The Start of A Grand Adventure Day 3, the Approach From Hell

My "on again, off again" sleep pattern held true until right before my alarm went off. I looked at the watch and it was almost 5:30am. We wanted to get an early start for permits but I wanted to get an even earlier start so I could catch the sunrise on the mountains. So I crawled out of my nylon cocoon and quietly exited the cabin with camera in hand. It wasn't ridiculously cold but I was just sitting in a quiet field, moon at the crest of the mountains, waiting for the sun to rise. I had read the sunrise chart on the caretaker's door the night before and it said 6:55. The ranger's station opened at 7:30 so I figured I'd get a few photos, eat breakfast and be at the ranger's station in plenty of time. I had volunteered to set the alarm and get "Busterman" up since I'd be wake up earlier than him. The sun didn't really rise until almost 7:15, so I was then in a rush to get things going. After waking "Busterman" we hopped in the car, ate some frozen bagels and headed to the Jenny Lake Ranger Station to get our backcountry permits.

We got to the parking lot at Jenny Lake and munched for a bit on bagels before heading inside. When we got there we had to wait behind another team, which they didn't take too long. The permitting process was really straightforward and simple. The ranger asked our destination and what zone we wanted to camp in. Garnet Canyon, which leads in a fairly east/west fashion, is located on the south side of the Grand Teton. It leads up to the lower saddle, a location of diametrical opposition caught between the Middle and Grand Tetons, and above the South Fork of Cascade Canyon. In Garnet Canyon there are four camping zones. the highest is the Lower Saddle, which is where we would be spending our first two nights. Below that is the Moraine, just past the Middle Teton Glacier. Further from our main destination was the Caves camping zone, a collection of rocky holes just below Spaulding Falls. Lastly, is the Meadows camping zone, which is where we spent our last night. The friendly ranger asked what routes we were heading for, and the phone number of an emergency contact, in case we didn't show up when we said we would. The climbing rangers are the ones to ask for beta, they know the park like the back of their hand and can give you beta on the climbs you want to do. Thankfully, the backcountry permits are free and with our permit in hand we exited the ranger station and headed for the Lupine Meadows trailhead.

The trailhead at Lupine Meadows is a huge parking lot, almost a quarter mile long, where hikers, climbers, and mountaineers start their journey into the mountains. It's strange to think that many people had come and gone from the same spot in which we stood and all had left with there own unique experience. Some of success, some of failure, but all unique, and here we were about to start our adventure. We grabbed our packs and trekking poles and started walking towards our goal.

The hike to the lower saddle is kind of a pain in the ass. The trail through Garnet Canyon gains about five thousand feet in six and a half miles, and that's just to the lower saddle. It doesn't seem that steep but it is relentless. With my knee still bothering me I took it pretty slow and with "Busterman" being, in his own words, "a competitive hiker," I got left in the dust. So I slowly plodded along and every once and a while I caught up with him because waited to make sure I was still coming with him. The sagebrush flats quickly changed to pine and spruce, then around Spalding Falls the forest let go to the alpine zone. Even above the treeline it was pretty warm. The sun was strong and all that damned food I thought we needed weighed me down, making me even slower.

I caught up with "Busterman" for the last time near Spaulding Falls. It wasn't until I got to the lower saddle that I caught up with him again. With the first half of the hike being nothing but a warmup for the second half, I was really starting to feel the weight. The talus scrambling got harder and harder as multiple trails started to fan through the glacial moraine. A little ways above Spaulding Falls I caught my first glimpse of the Middle Teton Glacier. I've never been on a glacier so it was something to focus on besides the obvious weight on my back and pain in my leg. I continued on for what seemed like hours. At this point I knew the altitude was taking it's toll on me. Usually I don't feel the altitude till around eleven thousand feet, but here I was sucking wind at nine thousand. I plodded on for a while longer until I came to a low angle, broken, cliff that marks the last obstacle one must overcome before arriving at the Lower Saddle campground. There are several fixed lines for some reason, which I eschewed because...well why would you need a fixed line if you're aiming to climb the Grand Teton? If you can't do a third class scramble then you might as well turn around.I hiked to the brink of the lower saddle and took in my surroundings. To the south was Middle Teton and it's opposite to the North was the Grand Teton, our goal for the trip. To the east and west were Garnet Canyon and the South Fork of Cascade Canyon. The position of that spot is terrific. The canyons make it feel like you're on the edge of the world and the two mountains on either side make it feel like you're in the bowels of the earth. Suffice it to say it's got a really nice view. After relieving myself and taking a rest I looked around for "Busterman".

It turns out he'd been hanging out waiting for me to come with the tent for a while. He'd already unpacked his things and had even gotten the kitchen set up. I was pretty tired but "Busterman" still had enough energy to scope out the approach after we set up the tent. I relaxed for a while and read the guidebook to get more information about the climb. Our main objective, the full Exum Ridge, was a little over twenty five hundred feet in length. With most of it being moderate ground I wasn't worried about getting turned around by difficult climbing, in fact we planned to simul-climb the entire thing. Instead I wondered if I'd be able to keep the pace going, if we'd be able to find the start in the dark, or if bad weather would move in.

While pondering these things "Busterman" had made his way back and made the approach sound relatively simple. Basically we followed the obvious black dike to a big chimney. Satisfied that we'd find it, especially with "Busterman" saying that routefinding was a strength of his, I started dinner. I decided on pasta with some brocolli and chicken, topped with alfredo sauce. This was by far the lightest and most filling meal we would have during this trip. I don't even think the celebratory pizza we had on our last night was as good.

After stuffing our faces we talked about what we'd like to do during the winter. Trying the Grand in winter was on the list but sticking closer to home was more feasible. The moon came out nice and bright and as temperatures dropped I was glad the tent provided an abundance of warmth that allowed me to stay warm and comfortable in my old thirty degree bag. Tomorrow was the big day and I was excited and nervous. Fortunately, my body convinced my brain to rest and I quickly fell asleep and started the countdown to ascent.

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The Start of a Grand Adventure - Day 2, The Drive

My eyes blinked open at the white, popcorn ceiling. I reached down and grabbed my phone off the wood floor; it was still half an hour before we'd agreed to wake up and start getting ready. The tiny screen flickered while I surfed the Internet. After checking my e-mail and browsing for a little while, I played some phone games until my bladder forced me to empty it. A little bit later I heard "Busterman's" alarm. I went back to the phone games till he came to make sure I was awake. I had sort of expected we'd be leaving fairly soon so I was surprised when "Busterman's" mom warmed some breakfast burritos for us and we had sort of a slow start.

Eventually though we got on the road. It's a long drive from Loveland to the south entrance of Grand Teton National Park, a little over eight hours. "Busterman" started us off and I fell asleep sometime between Vedauwoo and Rock Springs. Outside of Rock Springs I woke up and searched for my wallet, because it was my turn to pay for gas. I groggily pumped gas as someone pulled in behind us. I watched as they failed to turn off their vehicle and all occupants piled out of the car. I'd finished filling up and got into the driver's side of the car waiting for "Busterman". As I watched the vehicle behind I noted the tall pretty girl who had stepped out of the vehicle. I then watched her lean against the tan SUV and light a cigarette while standing there next to the no smoking sign. "Busterman" opened the door on the passenger side.

- Me: Look at these idiots behind us.
- "Busterman": Hmm, we should leave.
- Me: I agree, I'd hate for us to get blown up before we get a chance to plummet to our death.

It's always interesting how incredibly dumb people can be and how that lack of intelligence may drastically effect the lives of others. I started the car and we were back on the road again. The winding hills blended together as we passed car after car and small town after small town. Eventually we caught a glimpse of the Wind Rivers, with both of us expressing interest in sampling the mountains of another range. Soon after the scenery started to change from sagebrush flatlands to pinyon and juniper forest. The hills became bigger till we were driving through a dark valley. We were so close I started imagining it would be around the next corner but even as we drove into Jackson Hole we had yet to catch a glimpse.

Jackson Hole is a nice tourist town that reminds me a lot of Estes Park only with that distinctly Wyoming flair. Traffic was intolerable as RV's and trailers bumbled through town at a pace suggesting far less urgency than our own. Finally, we were out of Jackson Hole and we still hadn't seen any mountains. Did this place even exist?, I wondered. All of a sudden I saw it, just a short glimpse. I wondered if it was just me wishing for a place that I had yet to actually see but then we drove past another large hill and there it was sticking out stolidly from the landscape. I nudged "Busterman" awake and we both uttered expletives of amazement. The Teton's really jump out from the landscape. With about seven thousand feet of elevation gain in less than seven miles it's one hell of a stairmaster. By the end of the trip my ass was worthy of GQ. Besides that, there are not really any foothills. One minute you're driving, the next minute their is a huge mountain range staring you in the face. I was a little surprised at how sharp it looked. I'd seen pictures of the Grand and it didn't seem so needle-like, but there it was sticking into the sky, steep and imposing.We paid for entrance to the park and quickly headed toward the Jenny Lake Ranger Station. It wasn't quite five and I figured we could maybe get a permit and head up to the Lower Saddle that night. Unfortunately, we found out the permit office closed an hour before so, on the advice of the souvenir shop person, we went to the ranger station at the park entrance to see if we could get a permit there. Don't do this, they cannot issue backcountry permits for the zones in the main Teton climbing areas. After figuring out that the nearest campsites were full we decided to head to the American Alpine Club (AAC) Climber's Ranch. As far as sleeping accommodations went this was our cheapest, closest option.

Rolling into the parking lot we read the sign on the door. The caretaker was climbing and wouldn't be back till later tonight, paying for showers was on the honor system. It didn't say we had to pay for the cabin so we might as well figure that out later. Wandering around the ranch we finally found a cabin. A horrible smelling one, but at least we wouldn't have to stealth camp. After unpacking our camping gear we decided to get the climbing gear together. Gear logistics are always a leap of faith for me. If you leave something behind there's always a chance you'll be sorely missing it at some point. Our rope system for alpine climbing had become pretty standard since our last winter in Rocky Mountain National Park. We climb on one half of a half rope set and drag along a seven mil tag line. Not UIAA approved but it's alpine climbing. The rules of safety are a lot more flexible. We brought a slim rack of cams and a single set of nuts. There'd be no sewing it up this week. When we got to ice and snow gear we had a hard time deciding. We knew there had been snow but we weren't sure how much. There were no major storms in the forecast but the mountains are always unpredictable. In the end we decided against crampons and ice axes because the forecast and info we gathered from other climbers led us to believe we would be able to circumnavigate any ice or snow.

