Running over kittens at Cannon

(Apologies for the lack of photos. We simply didn't take any)

It wasn't long ago when Cannon was a place of nightmares for me. Three rain storms, an electrical storm, a brutally shortsighted hike to the summit, and a sprained ankle had crushed me time and time again. Don't get me wrong, I have made it to the top successfully several times, including on lead under difficult circumstances, but there was always something about that place that made the added risk assessment worth it. Simply put, don't climb there unless you're ready.

Of course, out of friendship, I ignored this advice and for five pitches I giggled my way up Whitney-Gilman (5.7) last week for the first time in over a year (at least). Even the approach felt easier than normal (for honesty's sake, I was still out of breath at the top of the talus field). But somewhere, maybe in kitty heaven, where the walls are covered in carpet and curtains, where an endless ball of string continually fills up as it eternally unraveled, where there are more back-scratchers than dog bones, somewhere up there, hidden amongst the forever fresh kitty litter, there lies a rotting, bitter-smelling chunk of something dear to cats universe-wide that is quite simply out to get me.

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.

Beached Whale

Why do I have epics on Cannon every time I go? The first epic was due to poor advice and an inability to understand the weather dangers. The second was due an overreaction of the first experience and a poor understanding of the descent. The third was my inability to tap into my Piscean observation talents.

Our goal was to climb Moby Grape (5.8): a musical line of eight to nine pitches of mostly crack with a few slabs at the top. In fact, had we actually climbed this route then I was going to have what I think would have been one of my best posts (we're still climbing it someday, so stay tuned). But as has been the 2008 New England summer weather, this past weekend was every bit as predictably unpredictable. It seems that this summer is the summer of heavenly discontent. Let it be clear, for history may want to look back on these past few months in particular, that there is no threat of drought in the Northeast, and, in oddly such precious times of energy scarcity, there has been no shortage of the biggest godly hint of where to find naturally occurring electricity: the sky. It seems as if every day for the past two months have had the same weather pattern of mild temps, high humidity, and a plethora of "scattered showers with pockets of severe lightening possibly mixed in." This isn't the Midwest, people. This is New England, and we simply don't get the same weather forecast for two months straight, let alone days with above-the-normal-amount lightening strikes, water funnels, and tornadoes! Well, it wasn't really supposed to happen at Cannon on Saturday either (finally).

"Ratherbe" and I made a straight shot up from Boston to Franconia Notch after work on Friday in search of the famed free campsites just north of the cliff. We kind of knew where they were, but didn't know what to expect when we got there. When we did arrive, we found all twelve or so taken, and, according to one camper tucked nicely in his tent with his growling dog close by, the sites weren't shared-use. As far as Franconia Notch goes, there aren't many campgrounds. Lafayette, the only public campground in the area, is often full even a few days in advance, and this is probably owed to its proximity to a lot of world class hiking (the famed and weather prolific Franconia Ridge meets the AT en route). It was also several miles back in the opposite direction from our current location, and just, by a mile, on the other side of Cannon on what sort of amounts to a one-way stretch of road. Even if we got lucky and found a spot there, we'd still have to drive south to get there, south again in the morning in order to turn north, just so we could turn south again to get back to Cannon. Since it was late, and because we knew Moby Grape was as classic of a climb as a classic can get and, as a result, have a conga line on any given day, we wanted to get up extra early to beat the crowd. While I'm not a bandit camper (my super-secret campsite at Cathedral isn't really illegal, as I could easily find an appropriate site away from the water), "Ratherbe" noted that it wasn't unusual for cars to be left overnight at trail heads, and the fact that we'd likely be up early both lent the idea of finding a spot about 20 feet into the bushes just to crash. With a little luck and searching, we finally found a place that was somewhat flat and close to the appropriate size for my tent. We probably killed a fern, but I think that death balances out by the bizarre dream I had that night of a stream of drunk campers walking past our tent on the animal trail that led back to the parking lot. I remember specifically how they all had headlamps and were saying things like, "what the fuck are these guys doing here?" I even awoke partially convinced that the bar around the corner would serve breakfast if we wanted it, but was quickly swayed to understand that, no, there hadn't been any campers with headlamps walking past our tent and, no, there definitely were not any bars in the immediate area (with immediate probably being roughly defined as within the nearest 10 miles or so, let alone just around the corner on the animal path). I guess it must have been the mushroom I slept on. Anyway, sleeping a few feet off the trail apparently wasn't much of an issue, because as we packed our stuff the next morning, we decided to walk around the parking lot in search of other options for the future (just in case the legal ones were taken again). The first thing we noticed was that there was one camper, an apparent proud Scotsman as "Ratherbe" and I are (at least in heritage or name) had set up his tent, ahem, right in front of his car. "OK," we said to each other. Apparently being less obvious isn't so much of an issue. The second thing we noticed was that there was, in fact, another nice spot to pitch a tent just off the parking lot in the woods. We know this because we saw another tent already there. Having stored this valuable information, we hopped in the car and drove south to the Profile Lake parking lot (why this lot is only signed with a "Trailhead Parking" sign I'll never know. Echo Lake even has a sign that says "Echo Lake". Why does Profile Lake not get the same respect?).

