrete. I made it far enough to see around the arrete twice, out of several tries trying to get to the arrete itself, and I couldn't see where to go. I was too tired to be adventurous and bold. It was a stupid decision to take on this pitch. I jokingly blamed "Ratherbe" for the mess. "Listen," I said, "next time you decide to be cranky then we need to sit down and have a little talk before we climb." I plugged another cam behind me (decidedly not that easy) and was lowered to the anchor. We left the ropes in the gear, switched rope ends, and "Ratherbe" went up instead. She got to the pod and found it difficult, too. But she had done it before and had admitted to being totally stoked for leading it the first time. I think she gave it two tries before she finally made it around the arrete on the third attempt. The pump hadn't ceased for her, though. It took nearly all she had to place her next piece. All she really wanted to do was to keep climbing to a better rest. But that would have required a bit of a run out with a dangerous fall below. When she finally called off-belay I started up. I only tried once and got it clean as the second, and I was certainly happy with the decision to back off. I was too pumped, and where she was barely able to plug that first piece after the crux I was likely to have fallen or run it out the final 30 feet to the top. I wouldn't have been able to stop. I was barely able to stop as the second to clean her gear, and I had been resting at the anchor while she cleaned up my mess. The decision to back off was good, but it came too late. I really should have made that decision before starting up the second pitch. I kicked myself for having learned that lesson only a week before and having ignored it so soon after. I ran from the lion while someone else slayed my mess. We called it a day, and I was glad. Sunday morning we awoke early. The parking lot was already filling up but we knew we were walking far enough down the path that we'd be avoiding the crowds. "Ratherbe" had been tossing in her head whether she wanted to do a warmup first, but she finally decided that the walk in would be enough of a warm up to jump right on her goal for the weekend. She had tried this the weekend before and had fallen at the crux, the pumpy, hang-on-and-go roof midway up the first pitch. I really wanted her to warm up first, but she insisted and so we headed there for the first climb of the day. As expected, there was no one there. She racked up and started right up the route. The first 20 feet to the ledge at the base of the corner felt hard for her, and I wasn't surprised. She said it was probably due to her head not being in the right place. I thought it was because she hadn't warmed up. It didn't matter though. Someone had left a rubber snake on a boulder up there and soon she was angry enough at the joke to forget about her lead head. She headed up the corner and looked fine, but this was a section of the climb that was fine. It didn't get hard or even scary until about 10 feet below the roof. I advised her to take a good, long rest at the last ledge, and she did so, except that she claims she didn't hear me. It was kind of a funny thing to learn later because she seemed to be talking to me the whole time. Maybe she was but was really only talking to herself. I can't imagine what kind of responses I was giving her if she was imagining the conversation. It's kind of funny to look back on it now that I know neither of us had any clue we weren't actually talking to each other. Anyway, she moved up from the rest and entered the section of the climb where the ten feet leading up to the crux are protected only by an old, sketchy sling attached to a melting cam in the corner. If you're fine with that as pro, then you're golden. But she wasn't happy with it, and so that meant she had to keep plugging toward the pumpy crux. She plugged a cam in the roof and moved left, further committing herself to the climb. The cam most likely would have held if she had fallen, but it's not the most secure feeling in the world with the ugly tat clipped below and nowhere to down climb and rest. The fall would have been big and not very clean. With her head playing games, her lack of a warm-up, and her having fallen at this point last weekend, I braced myself to catch her. One hand after another moved through the jugs. She got her feet up and further committed herself. There was only one way to go now, and that was straight up. At first, I thought she wasn't going to make it. The hard part is the point where the short traverse ends and the pump up the jugs begins. But she worked through that section fine. Once she stood up on the traverse ledge I thought she was fine. She rested for a second and gathered herself for the final two moves, which were all pump and no technique. And I was happy for when she started to pull and push her way up. But it was much slower going than I anticipated and she was clearly struggling to get to the small ledge above the roof. The first few moves of the crux had gone by so quickly and here were the final two moves taking so long. I feared that she had the same problem I had on the 5.9 section of "Birdland" the day before; I was too tired to even move and had to "down fall" to my last rest. She didn't have that option, so it was get it clean now or fall all the way to below the roof. She grunted. She whimpered, and then she grunted some more. I wasn't confident that she had made it until she finally stood on the ledge and took several deep breaths. The second half of the pitch was easy, and when she told me that she was off belay and that I was on belay, I started up. I hung at the roof, but not because it was hard. It was hard, but I couldn't get the cam out of the roof with one hand due to it being buried too deep and the crack being too thin. It took me a few minutes to get it out (I tried for a long time with one hand and eventually did get it out with one hand, but I was too pumped after hanging on my left arm for so long at the crux). Unlike "Caboose", who the previous weekend had to swing back on to the rock at the same spot for the same reason, I was able to more easily reach and get back on. I cruised up and she racked up for the famous final pitch. For a 5.7 pitch, this last pitch has one helluva mind game it plays with you. "Ursula" was actually a test-piece for me at this point. I was really struggling after "Birdland" and "Yellow Belly" the day before and "Bonnie's Roof" first thing the that morning. When I get pumped I can barely hold on to anything - it doesn't matter how easy the route is. If I can't hold on then I can't hold on. And the first half of "Ursula" doesn't look like a gimme from the ground. But I racked up anyway and headed up the blank corner hoping there would be jugs on the way. It turned out that everything was there, but that didn't stop me from nearly falling about five times both in the slick (but juggy) corner and committing traverse. I was glad to have gained the ledge for a much needed rest. I put "Ratherbe" on belay and she joined me at the there. When I started up it didn't seem fair at the time. The crux is right off the ledge and while this might have been a 5.5 20 years ago, it has become much more slick in both the hands and feet. The first 15 feet are nothing but greasy, off-angle jugs with only a little bit of gear. Oh yeah, it's overhanging, too, so for someone like me, who was pumped enough already, getting off the ledge is a dangerous situation. I really struggled through the start. At any moment my hands were about to slip off, and that was during holding, resting, moving, clipping, and transitioning my body, hands, and feet up the steap rock. But I finally made it up to the easier climbing only to find a surprising amount of loose rock. I made up my mind that I was going to buy a stick of chalk so that marking loose blocks would be easier. For some reason I'm not very good at making an "x" with my climbing chalk and finger. It always comes out blurry and faded. When I finally got to the top I put "Ratherbe" on belay and brought her up. She topped out and we decided that we were both tired but wanted another climb before heading home. I told her it would have to be easy because I wasn't in any shape to push myself. She agreed, so we rapped down and took a few suggestions from some folks who had climbed a bit more in this area. I guess the big thing was that we discovered the second pitch wasn't worth breaking out into a second pitch. The distances noted in the guidebook weren't exactly the most precise, and each pitch was short anyway. "Ratherbe" ended up linking both pitches together, which we had agreed that she should do before she started if she found it wasn't worth making an anchor. When I finally cleared the final bulge on the first pitch, I could see why she chose to keep going. It was pretty straight up from there to the top, particularly with double ropes. There's a lot to play around on this upper pitch. One can go right, straight up, or left at different points and all the climbing is fun. "Ratherbe" went straight up through the lichen and, with my pump, the finishing moves felt more 5.7+ than 5.6, but that might have been the variation grade anyway. We were done. All we had next was the walk down the Stairmaster to the lower parking lot and we were off. We changed in the parking lot, hopped in the car, and headed for lunch. After eating we pulled onto I-87 and I noticed that I had to keep switching which arm was on the wheel. I was so pumped from climbing that driving the car was difficult to do. Two days later I went to the gym with a friend and couldn't climb past my sixth climb of the day. My elbow was throbbing. I'd felt this before, and it was difficult to get rid of the pain because I work at a desk where my elbow is constantly moving between writing, typing, and moving the mouse. A few folks called it tendinitis. Whatever it was, I knew I'd need to rest, but I wondered if my summer would be ruined because of this. These injuries sometimes require weeks off, and even when one feels healthy, they can flare up again and cause another month-long rest when maybe only one more week of rest would have done the job. It's frustrating, but it is what it is and I'll deal. Gotta love the pumpy routes in the 'Gunks - they're the pump that keeps on giving.
Layback (5.5) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchors(<-- Click here for guidebook info)
Birdland (5.8) - Trad - Two pitches - Bolt / Gear anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
- Me: I'm not sure if I'll send.
- "Ratherbe": You'll send.
- Me: I'm not nervous or anything, I just don't know.
- "Ratherbe": Well, go get it.
I honestly wasn't sure, but it was more that I couldn't imagine not sending. It was an interesting feeling. I was cold, but not in the muscles. There was no fear and there was no love. I wanted it, but at the same time there was no ambition, no drive, and no barriers either. It felt like semantics, as if I was simply going through the motions of something I knew so well and needed no practice in order to achieve perfection, so I started up. The pumpy section at the bottom, where the first horizontals are gained, were easier than I expected. And so were the moves after that to mid-way up the lower face. All the crimps and side pulls felt fine. My feet were solid and the rock was not slick. I hit the mental crux, placed my left foot out wide on the slick knob, leaned back, pulled up my right foot up, bounced my right hand up the side pulls and stood up. Boom. That was it. The mental crux was over. I clipped the pin and backed it up for fun. The physical crux was next, but the invisible footholds were solid under my toes and my hands quickly found the jug to the right of the arrete. Only a nut that didn't stay in the upper crack slowed me down at the top. Within minutes "Ratherbe" was at my side flaking the rope so that I could take on the second pitch.
Yellow Belly (5.8) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
- "Ratherbe": You want the next pitch?
- Me: Uh, maybe.
- "Ratherbe": It's yours if you want it.
- Me: Where does it go?
We usually climb with two ropes. I found a good placement that I felt comfortable with at the bottom of the crack (below my first piece, which was clipped with the right-hand rope), clipped the left-hand rope, and made two moves up to a good stance below where the face gets thin in the corner. Getting a better look things didn't help. The corner now seemed more blank than the face. And the exit from the corner back right to the top of face, where the route went, appeared unprotected and very awkward. All I could imagine was a barn door swing on sloper hands and then my feet cutting away before I'd get my hands secure. The fall would be nasty. I trusted the piece below me, but the moves were high enough that I'd likely deck out on a ledge below. Suddenly, the face seemed more reasonable.