After we sorted the gear we decided to explore for a little while. I gotta say, the AAC Climber's Ranch is pretty cool. People leave their extra food there so we had a nice selection of snacks before dinner while we relaxed in the library, which had a good selection of guidebooks, instructional books, and mountain narratives. There are pay showers, indoor bathrooms, and a nice kitchen area to clean your dishes. If one is still looking for some exercise there's a nice woody on the outside of the bathroom/kitchen building to get a good pump. Given all the accommodations it's relatively cheap, only $20 for non-AAC members.

After exploring a little bit we started making dinner. I'm not gonna lie, I make a pretty damn good meal for something that just gets boiled in a pot. We had southwest chicken with some green beans and quionoa. There were a few other denizens roaming about eating steak with wine. They were all on a guided trip with Exum, one of the local guide services. It was interesting to hear that they all had very different backgrounds and experience levels. After a little more conversation and food we cleaned up our cooking gear and retired to the library where I looked over maps for a little while until I became bored and decided to go to bed. It was only about nine but the moon was coming out bright to light the mountains as I walked to our cabin.

The door slammed into the bunk as I walked into the cabin, and an overpowering odor filled my nostrils. It wasn't the type of odor that comes from climbers. I started trying to find the cause of the odor as it seemed stronger towards the door than anywhere else. I moved the bunks and there it was; a dead mouse. The source identified, I sought a way to get rid of the awful thing. I went outside and found a stick and like a curious child went inside and tried to prod the minute carcass from the floor to it's final resting place outside. I retched a little as I flipped it towards the door. The overpowering odor and the bug crawling out of the small body were a little much. Scary runouts I can generally handle, nasty smells and crawling beetles covered in bloody goo, not so much.

The odor dispatched, I climbed up into my bunk and turned my sleeping bag so my head was far away from the former spot of the dead body. "Busterman" came in soon after. He hadn't really noticed the smell and remained unfazed about the entire dead mouse incident. After deciding to get up with the sun around six I pushed images of the gooey mouse out of my head and tried to sleep. Once again I didn't sleep very well. The moon was intensely bright. So much so that I woke up a few times thinking we'd overslept. That anxiousness combined with my excitement and lingering odor made for a restless night.

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The Start of a Grand Adventure - Day One

"I'm going to climb the Grand!" I practically screamed into the phone. "Iowa" was not as happy that I was going to be gone but she was happy that I was finally happy. It had not been a sure thing. "Busterman" was good with his time away from home but I was worried things would fall apart with people covering for me at my jobs. The time of departure was getting closer and things came together and fell apart with each setting sun. The plan was to leave Thursday night after I got done work and to come back Wednesday night or Thursday morning. A full week of climbing in Grand Teton National Park! Unfortunately, the person planning to cover my shift had a problem with his internship and the night before I was going to leave I was still unsure if he would show up for me or not. I stopped calling people. I didn't want to know whether things went to hell in a handbasket after I left. I wanted to go climbing.

By Wednesday night all my gear was packed. I put myself in charge of food and as I lifted that bag I lamented my need of tasty food and snacks. The food alone felt like twenty pounds and I hadn't even added in my personal camping and climbing gear. Thursday afternoon saw my seventy liter pack full to the brim and me tottering underneath it. The gear explosion was now finally cleaned up from the spare bedroom. We both decided to pack for early winter conditions since the Tetons had experienced what sounded like a pretty large snowstorm just a few weeks before our arrival. It is Thursday just before ten 'o' clock and I'm rushing through work. Deposit is done, e-mails are done, phone messages forwarded, floor cleaned, ropes tied up, and finally I walked out the door with minutes to spare before the clock struck ten. I called "Busterman" to let him know I was on my way. He wasn't quite finished packing but he had a little more than an hour before I met him in Loveland. I wanted to get the driving done with. "Busterman" was content to wake up early in the morning. When I arrived he was still packing. While I thumbed through the guidebook we decided to stay the night and leave in the morning.

I tossed and turned in the foreign bed, too excited to fall asleep. Our main goal was to summit the Grand Teton via the Exum Ridge (5.7 IV). We were going to simul-climb from top to bottom. When I'd first called "Busterman" I had illusions of doing the Grand Traverse (5.8 V) in a day; my eyes are always bigger than my stomach. After both agreeing on the Exum we decided we didn't care what else we did. Our main concern was weather since it was late in the season and the Tetons had already received some snow. My own main concern was my knee. I hadn't gone to a doctor because I didn't feel like paying a specialist hundreds of dollars to tell me what I already knew: It had to be a meniscus tear. The dull pain on the outside of my knee increased in intensity whenever I went to kneel or step up. The dull ache that would go away if only I would stop pushing so hard. That's what I get for trying to set speed records in the dark. If two hours car-to-car up Otto's Route on Independence Monument isn't a speed record then I don't need to know. Ignorance is bliss.

I lay there for hours with so many thoughts running through my head. What if it was too cold? Could my legs handle all that vertical? Who'd lead the crux pitches? How much gear should I place? Where would we stay? Would we be able to get a backcountry permit? Eventually the thoughts died down and I drifted into restless sleep with thoughts of climbing occasionally awaking me. We had made a small amount of progress on our Grand adventure.

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A Weekend of Debauchery

It was to be a one-day assault on the 'Gunks. Saturday called for beautiful sun and Sunday called for rain. There was a hint of flirtation in the air and enough childish innocence amongst the gathering of thirty somethings to make gizzard blush. But we weren't there for anything but the climbing...or were we?

- "Caboose": So "Blow"'s at a bachelor party down at Foxwoods.
- "Ratherbe": Is he going to blow your collective fortune?
- "Caboose": I hope not. I told him not to drink or gamble too much, but it is a bachelor party.
- "Ratherbe": At least there isn't a strip club there.
- Me: Oh, don't worry, they'll just hire the strippers for the room.
- Both Girls: GREG!!!!!

I had never slept with two women. Once we set up the tent it was obvious it was going to be longer still. I had managed to talk "Caboose" back off the edge by convincing her that her husband was as good a man as I've ever met. I convinced her that the guys I went to a bachelor party with last year in Manhattan were men I wouldn't trust to do anything but get me through my first real strip club adventure. She hinted that the guys he was with might have been hatched from the same egg. I countered with, "but he's not one of those guys." She stepped back but never took her eye off the running start she'd need to clear the cliff's edge. "Ratherbe" duct-taped my mouth shut and I mumbled, "mm mmmm, mmm mmm mmmmmm mmmm" trying to get "Caboose" to turn around completely and walk back to sanity. She did, and I was happy to have stepped away from trouble, until I later on, in the tent and under the cover of complete darkness, with me on one side, "Caboose" in the middle, and "Ratherbe" on the far side, I heard "Caboose" utter the words - "so that's my boob."

Apparently "Caboose" had more to worry about "Ratherbe" than she did "Blow", and there I was without my night vision goggles.

(side note: I've only been to three strip clubs my entire life. I'm really not a strip club kind of guy. I've got nothing against naked women, per se, but these places just don't get me up like the real deal does. The first two times I went was the same night in Atlantic City when a college friend of mine and I flew to visit his parents in Cape May, NJ. His father, a NJ Cop, picked us up in Philly, learned that I had never had fun in my life, and drove us first to one of those peepshow places where everyone sits in a private booth with a window that opens up to the circular stage on the inside.

I had no clue what I was doing, and my friend and I were still both 18 years old. They both told me to not look the manager in the eye, pop a quarter in the slot, open the door, and get in the booth before he could ask for I.D.. "OK," I said and we went in. The father went to the right, drawing the front desk worker's eye with him. My friend took advantage of the lack of security and went straight ahead to the first open booth. I couldn't see an open booth. So I started to the left, away from the front desk, and just as I saw an open booth, the manager came around the corner and glared at me. He saw my deer-in-headlights eyes and he pointed at me: "You," he said, "I need an I.D.." I didn't have one that would get me in, so I told the truth and went outside on my own. I sat with my chin buried in my palms on the front steps of the club. I'm from small town Maine and I was alone, in the dark, at a sketchy building in a dodgy part of Atlantic City, and I was practically crapping my pants every time someone walked by. It was ten minutes later when my friend and his father came out and said, "don't worry, there's a reason why it was only a quarter to get in. You didn't miss much."

We then went to a classier place. It had a $50 cover and my buddy's father paid the law enforcement discount to get us in. Now, these girls were something to adore, but I had no clue what to do. One of the girls, who was probably the one who started my affection for baldness, managed to squeeze herself in between my knees. "What the hell does she want?" I thought to myself. "I thought they just danced on stage."

I looked at my friend and his father for help. They smiled and said, "pay her, dude." I asked how much (which, in hindsight, was probably a tip off to the girl that I was a complete moron), and they said, "give her a twenty."

I thought for a moment and realized I only had forty bucks on me for the entire weekend. That was going to have to get me through the weekend AND the drive back to Maine. "No way," I said. "I need that money for food!"

My friend and his father grabbed me and we exited the club before they had a chance to throw us out. Too bad, too, because that experience affected the third time I went to a club, which was several years later for the bachelor party noted above. I thought I knew what I was doing this time, and I dropped twenties like I had an ATM in my pocket (no one actually asked me if that was an ATM in my pocket or if I was happy to see them - kind of a bummer actually). My problem, though, was that I didn't know that I COULD say no. Honestly, I thought if I did I was going to get thrown out. It took several of the guys who did know what they were doing to hijack me and drag me to the bar (not that the bar was any cheaper) before I blew my cash before 9pm.

I think it can be safely said that I have no clue how to be dirty strip club kind of guy, and I think it is even safer to say that "Blow" is far beyond me as a stand-up guy (though he may very well have more strip club capabilities than me). I wasn't worried about him and I felt that "Caboose" needed to understand that. Of course, she did in the end, but it sure was fun going through the process.)

Arrow (5.8) - Two Pitches - Trad - Bolted Anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

Pretty much everyone knows about my ankle problems this year. I was still recovering after falling on Moby Grape on Cannon and on the corner of a tarred path heading in to Quincy Quarry. I'd been to the doctor twice, worn the braces I was supposed to wear, and generally felt fine. The ligament I tore didn't cause any pain while walking or using stairs, but it did when I was in bed with heavy covers preventing my foot from remaining in an upright and normal position. The season was running late and I was worried about not climbing outside in the northeast for a long time into the future. If I was going to get out then I was going to climb hurt. That was my decision. I figured that if things went well I could stay on easy stuff. If not, then I could sit by the water at Split Rock and read or write while the others got their rocks off in the beautiful autumn air.