Well, we knew were in a bit of trouble with our goal of climbing Moby because, as we awoke very early in the morning, we noticed that the rain that wasn't supposed to hit until 8am and last only an hour had begun somewhere around 4am and hadn't let up by 8am. Hmmmm... we thought, this doesn't seem right. I guess what was ringing in my ears was an e-mail conversation I had with another climbing friend about climbing Moby the same day. He wrote back and stated, and I'm paraphrasing here, "There's no way in hell you'd get me on that cliff during the summer!" I didn't really understand why he was saying that, but I figured as the heavy mist settled on the car in small, but noticeable beads, that he had probably chosen correctly and enjoyed his day at Rumney instead. As it were, there were two cars in the parking lot while "Ratherbe" and I ate butternut rum muffins and hemmed and hawed about what we were going to do. Rumney? Naw, the sharpness of the rock hurts "Ratherbe"'s finger. Cathedral? Too far. The Kang area? No clue of what's even available to climb? Echo? Definitely too wet. Artist's Bluff? Not likely worth it. Shit! What were we going to do? Not knowing what to do, we turned our attention to our comrades who were all racking up to see what they were doing. We didn't know one of the parties, but we did know one of the guys in the other party. I will call him "PhotoSR" because his son is kind of famous photographer in the climbing world.

- Us: So what are you guys doing?
- Random guys: VMC Direct. If not, then maybe Moby. You?
- Us: We were thinking of Moby, but since a lot of it is crack we figure it'll be wet a while.
- Random guys: Huh. Well, I guess we'll find out.
- "PhotoSR": What are you guys doing?
- Us: Well, we were thinking of Moby, but we'll probably pass. You?
- "PhotoSR": Yeah, those slabs up top will get tough with this rain
- Greg (in my head): oh yeah, the wet slabs. Gee, where have I experienced that before? Oh yeah, Epic #1 at the top.
- "PhotoSR": We're heading up WG. That'll be just fine. Were you planning on doing Reppy's? If so, and if it doesn't rain the next couple of hours, you'll be fine on that later on. What did you guys say you were doing?
- Random guys: VMC Direct?
- "PhotoSr" (with a shitty grin on his face): Have fun.

"PhotoSR" and his partner headed off, and "Ratherbe" and I were left contemplating what to do. The weather had stated no rain again after 8am until the late afternoon. That still left us with plenty of time to climb something, but what we couldn't decide upon. Since the mountain was still pretty fogged in, and because the fog was heavy and wet enough to keep my head from staying dry, we decided to go for a drive until either the weather cleared up or we found something to do somewhere else. My first thought was to go check out Artist's Bluff and Echo Crag because I had never been to either.

Artist's Bluff, Echo Crag, and Profile Cliff

We didn't climb at either location, so I don't have any climb-specific information for you. But I can tell you how to get to each one and what to expect once you're there.

The parking for both places is in the same parking lot, the Gov Gallen Memorial lot, which is, during the summer, partially and RV campground and, during the winter, an overflow lot to the Cannon ski area. To get there, I-93 turns into the Franconia Notch Parkway (they are the same road for a few miles through the notch). Regardless of driving direction, take Exit 3 for Echo Lake Beach. Turn left off the exit onto Rt 18 if driving north, and right if driving south. If driving north, continue over I-93 and find the dirt parking lot on the left.

To get to Artist's Bluff, turn right out of the parking lot and cross the street. Once near a guardrail you should find a path heading up to the left. Follow the path up for a few minutes to the base of the 200 foot Artist's Bluff. This cliff, along with another, smaller cliff higher up called Monalisa Cliff, is primarily a beginner's crag. However, there are a handful of 10s and an 11 and 12 here as well.

To get to Echo Crag, take a right out of the parking lot but don't cross the street. Head back over the bridge over I-93 and cross over the north-bound exit ramp. Just as you hit the other side of the exit, look right for what might be a partially hidden and small trail. Follow the trail for several minutes, and don't head left until after you go past the info sign and head up the obvious, man-made stone steps to the base of the cliff. We didn't go very far along the base, but Echo Crag apparently has several dozen climbs, with a good variety of moderate to difficult choices.