Bonnie's Roof (5.9) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info) 
I mean, it's easy climbing, but the entire traverse and the first few moves up the arrete are protected by three incredibly crappy pins and a green and blue Alien, with the blue Alien being the highest piece and the one protecting the most exposed section of the route. Even still, this was one of my most favorite pitches in the 'Gunks. I can't wait to go back and get this on lead. I think I may knock it off in a few weeks when "Caboose" and "Blow" meet us at the 'Gunks once again.
Ursula (5.5) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
- "Ratherbe": So are you taking the second pitch, too?
- Me: Yeah. I guess so. Haven't you done this?
- "Ratherbe": Yeah. I was hoping to do the second pitch, though.
- Me: That's OK, but I thought I'd take it since you got both pitches on "Bonnie's".
- "Ratherbe": Huh? Didn't I ask you if you wanted that pitch?
- Me: No. I might have taken it if you had offered, but I'm not sure. I just assumed that you'd get both of those pitches since I got both pitches on "Birdland" yesterday.
- "Ratherbe": Oh man. Sorry about that. I was totally going to offer you the second pitch. Wow. I absolutely forgot.
- Me: That's fine. Like I said, I just assumed you'd take it anyway. It was a good reward for doing the first pitch.
- "Ratherbe": Yeah, well, you can have this second pitch. That certainly seems fair.
In the Groove (5.6) - Trad - One pitch - Gear anchor
The Williams guidebook suggests this climb as a two-pitch route, so "Ratherbe" took the lower pitch and I said I could do the easier second pitch. The route was wet at the beginning, and there were two bulges to pull past. Neither one turned out to be a problem (though the second bulge was the obvious crux), but I was glad to have not taken the lead. It wasn't a gimme even though it turned out to be a fun climb in the end. It's amazing how many fun routes without a lot of stars one can find in the 'Gunks. This was a route that surprised both of us, even the crappy climbing at the top was kind of fun.
I rolled out of my bed into the morning light. The thoughts of the upcoming day weighed heavily on my mind. Our objective for the day was Fine Jade, a beautiful 5.11 crack system moving gracefully up the end of the Rectory formation. It's a really fantastic climb that...what the hell was I doing? I'm, not a 5.11 climber. Sure I'd climbed obscure routes not published in a guidebook that people said were 5.11 but I figure they were just trying to embolden me to push to further heights. I'd even redpointed my first 5.11 last week but it felt hollow having toproped it right before, even if it was cleanly. I walked over to wake up "Utah". The day waits for no man. We quickly made our seperate breakfasts. Mine the usual bagels and cream cheese with a side of fruit. "Utah" had some eggs and bacon he pulled out of a bag which was cooking while he made some PB&J. We talked about the route a little bit. I finally decided that if we were going to do this then I wasn't going to screw around. I said I'd take the crux second pitch. "Utah" seemed fine with that but admonished me - calling me a pussy - for avoiding the 5.10 offwidth on the first pitch. That's the way things are for me as an onsight climber. If I don't climb the crux pitch then it doesn't feel like I onsighted the rest of the climb, no matter how I seconded the crux. A stupid, arbitrary rule I self impose but it felt important to me all the same. We finished up breakfast and started packing. It went much more quickly this time because most of the gear was still packed from the night before. All we needed to do was thin the rack out to avoid unnecessary weight. We read the guidebook description. Despite the crux being a thin crack on the second pitch, the first pitch called for a #4 so we didn't end up getting rid of much, just a few midrange cams. After we sacked up the gear I looked up the hill. The walk uphill wasn't incredibly hard but I wasn't looking forward to it. We decided to time ourselves to see how long it really took to get this whole approach business finished. When we finally made it to the base, having taken our fair time and a few rests, it had been fifteen minutes. This obscenely fast time surprised both of us but there it was. It made me feel confident and strong as I flaked the rope out. I could do this. Not a problem. "Utah" racked up and after a quick look at the guidebook he started up the beginnings of the first pitch. The first moves looked pretty easy, thin hands on gently overhanging terrain but a good ledge from which to assess the moves ahead. "Utah" placed a smaller cam before heading into the short offwidth. The gap appeared to be about a little wider than fist size and he placed the #4 early on. His grunting and wiggling worried me. He looked like he'd fall at any moment. Not only that but I would have to clean the damn thing. He finally was out of the offwidth where he got a nice jam from which to place more gear. He kept going into what appeared to be a very awkward notch. As "Utah" tried to place his feet somewhere around his head I wondered how the 5.11 pitch was going to look. A few grunts later and he was in the notch. "Man that was fucking pumpy." After his breathing returned to normal he set off out of sight and a little while later called "off belay." I slipped on my shoes and waited for the rope to come tight. A few moments later and I donned the pack and started climbing. The first moves were easy, if a little thin. I came to the piece before the wide portion of the crack. The stance was not bad until I started to clean the .75 camalot. The trigger was deep enough into the rock to prevent easy removal. The crack was too thin to get my hand deep enough to reach it. I pulled off my nut tool, still clinging to the rock. I tried to pull the trigger and the cam at the same time with the same hand wielding the nut tool. This wasn't working. No way in hell was I going to let go. Not only would I consider that blowing the onsight but it would not bode well for the rest of the route if I flailed on the first pitch. I yelled up, "put a quickdraw on your cams you son of a bitch!" He didn't seem to hear me. After struggling with it for another ten minutes I finally free'd the bastard. Highly pumped I started the offwidth. Despite the intimidating, overhanging, and wide nature of the crack it was relatively easy with just a large size handcrack deep in the back. The hard part came in getting over the bulge which, while awkward, was relatively easy with the bomber hand jams. Pulling over the bulge I could see "Utah" again. "That was pumpy, especially after trying to get out your overcammed, walked-in, piece of shit cam you asshole." He looked at me stupidly, "sorry dude." I took a moment to catch my breath and finished up the rest of the pitch. Despite feeling a little tired I started trading gear with "Utah". I looked ahead. I had seen pictures of the crux and it looked a lot farther along than I thought it would be. After an awkward manuever around "Utah" to get above the belay I started cruising along. So far the climbing was fairly easy. A few moments later I came to another bolted anchor. I was confused. Had we reached a rappel anchor, was this the end of the pitch, was I missing something? I decided to keep going. I hadn't placed a lot of gear and I could see the fingercrack bulge ahead. I made my way up the less than vertical crack until I was at a good stance just below the ledge. "You got this dude", "Utah" called from below. I felt unreasonably good. I felt ready to send. The climbing looked hard. It wasn't easy fingerlock size for me and there didn't appear to be straightforward footwork once I came out of the bulge. I placed a small piece and backed it up with another. Shaking out once more I chalked up and looked ahead. "Go for it," "Utah" yelled to me. I put my fingers into the crack and moved upward. The crack was a little too wide for my knuckles to find really good constrictions, so I slowly walked them up with my feet on the ledge where I had rested my head a few moments before. Walking my hands up pulling in opposite directions, like opening an elevator door, I finally found a small constriction I could hang off of. I moved my two small pieces up. Both at my waist I looked around for my feet. I couldn't see the crack or pretty much anything near my feet because of the bulge. All I could see was a small divot in the layer of sandstone. It was high...too high, it would push my hips far from the wall, straining my tenuous fingerlock. I looked for other options and found none. I struggled with the obvious. I had to bear down and trust the fingerlock with my feet very high and my ass swinging in the wind. I moved my left foot while my right remained on the ledge. The fingerlock felt a lot less solid now as the nervous tension grew. "Utah's" calm call from below to go for it rang in my ears. "Just go for it, so what if you fall. The gear is good, there are good jams ahead." The self talk did little to calm my nerves but I was resolved. I squeezed my fingers as tightly as I could into the small fingerlock, shifted my weight to my left foot, lifted the right foot, and stood up. I knew as soon as I stood up I would only have one chance to find a good fingerlock if I was going to be able to do this move. My left hand was the free one and it quickly darted upward. My body fell away at the same time I moved the hand, two opposing forces working against each other. I hoped for that fingerlock that would abate gravity. My fingers slipped into the crevice of rock and then slipped out quietly as I plummeted towards Earth. It was a small fall but dissapointing nonetheless. "Utah" gave me some encouragement, "nice fall, way to go for it." I felt good that I had tried but much more dissapointed that I had fallen. I consider myself pretty much an onsight climber. If I don't think I can onsight it I either toprope it or don't touch it. I like the feeling of something being totally new and succeeding purely through the skills I have gained on previous climbs, not that I hadn't gained by falling off the current one. I hung on the rope a bit longer. The fingerlock was tenuous and I couldn't really tell what I was aiming for. I pulled myself up the rope a little bit to rest some more. A moment later and I was clinging to that tenuous fingerlock once again. I pulled myself up again and tried to be more controlled to find the elusive hold that would spell success. Desire was no substitute for skill and I peeled once again. I apologized to the group that was racking up on the first pitch. "No problem, we're enjoying the show." The show, what was I showing, my inability to climb 5.11 cracks? Maybe how I could fall really well? I tried the move a few more times without success and shamefully pulled through on gear. The rest of the pitches, which I finally realized I was stringing together, were farely uneventful except for the horrid ropedrag I was feeling. I reached the anchors and called off-belay. The position was nice for easy belaying and the view couldn't be beat but the failure weighed on me. Why couldn't I stick that move? I tortured myself. The rope came in ridiculously quickly and much sooner than I thought "Utah" was in view. "That crack was nice, fit my fingers perfectly." I made excuses about the size to cover my lack of skill. The next pitch belonged to "Utah" so I relaxed and payed out rope as he complained about the crumbly rock. "Shut up and climb you big baby." I felt the need to be savage and cover my inadequacies. A few moments later he called off belay and I started up the next to last pitch. I came to the belay and looked at our options. The original line went around