It was supposed to be the three of us meeting two others: "Shadow" and "Onions". "There was something amiss between "Ratherbe" and "Shadow" that I just couldn't put my finger on. "Onions" was late to the show, so "Caboose" and I paired off to tackle Arrow while the other two ran up a couple of climbs to the left. My hope was that the first pitch of Arrow, which is 5.6, would give me a good feel for where I was at. If I felt good then we'd do the second pitch. If not, then we'd rap down and "Caboose" would join the other two, who, as it seemed, were having a rather mysterious and fun time with each other. I felt good and gave the second pitch a go. It was touchy-feely for a bit, but I finally sacked up and made the smearing moves midway up the upper face that were making me nervous. The climb went down clean and "Caboose" came up behind me and we rapped off.

Double Crack (5.8) - Two Pitches (recommended) - Trad - Gear / Sling Anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

Next up was Double Crack. This is a bit of a test-piece at the grade and it was something "Ratherbe" had wanted to do for a while. I was nervous about it because while I discovered I could smear, I was worried about foot jams. The goal was for "Ratherbe" to lead it and determine if there were any jams at all ("Caboose" was also suffering from a sprained wrist). If there weren't we'd go up behind her. If there were then she'd rap down and clean along the way. "Shadow" and "Onions" had finally met up, and they followed us like puppy dogs to the area around Double Crack. I wasn't sure why they insisted on climbing near us, there they were regardless. They went off to do a nearby route while "Caboose" and I watched "Ratherbe" climb.

The start was a struggle for her. In fact, we all thought she was going to spit off a couple of times. One was from a moment when she clearly slipped and the other time(s) was from sheer fatigue. It looked like hard climbing, particularly when she went head first into the wide crack above before sliding her hips into place so that her whole body sat awkwardly in the final opening before the top. But she got the onsight, pulled the rope tight for me follow her lead, and I got about 12 feet off the deck when my good foot slipped and all my weight landed on my bad foot, and what had earlier been fine was suddenly sore to the point where I didn't want to continue. Because of rope stretch and because a second-climber had broken an ankle on this route sometime in the recent past, I asked for a spot before I let go. When I did, I slowly dangled in the air until I gently caressed the ground with my feet; there was enough stretch in the rope that I went all the way to the ground without "Ratherbe" lowering me an inch. I gave myself some slack by walking uphill and unbonded myself so that "Caboose" could tie in and give the route a go. She made it to the wide crack before her bad hand got stuck in a hand jam. She fell but was able to finish the route without an other issues.

"Shadow" and "Onions" had finished their climb and we all decided to head back toward the City Lights (5.8-) and Maria (5.6+) area. "Caboose", "Onions", and I walked slowly behind "Shadow" and "Ratherbe" while they suspiciously chatted away in front. "What could be going on?" we wondered from behind. "Two single people walking happily together away from the pack?" It just didn't seem right, particularly since "Ratherbe" had managed to feel "Caboose" up the night before. I was skeptical, but I suspected the two in front of us wanted to climb together.

Maria (5.6+) - Three Pitches - Trad - Gear Anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

But even though we all had our suspicions, "Ratherbe" wanted to give Maria Direct (5.9) a go. She had seconded it once before and felt strong enough to get up through it on this day. So "Onions" and "Shadow" went off to do a roof climb called Genie (5.9) while "Caboose" and I gave a spot to "Ratherbe" on her attempt to get up a somewhat dangerous climb.

Maria Direct avoids the long traversing first pitch that is a part of the 5.6 version of Maria. In instead goes straight up past a horizontal crack before going past a hard bulge. The landing below the difficult moves is rocky and there's a serious potential to get hurt if the belay isn't excellent and the climber falls at the bulge before getting good gear in (getting gear is also tough due to the pumpy nature of the bulge).

"Ratherbe" initially had trouble getting up to the horizontal (where the first piece of gear is) without using some sort of dynamic move. She tried several times and each time we literally caught her before she touched the ground. Each time our hands ventured to strange places and each time we spit out odd phrases such as:

- "Push the gopher back."
- "Nice ass."
- "My finger stinks."
- "I didn't get enough the first time, can we do it again?"

At one point "Caboose"'s wrist was hurting from all the action so she bailed and "Shadow", who was now finished bagging Genie, excitedly joined in for two more catches. "Ratherbe" eventually got her fingers firmly into the crack where she was happy to plug some protection, but the bulge above proved to be too hard for her to take. So she lowered and decided that she'd rather climb Genie instead. That left "Caboose" and I to head up Maria the traditional way. And despite the fact that "Ratherbe" was giving me a hard time for taking the "tall" route on the traverse (I was supposedly not taking into account that my second, "Caboose" is much shorter than me), "Caboose" made it fine to the bottom of the long corner that makes Maria such a great climb (well, the roof on the third pitch does, too, but I don't think people really think about the roof when they think about this climb). I then racked up for the second pitch.

First things first: "Greggiepoo" as a nickname was not something I condoned, but there it was, stuck in the cool evening air and lingering like a regrettable three-day old glass of milk left on the counter for an unknowing victim to drink. It stuck for the rest of the weekend and for that I have "Caboose" to thank. After all, it is somewhat better than my original nickname of "The Old Man Burns" (or, T.O.M.B. for short). I'm not sure who it is better for, but I hear that it is, in fact, better.

Second: I had forgotten how sparse the gear is on the second pitch of Maria. The gear that's there is bomber, but I found myself run out 20 to 30 feet at times. That might have been a result of my rustiness from inactivity, but I admit that I looked down several times only to look up and mutter, "where's the fucking gear?"

Now, I wasn't worried about the runouts. My lead head has been powerful all year, but I was more afraid on this pitch than I was at any other time this summer, and that included the Tyrolean Traverse 250 feet in the air on scary choss on River Tower in Moab. It wasn't because I was afraid of the distance or was worried about the gear; it was more that I was afraid my ankle was going to give at any moment. Where it was fine earlier in the day, I was still nervous about its performance. I felt fine climbing, but it could have been shot at any moment without notice and I would have little to no control over it if it did.

But I made it up to the GT Ledge without incident and brought "Caboose" up. She was eager to wrestle the roof on the third pitch, but I didn't have it anymore. I just knew that I was taking too much of a risk by climbing the next pitch. So we rapped down and waited for "Ratherbe" and "Shadow" to finish City Lights. They decided to simul-rap only to find each end of the rope tangled into a straight overhand knot with the other end of the rope. Ordinarily this would piss partners off, but they were oddly giggling at their predicament. It was as if hanging side-by-side in mid-air was fun to them. I just couldn't place my finger on why.

That was the end of our day. We packed up and headed to the Brauhaus for the famous 'Gunks burger and were there from about 6pm to 10pm because it took them that long to seat us, take our order, bring the food out (which was wrong all around), and give us the check. That was OK because it gave us ample time to learn that "Onions" doesn't do onions well, that "Shadow" is a drinking lightweight, that "Caboose" knows when she's about to become a stumbling drunk after a goblet of raspberry beer, that "Ratherbe" really, really, really, wanted "Caboose" to get drunk, and I'm willing to send my only meal of the day back because it was cooked well instead of medium ("Shadow" saved the day by giving me his medium burger and taking my well burger, so I offer a round of thanks for that).

We then headed back. "Onions" took off for home. "Caboose" and I beat it to the tent before the rain set in, and "Shadow" and "Ratherbe" stayed behind to chat. We were all suspicious of why they did that, but I knew this gave me the perfect opportunity to re-address the female boob-grabbing that I had missed the night before. You see, "Caboose" was in between "Ratherbe" and I in the tent the previous night. When "Caboose" and I made it back to the tent I subtly recommended that she switch tent positions with "Ratherbe". This would put "Caboose" on the end and "Ratherbe" in the middle, but if "Ratherbe" didn't know that, and if she was drunk off her rocker when she finally arrived back at the tent, I knew I was going to get two drunk chicks unexpectedly tangled with each other in the darkness (until I got my headlamp on, that is). It was a plan that was well conceived but terribly delivered. Simply put, it didn't work out the way I hoped it would. My evil plan was foiled and my hopes and dreams of witnessing spontaneous hot lesbian sex by two straight women continue to appear cursed to the very end.

It was raining the next morning and the art gallery that "Onion"'s father contributes to was closed (we were planning on going there if it rained). So we grabbed breakfast in town instead. It was a good breakfast even though a couple of folks had slight headaches. My french toast had nuts in it, but I ate it anyway. "Ratherbe" and "Shadow" seemed in good spirits and "Caboose" and I couldn't figure out why. It wasn't until we paid our bill and headed to the car when we saw "Ratherbe" walking him back to his car with her arm around his back and his around hers and then we knew something was up.

Click here for all 2009 'Gunks pics

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Guidebook: Gunks - Double Crack

Double Crack (5.8) - Two Pitches (recommended) - Trad - Mixed Anchors

Approach: Take the fifth trail up to the left after the overhanging, roof-like Andrew Boulder (about a 10-min walk down the Carriage Trail after the Uberfall area). At the top, head right and up hill to an arrete that has a low roof on the left and an obvious vertical crack system on the right face.

Pitch One (5.8) - 75 feet - Gear Anchor: Most guidebooks will say this is a one-pitch climb that runs 150 from the ground to the ledge. However, if your second falls even from about 15 feet up then it is possible for the second to deck as a result of rope stretch. There is a popular story out there where a second did just that and she managed to break an ankle, even though the leader (belaying from the tree at the top) had pulled the rope as tight as he could (he was apparently using the autolock belay technique that can be done with popular devices such as the Black Diamond Guide). Rope stretch can be eliminated simply by breaking this out into two pitches. Of course, using a thicker rope (with less stretch) or setting up a sling-shot belay at the top will also help. In any case, climb the pumpy start (crux) up the crack to the rest about 25 feet up. Fade left toward the pod and exit the pod to the right on a couple of good ledges for the optional belay.

Pitch Two (5.7) - 75 feet - Tree Anchor: Climb the off-width to the left of the belay and exit it (crux) to the face, following the path of least resistance to the top.

Descent: Rap off the tree at the top all the way to the ground with two 60m ropes. Otherwise, rap twice with one rope using the intermediate rap station that you'll pass while climbing the off-width (not recommended).

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The First Time

Well, I've been injured much of the past few weeks, so I thought I'd give you guys something to read. Sorry for the delay, but I can't write much about climbing when I'm strapped into a boot that's meant to keep my ankle from twisting. I am hoping to get out this weekend if only to remember what rock feels like again. In the meantime, here is a short fiction story that I wrote last week...