There is another crag in this area called Profile Cliff, but we didn't go there. This crag can be accessed, I believe (again, we didn't do this approach), heads up left before the signs on the Echo Crag trail. According to the Sykes guidebook (Secrets of the Notch), this trail spits you out on the left-most edge of the cliff. This guidebook also notes about a dozen moderate-to-difficult routes are at this cliff, as well as nice views of the notch and Vermont.

After a brief scouting trip, we drove around for a bit more, particularly to a town called Sugar Hill, mainly because "Ratherbe" has a wedding to attend there sometime in August and she wanted to know where it was. It was a fun drive, and I think it was highlighted by my note that the kids in this neighbor, the gang, so to speak, were certainly a rough bunch but had a groundbreaking poetic talent that kind of made them cuddly in the end.

When we finally returned to the parking lot a few hours later, we decided that since the fog and wetness had persisted since that morning, and because there was an apparent line heading up to Moby regardless of the conditions, it was best to get on Whitney-Gilman (5.7), the classic, exposed ridge route on Cannon's south end. We had both done this route before, we knew what to expect regarding anchors, gear, and climbing, and we had a fair amount of confidence of the condition of the climb thanks to "PhotoSR"'s comments earlier in the day.

Whitney-Gilman (5.7) - Six Pitches - Trad - Greg and "Ratherbe" led

Approach: With the cliff to your right, head down the path on the south end of the parking lot. Walk for several minutes past a bridge until you see what appears to be a turnout (widened section of the path) on the left with a medium, flat boulder. Directly across the path, on the right, is a small path that will take you to the base of the large talus field below Cannon. To be clear, this path will get you to WG, but it is a long and difficult hike up what seems to be a never-ending talus field with all sorts of large to medium and small loose rock. Be very careful about walking below anyone else on the talus field. Essentially, take this path up to the talus field and fade up and left to the obvious, thin ridge to your left. The ridge is directly to the left of a dark gully called The Black Dike. Once at the base of the ridge, head up left on what is probably easy 5.5 climbing to what is actually a fairly spacious ledge on the front of the outer face of the ridge. The climb starts here, not at the base of the ridge where the rockfall is.

Now, I have taken this approach twice, each time I've climbed WG. However, I've only come down the descent once (see Epic #2 at the top), and that was after this particular day. Upon meeting the tarred path again at the bottom of the descent trail later in the day, and during the walk back north to the car (to the left), we noticed another obvious path heading up in the direction of WG. This path was marked with a fairly large cairn. It is without a doubt, in my opinion, that this is the actual approach trail for WG. But I must warn you that I have not taken this trail, so I can't be sure. The risk in taking this second trail is two-fold: 1) it is much farther down the tarred path than the approach trail I took and; 2) the talus field is a bitch to navigate as it is without screwing up the actual approach. If you take this trail, and if I'm wrong, you may just very well have added a significant amount of time to your day. The approach I took probably took us a slow 45 minutes from car to the first pitch. Add on another 15-20 minutes from the base of that trail to the cairns, and then the talus field itself. However, if this other trail is indeed the correct trail, then you likely save yourself a seriously annoying approach traverse.

Pitch One (5.5 - we did the 5.6 variation) - 90 feet - Gear Anchor - Greg Led

There are two starts to this route: Normal Start) up the face near the right of the belay ledge and traverse across to the right-facing corner / crack or; 5.6 Variation) head up the lieback crack on the left. Beware of the crack without large gear (a 3.5 cam isn't big enough - we didn't have anything larger, so I can't say what to use). It is a ground fall if you fall in this wider section about 10 feet up. Also beware of loose rock after the lieback where it appears to get easier (it does get easier, but so does the rock become looser). In general, be very aware of loose rock at Cannon, and WG is no different.

After moving through the crack and about mid-way up the corner, step right and fade up right to an obvious belay ledge.

As anyone could have guessed, we weren't the only party on WG. There was another party above us (just getting to the top of P1 as we started) and apparently another party on its way across the talus field behind us. We knew it was going to be busy, so we didn't worry about that, but it was interesting to note the presence of so many other parties and not very much blueness in the sky above. There were patches of periodic blue sky by this point, and patches is an appropriate word to use especially if combine with the word "consistent."

Pitch Two (5.5 - we did the 5.7 variation) - 80 feet - Gear Anchor - "Ratherbe" led

At this point we had to wait a bit because the party ahead of us was struggling to make it up. After the second made a few tries on the 5.7 crack on the left, they decided to bail. I'm not so sure they realized how lucky they were to have bailed at that moment. Once the leader rapped down, "Ratherbe" climbed up and tossed down their rope for them, and they rapped down to the base. It was then that we realized there was another party coming up right behind us.