the corner to a big ear of rock that went at 5.7. Above us was a 5.11 sport pitch. I didn't feel like challenging another 5.11. I looked at the ledge that would lead around the corner. I grabbed the gear and started walking across the ledge. The slight overhanging nature eventually forced me to scoot across the ledge. Ten feet out I looked at the crack below where I was sitting. I carefully bent down and squeezed in a #3, my only piece. I moved carefully around the corner. I hadn't even used fifty feet of rope and wanted to keep going but I knew the rope drag would kill me. As I slowly brought "Utah" across I thought about pulling the smug bastard off just to see the surprise on his face as he swung around the corner. I figured it would be more trouble than enjoyment with the last pitch remaining to do any sort of rescue. "Utah" conceded the last pitch to me due to it's low grade, 5.7. I was happy to do it and it was probably just as fun as all the other pitches. The final pitch climbs a gigantic wedged ear of rock. I climbed straight into a small hollow and slung a cam long and started traversing out of the ear. As I clambered over the top I noticed I could look all the way through and see "Utah" belaying. I gave him the finger. There weren't very many belay spots to choose from. A small crack filled with sand seemed my best option. Even if the anchor failed my body would be too big to be wrenched through the slightly wide crack that composed the ear. I brought "Utah" up and we sat on the summit for a while, enjoyed the warmth, and myself a little bit of pepperoni. As I sat there about to enjoy the last bite it slipped from my hand and rolled into the abyss below. "Pepperoni!" I haphazardly yelled down, "Utah" laughed. We talked a little bit about trying the North Face of Castleton but we both seemed done at this point. We'd each gotten what we came for; myself, Castleton Tower, and "Utah", some damn difficult free climbing. We started down the rappels. In the middle we met the party coming up behind us. Seemed the typical climbing couple. Strong boyfriend out front with girlfriend tra-la-laing up the rear. She was nice though and made space for us to continue to the ground. On the ground another couple was starting to climb. This time the dredlocked blonde girl was flailing up the offwidth section. I wanted to point out that this wasn't Indian Creek and she might want to just downclimb and they could try some of the other fine climbs of easier difficulty nearby. I kept my mouth shut. She was already having enough trouble. We walked lazily down down the talus cone, we were done climbing and neither of us felt like rushing to a long car ride: I, back to Colorado, and "Utah" to Salt Lake. I asked what he was planning to do after he did his AMGA course. He was taking a fellowship in Ohio. It seemed pointless for him to take the AMGA course if he was going to pursue a graduate program in....well something that wasn't climbing. I thought back to my failed attempt at law school. I couldn't think why any reasonable climber would put themselves back into such a situation. We both packed our climbing and camping equipment into our respective vehicles. I finished a little before "Utah" and decided to hit the road. He talked about coming through Colorado on his way to Ohio and I told him to get in touch with me if he came through. I hadn't planned on leaving until tomorrow morning but there was no reason to stay. There was no more climbing and if I left tomorrow then I would just be wasting that day so I said goodbye and drove off. The drive was uninteresting. Driving along I looked out onto the Colorado Plateau. Literally thousands of unclaimed first ascents were in this region. I was sad to leave but normal life was calling my name. I had work the day after tomorrow and I wanted to spend some time with "Iowa" before she had to work. I finally pulled into the driveway around one in the morning. The lights were on and I left the gear in the car to organize the next day. She greeted me at the door with a hug which made a small dent in my depression about leaving the desert. We made dinner and shortly thereafter went to bed. Firmly re-emerged in the constant groan of life my head hit the pillow and I did not fight the advance of unconciousness.
- Me: Do you think I should walk across or hand traverse?
- "Utah": I'd do the hand traverse.
- Me: I think I'll just walk across, looks easy enough.
- "Utah": If you trip and pull me out of my stance I'm gonna be pissed.
- Me: Shut up jackass.
- Me: You know Ohio doesn't have any climbing, right?
- "Utah": The Red is only a few hours away.
- Me: I thought you were a climbing bum for life.
- "Utah": I dunno, guess we'll see.
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Layback (5.5) - Two pitches - Trad - Gear anchors
- Approach: Walk along the Near Trapps trail, about 40 feet past the large roof system to a chimney below another roof system that is about 20 feet up.
- Pitch One (5.5) - Trad - Gear Anchor - 60 Feet: Climb the chimney to the block. Move left around the block and layback to the top.
- Pitch Two (5.1) - Trad - Gear Anchor - 60 Feet: Traverse right to 
the nose, and then move up and right through the notch. Probably the best pitch I have ever done at the grade.
- Descent: Walk off to the right. If you get to a spot where you have to scramble down into a gully to the right, then stay left and walk about 15 feet to the easy path down. If you scramble into the gully then that is OK. It's just a more difficult scramble below that ends up in the same spot as the path.
Ursula (5.5) - Two Pitches - Trad - Gear anchors
- Approach: Take the third path after the overhanging / roof Andrew Boulder. At the top of the path, turn right and find the small, right-facing corner that is about 25 feet right of the massive right-facing corner that makes up Bonnie's Roof. There is a small roof about five feet off the ground below the small corner.
- Pitch One (5.5) - Trad - Gear anchor - 80 feet: Climb the moves to the left of the low roof and head up the corner. Follow the thin crack right of the orange rock (crux) and move up to the small arrow-shaped roof (above a larger roof mid-way up this section). Traverse right to the arrete / pillar and move up the notch to the ledge.
- Pitch Two (5.5) - Trad - Tree anchor - 100 feet: Start on the left 
of the ledge and pull the slick, awkward, overhanging, and off-angle foot and hand holds to better holds (crux). Follow the jugs to the top. Be aware that there is still a fair amount loose rock on this second pitch.
- Descent: Rap with two 60m ropes to the ground or twice with one rope (there is a rap anchor at the top of P1)
In the Groove (5.6) - One pitch - Trad - Gear anchor
- Approach: Take the third path after the overhanging / roof Andrew Boulder. At the top of the path, turn right and walk uphill past a free-standing pillar to an open book 
capped by a rectangular roof about 25 feet up.
- Pitch One (5.6) - Trad - Gear anchor - 140 feet: The Williams guidebook lists this as a two-pitch climb, but climbing this in two pitches is really unecessary. Climb the corner (if dry - if not, the face isn't that difficult and may be better protected) up to the roof and step left on good feet. Clear the first overhang and move to the second one that is up to the left a bit. The Williams guidebook also notes that the first overhang is the crux. It isn't. The second overhang is. Clear that and climb the path of least resistance to the top (likely filled with lichen and better-than-expected climbing) with a few committing and dynamic moves at the very top.
- Descent: Walk left about 15 feet to the Ursula rappel (see above).
Birdland (5.8) - Two pitches - Trad - Bolted / Gear anchors
- Approach: Walk a few minutes along the Near Trapps trail until you get to a shady strip of clean rock. Walk uphill until you get to an open book capped by an arrow-shaped roof. Birdland is the blank-looking face to the right of the book with right-facing edges about 25 feet up.
- Pitch One (5.8) - Trad - Bolted anchor - 90 feet: Most people start in the corner on the left, but I like the juggy start to the right of that (I think it is actually easier). Gain the horizontal ledges and move right to the arrete. Move up and fade left to the right-facing edges. Step left and pull on the edges to a decent stance (mental crux). Traverse right to the arrete on faint feet and hands (crux) and follow the crack to the top, stepping right to the bolted anchors at a good ledge. It is advisable to place a directional at the top of the crack for the second.
- Pitch Two (5.8) - Trad - Gear anchor - 115 feet: Move up left from 
the anchors (first crux) and follow the jugs to the series of overhangs / notches above. Clip the two pins and pull the first roof to a marginal stance. Step right out to thin crimps and pull the second roof (crux). For the 5.8 finish, walk right along the good ledge, pull the final overhang, and then walk left to the ledge. For the 5.9 version, don't walk right but instead climb the final roof section that is directly above (it is easier than it looks if you can hold off the pump).
- Descent: Walk right on the path for about 50 feet, downhill a bit, to where the path splits. Head right at the split to rap slings that are high on a tree. Two 60m ropes are needed for this rappel. Otherwise, continue down the path to walk off.
Yellow Belly (5.8) - Two pitches - Trad - Gear anchor
- Approach: Walk in a few minutes on the Near Trapps trail to a right-
facing corner with a small tree about 20 feet up. The left-facing corner and roof of Yellow Ridge is directly to the left, and there are a few boulders, one large, to the left of Yellow Ridge on the ground.
- Pitch One (5.8) - Trad - Gear anchor - 70 feet: Climb the face to the right of the right-facing corner, past the tree, and up to the overhangs. Step right and climb around / above the first overhang. Then step left back into the corner and clear the second overhang using the obvious layback to the top and a good ledge for belaying.
- Pitch Two (5.8) - Trad - Gear anchor - 90 feet: Climb up the arrete 
from the anchor and find good foot holds. From here, make a decision: either go up the face, traverse left into the corner and climb the corner, or traverse left into the corner, move up a few feet, and move back right to the face. I did the latter. I stepped up, moved into the corner, made two moves to good footholds and sparse but good hand holds. I then traversed all the back to the arrete and found surprisingly solid finger holds that allowed me to get my right foot up. From there, follow the jugs up to the squeeze pod. Once in the pod, trust the slick feet and holds out left under the roof and move left to around the arrete. Hold on to semi-crappy holds until a jug can be gained up in the left-facing corner. Follow the corner up and step right over where the roof was. Angle up to the right to the belay ledge.
- Descent: The Alphonse rap station will be a few feet to the right. You must have two 60m ropes to get down because there is no intermediate station below. Otherwise, walk along the path to the right for the walkoff.
Bonnie's Roof (5.9) - Two pitches - Trad - Gear anchor
- Approach: Take the third path after the overhanging / roof Andrew Boulder. At the top of the path, turn right and head to the massive right-facing corner that leads 
up to the large roof at the top.
- Pitch One (5.9) - Trad - Gear anchor - 130 feet: Climb the face or the corner to the ledge below the massive right-facing corner. Climb the corner to the first roof. Move left on the jugs (crux) and head straight up before finishing the crux on the right at a good rest stance. Finish the corner to the obvious belay ledge directly below the roof.
