Twelve Days in the Northeast

Hi folks,

The most recent trip report is posted here on Climbing.com. I'm no poet, but I took a shot at writing a poem anyway. Because of the way the text wraps around the photos, it doesn't quite look as I submitted it, but that's OK. I really have no clue if it's any good or not. Here is the beginning to give you an idea:

Upon the passing of Hurricane Earl;
he flew in just before
we drove up to Acadia,
to climb the pink granite.

Guidebook: Acadia - Wafer Step (5.5), Deep Blue Sea (5.7), Guillemot Crack (5.6), Story of O (5.6), Bartleby (5.8), Yellow Wall (5.8), Recollections of Pacifica (5.9), Brochure Crack (5.9+)

Acadia National Park

Descriptions of a few of the routes in Acadia National Park in Maine.

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly - The Weird Season: Part 2

The Good

The Bubbles from Jordan Pond
(photo by Melanie Hall)

I waved good-bye to my four-year-old niece and my mom as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed to the airport and back to California. It had been a nice week with filled with lobster cookouts, skipping rocks, ice cream on the Village Green, gossip, and the laughter that comes after old ghosts are drawn out of closets long left open by families who know such things don't matter. An "accident" across the bay that left one lobsterman dead left the town abuzz about motives and the quiet "war" going on over there, while the tourists and locals alike still marvelled that such a small town as Bar Harbor could have as great of a fireworks display as what had been seen on the Fourth of July. I had drinks with "BEC" and "Wonderwoman" the night before they left town, and when we parted, after taking a gentle stroll down a blustery, chilly, dark, and peaceful Shore Path (my favorite place in the whole world), I looked forward to the climbing weekend ahead of me.

The Weird Season: Part I

CCK (5.8)

If you're a regular reader then you'll remember my "retirement" post from a few weeks ago. It's silly to call it a retirement because I never was making a living as a climber, but that trip to Red Rocks did change things for me as a climber. It killed all ambition I had to challenge myself on routes, and it turned my attention to more serious matters such as writing and taking whatever next steps I had to take in life. Because of that decision, I was suddenly confident in the choices I had made, and the direction I was going in seemed obvious for the first time in many years. But it didn't come without worries, the first and foremost was finding and / or keeping climbing partners who continued to push themselves beyond their limits. I still wanted to climb, but who would want to climb with someone who wasn't in the game seriously?

A First Day Outside

Being home was never about climbing. I grew up on the water; on a sailboat and lobster boat to be specific. It was also about pulling a paddle's fin against the Frenchman's Bay tides and pushing pedals on Rockefeller's carriage trails. I was the first bike guide to bring tourists down Cadillac Mountain after they had just witnessed the opening rays of sunshine touch land on the continental United States for the first time on any particular day. We'd drive up in the dark, watch the sun peer over Schoodic Peninsula, eat breakfast, and then coast all the way downhill into town, ending up on the sand bar that connects Bar Harbor to Bar Island just offshore.

Maine has a rocky coast. In fact, it is the longest coastline in the United States if measured by all the inlets at low tide, but it's also nearly all flat. Sure, there are small outcrops that rise out of the cold, green sea, but most are molded short by the height of the high tide and the strong, westerly trade winds. What Maine is not is a high-altitude state. Mt Katahdin is the tallest mountain at a mere 5,267 feet. It's peak is more well known as the final stop on the long Appalachian Trail than it is a mountain built for climbers. On the other hand, Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park tops out at 1,530 feet, and it is here where climbers come from all over New England to get on short climbs just to witness the view from the top. I never climbed whilst growing up here. It was always something those crazy kids did, and it was always easier to remember the moments when we were listening on the scanner to the island rescue teams pull an injured climber off the face of The Precipice than it was to notice the successful and unharmed. I never dreamed of being a climber despite the abundance of beautiful rock in my own back yard. That was until I went away to school in Scotland. It was there that I learned one of my two passions in life (writing and climbing, in that order). When I finally came home, I was elated to finally get up some hometown routes that weren't made of wet roots scarred by bicycle chains.