He looked to the top of the dome and said, "Wow." It stood so tall and grand, and its wildness excited him. The granite was hard and grey and pink in spots, but mostly it was grey. It was cool to the touch in the shade and his fingertips dragged across the rough bumps through the warm sun and back to the shade again as he walked along the base. There was a wide, arching flake that spit off from the middle to the left and it rounded into a ledge where the gap narrowed two hundred feet off the deck. He wanted to climb to the ledge not because he could see the whole valley from the top, but because it looked so climbable; it looked easy and pure and safe and fun.

I remember watching him that first day. He'd never climbed before and yet felt the allure, and I felt that he felt it. He looked at me and asked, "Can I go up?" "Sure," I said and went back to the car for the gear.

When I got back he was already thirty feet up. His legs were stiff against the dome and his back pressed against the flake. He moved up the empty space perfectly, as if he'd done this a thousand times before and knew every move, every rest, and every grain of friction. An offwidth for me was a chimney for him, but I knew it would turn to an offwidth for him before he reached the top. His mother would kill me if she knew I had let him climb this without gear, and I was startled when I first saw him so high. But then I saw how he loved it and how free and graceful he looked from below. I tossed the rope around my back, put on my harness, clipped his to mine and stepped up.

He saw me climbing behind him and he waited a while. It wasn't long before I caught up to him. The climbing was harder here. He was still in the chimney, but now his knees replaced his feet and the rough rock made his knees bleed through his jeans.

I stayed below him, but I was close enough to talk him through the narrow section. Then we came to the narrowest part where the crack suddenly pinched down to nothing, and I thought he'd be stumped just ten feet from the ledge. There was a small ledge I knew he could climb to and I wanted him to go there to put on his harness. But without looking he said to me, "Papa, look at this." I looked up and saw him swing his legs out from the chimney to above the land below us. There was my son, thirteen years old and his feet and legs were flying away from the rock and his body only connected to the flake by the fingers on his hand that wrapped over a ledge and, after he'd had his fun, they pulled him back into the rock into a solid stance on the face below the larger ledge.

My heart skipped a beat and I shouted, "Be careful!" and he was. He recomposed himself, looked around, and stepped up to higher ground. Within seconds he was standing on the ledge and watching his old man top out.

We sat there on the ledge a long time watching the trees below us sway in the wind. It was fun to be above the birds.

We moved on when it was time. I got him into his harness and we simul-rapped to the ground with ease. He loved the exposure. While he was careful to listen to me and pay attention to what I told him, he bounced joyfully in the air while he let the rope slip through his fingers and his belay device. The wind pushed our hair around during the descent, and it was fresh and we were free, together, and happy.

I contemplated telling him to not tell his mother, but I was so impressed with him that day that I decided to see what else he had in him.

When we got him his mother asked, "how was it?"

"It was great, Mom. We climbed to the top and then we rappelled down." He went to his room and I kissed my wife, thankful for the day he and I had and grateful that there would be more to come.

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Ankles Galore!

E'ffn' hell.

For various reasons, I haven't been climbing the past few weeks. Mostly it is because my ankle still hasn't healed well from my fall on Cannon in the middle of August. That's helped me to justify not climbing while "Ratherbe" went off to the Tetons on a backpacking trip for two weekends and then again no climbing over Labor Day weekend (because of how my vacation / holiday time works at work, I am choosing to work on Labor Day in order to save that day for a free day when my Mom comes to visit in a couple of weeks. Consequently, I couldn't find anyone who only wanted to climb for Sat / Sun on a typical three-day weekend).

So, I find a newbie who wants to learn how to climb. There's a decent quarry just outside of Boston that is perfect for top-roping and teaching beginners. I figure this is a good chance to teach him the ropes and so on. I figure it's also a chance to test out my ankle climbing for the first time in weeks. The ankle has been a little sore still, but hell, "it ought to be getting somewhat better," I assume.

We're walking in on the tarred path toward the meadow-like field that we have to cross to get to the main walls. We're talking. It's a beautiful day. There's hardly anyone here. A few folks learning rescue on the easy near wall. There's a single rope already set up off in the distance but no one is around it. That's OK because that route is too hard for a beginner anyway. A party of three is walking ahead of us. I'll offer to share ropes if they're interested. That'll save me some set up time and double the number of routes we can do. I'm thinking it's such a nice day. I wish I had brought a hat for my bald head. I didn't even bring sunscreen. "Such a stupid thing to forget," I tell myself. There's really nothing to worry about except for possible sunburn, until I accidentally step on the edge of the path and go down, hard. My right ankle (the bad one) feels as if gets folded in half. My left knee goes straight down to the tar and it feels as if it's been cracked open. I've got blood from six different points running down my left shin and I can barely stand on either leg let alone walk.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. It hurts. It hurts bad. As bad as It's hurt in months when I first sprained it while walking on ice on the way to work. It hurts more than when I fell at the Triangle Roof on Moby Grape a few weeks ago. I'm limping and hobbling all over the place, looking for a safe place to sit down after I stupidly stood up after hitting the ground. Except that I know I have so little support from either leg that if I sit down I'm going to have to fall down and I'm still standing on the tar. I have no desire to fall on the tar again. The gash(es) on my left knee explained in very clear terms the first time how hard the ground is.

It takes a few minute before I'm able to walk again, but I'm favoring both legs in my no-support sandals. I'm still gonna teach this guy how to climb, so we walk to the cliff and we go up to the top and I show him how to set up a top rope. His feet don't fit into my climbing shoes, so he decides to climb barefoot. For a guy who has never climbed before, he's a natural and understands the value of body position without any instruction: he just does what he needs to do and climbs up. The route is kind of hard for him as he moves up, but he gets up to the crux and tries it several times before his feet start to hurt. I'm happy that he trusts the rope and is willing to fall without giving me notice. He's done well, but it's the crux and he'll need to learn how to layback on slick rock before he can get this route clean.

I lower him and decide that its time for him to practice belaying. This means I have to climb a bit, but it works out OK. The ankle hurts, but I find ways of mitigating the pain. He does a good job of belaying, catching, understanding the various terminology and doing the right thing when a certain term is used. I'm happy. I've climbed this route a hundred times, but I'm not interested in pushing it. He lowers me and we talk about what we're going to do next.

There's an easier climb around the corner that I think he can climb with his sneakers on, so I head to the top and reset the rope. I rappel down and feel the strain on my ankle. The angle of my foot on the rock isn't conducive to resting sprains. I'm supposed to climb in the 'Gunks with "Ratherbe" after Labor Day weekend, and there are a lot of raps there. I'm worried that my climbing season may be over. It's frustrating as hell, but what am I going to do? I have to get better. It's frustrating, but I figure I'll go to the 'Gunks just to get another week in. I'll climb hurt now and rest when the season is over. But then there's my two-week reconnaissance trip to Chile in November. I'm going to be doing a lot of walking. "Shoot, do I rest up for that or not?" I can't tell what to do. I can't make that decision now.

My friend runs up the first 15 feet of the route and finds his shoulder hurting. He's coming back from an injury, too, so we call it quits. I decide I'm going to climb up to retrieve the gear. No time like now to test the ankle on a climb, particularly on easy terrain. Where there are three jugs (two hands and one foot, for example), things are good. But at the top there's a hand traverse of sorts that has jugs for hands but requires smearing with the feet. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! I get to the top, but this isn't good. Maybe it's time to practice jugging all over again.

We walk slowly out of the quarry and decide on where to grab food. It's such a nice day. I wish I was climbing, but I can only do so much with what I have. It's September in New England, and climbing season will end in a few weeks when it gets too cold for weekend jaunts to 'Gunks. It may already be getting too cold for North Conway and Cannon. I'm bummed. "Jello" is supposed to come out for a week in October. I'm really looking forward to that. Just like "Ratherbe", he's turned out to be a damn good partner and friend. But he's struggling to find the time to take off from work, so maybe it's a good thing we're playing his trip by ear. If my ankle hasn't healed then that would put a damper on the plans I have for him. If I can't climb the stuff I want to get him on then that would be a wasted trip. This almost happened when I went to Moab with him this past spring; I was at the end of my healing period from the first ankle sprain during that trip. I did more belaying than climbing. It was a fun trip, but it's not something I want to make a habit of. Now this. I keep thinking that my season is going to have to start all over again in Chile in February. Maybe this is a good thing. Life certainly is a mystery. I wonder what life has in store for me next.

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Ratherbe's Return

This wasn't looking good. We were at the base of Cannon, ready to tick off Moby Grape (5.8 III), the last great classic on Cannon that we really wanted, when we boldly declared there would be no rescue that day. We then struggled up Reppy's Crack on the first pitch, cruised the second pitch, and I, just under a half second away from pulling away from the Triangle Roof on the third pitch, slipped and fell downward to the slab below; landing awkwardly on my right ankle; feeling the same pain I had felt a few months earlier when I slipped on the ice and sprained my ankle requiring three months of rest; and causing our painful retreat. There would be no repeat of that - we swore - so we spoke of "hoping" to get all the climbs we wanted in North Conway instead of bragging that the climb would go. After we agreed on our attitude for the day, "Ratherbe", upon opening the trunk of her car after pulling into the climbers' lot near the base of Whitehorse Ledge, pulled out her gear and started getting ready for the hike in. I pulled my pack out, looked at her single rope in the trunk and said, "so where are the doubles?"


- "Ratherbe"(with eyes wider than her sunglasses and indignation painted across her face): Are you kidding me?
- Me: No, really, where are the ropes?
- "Ratherbe": Um, when you said on the phone we were using my gear and your ropes, I assumed you'd actually bring them.
- Me: Oh shit.

I was embarrassed. There was so much going on the evening I packed that I had completely forgot to bring the ropes. It was a minor miracle that she even had her single rope. I was still suffering from my turned ankle and I asked her to bring her single rope just in case we decided to aid something if I couldn't climb. So she did her duty and chucked her rope into the back of her car. I, being stressed out and rushed when I was packing, made sure to remember my aid gear, the stuff that I don't normally bring with me, but had left my doubles resting up against the wall in my bedroom, across from the right side of the bed and next to the mirror.

- Me: Well, that's OK, we'll just make the extra rap.
- "Ratherbe": Um, no. The first pitch of Children's Crusade is over 100 feet. My single isn't long enough for a rap that long. Remember, it's thirteen feet shorter than it used to be?
- Me: OK, let's do Lost Souls then. We can make the extra rap off Hotter Than Hell.
- "Ratherbe": I don't think that will work. Do we even know if we can do that?
- Me: We can figure something out I'm sure.
- "Ratherbe" (looking at the climbers racking up at the car to our left): Do you know the route?
- Climbers: Yeah, you need two ropes. There's no way around it.
- Me (sighing): Oh damn. Sorry. I really am. Crap. What are we going to do?
- "Ratherbe" (getting out her phone): Let me call a friend. He may have a tag line we can use.