- Pitch Two (5.7) - Trad - Tree anchor - 50 feet: Step up left on the 
left side of the ledge and traverse left about two moves. Then step down to better hand and foot holds. Move left to the arrete, reach around the corner and move straight up the arrete to where the arrete meets the large roof. Step right and traverse up and right to the top (rap anchor tree).
- Descent: Rap all the way to the ground with two 60m ropes. It is possible to do two raps, but only with a 70m rope if you rap off the first-pitch anchor.
I have no clue what's going on. Seriously, there's been a complete reversal of everything I've been as a climber the past several years. The world has been turned nearly upside down, and this is a good thing. Yeah, yeah. You've all heard about my ankle sprain, and you've all heard about how it's held me back in the gym. I'm flailing on 10a's in there and falling on 5.8s by the end of the night. Last week, I even ran away from a 5.7 for my last climb. "It's too long," I told my partner. "I want something easy." What the hell is that? But there I was two weekends ago jumping on a sopping wet 5.9 (in someone else's shoes that are three sizes too big for me, no less) when I hadn't even warmed up yet. OK, so it was on top rope, but what does that matter? Anything above 5.9 in the 'Gunks is supposed to be too hard for me. And then I decided it was OK to lead my first 5.8 of the season, which is right at my onsight level there, too. I hadn't led at my level on gear in over six months. Is it possible that my training in the gym in past years had actually set me back as opposed to moving me forward? I'm just not sure how that's possible. Aren't gyms supposed to be these training grounds where one learns acrobatic moves and how to control one's lead head? All these years of trying to get stronger, and all those years of being afraid of falling inside, all of those days breathing in the chalky hair as it smokes away from slapped hands and rises up from the blue foam when skin-tight shoes and red-stained feet pounce at the start and in between the many artificial climbs where the tops lean out above the starts, the hanging draws rock when the ropes get pulled through, and the steel anchors do their sturdy jobs without a hint of complaining while the thousands of pounds yank them downward - after all of that, I'm now stronger outside than inside and, despite the fact that I'm nearly floored by this, I couldn't care less. I think there are two things going on here. One is that I'm feeling so much less stress in life than I have in years. I'm making a change soon - a big one - and knowing this has relieved me from the worries of normal life. I no longer need to buy a house, sit in my cubicle with boredom, and I have no need for the material items I used to crave. In fact, I'll be selling nearly all my crap in a few month's time and living with only a minimal amount of belongings; there will be enough to get by, enough to hold on to childhood memories, and enough value to store away. Otherwise, there will be nothing. Simply put, I just don't care as I used to, so the nine-to-five no longer inspires and traps me anymore. The second thing that happened was my foray into aid climbing. Yeah, I know, I lead a freaking bolt ladder and that's it (call me weak - I don't care. It is what it is and I am who I am. Go screw). But it was still an awakening experience. As noted in the Moab Diary series, these were quarter-inch bolts with wing nuts screwed into them. The rusted pitons were the less scary pieces, despite the fact that the mud was so soft chunks as large as my head crumbled down when I tried to partially free climb a move. Whether that is scary to you or not is irrelevant; it was to me and I, for the first time out in 2009, got a good lesson in trusting my gear. I had never done that before, at least not that early in the season. I was very afraid at times, but I also grew as a result. And I cared less. And I grew. It's a dangerous combination. "Ratherbe" and I have been partners for the past couple of years. We've had other partners, but we've been pretty consistently climbing with each other since we climbed together before heading to Yosemite last year. Two of those other partners, "Caboose" and "Blow", joined up with us to tackle the 'Gunks over Memorial Day weekend. We all had plans on what we were going to do, and "Ratherbe" and "Caboose" were going to team up while "Blow" and I had our own projects. But I wanted to warm up first to see how I was feeling that Saturday morning. We all awoke somewhat early, and were the first on our warmups. "Sixish" was open so I jumped on it and cruised the first pitch with ease. Then "Blow" ran up the second pitch and I was ready for the third, which turned out to be a fun pitch to the top. I don't have much to say about this route except that it is one damn fun route from bottom to top. I recommend it both as a good route for beginners and as a warm up for more experienced leaders. I'm sure others do, too, as the line that goes up it is constant in the heaviest traffic months. I felt strong, and this meant that my first goal of the season was going to get knocked off. "Son of Easy O" had kicked my butt last year. The first pitch was brutally pumpy, and I wasn't expecting that then. The second pitch was supposed to be even more pumpy than the first, so when my fatigue made my muscles stale, I hung at the pin below the start of the overhang and believed I didn't have it in me to continue without resting first. But then I did it, and was really angry with myself for not pushing ahead. The second pitch, despite being over hung, is nothing compared to the first. In fact, I'm not even sure it's harder than the "Strictly From Nowhere" roof, and that is 5.7. I knew I could not only do this climb clean, but that I could do it in one pitch as well. And after jumping on "Annie Oh" (5.8) recently, I knew that I was ready to climb at this level. It was time, so we went to the base and waited for a couple of folks to finish top-roping the climb. I bought new shoes recently, and they're still tight on my feet. But they edge well and I'm getting more comfortable with letting them stick on whatever I touch even though the thick soles make it difficult for me to feel the rock. Still, knowing that the first pitch is so thin, and knowing that I'd be putting a lot of pressure on my feet for the first 90 feet or so, I wondered how that would affect me as I moved through the overhang on the second pitch. My strategy was to see how I felt as I approached the second pitch. If my feet hurt, then I'd find a good ledge, take off my shoes for a couple of minutes, rest, and then finish up. If all felt fine, then I'd just go straight up. The first 40 feet are just plain thin on the first pitch. The gear is good, but specific. You have only those placements to make, and you need to make them good. I was about six pieces in until I finally felt comfortable with a nut in one of the upper cracks. Everything below seemed pretty bomber, but I didn't want to fall because I wasn't completely sure. And the moves are fairly specific, too: the left foot goes here, and the right hand goes here, pull up, lean over, the left hand goes here, the right foot goes there, and so on. It is really fun climbing, but not for anyone uncomfortable with thin feet, off-angle hands, and slightly dynamic moves (at least for me anyway). It's the second half of the first pitch that really gets you. The gear is a little easier to place up there, but also a bit more run out, too. The climbing is also less technical and more burly. You're pulling on larger holds, but they aren't the kind of jugs you'd find on a ladder. The moves are a bit more committing and at this point all I wanted to do was get to the base of the overhangs. I was tired again, but not as much as I was last year. Still, the combination of my arms pumping for oxygen and my feet dying a slow death under the tight leather and rubber pulled tightly across the bridge of my foot by three velcro straps didn't convince me to keep going. I asked "Blow" to tie me off and I rested on a decent ledge with my bare feet awakening like a flower in April. This also gave me a chance to find the best gear for a bomber placement about 15 feet below the start of the second pitch. It didn't take long for me to get ready again, so I strapped on my shoes and headed up. But boy, I was stupid in how I approached this section. I had three draws left and about 80 feet of climbing to do. I also had several cams left, all with their own biners. There were at least two pitons at key spots that I wanted to clip, and so I saved two of my draws for those. I then figured I should save the last one for the upper section, just in case I needed it for a nut placement or something. One piton and two cams later, as I pulled through the final overhang, I felt the drag of the 100 heaviest offensive lineman in the history of football pulling me downward. I should have extended those draws. I was really stupid to not have done that. "Blow" arrived a few minutes after I put him on belay, and we both nervously rapped off the anchor that consisted of two rusted pitons, an incredibly weathered tricam, and a clearly blown out and ready-to-die cam all tied together by a tat that had too many pieces looking old, ripped, and torn enough to make a rusty nail look fun to step on. I seriously considered climbing the final 15 feet to the top and rapping off another station, but I wasn't sure what the anchor situation was like up above to bring "Blow" to the top. I figured that since I had seen a man larger than me fall repeatedly at the start on top-rope and another man rap from the anchors before I started that the anchor must be good. Still, my theory on suspect gear is that just because someone else used it safely that doesn't mean anyone after that person will also be able to use it safely. Gear gets weaker each time it is used. Someday it will break. There was a 70% chance of rain in the afternoon on Saturday, and we heard the distant rumbles move in with the suddenly cold wind. It certainly felt like rain, and we felt a few drops here and there, so it was time to quit. The girls would probably be around soon enough, so "Blow" and I decided to seek cover near the Uberfall area. It wasn't quite raining yet and "Blow" wanted to get another route in before the end of the day. We scanned several routes, but because the Uberfall is the 'Gunks version of a gym, we were left with few options. "Squiggles" (5.5) was the only route available and once we learned that it didn't climb up through a dead tree about 20 feet up, and that it traversed right under a roof before heading up the right-side face instead, it seemed a better option than when we first considered and dismissed it as an option. Well, that and, as I noted above, it was open. "Blow" racked up and worked his way through the traverse to the upper face. He struggled a bit with the lack of feet and not knowing where to climb to (the anchor situation isn't that great), but he eventually made it up with ease once he committed to a line. I followed him up and, as I've been doing all season long on easier climbs, I kept my approach shoes on. I'm not sure if I'll learn, but yeah, I'll definitely get called on this one of these days. Some routes just don't have great feet, and this was one of them. I struggled more on the upper section of "Squiggles" than I did on "Son of Easy O." Alas, "Ratherbe" and "Caboose" had made their way to the Uberfall area and as we topped out they were finishing up "Ken's Crack" to our right. I went to take a few pictures, but just as I leaned over the edge with my arms outstretched and my camera aimed downward onto what I couldn't tell, the rain started to hit with heavy but infrequent drops. "Blow" and I scurried down the walkoff and waited under a roof for the girls to finish up. When the girls had finished, they had met up with "Sensei" and "Burrito" and we all decided to grab dinner somewhere. I'll have a review of the restaurant we ate at soon, the Golden Fox in Gardiner, but let me say that all six of us were absolutely thrilled with every bit of the service, food, and drinks. This restaurant is a bit out of the way from the normal path to New Paltz, and "Ratherbe" and I had started to drive this way to avoid the normal backup of traffic that heads into New Paltz from the cliffs. I wanted to try something different than what was in town, and this is where we landed. Just trust me on this one: go to the Golden Fox and eat. The burgers are fantastic and reasonably priced. The dinners are more expensive, but not absurdly so, and they have vegetarian options as well. But I have to recommend the garlic and horseradish burger. Holy cow that was good. After dinner "Sensei" took a fastly crashing "Burrito" back to sleep and the rest of us went into town to Rock and Snow to watch "El Capitan," which is apparently the first climbing movie ever made. It was fun, and I even have a video the next day that was inspired by the pendulum scenes in the movie. I've linked that below. Having brushed aside a demon from the previous year, I was ready to tackle my next test: "Ant's Line" (5.9). This was going to be my first jump into the 5.9s on trad lead in the 'Gunks in over seven months, and the earliest I had ever done so in the season. I wasn't expecting to jump on a 5.9 until mid-summer when I was feeling stronger and more secure, but something was telling to just do it, and so I had committed myself to doing just that. But first we had to do a warmup, and "Three Pines" had been on "Blow"'s tick list for a long time. We were the first one's there and the plan was for him to do the first and third pitch, with me taking the second. But he realized once he got to the top of the first pitch that it didn't make sense to stop there. So he continued past he first ledge, where one