Fast forward to the present (about eight years), and I've realized that my only cousin (we're the only grandchildren on my father's side) and her husband have also become climbers as a result of their experience at the Rhode Island Rock Gym. Since we each learned that we each climb, we've been trying to find ways to get together so that we could enjoy the activity together. Naturally, the best place for that would be at home in Bar Harbor. Unfortunately, two things have always managed to get in the way: 1) our differing schedules while we're both home and; 2) home is not a climbing destination as much as it is home. Whenever we're home, we're home to visit, relax, and enjoy the best part of growing up on the island - the summer atmosphere. To be honest, if I had a choice of either going climbing or going to Geddy's Pub, which, to be fair, has gone completely downhill from a bar with a phenomenal, edgy atmosphere to a stupid, bland, atmosphereless waste of human consumption (the place is so done up that it is obviously disingenuous with purposefully placed memorabilia, whereas the signs on the wall actually looked stolen back in the day), I'd still choose Geddy's just because the people who still go there as locals provide enough of the long-lost feeling of the place to make me remember how fun it used to be (except now you can't sit at a table and get a drink. God that drives me nuts. If it weren't for the awsome mudslides they make, I'd choose the Thirsty Whale over Geddy's any day). This place went from the best of the best of dive bars to TGI Friday's without the mandatory flair, and it tops one of my two passions because home will always be home. Now that's saying something.

Each year I go home when my mom flies out for a week to visit family (she's a homesick woman living in the wasteland that is southern California). I try to make it home more often, but life has pulled me aside and only allowed me a few moments to cherish the invigorating smell of the Trenton Bridge at low tide (trust me, it's that good) each year. So this year was going to be no different. Despite the fact that I knew some friends of climber friends of mine were going to be in Bar Harbor over the weekend, I almost left my gear behind thinking, "I just won't have time." But then, just as I was about to put it away, I thought to myself, "What if "Cousin" and her husband are home? What if they bring their harnesses and shoes? Well, I guess there's no need to not bring the stuff just in case."

I thankfully listened to my gut. When I sat down on my uncle's sofa the night I arrived, and when he told me that my cousin was coming up (her husband was already here, and he and I later went out and painted to town dark yellow and moon-peach), I asked if, when the next time he spoke to her, he could ask her to bring her harness and shoes with her. Well, my uncle being who he is, picked up the phone immediately and passed the request on. She arrived in town two days later and, upon me seeing her for the first time in a month, I asked her when she had some free time. After a brief discussion, we determined that Saturday morning was going to be not only our first time climbing together, but also her first time climbing outside.

South Bubble

Upper Slabs (5.4 - 5.9+) - Five climbs in all - No more than 50 feet tall for this one section - Greg led the 5.4 with all other routes topropped) - Two sets of bolts with rap rings at the top

Approach: There are various ways to get to the South Bubble parking lot depending on where you're coming from. Either way, you need to get to the two-way section of the Park Loop Road between the Jordan Pond House and the Cadillac Mountain turn-off.

We drove from downtown Bar Harbor and entered the Park Loop Road from the Eagle Lake Road, just up the hill from the Kebo Valley Golf Club. Turn right off Eagle Lake Road before the stone bridge and take your first left after that (just down the road a bit). Continue up the road toward Cadillac Mountain, staying right where the road splits, and passing the Cadillac turn-off. At some point you'll go down hill and pass a Carriage Road parking lot on the left. Continue past that until you come to the South Bubble parking lot. One can park here, but the preferable parking lot is down the hill a bit further on the right in an unmarked, paved lot. From this lot, go down the steps and follow the path across the stream bed (it may be dry). At the sign (or intersection if the sign isn't there), take a left and walk about 30 feet. There should be an unmarked path that heads up to the right and into the talus field. Fade left and up across the talus field. You should see the Lower Slab first. To get to the Upper Slab, continue uphill until you can see that you're level with the ledge. Then you'll have to scramble up some rocks to the right and back down again.