It was at that point when the climbers racking up from the car to our right overheard our conversation.

- "Savior": What's up?
- Me (feeling like crap): I forgot the doubles, and the routes we're doing require two to get down.
- "Savior": You need a rope?
- Me: Yeah, if we can get her friend to lend -
- "Savior" (before I could finish my sentence): Here dude. Use this.

He tossed me an old, thick, red single rope. I was shocked. Who was this guy?

- Me: Oh thanks man, but are you sure?
- "Savior": I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't.
- "Ratherbe": Holy crap! That's awesome! Thanks a lot.
- "Savior": No problem. Glad to help. It's heavy, so you might want to use it as the tag line.

It was heavy, but I wasn't worried about it. I was just glad to have been saved from a late start (we would have had to driven back to "Ratherbe"'s friend's house), and from being completely castrated for forgetting the ropes. "Savior" and "Ratherbe" exchanged numbers and we figured out how to get his rope back to him at the end of the day. It was a great moment in climbing, I think. It certainly doesn't rank as high as Lynn Hill freeing The Nose, but hey, what other community sees acts of good faith such as this? A spare rope - a lifeline - given by a complete stranger to a pair of complete strangers, saved our day.

Children's Crusade (5.9) - Three pitches - Mixed trad and sport - Bolted anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

Unlike the last time we climbed on Whitehorse the approach was easy this time. We knew exactly where to go because we had seen it three weekends before when we got lost looking for Inferno (5.8). The route looked pretty straight forward once we scoped it out, so I flaked out the ropes and "Ratherbe" racked up. This was going to be a good weekend for her. I was still limping about and I wasn't sure I would be able to lead anything above 5.7. Simply put, I needed jugs to climb on and the 5.9 and 5.10 (Lost souls) we chose for Saturday seemed as if they'd be too hard on my ankle for climbing clean. I also didn't want to take another fall and risk injuring my ankle even more. As a result, she was going to be able to pick and lead most, if not all, the pitches.

Once we were ready, "Ratherbe" headed up the blocky dike at the start and clipped the pin that helps to protect the initial traverse to the right. She then reached over and clipped the first bolt on the route, which is to the right of the pin, and started to move her way up to the second bolt. She gained the rest at the second bolt and looked around.

- "Ratherbe": There's a bail biner here on the second bolt.
- Me: Huh.
- "Ratherbe": And that third bolt is a long way away.

I didn't think much about it because the ledges leading up to the third bolt looked solid from below. Plus, while I knew it might have looked a long way away to her, she had been climbing well all season. It just didn't occur to me that she wouldn't be able to do it. It was only 5.9 after all, and this was essentially a sport climb at this point.

But she was worried about the fall. The math seemed different for us. To me, the distance between the second and third bolt was long but not so much that she'd hit the dike below if she fell. But to her, hitting the dike was almost imminent.

She moved up through the ledges and got to a point where her knot was about two feet above the second bolt, but the third bolt was still a foot or so beyond her reach. The next small ledge up was the last one before the wall turned blank just below the third bolt. There were more ledges after the bolt, but getting to those upper ledges would likely shift the math toward her hitting dike if she fell from so high up. Still, if she could have moved up just another foot or so then maybe she would have been able to reach and clip the bolt from below.

She stayed two feet above the second bolt for what seemed a long time. I was surprised by this because of how well she had been climbing this year, so I wanted to wave it off as route-finding and patience. But she kept talking about how far away the bolt looked, and each time she opened her mouth I heard her hesitancy grow. I soon began to realize that her head wasn't there. She down-climbed to the rest at the second bolt and thought things through. Then she went back up and felt around on the upper-most ledge below the third bolt. Where all the other ledges had nice crimps on them, this last one proved to be a sloper that was best used from below; in other words, it didn't get her up high enough to reach the third bolt, at least not easily or confidently. She was going to have to move up higher off the sloper to a position where she wasn't sure if the sloper would be good enough to clip from, and the math was starting to get on the fringe of her hitting the dike if she couldn't hold on from that position. She down-climbed again to the rest at the second bolt and I could see that she was rattled by the move.

- "Ratherbe": I don't know, dude. This looks hard.
- Me: I think you're fine. I think you can do it.
- "Ratherbe": I'm really worried about that dike though. I can see bad things happening if I fall.
- Me: I've got you, don't worry about it.
- "Ratherbe": It's not you I'm worried about. I'm worried about the ledge.

I still wasn't convinced she'd hit the ledge. For one, I was sure I'd be able to get some of the slack pulled in before the rope pulled taught. Two, I just didn't think she was going to be high enough for that to even matter. I was more worried about some of the small bulges in the rock a few feet above the dike than I was the dike itself. But this didn't matter to her. She was rattled now and I could see that. All I could do was offer confidence from below. She was going to have to make the decision on to proceed on her own. In the end, she decided to use the bail biner and to lower.

I asked if she was sure and she said "yes." So I lowered her. When she touched down she untied and sat down on the rock near where I had taken a seat. Tears swelled in her eyes and she wondered aloud whether our weekend was shot. North Conway doesn't have very many easy routes, and I'm pretty sure we've done many times over all the easy routes worth doing. I couldn't lead anything difficult due to my ankle, so everything either depended on us doing boring routes that we'd already done (and were guaranteed to be busy), her gaining her confidence back or, as she calmly noted, us renting a couple of tubes and floating down the Saco River.

I sat there and looked up. I wanted to get a little bit of climbing in and the moves up to the second bolt looked fun, so I asked her to give me a catch while I worked my way up to, and maybe a bit beyond, the second bolt. I noticed as soon as I got off the dike, however, that my ankle couldn't handle much smearing. I was able to put some pressure on it and make moves but not without a fair amount of grimacing. I hung several times at what I felt was the crux, which was moving from the first bolt up to the jugs below the second bolt, but was finally able to pull the moves to get to the rest where "Ratherbe" had decided to bail. I stood there and looked up: the moves looked fun and I wanted to do them. The thought of me taking this lead had actually crossed my mind before I roped up. I figured that I'd rest at the bolts if I needed to in order to rest my ankle, but I was worried about falling. If I fell and landed awkwardly then that could possibly put both of us in a position of having to get me out of the woods and back to the car - it didn't seem to be an good way to end the weekend so early on Saturday morning. Except for the other parties on the slabs down the path, there was no one else around to help carry me out if it came to that. Still, I wanted to go up to see what the moves were like. I was confident I could down-climb, so I went up and felt around.

While I wasn't as worried about the dike as "Ratherbe" was, I could see why she felt the third bolt was so far away. It was a committing move for sure. Down-climbing was going to be difficult once I committed to the sloper, so I decided not to move up any higher. I was kind of pissed, too, because I felt confident enough to make the moves. As it has been with my head all year, I've felt fine pushing myself. But this was different. I was hurt and hurting myself more was going to cause more problems than if I simply retreated. "Ratherbe" lowered me once I down climbed and we thought about what to do next.

- Me: You know, I saw a foot hold up there that I'm not sure you saw. It's off to the left a bit, and wouldn't be good for a handhold.
- "Ratherbe" (after realizing where I was pointing to): That's already past the point of commitment though. I want something easier that is lower.
- Me: Yeah, I agree, but I don't think that if you fall you'll hit the dike. I really don't.
- "Ratherbe" (the tears came back): I know. I'm mad at myself. I'm mad that I'm worried about it. It's just a stupid bolt. I shouldn't have anything to worry about.
- Me: Well, maybe you just go up there and take a small fall, on purpose. Make sure you clip the first bolt just in case anything happens, but you're right, it's a bolt. You really should be fine.
- "Ratherbe": It's funny because I told someone recently that all of my big trad falls have all come on bolts.
- Both of us: laugh.

We tossed around our options for a few minutes. Lost Souls (5.10a) was out of the question now. We could drive back to Cathedral and play in the North End on some of the easier one-pitch routes that she hadn't climbed yet. Or we could go tubing. It was all up in the air until she stood up and said she was going to give it another go.

She tied in and I put her on belay. She was on toprope to the second bolt, so the climbing was quicker than it was last time. After clipping the first bolt and switching the second bolt from the bail biner to a draw, she paused, chalked up, and move up to the easier ledges below the slopers. I put myself in a position where I wouldn't have to use my right ankle much if she fell, and I waited for her to move. She stayed on the good ledges for what seemed an eternity. When she had gone back up I thought for sure she had removed the panic from her soul and was ready to send. But her arms and legs went tense. Her whole body stiffened up, and then she let go. She let out a little squeak at the moment she began to descend downward but her breathing had slowed down by the time she rested at the end of the fall.

- Me: How do you feel?
- "Ratherbe": Fine.
- Me: See where you landed? You're a good several feet or so above the dike. No problem.
- "Ratherbe": Yeah, OK. I feel better about that now.

She then moved back up to the good ledges and I prepared for a second practice fall. But instead of falling, which she later told me she wanted to do a second time (and I had told her before she started back up that if all we got out of the entire weekend was her feeling good about taking safe falls then it would be a satisfying weekend), she got the urge to keep going. I saw her grab the slopers, hesitate, then move her feet up high with one foot up on the hold I had pointed out earlier. It was a bit of a struggle, and I was completely ready for her to peel at any moment, but after a few seconds of grasping for gear and desperately reaching for the bolt, she clipped it, then she clipped the rope, and she then moved up to easier holds above for a rest.

The distance between the third and fourth bolts was even greater than the second and third, but she found the climbing easier when she focused on making one move at a time. Before long, she had me on belay and I was working my way up.

I really struggled on the climb. My ankle was sore, but I was still able to make the moves. It was odd because it felt more sore when I lifted it off the rock compared to when I weighted it. The traverse at the top made us both nervous due to my instability, but I made it OK and anchored in.

- "Ratherbe": You know, I'm not so sure I want to continue.
- Me: OK, that's fine. But why not?
- "Ratherbe": Well, I just don't know if I'm feeling it. That pitch scared me more than any other pitch I've ever been on, and it was bolted.
- Me: OK, what does this pitch look like. Let's take a look at it and think for a moment.

We looked up and saw that the first moves appeared to be the crux. They were protected by a bolt a few feet and left of the anchor. From there was a series of overlaps. There were no bolts and there was no clear sign of where to go. We hadn't brought the guidebook up with us, but we both remembered that the book said the climb wandered over the overlaps. We felt good that we knew where to go at the very least.