must sling a large tree for an anchor, up to the GT ledge where there are bolts. I came up after he put me on belay and then we walked along the ledge to the start of the third pitch. Because of how the rope was stacked, I let him take this pitch, too, and it was a good one for him to take. There is a rather exposed move about 25 feet up, and I think that was good for him to experience. I also wanted to check out "The Dangler", a 5.10 that I thought might be a good first 'Gunks 10 to get on. I had been given the beta (moves and gear) and always thought that if I could just hold on for 20 feet that I'd be able to get up it. The fall onto the slabs below also appeared good in my mind: soft, clean, and easy to ascend back to the start of the pitch. But I was struck by two things when I finally saw the pitch up close. The first is that while the fall is potentially soft and probably easy to get back up to the start, it wasn't as clean as I imagined it. There are a lot of bushes and grassy ledges right below the mid-section of the dangled part of the pitch. I had imagined a clean rock face below the roof, but it was much dirtier than that, and I was worried about falling onto a sharper-than-it-appears bush. The second concern was more about climbing ability than anything else. One of the main ledges, probably in the second quarter of the roof if one divides it into four sections, looks as if it is much more sloping than it is a jug. I was under the impression that the entire line across was one big jug, and that it earned the 5.10 rating because it is pumpy and requires a series of campus and / or heel hooks to get across, and also requires that the climber cut his feet and switch direction at the point where the route stops going out and starts going up. I wasn't aware that maybe the holds themselves on the dangling section could possibly be not that straight forward, too. I don't know, maybe I'm just viewing it incorrectly. This is something that I'll have to think about as the summer progresses. Anyway, "Blow" finally gave me the rope signal that it was time for me to ascend. I did so and was, at first, pleasantly surprised to see that he had chosen a more difficult variation at the top, particularly when he didn't know what the grade of that variation was. "Blow" is a good climber, but he's still getting his trad confidence up and so he's keeping things easy until he's comfortable to progress. This is a good approach to take, but sometimes one simply has to let inspiration take over and take the risk. Often times, the heart is capable of judging that risk better than we might give it credit for. In this case, the variation was 5.6, and that was harder than what he wanted to lead this weekend. But, he did it with ease and was rather happy with himself after getting to the top. On the other hand, however, he sandbagged me once again with my approach shoes on. I got up the slick, white rock without much of a problem, but I think I need to start working on my abs just as much as my feet. This variation did not feel 5.6 to me and I was breathing heavily when I finally topped out. And then it was time. I couldn't say if I was nervous or not. I was nervous, but at the same time I knew I would send. But then again, I was OK with falling. In fact, I wasn't going to hang at all. I knew this, but I was still nervous. The route was empty when we arrived, but I wanted a little more time to rest and eat a quick snack before heading up. The rock was just as intimidating as the first time I saw it, which was different than how I'd imagine it would be upon seeing it that day. Because I had top-roped it a couple of weeks earlier, I imagined not being intimidated at all. But it didn't look as easy as I'd had in my mind the past 15 days. Sure, there were jugs, but they weren't the same as the jugs on "Son of Easy O." "Would I do it?" I wondered. "Could I do it?" I had flailed so much on top rope. Despite the fact that it was sopping wet that day, I was still not convinced that my confident gut wasn't missing something. "A 5.9 this early in the season? Really?" "Sensei" and "Burrito" just happened upon us just as I was about to rope up. They sat down for the show and I started up the climb. Firstly, this route would be significantly easier if the damn first crux wasn't so hard and awkward. A person my size has to crawl up to the roof and reach out left and above where the roof ends to pull a layback off weird feet with no place to go. Up is where I wanted to go, but the roof was in the way. I almost fell at the start, and that would have been frustrating to say the least, but I pumped my way through it and felt the blood doing the same through my arteries. "Shit," I thought, "I'm only four moves in and I'm already tired." I scanned the next few moves and plugged enough gear in to make me feel comfortable. The moves were straight-forward and a bit committing for me, but there was no problem getting to the rest below the crux. It was here that I was worried because the crux involves getting one's feet high in order to use the undercling in the small roof. Unfortunately, the feet aren't great. They're there, but they aren't great. Another issue was that the rest spot is really only good for resting the left foot. The right foot is on a nice ledge while the left is on a pebble, but all of my weight was on the right foot as a result of the angle of the hand holds. By the time I went to make my first attempt my right calf was screaming. As is my M.O., I worked my way up, felt around, and came back down. I didn't like the feet. I didn't remember them the way they actually were. I thought the crux was the last move getting to the undercling, but in fact the crux was the before that; it was the set-up to the move that gets to the undercling. This wasn't what I had imagined, or maybe I had done it differently last time, but it was now playing in my head. I moved up two or three more times only to back down each time due to mistrust in the feet. I was tired, too. My arms needed a better rest and my right foot could only be rested for about 10 seconds at a time before my arms needed to rest again. It was a sour coincidence that the good foothold above was for my left foot. I assumed I was going to have to go off that one alone to pull past the roof. My next attempt was merely to get a cam into the roof. On each attempt before I was either unable to get to the roof or I incorrectly believed I could place the gear from a better stance than I had (i.e. - the crux ended up being lower than I thought it was, and once I hit the crux, I needed to go right past the roof in order to complete it). But this time I knew what I was going to do, so I pulled the cam I needed off my harness, clipped it to my shoulder-gear sling so that it was ready to go, moved up through the crux, plugged the cam, and clipped it. I thought about continuing from there, but I was pumped and decided to head down to the rest instead. This is what "Ratherbe" had done, and this what I had seen another climber do and was recommended by yet another friend. I rested once more and had it figured out. I was going to put my foot "there." I pointed to the hold and told myself, "this is what has to be done. It has to be done. That's what has to be done. I have to put my foot there in order to do this. It must be done like that." And then I moved up, put my foot on the spot, stood up, grabbed the undercling, moved to the left toward the finger pocket and my foot slipped. I could have regained my composure and kept going, but I decided to catch myself and down-climb once again. My right calf was burning and my arms were stale. I had little or next to nothing left in the tank. I wanted to hang and rest. I thought about it several times as I chalked up each hand one after the other and over again until my hands were as white as the chalk itself and were caked as solid as dried paint. I wiped my sweaty brow and instantly my hand was wet again. So I chalked again. And I wiped my brow again, and my hand was wet again. I wanted to hang. I needed to hang to rest my arms. My left bicep would tire while my right one had rested, and then my right one would tire while my left one rested. And my right calf burned while each arm rested, and both my arms ached while my right calf rested. I was all in a flux of nothingness; there was no rest unless I weighted the rope. I wanted to rest so badly that I nearly let go without asking "Blow" to take in the slack. But then I remembered a story I had read: The Short and Happy Life of Francis Macomber. My dream is to be a literary fiction writer, and while my intellectual influence is Dostoyevsky and, partially, Camus, my stylistic influence is hugely Hemmingway. I had tired from reading The Brothers Karamazov last year and wanted something easier to read. I flew through A Farewell to Arms this winter and started reading the Finca Vigia complete collection of Hemmingway's short stories. Francis Macomber was the first story in the book and it struck me more in the heart than any other short story I've ever read. In fact, it has been less than a week since I read it for the only time and I can firmly state that it has and will continue to influence me as much as the three most crucial books in my life: T.H. White's The Once and Future King, Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment, and Adam Smith's The Theory of Moral Sentiments. These three books were so fundamental in forming my deeply personal philosophies that I largely credit them for helping me to believe in what I believe, but there was always something missing in my life. There was the question of commitment, and I don't mean the personal relationship kind. I'm speaking of the wordly risk kind, of doing what I want to do, of being happy, of not being afraid to break social, cultural, and professional norms. I have been confident in who I am for several years now, but I've never been confident in where I was going. And then I read Francis Macomber and so much came together. There is no running away. It's perfectly OK to not do things. It's perfectly OK to be afraid and not act. It's perfectly OK to be indecisive, but it is not OK to be all of these things after choosing to do so. I was going to choose to do something, then I was going to do it. I wasn't going to choose to do something and then back out. The exception of course was if circumstances changed such that I could decide not to tackle the new feat, but this was not the case here. Nothing had changed. I knew what I had to do. I had to put my foot "there" and I had to go up. If I fell, then that was OK, but I had to fall as opposed to letting go. I had to do this. I decided that I was going to do it, and that meant I had to do it. There was no running away. There was no putting people in a position they weren't prepared to clean up if I messed up. This was my decision, and up I went. I can't really recall what happened next, except that once I cleared the roof I buried my shoulder so deep in a hole and grabbed the deepest jug I could find to hold myself into the awkward position I was now in. I placed a nut and ran the final 20 feet out to the chains. There was no need to plug gear at that point. The jugs were only good enough for cruising to the chains. Any fall from there would have been an embarassment anyway. I clipped the chains and happily listened to all my partners congratulate me from below. "Blow" then topropped the route and left the draws for folks to toprope "Ent's Line" (5.10d) if they wanted. I tried to toprope it myself but was unable to get up the upper half of the route due to my fatigue. Instead, "Blow" and I watched "Ratherbe" and "Caboose" work on the first pitch of "Bonnie's Roof" (5.9), some of which was rather amusing. At one point, "Caboose" had fallen of the crux and couldn't swing back onto the route. It was rather fun to watch all of her extremities swing wildly in the air as she tried to get back on the rock. I have a video, but I'll have to post it later once I find out how to rotate the picture (I don't have video editing software). When "Ratherbe" and "Caboose" came down off the first pitch of "Bonnie"'s, my rope and draws were still at the top of "Ent's Line." "Ratherbe" still had some juice left and she was able to work her way up to the top to retrieve the gear. The end of the day had come, and once again we heard the rumble of thunder off in the distance. I was one goal short of a hat trick. The third goal was "Birdland" (5.8) in the Near Trapps, but that was not really a goal for the weekend. It was more of a route that I'd do if I didn't have anything else to do. But that would have to come after "Gelsa", another one of "Blow"'s projects. He hadn't led the third pitch yet and wanted to get that out of the way first. So off we went. I knew right away that "Birdland" wasn't in it for me. I didn't necessarily struggle through the first pitch, but I felt it in my muscles that I was stale and in need of rest. The second pitch, which I led, secured that notion. I just didn't feel strong. "Blow" led the third pitch fine. He was a little nervous about a couple of his placements, but I told him that I wasn't sure I'd do anything different. He didn't sew it up as a paranoid leader might, but his pieces weren't ungodly run out from each other, either. With me being tired, I decided to walk off instead of rapping. We gathered our stuff and met "Ratherbe" and "Caboose", of which "Ratherbe" was already leading. I suggested to "Blow" that I was done. He said it was OK if we did something easy, but I was done. I had made the opposite decision of what I made the day before on "Ant's Line" - I had made the decision to not climb anymore. But even still, Francis Macomber reared his head once again in the form of an actual decision. I was OK with being spent. It is where I was, and I allowed "Birdland" to be conquered on a later date.