Climbs: The right-facing corner on the left of the slabs is a 5.4 that many people use to either start an island two-pitch classic, Gargoyle (5.8), or get to the top of the slabs to set up topropes. There are two sets of bolts that will cover all five climbs on these slabs, with one set of rap rings. Alternatively, use the old, iron rungs cautiously, as these are old and worn, formerly used as hand holds from a long-since removed hike that rivaled The Precipice and The Beehive in exposure when I was growing up (I remember my aunt throwing her dog over her shoulders and smearing across this section in flip flops!). The grades of the routes go as follows from left to right: 5.4, 5.5, 5.9+, 5.5, and 5.6.

For the most part, we were the only people there, and so I was able to set up two top ropes fairly easily. It is fun climbing here, with mostly friction moves off juggy flakes and ripples in the pink granite that dominates this area. "Cousin" learned to lead belay for the first time, and she also cleaned her first route as a second. The first climb of the day, the 5.4 that I led and she cleaned, also provided her with an understanding that not only is everything "on" outside, but sometimes a bit of creative footwork is needed to move upward.

We didn't climb very long, but she learned a lot. As I noted, she did her first lead belay, her first chance to clean a route, and also her first friction climb, her first time being brought up a route as a second, her first outdoor fall and, the best part, her first and completely fearless rappel. For such a short period of time, she had an incredibly productive day. Actually, I take back the part about her best being the rappel. Instead, I think the best part was her technique. I tried to take pictures of her reaching way too high and making noobish dynamic moves on the easy climbs, but did more pushing with her palms and lifting with her legs than anything else. She said that at the end of the day she it was her legs that were tired and not her arms at all. I was happy to hear that, and relayed to her that her fatigue was in the right spots.

Unfortunately, we didn't have the opportunity to climb anything longer, but I had very few expectations of actually getting outside. To merely be a part of her first outdoor climb was a good moment for me, and a highlight of my climbing summer. Hopefully medical school (she got the brains in the family) doesn't keep her away forever, as I'd like to get her and her husband to the 'Gunks someday to do some easy multipitch climbing. Then again, if she becomes a famous doctor someday, maybe she can take me somewhere instead.

Click here for my Acadia Pics

Great Head - Acadia

I grew up in Bar Harbor, Maine and went climbing only once while growing up. It was during one of my summer day camp outings, when I was six or seven years old, and I cried like a baby because I was so afraid of letting go of the rock. Ten feet off the ground was a long way for me then (still is a bit today). My death grip may have left a permanent impression on the rock. It was a bit embarrassing, too, because I was bragging (read: lying) to a cute counselor about how I was a great climber and had done a lot whilst living in Hawaii. She found out that it wasn't true as soon as I got to the "crux" of the climb. I'm not sure how much she liked me bragging to her after that. I didn't climb again until I "learned" in Scotland many years later (grad school), and wouldn't climb in Acadia again until I came home from school.

Even then, I haven't climbed much in my hometown. It's odd because there is so much climbing here. I just haven't had the opportunities or partners either willing to come here or living here already. When I come home, I'm usually here to visit family and go on hikes and stuff (that's what my current vacation is like). I've always wanted to explore more, and yesterday I did just that.

When I came back from school, a friend from the UK (Kevin - the gentleman with whom I learned to climb with), flew over and visited for a few weeks. The goal was to climb, a lot, and we did. We hit Otter Cliffs, Precipice and South Bubble nearly every day. But that was before the "new" Acadia guide by Jeff Butterfield came out. I'm not sure who wrote the old one, but I don't remember being able to find much information on Great Head Promontory. I knew the cliff was high, but I had always believed it was slopey from the top to the sea. I honestly thought there wasn't a spot on Great Head where one couldn't walk from the top down to the water. This is so odd because I used to help my uncle from time to time on his lobster boat. We certainly fished around Sand Beach and Great Head. I know we fished off Egg Rock Lighthouse (an island just across from Great Head), and yet I never gathered the information I was seeing: a tall, burly 100-foot tall cliff rising right out of the cold Atlantic Ocean.