The 5.5 version climbs the right-hand lieback crack. The 5.7 version climbs the left-hand crack, and that is what "Ratherbe" climbed. At the top of this crack, move left and head up to another ledge. The Sykes guide notes that with 60m ropes, the first two pitches can be combined. We split these up because of the party ahead of us and because "Ratherbe" had led the odd pitches on her previous ascent and wanted to climb the even ones this time around (since I had already led the two most difficult pitches on a previous attempt, which were at the top, this was an agreeable solution to deciding who would lead each pitch).

Pitch Three (5.6) - 130 feet - Gear Anchor (with two pins and an additional fixed nut if you prefer) - Greg led

This is a bit of a tricky pitch with some route-finding skills required. Head straight up above the belay to an obvious slab on the left. Cross the slab to a short but awkward chimney (it has a couple of fixed pins, and the upper one is key if you manage to see it; it does blend into the rock a bit). Near the top of the chimney, step left (this may require a high-step and a mantle) and walk around the corner. I don't recommend climbing the right-hand face at the top of the chimney. You'll see why when you get there (hint: it's kind of blank). From there, head up the left side of the arrete / corner and be careful to test nearly all weight-bearing holds. There are a lot of loose blocks on this particular section. The top is the large ledge with two wide cracks to the left of a left-facing corner.

To this point, the weather was holding up fairly well. We could see dark clouds to the south, but directly above us was intermittent blue sky with patches of light-grey clouds. However, Cannon is an east-facing mountain, and it is also a kind of ridge in itself considering it is the highest point on the west side of the notch. Just to clarify again, we were on Whitney-Gilman Ridge, or, to put it another way, we were on the most exposed ridge on an exposed, east-facing cliff where one can't see the approaching weather (again, see Epic #1 above). We knew the party behind us was closing in fast (this guy and "PBR" would've become climbing buddies real quickly), and we decided that if they made it up before we started off, that we might let them pass. It was then that we heard one of the most terrifying noises one could hear on an exposed ridge, again, on an already exposed mountain: grrrrumble, rumble, rumbleumbleumeble. We looked below to see if it was just motorcycles cruising through on the parkway, but there were no such machines on the road at that time. We then heard it again: grrrumble, rumble, rumbleumbleumble. At this point, the leader of the other party was at the same ledge, and obviously concerned about what he could more easily see on his way up: that those dark clouds to the south were larger than we thought, and were unfortunately extending much farther north than anyone would have preferred. Then it started to rain.

All three of us knew we had to get off, but how to do that safely was a concern. In my mind, there really weren't any safe rap opportunities where one could leave no gear (I know, my life is worth more than a couple of cams - I've already been tormented on this, so spare me!). But another concern of mine was the fact that if we rapped, because of the nature of the exposure where the rap would take place, we would actually be the highest points on the ridge. I don't mean high as in elevation, but high as in perpendicular (or, to put it more succinctly, kind of like a sattelite dish or flag would be exposed if hung on the side of a house). I wasn't too keen on exposing myself (not that kind you gutterhead) on the way down without knowing what else above me could or could not possibly be struck first. That and the talus field certainly offered no protection. I can see rapping off without gear (you lower it first to be safe, right?), but how are you going to cross an empty talus field where you're likely the tallest point again without carrying your gear directly on your person? Still, we looked for ways to rap off and really didn't find anything. That was until the leader of the party asked if there was anything above us. "Ratherbe" looked up and saw a possible spire just above the cracks that might have allowed us to rap directly into the Black Dike. This would have been productive as we could have rapped fairly unexposed with a lot of taller rock surrounding us, and with 60m ropes we might have been able to rap in one go. The down side to this was that if the spire wasn't all that good, then "Ratherbe", who had the next lead, was going to be on one of the most exposed sections of the climb without an easy way to retreat. Just to throw a little more fire on the situation, the belay ledge for the start of pitch four can kind of be a sort of cave. It really isn't a cave, but the way the blocks that form the cracks meet the ledge, there is a way someone could crawl under the blocks to seek shelter. Well, what is nearly as bad as being on an exposed ridge on an exposed mountain during an electrical storm? Being in a cave.

Pitch Four (5.6) - 110 feet - Gear Anchor - "Ratherbe" led

I have two things to note about this climb. Firstly, this is the money pitch on this route because of the apparent exposed move that is above the crack. This is often called the "Pipe Pitch" because, you guessed it, there's a metal pipe in the rock. How or why that pipe is there, I don't know, but there it is at your feet just below the crux. Did I mention it was metal and at the top of the cracks where, below the cracks, there is a small cave? Yep.