Sixish (5.5) - Trad - Three pitches - Gear anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
Son of Easy Overhang (5.8) - Trad - Two pitches - Mixed anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
Squiggles (5.5) - Trad - One pitch - Gear anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
Three Pines (5.3) - Trad - Two / Three pitches - Gear / Bolted anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
Ant's Line (5.9) - Trad - One pitch - Bolted anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
Gelsa (5.5) - Trad - Three pitches - Gear anchors. (<-- Click here for guidebook info)
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Three Pines (5.3) - Two / Three pitches - Trad - Tree / Bolted anchors
- Approach: Take the third trail after the East Trapps Connector Trail that goes down to the road on the right. Head left at the top toward a right-facing corner that is across from a left-facing flake / corner / cave with two trees in between the two.
- Pitch One (5.3) - Trad - Tree Anchor - 75 Feet: Climb the face to the eventual left-facing corner, and continue to climb that straight up to the large ledge with the tree. While that is certainly not a bad belay option, a 60m rope easily allows one to climb straight past this to the bolted anchors at the GT Ledge at the top of the second pitch. If you can do this, it is recommended. A few long slings will help with drag.
- Pitch Two (5.3) - Trad - Bolted Anchor - 60 Feet: Continue climbing straight up to the ledge on the path of least resistance (mostly in the corner)
- Pitch Three (5.3) - Trad - Bolted Anchor - 70 Feet: Walk 30 feet along the ledge to the right to the large roof and left-facing corner. Climb up the corner to above the jutting block and traverse right to the blocky ledge that would be above the lower, large roof. Find a corner to the right and climb that to the next ledge. Fade left and climb left of the white rock up an easy slab to the bolted anchors.
- Descent: Rap to each bolted anchor with one rope or do two raps with two 60m ropes (either rapping to the GT Ledge and then to the bottom (<- recommended) or bypassing the GT Ledge to the lower bolts and then to the bottom).
Gelsa (5.4) - Three Pitches - Trad - Gear anchor
- Approach: Take the Nears path to a tree growing out of boulders about eight feet up. There is a crack that is about four feet up from the base of the tree. The tree looks as if it growing out of a series of small boulders.
- Pitch One (5.4) - Trad - Gear anchor - 50 feet: Climb up the blocks to the awkward "open" area and begin to head up and left. Traverse left until you come to a ledge that makes a good belay stance. The Williams guidebook suggests linking the first two pitches together, but I don't think this is a good idea. The second pitch continues to traverse up and left another 20 feet, and that would essentially mean 20 feet up, 25 feet left, 10 feet up, 15 feet left, and 25 feet up of rope out. It just doesn't make much sense without long runners and double ropes.
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Pitch Two (5.4) - Trad - Gear anchor - 50 feet: Sorry about a lack of a beta photo here (photo that is noted is one of the belay at the start of the third pitch, not the start of the pitch), but basically you climb up left through the overhang and step left into a traverse straight out to the nose. From there, either decide to smear up the face along the ridge or step left again around the corner to the crack. Climb up to the base of the massive, right-facing corner for a good belay stance, avoiding the second left-hand crack below the stance.
- Pitch Three (5.4) - Trad - Gear anchor - 90 feet: Climb the corner to the top.
- Descent: Either walk off (5 min) along the path to the right, or walk 20 feet to the right to a tree anchor. This rap station requires two 60m ropes to get down the very airy rappel.
Sixish (5.5) - Three pitches - Trad - Gear anchors
- Approach: Take the fourth marked trail up to the left and find the large, blocky, right-facing corner to the right (on top of boulders).
- Pitch One (5.4+) - Trad - Gear anchor - 75 feet: Climb the right-facing corner to the juggy flakes, then step left and pull up to the face on the left where there is a piton anchor (this should be backed up).
- Pitch Two (5.3) - Trad - Gear anchor - 90 feet: Start to the left of the anchor and move up over-hanging rock. Step right toward the crack and climb that and the face straight up to the GT Ledge.
- Pitch Three (5.4) - Trad - Gear anchor - 50 feet: Climb the arrete and face that leads up to the second roof (the one above the large roof to the right of the face). Traverse right under the second roof and over the first one about 15 feet to a notch. Climb through the notch and head straight up to the top.
- Descent: Walk right along the path until you see rap anchors on a tree that is far back from the edge of the cliff. Rap once to GT Ledge and once to the ground with two 60m ropes. Or rap three times with the final one coming off an intermediate tree with slings.
Squiggles (5.5) - One pitch - Trad - Gear anchor
- Approach: Walk along the Carriage trail and to the Uberfall area. 
Squiggles is a short dihedral capped by a tree and has a large roof to the right of the tree. There is also a roof system down low to the ground immediately to the left of the dihedral. The route is before the walkoff if you're heading toward the outhouse.
- Pitch One (5.5) - Trad - Gear anchor - feet: Climb the crack to a good stance about 10 feet below the roof. Step right under the roof and continue to traverse up and right to the face on the right of the roof. Find path of least resistance to the top.
- Descent: Walk right about 25 feet to the obvious scramble back down to the carriage trail.
Son of Easy O (5.8) - One / Two pitches - Trad - Gear anchor
- Approach: 
Take the first path after the rescue box and fade right where it splits. At the top, head to the farthest left of the ledge and find the start about 10 feet to the right of the dropoff.
- Pitch One (5.8) - Trad - Gear anchor - 80 feet: Climb the thin face across and to the left of the tree up to the crack. Move up right to the small roof and left-facing corner (crux). Follow the crack up to the left, using the larger holds as you get closer to the top of the pitch. Either set an anchor on good ledges about 20 feet below the overhang, set an anchor on a large ledge higher up and to the left (about 15 feet left of the overhang), or continue through the overhang to the anchor (making this a one-pitch climb).
- Pitch Two (5.8) - Trad - Gear anchor - 80 feet: If anchoring to the left, traverse right on pumpy jugs to the base of the overhang, clip the pin and head straight up, exiting right onto the face that leads to the top. If climbing from below, then simply climb straight up through the overhang and step right as noted above (easier than the traversing option). Follow the path of least resistance up and left to the piton anchor about 20 feet below the top of the cliff. You may want to determine if you like this anchor as a rappel opportunity. If not, continue to the top (anchor situation is unclear at the top, but there are other rappel opportunities around).
- Descent: Rap all the way to the ground with two 60m ropes. One rope should make it, but I've never done it and can't say for sure if this would work. An option with one rope is to top out on the ledge and use one of the other raps stations on nearby climbs.
A year later and we returned. The heat wasn't so bad as last time, but the crowds were. I was thankful, though, that the man who had put up many of the routes was there to show me around. It was a weekend off, but I wanted to get out. An evening fundraiser kept me from playing too hard, but an early start would suffice. We drove until the road I'm not sure why I brought my trad gear. I've always wanted to trad climb here but I've never been able to pull myself away from the bolts. The bolts led the way up too many nice lines. Sigh, they would have to do. We chatted with a few friends and took a ride up an easy warm up. I'd done the route before but my partners were fresh meat. They lapped the horizontal ridge lines like a dog does with water from a bowl, and rightfully ignored the irrelevant mess on the floor after their first foray onto the grey and golden rock. It was busy over here, so we moved on. The cave up the hill was cool, dark, and damp. I felt the nip of the air just as I approached the opening, and I slipped in. My eyes had a difficult time adjusting, but I knew where I was going. Hushed voices around to the left became louder as my feet met the daylight. I turned the corner and noticed one new route right away. There were folks on it, though, so I showed my partners around. There's the 12 something that clears the roof, and eight is around the corner, and that's a short nine right there to the right. It's a one-move wonder, but what a wonderful move it is. It was late, and begging-for-money-from-the-generous was my next call of duty back home. We packed up, but before we left I asked the original climber a few questions. I was grateful to not only get his thoughts, but also a drawn map of the upper tier. He's a nice man and willing to show folks around so long as a guidebook isn't published any time soon. The climber's coalition owns the parking lot, and that's about it. The mortgage needs to be paid before the masses arrive, and there's no money to pay it. I like what they've done here, though. They've developed a nice series of crags, some bolts and some not. They've bought the parking lot in order to keep people from parking on private property. They've worked with the land owners and have developed a relationship that allows for climbing at such a good location. But most importantly, they've opened it up without opening too much. They've allowed people to come and enjoy without over-stepping their bounds. The money may not be there, but I hope it comes in. They've done this right, and I hope that continues. We pulled out of the parking lot satisfied with our day. It was short, it kicked our butts, but then again, choss always seems to have the upper hand.
narrowed, and then we drove some more until the speed slowed. We thought we had missed the new parking lot, but it was farther down.