I set out yesterday to find this cliff, and not get lost trying to do so (if anyone knows the Great Head trails - stop laughing. I've honestly gotten lost looking for these cliffs before. I've always ended up at Sand Beach. I can't explain it. I'm local to the area, and can't explain it). My cousin and her husband were up from Providence visiting and wanted to tag along (I've just recently found out that they have discovered climbing as well, and was going to take them out. They had to leave early that afternoon, however, so scouting was going to be it that day). Despite both of them growing up in Bar Harbor as well, neither of them had climbed in Acadia either. For certain, they had seen the climbing at Otter Cliffs, have hiked the Precipice and South Bubble (oh yeah, those rungs on South Bubble that are all rusted out mid-way up the cliff, that used to be a hiking trail. I did that for the first time with my dog when I was three or four years old. It wasn't a scary hike then, but today it looks as if it was back then). It is easy to see climbers on those cliffs because they are all high-profile locations. For one, all three are, for the most part viewable from the Park Loop Road. They are also high-visit areas. This is mainly because of the views they offer, though accessibility doesn't hurt either. Great Head, on the other hand, despite it's prominence along the coast and viewability from the Park Loop Road, isn't really as accessible. It is somewhat off the beaten trail, and the cliffs are not viewable from Sand Beach, the most common place from which to view and / or approach Great Head.

Another thing to consider is the fact that, as a kid growing up, I've always been familiar with the hike on Great Head to and from its parking lot to Sand Beach. This is because this approach to the beach is a back way in when the beach is crowded and you don't feel like paying the tolls just before the beach's entrance. In other words, the Great Head trail has always been a means to an end: getting to the beach (because who in their right mind would go swimming at Great Head?).

Anyway, we got to the Great Head parking lot and headed in. Within ten minutes we were sitting on top of the cliffs and all three of us were questioning our identities because, as I said, these cliffs have been here all along and we had no clue. But there they were, and we were rather excited to see them, even if discovering the cliffs made us feel a little like tourists, if only for a few moments.

There are three main areas to Great Head: Left Wall, Cavern and Alcove. The latter two are accessible only by rappel, and one must take care to watch the tides because the belay area is either underwater at high tide or is so damn close to being underwater that one might get washed out to see by a rouge wave (See Michael Reardon). But Left Wall seems to be pretty accessible during all tides and has quite a range of climbing (5.7-5.11). The Cavern is mostly advanced climbing with most routes being in the hard 5.10 to 5.11 range. The Alcove has some easier routes, but it is also on the harder end of the spectrum. We found that the area is mostly mixed in terms of pro; some routes are bolted, some are not and some are bolted only where needed. There are many bolts at the top of the routes for top-belaying and / or rappelling. The Left Wall is approachable by walking down the slabs to the right (if on top of the cliff facing the sea). We were amazed at what we were seeing. The routes simply looked stunning, clean and obvious.

One thing to always consider, however, is just how intimidating the rock and ocean are. Even on easy climbs, the rock always has this feel of the elements polishing it off. Stability is something I've always feared whilst climbing the sea cliffs of Acadia. Maybe, however, that's because I wasn't a very strong climber when I first and last climbed here. But the roar of the sea against the shore? That never goes away. And yes, rogue waves are common here. They do wash people out to see. It's happened many times in my lifetime. One almost feels better climbing than on belay. I remember belaying at Otter Cliffs for the first time with one eye on my climber and another on the waves crashing behind me, and that was at low tide when the waves were a good twenty feet away from the base of the cliff. Great Head is much more intimidating than Otter Cliffs are, so understand that you've been warned.

In any case, no climbing for me this week, but I'm glad I got out to scout and see the routes. I've been doing a bit of that lately, and it feels good. I feel as if I'm taking another step toward advancing my climbing skills. I'm not sure what it means now that I'm taking day or side trips to scout crags and not climb them, but I'm happy with the development. I hope to be climbing Great Head for the first time soon.