- Me: Well, to be honest, it doesn't look that bad. I mean, there's a bolt here to start off with. That has to help.
- "Ratherbe": Yeah, but the rest looks to be trad. What do you think, particularly with your ankle?
- Me: I can do whatever. I brought my stuff to jug if need be. It hurts, but I'm OK. I can get up if that's what we need to do. I think it's up to you really. I wouldn't worry about me.
- "Ratherbe": OK, but I'm still nervous.
- Me: Honestly, I don't think your nearly as nervous as you were down there.

I'm sure people get to know their partners well if they've climbed with them enough. "Ratherbe" faces self-doubt a fair bit, but I can often see past that by looking at her body language. Sometimes she says things just to get positive feedback, in case she's missing something when she is actually feeling OK. In fact, I was confident she'd do fine as I watched her pick her way up the ledges between the third and fourth bolts. She just looked better and the hesitancy in her voice wasn't the same as it was when she bailed.

- Me: It's your decision. We can do it or go down, but, really, you did well once you got going. I say we keep going. I mean, as you said, you don't really want to have to come back do you?
- "Ratherbe": No, I don't.

She was fine, but I knew that first pitch was still in her head. We had climbed past the scariness, so it was if the demon had already been slayed. Having to conquer that demon a second time was not something she wanted to do again. In fact,it was a pretty powerful motivator, so we switched out the gear, flaked the rope, and she went up. It turned out that the crux was right at the bolt off the anchor, so the rest, despite being somewhat of a route-finding adventure, was pretty easy for her. I followed her up when she got top and again we discussed continuing.

- "Ratherbe": OK, so, this time I'm less scared and more concerned about the lack of pro at the top.
- Me: What do you mean? It's a crack up to that bulge. It looks fine.
- "Ratherbe": Look above that.

I looked up and realized why she was concerned. It was true that there was good protection for the first twenty feet or so, but once that ended there was a blank section that would have resulted in a nasty fall for the leader if she had fallen making the moves on that upper section. Any fall from the upper section would send the leader a decent distance (maybe about twenty feet in total) back into a low-angle slab with a swing into a corner. I certainly didn't want her to take that fall, but the question came up, did we really want to come back up here again? After all, this was the 5.8 pitch, so it wasn't going to be as hard as the other two. We discussed the merits of going back down when she decided it was probably OK to climb up to the blank section and then down-climb if it seemed too sketchy. After all, as we had discussed before, she did not want to have to come back and do this again and this seemed to be a good plan.

She started off and climbed up the first bit in the crack. When she was about half-way up I realized that she was jamming her toes in the crack. "Fuck," I said. "I actually forgot this was a crack." She looked back at me and asked if she wanted me to continue. I thought about it and wondered if my ankle would be able to take the tweaking, but I figured I'd be able to get around it and said she could continue.

She did fine through the crack and the blocky section above the crack. It was the upper section that we had discussed at the belay that made her nervous. There was no pro nor any bolts, and this blank section had a few moves that required her to stretch so that she was just able to grab the upper holds. I really didn't want her to fall and asked if she wanted to climb down. "No," she said, "I think I can do it. Besides, I'm here and it's only 5.8."

She was at a point where she had to be committed. Falling really wasn't much of an option and giving a soft catch was going to be difficult. Either way, if she fell she was going to hit hard on something. I just hoped I was able to keep her from swinging out of control into something after the impact. At first she stretched up and was just able to reach the upper holds, but she was so stretched out that she didn't have much room to move. This meant she was going to have to use intermediate holds when they weren't that good. One slip and she was going to scream back down to the low-angle crack below, possibly swinging into the blocky corner, too. She swore when she realized that one of the holds she had decided to trust didn't turn out to be as good as she thought it would be. "I wouldn't have used it if I had known it was going to be this bad," she said. I didn't say much because I figured she was really talking just to get the nervousness out. She had committed to the hold and now had to move off it.

I admit that I was nervous. We had talked things through all the way up, and I hadn't felt nervous until now. Oddly, I think she looked less nervous at this moment than at any other crux on the climb: she was confident in her ability now, but was unsure about the actual climbing. Still, I had confidence that she was going to pull through. I'd seen her too many times back down only when she knew she could and send when she knew falling wasn't an option. She was smart about the whole thing, and I trusted that.

Finally, after a few tense moments, she grabbed the good holds that she had when she was fully stretched out. She pulled up and mantled to the top (this was the third mantle she had to do, and she was not happy to have done any of them). The climbing wasn't over yet, but she was in a much more stable position now and we both felt better (particularly after she finally placed a cam that was about 15 feet above her last piece).

It was my turn when she got to the top and I basically hauled myself up the crack with one foot. This was the kind of crack that I actually enjoy; it was the kind where I could lock my knuckles and know I wasn't going anywhere. But I couldn't jam my right foot without it hurting, so I smeared off it while I jammed my left foot instead. God that hurt. As it had all the way up, my ankle felt worse when I lifted it up as opposed to when I pressed my weight on it. Still, I was able to get up with ease through the section "Ratherbe" had to commit to, mainly because I could reach the upper holds where she could not.

We agreed that was the end of the day. She was fairly emotionally spent and I was aching for some ibuprofin and the cold-water in the Saco River. We packed up and made the slow hike out. After we cooked dinner and swam in the river, we found "Savior" and returned his rope. We were thankful for his generosity and hope he gets some good karma rewards in return.

The Saigons (5.8+) - Sport / trad - Two pitches - Bolted anchors (<--Click here for guidebook info)

Bird's Nest (5.9-) - Trad - One pitch - Tree Anchor (<--Click here for guidebook info)

Sunday was a slow day. I wasn't feeling ambitious about climbing, so "Ratherbe" ran up The Saigons (5.8+) while I jugged them (NOT an easy thing to do, by the way. I might have found it easier to actually climb the damn thing). We remembered that we couldn't rap down because we didn't have two ropes anymore, so we belayed each other across the sketchy traverse back to the Thin Air ledge and hitched a ride back to the bottom. "Ratherbe" still wanted one more climbing before we headed up, so we went up to the North End wall and she ran up Bird's Nest (5.9-). I taught her how jug after that and we packed up and went home before the rain hit later that afternoon. It was an interesting weekend, and I think we were both glad that it was both over and had turned out the way it did. Yeah, Children's Crusade was scary, but we got through it. Yeah, I was limping all weekend long, but we got through that, too. She knocked off three climbs that were on her tick list and we each got the crap scared out of us. It's funny because when I look back on this weekend I don't see a lot of climbing, but I do see a lot of living life, and that's what is most important in the end.

Click here for all 2009 North Conway photos.

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Guidebook: North Conway - The Saigons (5.8), Bird's Nest (5.9-), Children's Crusade (5.9)

Click here for the Cathedral Ledge index and here for the Whitehorse Ledge index.
Click here for all Guidebook posts
Click here for all Cathedral posts and here for all Whitehorse posts.

Whitehorse Ledge
Children's Crusade (5.9) - Three pitches - Mixed trad and sport - Bolted anchors

- Approach: From the lower parking lot, walk up the road past the hotel and find the path at the bend in the road. Turn left and go straight up toward the base of the slabs. From there, walk left along the base for about five minutes, occasionally following the path as it moves away from the cliff for a few moments. Pass a wooden ladder that leads up to the right and find a left-leading dike about 30 feet past a left-facing corner. There is a small overhang right above the start.

- Pitch One (5.9) - Sport - Bolted anchor - 130 Feet: Climb the dike about 12 feet to the pin, traverse right past the pin and first bolt and head straight up to the second bolt. From there, climb the ledges up to the obvious traverse left to the anchor.
- Pitch Two (5.9) - Trad - Bolted anchor - 100 Feet: Start left of the anchor and head straight up to the first ledge. From there, weave back and forth on the path of least resistance until you find the anchor, which will be to the right of a low-angle crack.
- Pitch Three (5.8) - Trad - Tree anchor - 60 Feet: Climb the crack on the left up through the blocky section. Step left to the top of the blocks and mantle up on good hands. Step right to the sketchy block and finish straight up and to the left at the tree anchor.

- Descent: Rap with two ropes in two raps straight down to the ground. There is no need to rap down to the right to the anchors at the top of the second pitch of Children's Crusade. Rapping straight down will bring you to another set of anchors that are left of the bolts at the top of the first pitch.

Cathedral Ledge

The Saigons (5.8) - Two pitches - Mixed sport and trad - Bolted anchors

I've named these "The Saigons" out of ease's sake. They are actually two separate routes called Miss Saigon and Still in Saigon.

- Approach: There are two ways to get to these climbs, either by the Recompense Trail or the Thin Air Trail. Both trails can be found from the same main parking area. The Recompense Trail is several yards to the left of the Thin Air Trail.

From the Thin Air Trail, follow it to the Mordor Wall and then follow the steep path all the way to the top to a large tree that makes for a nice belay seat.

From the Recompense Trail, follow it up until you get to where the path splits. Head up right, following the wooden ladder / stairs to the top where the large tree is.

- Still in Saigon - Pitch One (5.8) - Mostly sport (with a few trad placements) - Bolted anchor - 155 feet: Basically, follow the bolts straight up, stepping left to the flake near the top and then traversing right just below the ledge to where it is easy to pull up and find the anchor.
- Miss Saigon - Pitch Two (5.8) - Mostly sport (with a few trad placements) - Bolted anchor - 75 feet: Climb straight up, trending right a bit as you head toward the anchors at the large ledge above.

- Descent: It is best to rap once with two 60m ropes all the way back to the base. It is possible to traverse right along the slab over to the Thin Air Ledge if you only have one rope (and can then walk off the road that can be followed to the right). However, this slab is often wet and slick, and it presents a potentially dangerous traverse for the second.


Bird's Nest (5.9-) - One pitch - Trad - Tree anchor

- Approach: The approach to the North End starts about 50 feet away from the gate on the road (opposite from where the hill begins to go up). Follow the path up 75 yards to the base.

- Bird's Nest - 90 feet: The thin single crack that steps right on a ledge midway up to another pair of cracks. It is about midway between a short left-facing corner on the right and another crack on the left.

Finger jam the crack and use better-than-they-look foot holds up to the rest at a small ledge. Move right and follow the two cracks up to the bulge. Head right once over the bulge to the tree anchor.

- Descent: Lower or rap off the tree at the top. A 60m rope will get you back to the ground. The tree is to the right of the route, so be prepared for a bit of a swing if you choose to clean on the way down.

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A Guide's Life: An Unpleasant Start

I looked down into the gorge above The Schoolroom. The immediate exposure made my stomach twist. I tied in and looked at the anchor. Everything seemed in order as I went to get into position to be lowered two hundred feet into the gorge. Walking by my belayer I noticed he was using a Gri-Gri but I didn't think much of it. He was more than twice my age so he knew what he was doing. We'd tried going to a higher altitude to avoid the unusual February rain but after the car spun around in place and almost crashed through a snow bank, which would have rolled us a few hundred feet down the gorge, we decided to stay down low where tires had traction.