One of my partners, the strongest of the three of us, found what looked like a nice line to the left of the nine. He clipped the draws to his harness and headed up. The start looked easy, but it wasn't. Then the middle was easy, but the next section was hard again: overhanging, juggy in the wrong spots and crimpy in the good spots. The feet pointed in the wrong direction and only a full leg bar in the roof itself allowed for any rest. He stretched long to clip the last bolt and topped out on thankfully easy terrain. Then another partner went up, and I after her. We flailed, but the man who put up many of the routes here came to join us. His barefoot climbing brought us shame, but we knew he was a better climber anyway.
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"Ratherbe" and I hadn't climbed outside together since our last adventure in 2008, and I had only one weekend outside on real rock, Moab excepted because, well, I didn't actually climb and what I did get up wasn't real rock. I wanted to take things easy, but deep down inside I felt more confident than I ever had been before. My strength had not yet returned after a long recovery from an ankle sprain, and yet things seemed to be clicking inside my head to the point where I was already thinking of jumping on 5.8s, which I normally leave as either projects or until June when I have a few weeks of the easy stuff under my belt. It was raining when we approached Camp Slime, but the rain stopped in time for us to pitch the tent. We crashed, went to sleep knowing that the rain would soon end (and that the rock would be dry when the sun came out), and woke up unexpectedly defeated. I woke a few times in the night, and I heard the water droplets pop down on the rain fly above me. Most of the time they were soft and intermittent, as if they were rolling off the leaves above us and not falling straight from the sky. But every now and again it was clearly raining: the pops were louder and more frequent, I could hear puddles forming on the ground outside. "Still," I thought to myself, "it's dark and I can't tell how long I've been asleep." If it was still night then there was still time for the rock to dry off by the time we rose from our slumber. The only downside would be that it would dry off later, but that didn't really bother me so much. I'd be fine as long as I got on rock at some point. I must have fallen back asleep because when I awoke later the rain was really coming down. "Ratherbe" was awake, too, but not just because of the noise. Her eyes were peeled open by the early morning light. It was day now, and the rain had not relented. Crap. This much rain falling this late in the morning meant we'd be waiting for hours. Yeah, I know, we're wimps. There are a lot of people out there who would rather squirm up waterfalls than not climb at all, but we don't belong to that group. Climbing for me is an escape. Adding wet rock to the equation doesn't eliminate the stress for me. The rain stopped about an hour later and we crawled out of the tent and into the mist. A thin cloud of precipitation hung over the entire valley. I couldn't see more than a hundred yards down the road. Breakfast was good, but slow. What do we do? We tossed around the idea of going to a movie, or heading into town to do whatever town offered: shopping, drinking, reading books for free at the local gear shop. A hike wouldn't be a bad idea. I didn't want to spend money if at all possible. We finally decided to do some scouting. Neither of us are particularly strong climbers. A 'Gunks 5.9 is pushing our limits and we'd both managed our first 5.9 leads last summer. It was time to expand on that success and add a few more to the tick list. I was even thinking of a few 5.10s as well. Since we'd both rather be climbing instead of sitting around on good days, we figured it was worth walking around to see all the 5.10s that seemed within our range: it had to be no harder than 5.10a, had to have a couple of stars, and it had to have at least a PG-rating. There aren't very many of those, but we found a few and headed off to get some exercise. I don't remember all the climbs we looked at, but none seemed doable to us. A couple of the tens that had been recommended to us as good openers to the grade seemed runout, thin, and devoid of good rests, the latter of which was important to gumbies such as us. It made us realize that we were probably dreaming above our abilities. But since we were near Ants Line, the 5.9 that she had conquered the year before, I wanted to take a look at it just to see if it should be added to my list of desired climbs. I had looked at it once before and felt that it was too intimidating for my tastes, but a mutual friend of ours suggested to me earlier in the week that it was much easier than it looked. Was I ready for this? Who knew, but I was going to look at it anyway. Well, it turned out to be my lucky day. While we were out walking around and pouting and waiting for the fog to lift and the rock to dry, two climbers we knew from the gym were racking up for Ants Line. We had nothing better to do, so we decided to sit back and watch. It was worthwhile to see it, but it was also both comical and nerve-wracking at the same time. The leader is a very strong climber with a good personality. He kept mentioning how wet the rock was all the way up, and sometimes we could tell the hesitation in his voice. I mentioned that I was glad I was giving it a pass on that particular day on lead, but the belayor offered to let me give it a ride on top rope. I was hesitant. I'd have to use someone's harness and I wasn't sure I wanted climb a wet 5.9 in my approach shoes. But the leader offered to let me wear his shoes with socks on. I could have worn them without socks, but I wear a normal size 8.5 and he wears a size 11. The funny thing is that his climbing shoes are supposed to be a fairly high-performance edging shoe, and here I was wearing them with socks. Oh well. After both the leader and belayor had taken a run, I hopped on the rope and worked my way up. Yep, it was wet; wet and slimey with water dripping through the crux. I took about five times due to the wetness and me jumping on a pumpy climb at my limit without a warm-up, but I eventually made it to the top. I felt considerably less intimidated by this route after I was finished because I realized it had a ton of jugs. Still at issue, though, is what is always at issue with 5.9s, awkwardness. There's just some really awkward positions. We took off after I climbed and checked out a few other areas before we noticed the weather was turning. It certainly wasn't sunny and warm all of a sudden, but the sun was trying to break through the valley mist and it was getting noticeably warmer. We had lunch and then decided to do one climb once it got a little warmer. We were going to meet "Wonderwoman" and "BEC" for dinner to celebrate "Wonderwoman"'s birthday that evening, and weren't sure what time dinner was going to be. I think we could have climbed later into the evening, but the rain had really dampened our spirits. I had done Maria the previous year with "KITT", The initial crack was wet, but my experience a couple of weekends before of climbing in my approach shoes had changed my perspective on what I could do with only a little bit of support under my feet. I moved up through the tricky crux and stepped right into the traverse with relative ease. It wasn't long before I was sitting at the anchor below the large, left-facing corner. I felt solid, and this was good to know. "Ratherbe" But then it was my turn to be hesitant. I racked up and headed up the right-facing corner that is the start of the third pitch. The roof loomed over me, but it didn't look that scary. However, once I got beneath it I realized how awkward and committing the moves are for clearing the roof. It was bizarre that it didn't scare me that much. I should have been much more nervous than I was. Instead, it was a matter of figuring out the sequence. I pivoted out over the corner two or three times before I finally figured out what to do and where the holds were. Before I knew it I was up and over and belaying "Ratherbe" to the top. We rapped off and headed back to the car with "BEC" and "Wonderwoman" for her birthday celebration. The food was tasty, the drinks smooth, the rain not so much (we were sitting on the balcony when the heavens opened that evening), and the games of pool fun. The evening came to an end and it was time to rest for what everyone hoped would be a better next day. I had done the first pitch with "LiClimbs" two weekends earlier, but it was too dark to continue up the rest of the climb so we bailed. I told "Ratherbe" that I wanted to clean that up as a warm up for the day's activities on Sunday and she agreed it was a good route to start on. She led the first two pitches fine (she strung them together), and I followed up, again in my approach shoes (as I had done with "LiClimbs"). "Ratherbe" was skeptical of this decision, but she didn't voice much opposition. She was the one leading the first two pitches and I'm not sure she thought the third pitch would be too much of a challenge at the grade. In the end it was my decision, so I went with it. The first pitch went fine. I had the same footwork issues in the same place as last time, but that was to be expected. Approach shoes don't edge as well climbing shoes and I wasn't leading this time. There was nothing to worry about. The Williams Guidebook suggests this is a four-pitch climb, but the I racked up and headed up the face to the roof. The gear was good so far and I could clearly see the line that I needed to take. But things became a little more stressful when got to the roof and discovered that the traverse to the jugs, and the face directly below the jugs, had few options for feet. "I should have worn my climbing shoes," I muttered to myself. It wasn't that it was hard, or that I needed my climbing shoes. Instead, it was more that the hands were clearly very good and the feet very thin. Climbing shoes would have helped to keep me from getting pumped out this early in the day. The traverse was fairly easy. Both the hands and feet were thin, but the jugs just at the lip of the roof were fantastically large enough to ensure good balance. I placed the best tri-cam I could get in the horizontal crack below the roof and reached up to the obvious ledge that made the top of the roof - wet! Ugh. The rain had obviously stuck around longer than I expected. I backed down to the lower jugs and dead-armed for a few minutes while I chalked up. This was a little discouraging because the feet weren't great and I was going to need the ledge to be solid while I smeared up to foot holds. I finished chalking up and went back to the ledge, but the ledge wasn't just wet; there was a puddle up there and any chalk that I had caked onto my palm, fingers, and knuckles disappeared the instant I set my hand down. I muttered a few bad words and down-climbed to the jugs. I was tired this time and needed a moment to collect my thoughts. The only place to rest was before the traverse, so I delicately moved back across to the right, asking "Ratherbe" where the foot holds were because I was blinded both by the rock and the size of my springtime belly. I rested for a couple of minutes, thought out the moves, and headed back to the jugs. I wasn't afraid. In fact, I was confident that I could do this very easily. But what stopped me was the fatigue. The time off as a result of a sprained ankle had sapped me of most of what I had in the tank before I slipped on the ice in February. Its tough coming back from that after so much inactivity. I'm too old to simply start off where I once was. Being in decent shape requires maintenance, and