The second point is this: this is climbing. There are times when a leader chooses to do a route or pitch and for whatever reason can't finish it. It is then up the other climber to attempt the route if one doesn't want to leave gear. This happens all the time, but it isn't always an expectation. The expectation is that if you want to climb a route then you should be willing to lead that route, unless of course your partner wants to lead it and you don't mind following (so long as that arrangement is clear from the start). I say this now because I took some crap for "Ratherbe" leading this pitch instead of me taking it. I think this crap is bullshit because we had agreed to swap leads at the bottom and it was her lead. Just because she's a girl, that doesn't mean I have to die. If she wants to go up and check out the spire, then that's her call. She wasn't going to claim the lead and then chicken out and send me up just because there was potential for lightening. To be absolutely clear, "Ratherbe" NEVER ONCE suggested that I take the climb. She knew the deal and did this on her own. I took the crap from other people who felt that a certain level of chivalry should have been exhibited. Hey, if I'm opening the door for her, sure. If it's her climb and her decision to fight the gods, no freaking way. Of course, if were the significantly better climber or with more experience that would have made any kind of difference in the retreat, then that is a different matter. In that case, I probably would have taken the lead. However, I would say my skills and experience pretty much match hers.

To climb this pitch, climb the two cracks to the top (I find stemming the corner makes this way easier than climbing the crack itself). Step out toward the edge on the right (you should see the pipe below you), and step up (probably a high step / reach for some - it was for "Ratherbe" but not really for me). After this crux move, climb the face and fade with the corner back toward the edge on the right. Climb this second crux and step left around the corner to the belay ledge.

Well, the idea was to test the spire, and when "Ratherbe" got to that spire, it was apparent that it wasn't attached to anything, and probably not large enough to hold a lot of weight. That left her with the option of finding another way down from there, or heading straight up. Luckily, the rain had just started to pass and we could see blue sky again coming over the mountain. At this point, we decided that a quick ascent was probably going to be our best bet. However, as expected, it started to rain yet again just as I had to go over the high-step and the steep rock at the end of the pitch.

At this point, the other party had decided to head up with us, but because the belay ledges weren't large enough for multiple parties at this point in the climb (the bottom pitches would have been large enough), we had to leapfrog each other until the very last pitch. This was OK to all involved, though we got to use the intended belay stations while they had to find alternate spots due to us being slightly ahead of them.

Pitch Five (5.5) - 110 feet - Gear Anchor (though there are pins that should be backed up) - Greg led

This is another slightly tricky-to-read pitch, and I apologize for only have an above picture (I try to have pics from the start so that people can see where they are going), but it was raining and our first priority was to get to the top.

This was actually kind of a funny / scary lead for me. It was scary because, despite the grade only being 5.5, everything was slick, even the jugs. And to be clear, the jugs weren't the grab-on-top type, but the grab-on-the-side-and-lean-back type instead. That and the first section requires traversing across a slab with a thin crack for feet. This traverse is not that difficult ordinarily because the feet are really solid. Add running water into the mix, however, and you get a different story.

The funny part was that the other party had leapfrogged us already and I was about to cross over their ropes in order to leapfrog them. Well, I had to climb up a wet slab and then step over their rope in what was probably the wettest and most unprotected spot on the traverse. Not only that, but because of the angle of the rope, the rope was just at crotch level, and he was belaying his second up already. So yeah, imagine stepping over a rope that is rubbing against your crotch while trying not to slip on wet slab when you're about ten feet above your belayor, and the only pro you have would send you swinging back down toward your belayor, and she has no place to go to get out of the way of the rope, which would surely give her rope burn as I passed by. Sigh. The good thing was that this party was really nice, and we all understood that we just wanted to get the hell up and off the ridge. So there was no complaining. The bad thing was actually navigating this without showing fear in the midst of everyone else's laughter.

This pitch goes straight up from the belay to a short, left-facing corner. Then walk left across the slab to a ledge at the base of a corner / dihedral. Climb that to an incredibly exposed belay station right on the edge of the ridge. If you belay from here properly, you'll likely stand on two small platforms with a gap between your legs that goes all the way down to the bottom (probably over 300 feet down). It's an interesting belay for sure (see my pics at the bottom link for a pic of this belay stance - look for the pic of my shoe). Again, these two pitons should be backed up.