I grabbed the wet, icy rope, let my tools dangle in their leashes, and leaned back. The first hundred or so feet went smoothly and then the bouncing began. I'd get bounced down a few feet and stop and this repeated a few times until I began free falling. My life didn't flash before my eyes, just the cold blue blur of ice. I tried to swing a tool into the ice to arrest my fall but only managed to catch a crampon point and wrench my leg eliciting the loudest utterance I'd ever made while climbing, a loud guttural yell. I finally stopped falling fifteen feet later. I was about thirty feet from the ground and I didn't wait to see if they would lower me the rest of the way. "Goddammit" I yelled and started climbing while muttering obscenities under my breath. I furiously bashed my way up the ice. Every swing was murderous, I was going to throw his aged ass into the gorge. I was going to strangle him. He could have killed me. As I came over the lip everyone looked at me wide eyed. I flopped on my back, "I was going to punch you in the face but I'm too tired and my leg hurts." They all asked if I was OK while my belayer apologized profusely. This was the worst accident I'd ever had while climbing. In the end I felt I held partial responsibility. I saw the gri-gri and ignored an obvious threat to my life because I dubbed my belayers experience as more adequate despite using a device in a circumstance in which it was not suited.

My life as a guide and just as a climber has been in epic failure mode for quite some time now. It all started way back in September as the outdoor trips were slowing down. After Greg came out for a week in September my outdoor climbing pretty much ground to a halt. I had a pathetic day of ice climbing in RMNP that entailed my partner and I dropping lots of gear and me generally performing as a newbie ice climber. It wasn't until January when one of the owners of the gym I was managing asked me if I would fill in a spot for their Ouray trip. It was kind of expensive because they were renting a cabin but I hadn't been to Ouray yet and I quickly accepted. Soon the day in February rolled around and we met early in the morning and started driving. It was a five hour drive and as we got closer we decided to stop in Montrose to pick up some food. Soon after we were in Ouray we dropped our things off at the cabin, which was incredibly nice and included a hot tub, which somewhat justified the expense.

The first day was fairly uneventful except for the notably high temperatures. It was middle of February and it was about fifty degrees. This made for easy ice climbing but it also made everything a little hair-raising with large chunks breaking off randomly. After a few climbs we decided to head back for food. Steak, potatoes, and a few drinks later and we were all sufficiently sleepy. We all slowly drifted off to our unfamiliar beds and couches. With eight of us in total we filled the place, which was rustic while remaining open and grandiose.

The next day we went down past The Schoolroom to an area with some shorter climbs. We all set up a few topropes and headed down. I was the only person who built an anchor in the ice, one v-thread and two long ice screws - guess I was the only one to trust the ice gear. In the gorge the muddy orange water gurgled by as some of us walked around to do some toproping and some of the guys pulled ropes to lead the slushy mess. I led a few of the climbs all around WI3, maybe a little harder. After a while we all saw the overhanging curtain of ice preceded by the sparse grey rock. Everyone took a whack at the overhanging curtain and avoided the rock. After everyone else had taken a turn I tied in and decided to head straight up the rock, avoiding the ice as much as possible. I'd done very little mixed climbing up to this point, so little in fact that one might say none. The first moves were fairly easy with decently large edges to scratch my way up. A little over halfway things became more difficult as I became pumped and everything became much more technical. A small stein pull gave me a good deal of reach, almost enough to a large edge that would lead me finally to the ice. As I pushed up on the stein pull and prepared to catch the edge, the rock crumbled and I swung off into space where my momentum came to an abrupt halt as I swung into a pillar of ice behind me, taking my breath away. After I was able to breathe again I pushed back into the rock, a task in itself, and after some tricky side pulling that I feared would send me back into the pillar I finally pulled onto the ice and finished the climb.

Afterwards the day was fairly uneventful. We all did a few more climbs and then headed into town for food and drinks. We stopped at a local Irish style restaurant and gorged on pre-cooked meat and vegetables. After a few drinks we stopped at the gear store next door and more or less harassed the shop owners. We didn't blatantly bother them but we just walked around asked to look at things and then left the store without buying anything. I didn't feel too bad, mostly because I was slightly inebriated and we were heading to the local mountain pub. This was truly a climbers bar as it had route descriptions and mountain pictures on the wall. The beer was pretty damn good and after having a few more drinks we decided to wander on home. After making it home without incident, we preceded to drink some more as well as jump in the hot tub. While the hot tub felt great it was still a little awkward having 6 guys in it all trying not to touch each other. After a while most people got out and a few of us lingered on talking about future climbs. Now extremely exhausted, we crawled into bed.

The third day was not our final day, but was almost mine. We could see the rain on the windows and wondered what to do. Ice climbing in the rain is not extremely pleasant but it's possible. We talked about heading up Bird Camp Road to see if things were a little more frozen at higher altitude. We drove past the usual parking area and over bridge where the road steepened. About a mile later we watched the car in front come to a complete stop. Because of this the driver of our vehicle decided to stop as well. The only problem was our car didn't stop, at least not for very long. It simply lost it's uphill momentum and started sliding back down the hill. On on side the mountain rose. On the other side it dropped away down the wooded hill. The car slid backwards about twenty feet until the rear end collided with the snow bank that protected us from sliding off the road and rolling down the hill. The impact with the snow bank started the car spinning so now at least we were pointing down the hill. Unfortunately the spinning was sending us on a crash course with the snowbank again with a little more speed. We all had the same thought but only one person said anything, "Oh shit!" As we hit the bank the car glanced off and a few feet later the tires gained traction and we were actually able to stop.

We all stepped out of our respective vehicles feeling lucky to be alive. The question now was how to get the smaller car down the hill without it losing control. In the end we had two people on each side and one on the rear and one tentatively on the front ready to jump out of the way. So that morning we learned it more or less takes four people to guide a compact car down a twenty degree hill in crampons. After regaining frictional control of our vehicles we carefully made our way down the hill and decided that climbing at The Schoolroom was probably our best bet. I helped sling some trees for the first climb. We decided to belay from the top because leading out would be hard. They were full two hundred foot climbs and very steep. So I hung out while some other people got lowered in and after a while it was my turn. The first climb went well. I was pumped by the end but I held it together and made it out without falling. Then the second ended my day. I had watched others lower in. The bridge was great for getting good pictures. Most people had lowered in to a small shelf but I wanted the full effect from bottom to top.

I don't know why I didn't say anything about the gri-gri. I knew that they worked poorly on iced up ropes or smaller diameter ropes and despite the wet and icy conditions I guess I just figured it was no big deal and everything would turn out fine. But it didn't. I was dropped and the fall rattled me. We were done climbing after I topped out. We got in the car and went back to the cabin. We decided to wait till the next day to go to the doctor so the initial swelling in my leg could go down. I lay on the couch with my legs propped up while people fed me alcohol. Not the best medication but in a pinch it will do rather well. The hot tub paid for itself as I sat in the warm water watching the rain-turned-snow fall around us. The toxic mix of adrenaline, alcohol, and calories took their toll and despite the dull ache in my leg I climbed into bed and fell straight to sleep.

This was pretty much the end of major climbing for me until recently. The next day others climbed a bit but I left early with another member of our party having decided not to go to the hospital. The person who dropped me told me to send him the medical bills and he would pay for them. I went to a specialist and they said nothing was torn -- to my tremendous relief, one of my greatest fears is incapacitation that would keep me from climbing. I had severely strained my IT band, which travels on the outside of the knee. They asked if I was having trouble sleeping. When I said I was having a little trouble he overindulged me with a prescription for Vicodin and sent me to the physical therapist for a brace and some exercise.

In the end my doctor's visit totalled in at almost five hundred dollars, the brace being the most expensive part at almost two hundred. My insurance being mainly to cover major medical expenses was really just a haggling agent to bring some of the exorbitant costs down. The original asking price for the brace: $450. The unbargained price of the physical therapy, doctors visit, and x-rays: $375. The only thing that didn't seem hugely out of line was my pharmaceuticals which cost a whopping $15. Unfortunately the 5mg of Vicodin weren't even noticeable so I paid $15 for some Ibuprofen with a narcotic additive. Disappointing mostly. I ended up wearing the brace around for about two weeks. I did the physical therapy for about as long and soon I was hopping off boulder problems with little trouble. I still wasn't doing drop knees or any high steps or deep knee bends but the pain was going away and I felt in good shape.

It was shortly after this episode that Greg came to visit for our Moab Trip. In all that was accomplished in the very opening of the climbing season I saw an opportunity to make leaps and bounds with my climbing as well as get a lot of enjoyment by getting out a lot. This turned out to not be the case. Instead I had a series of setbacks that started to destroy me mentally to the point where I wondered if I would ever go climbing again. I would end up going climbing but it would come at great cost. The first cost actually ended with my Moab trip during which I got a ticket on the way out of town.

I got up obscenely early that morning because I knew it would be slow going with the traffic. Heading up highway 24 I could barely see the road because of the thick snow and predawn lack of light. I only lost a little control heading up Wilkerson Pass but quickly regained it. Then outside of Leadville on a straight flat portion of road I sped up. I didn't know how fast I was going or what the speed limit was. I was on that fine edge of control that climbers are very familiar with but most people are lucky to have dealt with once in their lives. The one ticket was annoying and I will be going to court to fight it in July but it was the events following that started me on a spiral into the doldrums. A week after the Moab trip I was heading to work. As I turned onto the main road that goes to the highway I saw a motorcycle cop. After I passed I decided to put on my seat belt. Not because I was worried about breaking the law, which hadn't crossed my mind, but rather I thought it was a good idea. The cop pulled me over a block later. This ticket I paid even though it was frustrating. It wasn't enough though. Just the next week I was driving through the rain on the way to Shelf Road. It'd been raining off and on all month. This alone was dispiriting. I can't work outside when it rains and my indoor job at current is more for income than enjoyment. So driving to Shelf Road to meet clients so we can hopefully beat the rain I am only exceeding the speed limit mildly, not something a cop would bother pulling me over for. Unfortunately, highway 115 is mostly one lane with a few sections of two lane for passing. Of course as I pass someone in one of those infinitesimally short sections of two lanes that always is on the uphill part of the road I am exceeding the speed limit. I crest the hill after passing the last in a long line of cars and what should I see. Not just one cop, but three. They're all going the opposite direction but one turns around and soon after they pull me over. At this juncture I have a possible twelve out of twelve points to my license if I fail to evade conviction for these traffic offenses.