I had cut that part of the budget when things got tight. I was committed, and when I got back to the jugs, I went for it, moving past the slick and sloppy ledge and up to the next hold, which, as it turned out, wasn't the jug I would have expected on a 5.5. "What the hell?" I thought to myself. The key hand-hold after the freaking puddle was a small, square-shaped ledge the size of my fist, and it sloped slightly to the right and was wet just enough to keep me from getting a good hold of it. My bicep was burning from the semi-mantle off the puddle-filled ledge and so I slowly lowered myself down to the jugs and, trying to ask for less help from "Ratherbe" this time, traversed back to the right for another rest. I shook my head and muttered a few words of disbelief. It wasn't because I was scared! That was the difference. It was easy and I knew I could do it, but my body was so far behind my head that I simply didn't want to trust the sketchy tri-cam at the crux. "For the love of God!" I shouted in my head. "Alright, this is it." I wasn't going to take no for an answer this time. I was either going to do it or fall. That was it. I didn't care about the potential swing if the tri-cam ripped, or the fact that my body would potentially hurtle down to the large belay ledge below. "No, fuck that. It's a 5.5. Who cares if it's wet?" I was tired before I even started. My outstretched muscles ached as I chalked up at the jugs. The puddle soaked my right hand and then my left hand as I matched on the ledge and moved my feet higher. I flicked my hip upward and snagged the stupid square hold and held myself there for what seemed like an eternity. "Great," I thought, "I've got the hold...now what?" I wouldn't say that my body position was awkward, but it certainly would have been if I had moved any of my four extremities. They all held me in that perfect spot, where I knew I wasn't going anywhere until the first extremity to lose all holding power collapsed with the full weight of my body tumbling after it. I thought about high-stepping with my right foot, but it was too high and awkward for me to do it confidently. To do that would have required putting too much weight on my left hand, the one that was on the insecure square hold at the top. I could have bumped my left hand higher if there were any holds that I could reach. My right hand was firmly pressed deep into the puddle and wasn't going anywhere unless I could move my - It took me no longer than a minute to finish the pitch. "Ratherbe" wanted to get on the ultra-classic Arrow and I was all too eager to join her. I had done this route a few years earlier with "Captain Obvious" and had ever since regarded it as one of the greatest climbs I've ever done. The first pitch is about as fun as a route can get: easy 5.6 face moves with lovely gear placements and fun, exposed climbing on gorgeous crimps and edges. We got there just as a guide was about to set up a top rope and we jumped ahead of him before he could get his harness on (OK - so he let us go, but we were quick). I had so much fun on this climb that I professed to a complete stranger two routes over that if I were the king of climbing I'd ban all vertical cracks. I brought "Ratherbe" up and she racked up for the famous second pitch. I Annie Oh (5.8) - Two pitches (we only did the second pitch) - Trad - Tree and Bolted anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info) Our original intent was to rap back down to the ledge to do the second pitch of Limelight (5.7), the route that "Ratherbe" and I had chosen as our early-season warmup the previous spring. Back then it was too cold, and I seconded it but with a lot of pain. The crimps and raw temps were brutal on my fingertips, and I swear that I never would have made it up on lead that day. I was lucky to have made it up on TR. But Limelight was taken, and so "Ratherbe" recommended another of her favorite climbs, the second pitch of "Annie Oh." I wanted to do both pitches, but between "Ratherbe" suggesting the first pitch was terrible and the fact that there were folks toproping it, we decided to hit the second pitch only. It was getting late anyway, and we wanted to head out at a reasonable time in the afternoon. So I racked up and headed up the blocky mess at the start. Easy enough. I then moved up to the more technical climbing and came to the upward-facing and seemingly death-encouraging flake. I It had been a while since "Ratherbe" last climbed this route, so she couldn't offer any help. I wasn't going to down-climb. This was a route that should have been within my skill-level, so I said "screw it" and followed the chalk. The funny thing is that this isn't even the crux. I learned that as soon as I grabbed onto the top of the flake and traversed right. It sure looked scary when I was finally directly below it with both hands firmly attached at the top. But just as I was going move upward off it, I noticed a hand-sized horizontal crack to the right. "Hmmm...," I thought. It had chalk on it and it appeared to be far more stable than the flake, so I reached out and grabbed it, moved my feet into a better position below it, and stood up. The upper gap was easily within reach now, and I could happily move up to the real crux at the top. The next few moves were tricky but easy. I felt so good about them. I was well above my gear at this point, but I felt fine moving through the larger 5.8 moves. I finally found a good spot to plug one last piece and I encountered the crux: a move up to two jugs for feet with no hands, all the while being pushed backward into space by an overhanging boulder sitting in just the wrong spot. The puzzle was fun to guess, but I couldn't figure it out. "Ratherbe" remembered the move, and she offered to give it up, but I refused. I wanted to figure this out. It stumped me though. There were no hands up high for pulling, and the obvious foot holds were both as waist level. Finally I turned and looked down and said, "I'm going to high-step and then do a mantle to get my other foot up, and then stand up with no hands. How does that sound?" She looked up at me said, "You do what you have to do." I was hoping for a little more confirmation. I mean, if I had guessed correctly then the guesswork was over. All I had to do was execute. It was a little nerve-wracking, moving my feet up high without any hand holds to speak of, but I got my left foot up high and then pushed off the jug on the right side with both hands until I was high enough to match my right foot to my hands. Bingo. I stood up with no hands and once again professed my love for a climb to the strangers who were right above me. To steal a word from Hemmingway, it was grand, as grand as a climb could get, and I was standing on top.
- Me: What time is it?
- "Rathberbe": A bit before eight.
- "Ratherbe": I wish I had my short rope. We could do self-rescue stuff.
- Me: I forgot my book. I usually have it in my bag's pocket.
- "Ratherbe": I don't feel like getting things wet anyway, not if we're going to use them tommorrow.
Ant's Line (5.9) - One pitch - Trad - Bolted anchors (<-- click her for guidebook info)
Maria (5.6+) - Three pitches - Trad - Gear anchors (<-- click here for guidebook info)
but we couldn't find the start of the third pitch and decided to head down after climbing the second. We had been told that the money pitch on Maria was the second pitch, and so it didn't seem so bad that we didn't finish it up. However, after that weekend, several folks told us that the real money pitch was the third, and that clearing the roof was as fun of a move as any at the grade in the 'Gunks. Since learning that, I had always wanted to finish that up. Both "Ratherbe" and I are solid enough to climb a wet 5.6, so we headed off and got there just ahead of a family that wanted to set up a top rope on Frog's Head (5.6) nearby. Since we got there before them, and since the first 20 feet of Maria is shared with Frog's Head, they graciously let us go first and up I went.
was up next, and she soon discovered that the corner was still wet. I found it odd that she was as nervous as she was considering she is a much stronger climber than I am, but I chalked it up to her spending a week in the dry condition out in Red Rocks and me ready for the instability because I had lost my shoes two weeks before and was required to climb with a little more trepidation. However, my impressions changed when I made it to the crux. It wasn't just the crack that was wet in this specific spot, but also the face on the opposite side. This was the crux because the jugs had ended. Good feet and balance was needed to step through the thin series of moves just below the ledge. I was nervous even as the second and told "Ratherbe" as much when I topped out. We agreed that Maria is no picnic when wet.
Middle Earth (5.5) - Two pitches - Trad - Gear anchors (<-- click here for guidebook info)
third pitch is really a walk along the GT Ledge. It's more than a few feet over, so I can understand why this would be described as a pitch, but I just don't see it as such. I walked over to the start and pulled the rope when "Ratherbe" had taken down the anchor. I scanned the pitch above me and didn't see anything overly daunting. It looked to be a quick climb up the shallow corner to the roof, then a traverse left to the jugs, and finally up over the roof. Easy. But then I read the guidebook and it said "This crux is the same as Wonderland - harder if short". "Hmmm," I thought to myself. "I have no clue how hard Wonderland is, but how hard can this really be? It's only 5.5."
- "Ratherbe": Why don't put your left foot on the jug?
- Me: Oh.
Arrow (5.8) - Two pitches - Trad - Bolted anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info) 
honestly don't know which pitch is better. The first pitch has such nicely spaced out semi-dynamic moves that it is difficult to believe anything could be more enjoyable. But the second pitch, with its similar style is different in that the notch (or the "arrow") at the start is juggy and overhanging, the middle is run out on slick, white, crystal knobs, and the top has what I call the blowjob hold. You get up to where it is and you feel around, but you don't find it. You lower to a rest, move right, and feel around again before you realize there's nothing there. You stand up directly above the bolt and feel around again, but still realize that you have no clue where this thing is. You retreat for another rest and move up again, feeling, feeling, finding nothing, nothing at all, completely and absolutely nothing and you're just about to give up until - OH! OH! OH! God yes! Oh yes! OH GOD! HOLY CRAP! I FOUND IT! I FOUND IT! WOOHOO!! - and you're at the anchors before you can clean up.
couldn't believe it when I first saw it. This thing looked as if it could be trundled by me breathing on it let alone weighting it, and it was loaded with chalk. I looked at it and the thin horizontal gap in the rock about three feet above. Was I going to have to make a dynamic move off this thing? There was no way I was going to do this. The thing is that my head was so confident this weekend. It just was. I had felt it building up the past few weeks and I thought this was a good thing. The fact that I was taking a step forward was not only something to get excited about but it was also believable. But here I was, staring at a death flake that seemingly required a dynamic move off of it to gain the spicy holds above, and I was about six feet above my last piece. I certainly wasn't going to place a piece behind it. If I fell after pulling off the flake then I didn't want my falling weight to pull this kitchen sink-sized block on top of me.
Click here for all 2009 'Gunks photos.
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