Pitch Six (5.7) - 110 feet - Gear Anchor - "Ratherbe" led

First things first, I have never found the 5.7 move on this route, and you know you're not offroute when you get to the crux because you can see the old pin on the face above. This is a committing and scary crux section. The pro isn't great, and it likely won't keep you from hitting a shallow ledge if you fall at the crux. I've seen a lot of people struggle here, so beware (struggles: the leader of the other party was a strong leader and he not-so-jokingly said, "5.7 my ass," His partner had to be hauled up, "Ratherbe" took several minutes and several scounting attempts trying to get her head ready, I don't know how I led this before, but I did get it cleanly, and "Jello" - see Epic #2 - had to have our bag hauled up before he could make the moves).

Climb up just left of the belayor over a loose blocky section to another, low-angle slab. Climb the left-side dihedral up right to the pin (crux) and follow the easiest route to the top from there. I may have actually climbed the thin cracks to the right instead of the corner, but neither were easy in comparison.

The unfortunate part of this part of the climb was that once we were leapfrogged, we had to wait for both members of the other party to climb past us. There just wasn't enough room to get past the second without causing personal-space anxiety. So we waited, and while we waited it started to rain again. And then it stopped. And then it rained again. And then it stopped. "Ratherbe" finally made it up over the crux without a problem (in the end), and I did as well, though I struggled like everyone else, and it was also raining a bit at that point, too. The nice thing was that it was sunny when I gained the top, and the other party had left some pepperoni for us to snack on (I told you they were nice people). We then racked up and headed back for the dreaded descent.

Descent: This descent is a pain the ass for many reasons, but I hadn't actually done this particular descent (and to be clear, there is only one descent - see Epic #2 above). Head up the ridge and fade left - DO NOT HEAD RIGHT, EVEN IF THE PATH LOOKS AS IF IT GOES THAT WAY AS THERE IS A SUDDEN DROP-OFF THAT GOES STRAIGHT TO THE BOTTOM!!! You'll have to be creative and be sure not to step too far off the trail, as there are some hidden dropoffs in the bushes to the left, too. Climb up what is probably 5.2 climbing to the top (this is not easy when wet and unroped - and DON'T SLIP!). Then find the very small and bushy trail that eventually heads up left before heading straight down.

Adventures on a Cannon descent? Me? Noooo! (what is that coughing sound? bullshit...). Firstly, I tweaked my left knee (the healthy one) on the 5.2 section and that made standing and lowering on either leg very painful for the first 20 minutes of the descent (it loosend up over time). Secondly, I have bad knees anyway (I've dislocated my right-knee cap twice), and that means I have to make slow, controlled, and deliberate turns on switchbacks (no dynamic twists that could separate the knee cap again). Thirdly, about a third of the way down, it started to absolutely freaking pour. Great, now an hour's descent was going to be two hours, and normally solid slabs, roots and steep dirt were going to be anything but. It was the insult to the end of the day. It poured nearly all the way down, and whenever I noticed the rain was lightening up, my optimism clearly was a signal to God that we weren't suffering enough, and so he made it rain harder. Also, this is the path that just never ends. Even when it appears to be leveling off, it just gets thin and steep and messy all over again. There was one moment where we both thought broken bones were coming. "Ratherbe" had just stepped down to a blocky section and I was not far behind her (about six feet or so). I slipped, and instead of going down butt-first, I started to go head-first, and right into her. Had I not caught myself on a branch, I would have toppled onto her with all my weight slamming her body onto sharp rocks directly below her. That and it would have been a 10-foot fall for me at least. That was a scary moment.

Well, about an hour-and-a-half after we started down, we finally made it to the tarred path. Of course, by that time we were completely exhausted, and a great deal of the pat back to the lot is uphill (Epic #2 clearly shows how I feel about the architect of the bike path through the notch). It was wet, too. We were wet. We were soaked, and it was at least another 30 minutes back to the car. The rain let up once or twice, but it picked right back up again as expected. It was at this point where we discovered the altnernate trail that may head to WG. When we finally got back to the car, we racked up and headed to the lake to wash off. It had stopped raining at this point, but, naturally, just as we headed back to the car...drip...drip...drip, drip, drip, drip,drip,dripdripdripdripDROPS! As we ran back to the car, I remembered my friend's comment on not climbing on Cannon during the summer. It was obvious now what he was reffering to, and I kind of wish I had picked up on that sooner rather than later.


Click here for all 2008 Cannon Photos

Cannon - Whitney-Gilman Ridge And Beyond

Caution: severe male humor riddled throughout. If one is not offended, then one must read the humor with bad Scottish accents in order to appreciate the full flavor of the ensuing conversations

Some mistakes are accidental, and others are planned. The last time "Jello" and I hit Cannon our mistakes were accidental. This time, our mistake was planned, and we paid dearly for it in sore feet, tight quads, yellow scrapes that don't make any sense around our ankles, strained backs and a severe need to jump into a cold, cold Baker River when it was all said and done.