Now if we ignore the fact that I have a terrible habit of putting the pedal to the floor, one might ask why I was going to Shelf Road. It's a bit far south and anyone who knows about my job knows that most of my guiding takes place in the Garden of the Gods and Red Rock Canyon Open Space, both in the Colorado Springs area. That was last year, this year Colorado weather has taken a vacation and we're all of a sudden in the damned Pacific Northwest. Honestly as of the start of spring, I've seen the total annual precipitation fall in one month. This has been horrible for work. I've had to do a couple trips in Boulder just to keep myself afloat. The driving frustrates me. My lack of familiarity with good client climbs in this area also frustrates me and the fact that I have barely done any climbing of my own enrages me to no end. I feel stuck in a cycle of working to pay my bills which leaves for no time for climbing. A dog in a continuous tail chase.

There I was though, on my way to Shelf Road to guide some little girl up some of the easiest climbs I could find. Luckily I've been to Shelf before so I knew how to get there, or so I thought. Finally meeting them we started driving. I wanted to head to an area known as Menses Prow because it had an abundance of 5.8 and 5.9 climbs, which I figured I could yank the girl up if necessary, the usual job of a guide. What I didn't know was that she was actually a fairly strong climber. Driving down the road I kept an eye out for what I thought was the parking lot. Unfortunately, it wasn't and as I drove down the road, hoping it would curve back towards my destination, I reluctantly turned around to explain that I should have parked at the first parking lot. When we arrived the girl and her family (all five of them) were excited to go climbing. She'd climb, they'd watch, I'd belay. I didn't see a path across the barbwire fence to the campground where the path lay. I could tell it was where we needed to go by looking at the picture in the guidebook. I just didn't know how to get there. After they all were ready to go I decided to head up the road, assuming there'd be a path. Of course there wasn't. Things don't get to be easy in life, they are what they are. I eventually found a break in the barbwire that wasn't too dangerous for my clients and we made our way across the open semi-desert scrub grass towards the campground.
Walking up I noticed there were several paths. I started down one, realized it wasn't correct and told them all to stay where they were while I went and asked someone if we were going the right direction. Finally getting specific directions, I headed to get the group. At this point the mother stopped and said something so degrading that she might as well of slapped me in the face, "I'm losing confidence, you seemed so confident before, but it doesn't seem like you know where you're going and if you don't know where you are going then how will you know which climbs will be safe." At this point I wished she had slapped me in the face, it would have been easier to maintain a smile. See when you're a guide you must seem invincible, even if you are not. You must have unwavering confidence, gumption, and seemingly boundless reserves of strength and energy. It's a delicate balance. You must seem confident but not brash. Energetic but not manic. While maintaining a firmly dominant upper hand you cannot come off as overbearing. Chiding clients with beta it's hard to not sound condescending and in the end I must maintain an even keel of my temper while promoting their enjoyment and complete safety while taking serious risks to my own health throughout most of the day.

I did not lose my smile though. I calmly explained the many years I had been climbing and the fact that I would not put her daughter in any danger I would not expose myself to. Luckily she didn't know that I am an avid risk taker and that a risk I would take would not be one which she would want her daughter exposed. Thankfully she agreed to continue and we dawdled along the trail slowly while the older parents of the family trailed behind. Eventually we got to the crag and were able to start climbing. While we walked I had asked the girl what kind of climbing she'd done. She talked about how she belonged to a climbing team in Philadelphia. With that grain of knowledge I asked what grades she was climbing to which she replied that they didn't have a regular grading scale, her gym used an EASY, MEDIUM, HARD, sort of scale. She was climbing the MEDIUM climbs which I figured could be anywhere from 5.8 through 5.10. Either way I would be able to put her on climbs she would be capable of. I asked if she had done any lead belaying at which point she informed me she had never belayed. Now I don't know what kind of climbing team they're running out there but to not teach your competitors how to belay is simply stupid. They will be far more productive climbers if they realize that they have a partner in their climbing endeavors who keeps them safe and humble. I was both astonished and disgusted. Kind of like burping and sneezing at the same time.

Finally at the base I tied her to a tree and explained belaying to her. I also explained to her brother how to apply a back-up belay. I felt I was in somewhat reasonable hands. Despite telling the mother about how safe her daughter was I basically soloed a 5.8 to start the day. Never in my life did I think either of them would catch me. Luckily I'm good at not falling and a few minutes later I was on the ground. I belayed her up and she climbed quite well without falling or barely struggling.

We moved on and did several more climbs in the 5.8-5.9 range. One of them, a bolted crack called Bat Crack (5.8), was probably named after the large amounts of feces on it. Either way the climb was rather pleasant. We did a few more climbs and after looking at the guidebook I accidentally mixed up a 5.10 and a 5.9 but suceeded gracefully, as did she. Then the day was over. I sent them ahead while I cleaned up and then quickly caught up with them to guide them to the car. Once back at the car the mother apologized for doubting me so quickly, I of course told her to think nothing of it, although it was all that was on my mind for the rest of the day. They then tipped me and promptly left. The tension slowly leaked out of my body as the pressure to perform drove away. I had done my job fairly well but lack of familiarity prevented me from doing better. The problem with working in the same place most of the time is that the new places throw you off.

At this point I made a deal with myself. I would stop speeding. It was costing me far too much money and now it could possibly cost me my license. Also I was going to get out and climb more at places outside of the local area, not only to improve my climbing skills, which in terms of guiding need little improvement, but also to gain better familiarity with the many areas throughout Colorado. So far it has been going poorly. I've been out climbing on my own exactly four times since Moab in April. That's barely twice a month. The first time was with the boss of the outdoor guide service I work for. We went to a place in Elevenmile Canyon called The Icebox. A few warmups in and we started doing a few harder climbs. I ended up falling off the first move of Tenth Avenue Freezout, 5.11c, a couple times before I was able to do the moves and cruise the rest of the climb. We ended the day with me taking many falls on a climb called The Icebox, 5.12a. Despite the fact that we did some hard climbing, harder than I'd ever done, I felt a bit lazy. We'd only done about five climbs and left in the early afternoon.

I just don't understand Colorado. It's so full of fantastic climbing destinations but it seems like few of the people that I know locally want to climb more than a few hours a day. This doesn't work for me. When I go climbing I want to wake up at dawn and climb till dusk. I want those few free days to be complete freedom. The next time I went to Elevenmile Canyon it was with a new guide and her friend. We warmed up on a two pitch 5.8 on Pine Cone Dome that felt more like 5.10. We meandered around the cliff climbing a few climbs somewhere between 5.9 and 5.11 and made our second to last climb of the day a two pitch 5.10 called Parr Four. I don't know if we were on the wrong climb or what, but there was only one move I could have begun to consider 5.10 and that would be a stretch. The rest of the climbing was barely 5.6, so I was a little dissapointed even though the climbing was moderately enjoyable. We then went over to The Icebox for me to wail on, which was right across the street. This time I did better and only fell twice compared to the dozen times on the previous try. By this time people had to go home, and I relented from wanting to stay because I knew "Iowa" had seen me very little due my two work schedules prevented us from ever crossing paths. Even so I got home and she had already gone to work.

I did go to Elevenmile another time in which I helped put up a couple of new routes. We ended up avoiding anything that had been done by walking to an obscure part of the cliff that few will probably visit again. Either way it was pretty exhilarating to touch bits of the cliff face that nobody else had. I'd like to go to those places that people haven't climbed and find those untainted natural lines. Perhaps there will be something to see while I'm in Colorado hiking or perhaps I'll have to travel far away.

I look at cliffs and mountains and I see so much that I want to do but life continues to be in the way. At every step and corner life becomes unnecessarily complicated and mundane with bills and responsibilities. Everyone must have their pound of flesh and I find myself growing weary with the day in and day out tasks that serve to weave themselves into every facet of my life. I fall asleep on the couch, computer in lap, or guidebook in hand, awoken with a start by "Iowa" who I continue to neglect because climbing is no longer just a part of my life, it's the entirety. It is my living, it is my vacation. Every night I drag myself to bed where I'm told I sleep talk no doubt because of my continuous lack of sleep, constant physical exhertion, and constant physical and mental stress. I keep thinking that if only I had enough money I could go climbing more, forego the mundane tasks of my different jobs and just walk into the woods forever. It's enticing, even possible, but I feel like I'd be abandoning people who depend on me and for some reason I'm more willing to suffer through a painful life than to abandon everyone for my own personal well being.

The only other climbing trip I've done so far this summer has been to Shelf Road. I took a former guide and his friends around on some easy topropes and did a few hard climbs myself. I officially feel like I could solo most 5.10's and I simply need to be able to build mileage so I can start feeling confident enough to onsight harder things without plugging too much gear. One of the climbs I lead in Elevenmile was a nice 5.10a called Life on the Run. The first half was easy, the total climb being only a little over 50 feet tall. Despite the easy first half I crammed the second half with more gear than necessary. I onsighted the climb but I couldn't bring myself to crawl more than a foot above my gear. Mileage is the key. I have resolved that no matter what I am taking a trip somewhere in September. I've thought about going to Rainier and The Grand Teton but I also have people who want me to go to Yosemite or out East to hit the old familiar crags which probably aren't so familiar.

Despite a wavering start I am confident that things will get better. I don't have any reason to be positive, nothing in my life suggests that things will get better. In fact more signs point that things will only get worse but what choice do I have. I live my life like I climb, pushing forward through the worst of it hoping that things will get better before I blow it and plummet into the abyss. The clouds are pushing over the hills and the rain is pattering on the tin roof at the gym. I can't remember the last time I wasn't climbing, it's been weeks. Despite this it's been mostly for other people. The thunder rumbles as the rain fades. I can't remember the last time I stared at the stars because I've comitted to having a roof over my head. The dull ache in my fingers is one of hard work born of necessity rather than pleasure, necessity to hold to my obligations in order to survive. A few hours from now and I'll be piloting my metal coffin through night traffic on the wet highway. The true dangers of my life are unfortunately at the hands of others. Perhaps that will change, only time will tell.

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The Wrath of Cannon

I've now been on Cannon four times, and can officially state that there is a pattern of some sort of failure. Jeremiah and I were lucky enough to have a guide and client climbing below us the first time we tackled the great alpine mountain of the northeast. Route finding was an issue that day, and the guide was instrumental in getting us up the proper pitches even though we hadn't hired him. When we got to the top we confidently asked him how long it would take for us to hike to the summit.

Click here for the rest of the story.

Click here for all 2009 Cannon pics.

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