We awoke at 5am Saturday morning at a chilly campground on a farm less than a stone's throw from the Baker River. The grass was wet enough to make us believe that it had rained, even though we knew the dampness came from the heavy fog that surrounded our site. The road to Cannon wasn't much better, as dark clouds hovered high above the breaking fog. Knowing what happened last time, we should have been worried. But we weren't because we knew that if it did rain then it would be in the evening, long after we had finished climbing and, hopefully, had managed to get to the summit with pounds of shelter gear strapped to our backs just in case the heavens did open up on us.

It was 7am when we pulled into the parking lot, and 730am when "Jello" pulled himself up the stout crack (alternative start) at the bottom of pitch #1. He was to lead the first three pitches and I the last three. We were about to have a lot of fun. But before I begin, remember this: that stupid pack with the tent, stove, rain gear, food, etc, etc, etc, was heavy as all hell and seriously changed how the second climbed the route.

Random Scottish Conversation #1
"Jello" standing on a loose rock in the middle of the talus-field approach: You ever get the feeling that standing on a loose rock gives you the same feeling as having sex?
Me: I would have to say no on that. In fact, I would imagine that standing on a loose rock while climbing gives me a feeling closer to when she shows up at my door three monhts later.
"Jello" in a female Scottish accent: I'm pregnant.
Me: No, lassie, you're not!
"Jello": But the doctor said -
Me: You go back to that doctor with the wire clothes hanger and you tell him you're not!
"Jello" in an angry male voice: Lassie, if you don't jump down those stairs this instant I'm going to push you off!

Whitney-Gilman Ridge (5.7) - 6 pitches - Trad - "Jello" and Greg switched leads

Pitch #1 (5.6 variation) - Trad - Make your own anchors - 90 feet - "Jello" led

The approach to this route is easy in terms of route finding. Just head to the left end of the cliff on the talus field to the taunting, obvious ridge above. Once there, if one turns toward the ridge with the black dike on the right and the talus field cascading below to the left, the starting ledge is on the left of the ridge up a small scramble. Once there, one should be facing the cliff with one's back toward the road.

There are two starts: the first starts on the right near the edge of the ridge and traverses left to a large block before heading up while the other is the wide crack on the left just below the block. In my opinion, the crack is an excellent start that helps to avoid rope drag. Basically, follow the crack / corner for a bit, head right where it becomes easier, and then cut back left to a ledge. Once on the ledge, remember this conversation:

Random Scottish Conversation #2
"Jello": I've got to take me a crap, laddie.
Me: Aye. I was thinking your ass smelt a bit down there.
"Jello": Aye. I'm going over here to the LEFT OF THE LEDGE to let it out.
Me: Aye, mate... ... ...Holy crap there, mate. Are you OK?
"Jello": Aye, what's seems to be the problem?
Me: Your shit's wafting there, mate. You should have crapped downwind.
"Jello": Aye, well, it is what it is. Can't help it now can I?
Me: Aye, well, just so you know for the next time.
"Jello": Aye.

Pitch #2 (5.5) - Trad - Make your own anchors - 80 feet - "Jello" led

My recommendation here is to not combine the first two pitches, unless you know what you're doing gear-wise. In my opinion, making it one go is not worth the rope drag. In any case, there are two cracks. We did the right-hand crack, which is not necessarily visible from from the ledge if one does not look around the corner to the right (near the edge of the ridge). Anyway, climb either one and enjoy it. It's a nice pitch that follows the spire up to another ledge. It was easy climbing, despite the fact that the fog and mist had yet to recede and the blue sky to the east had yet to beat back the dark clouds hovering over the summit of the mountain. It should be noted here that while "Jello" was climbing, I was steadfastly watching the clouds coming from the south and west. They were black, and coming our way. If it rained, it meant we weren't hiking to the summit, a wish I was secretly hoping would come true. This was the case because, regardless of rain, we were going to finish the climb and hike off the top. I would have been more than happy to climb Whitney-Gilman, hike down and head back to Rumney for an afternoon of relaxing sport climbing. As it turned out, well, more on that later.

Random Scottish Conversation #3
Me: Aye, you safe up there at the top?
"Jello": Aye, you can take me off belay there mate.
Me: Aye, you're off belay. And I've got to tell you something too.
"Jello": Tell me, mate. What's on your mind?
Me: I think I know why it feels like I'm carrying 60 pounds around with me.
"Jello": Why's that, mate?
Me: I've got to do what you just did two pitches ago (I'm jumping ahead here)
"Jello": Aye, well, there's a good spot right there that'll fit your ass nice and tight. It'll be just like sitting on a toilet.
Me: Aye, I see it. You turn your head now toward that anchor your supposed to be setting you hear?
"Jello": Aye
Me a few minutes later: Hey there, mate, make sure you don't step over there the next time you climb this OK?
"Jello": Aye. Where is it?
Me: Under that pile of rocks I put on top there. That should cover it up well don't you reckon?
"Jello": Aye, but what if someone picks up the rocks there? What's going to happen then?
Me: Well, that would be their problem then now wouldn't it?
"Jello": Aye, good point there, mate, good point.

Pitch #3 (5.6) - Trad - Make your own anchors - 130 feet - "Jello" led

I'm not sure this is really 130 feet long, but it is awkward with a heavy pack on one's back. The V-corner to the left of the belay station lacks good foot holds, so one needs to ensure solid balance and commit to the moves. Once up through the corner, head back right to the parallel cracks at a ledge. The blocks are loose here, so be careful.

Pitch #4 (5.6) - Trad - Make your own anchors - 110 feet - Greg led

This is supposedly the classic pitch on the entire ridge. It starts with two parallel cracks, the wider one to the left and the narrower one to the right. The book says one needs a large cam (#4 camalot) to protect this, but I used a #.5 and #1 in the small crack and was just fine. It's pretty easy to layback the small crack and stem out to the face for the first move. After that, I jammed my right foot in the crack and kept my stem out left. Two moves later and I was just below the "pipe" that is on the edge of the ridge.

The pipe itself is supposed to be super-exposed, but it really isn't. I agree, the start of the moves are right on the edge and when one looks down, one looks all the way down to the bottom of the ridge. However, the moves themselves are not over empty space. If one were to fall, one would fall back onto the ridge. This is unlike High Exposure in the Gunks, where one is climbing above open air. The move is pretty easy too, with good, solid holds all the way up.

After the pipe, follow the ridge to the next small belay stance on the other side of the ridge. This belay stance is below and on the right side of a small slab.

The clouds gave way to blue sky at this point, and I was able to see the top of the route from where I was, too. What did I hope to see? Easy slabs that led to the summit. What did I see instead? A thick and unforgiving spruce forest. Gulp.

Pitch #5 (5.5) - Trad - Make your own anchors - 110 feet - Greg led

Follow the slab up to the base of the face and traverse left to the right-facing corner. Go up that and head back toward the ridge where there is a razor flake just waiting to get jumped. The belay stance at the top is pretty cool too, as one will belay right on the edge looking down into the gully between the ridge and dike. There are three pitons here, but I placed back-up pro just in case. But, speaking of getting jumped:

Random Scottish Conversation #4
"Jello": Greg is freak.
Me: Aye, kind of has a ring to it doesn't it?
"Jello": Aye, but so does your sister.
Me: Aye, but I don't know how that matters since she's been dead for twenty years.
"Jello": It's called necrophilia there, mate.
Me: Aye, necrophilia. Brings backs memories of when we were but lads.
"Jello": Aye, the good old days.
Me: You remember that one woman who left a note for us in her coffin to not touch her after she died?
"Jello": Aye, I do. I do.
Me: We showed her in the end.
"Jello": That we did, mate. That we did.

Pitch #6 (5.7) - Trad - Make your own anchors - 110 feet - Greg led

This was a tricky pitch for me. The chalk says to go straight up the blocky slab in front of the belay stance, but I found the rock there to be unreliable and the jug in the slanted face to be awkward without a dynamic high-step. I ended up laying back against the right edge of the ridge and going up that side rather than the middle. It took me to the right of the piton, but that was OK.

The route basically became a sport route from here on out. Sure, I placed back-up gear, but there are pitons in all the sketchy spots. In any case, climb up to the top ledge (grassy, trees, large loose blocks) and wait for your partner to come up. It is a nice finish to the day.

Hike to the Summit

Simply put, don't do it from the top of this route. Unlike Lakeview, this route does not have an easy-access path across the bald slabs to the top. In the slabs place is, instead, a serious swath of thick spruce living atop of soft, dead spruce. What does this mean? It means that if you bushwhack like we did, you're going to end up fighting stiff branches, soft ground where there are more hidden holes to fall into than you could imagine, dead birch trees that are no good for holding onto and the genuine fear that you're going to fall into some crevasse and never be found again - dead or alive. We did this for an hour before we emerged onto slabs above the tree line. Thank God, too, because it wasn't like we were tired or anything. We stopped twice along the way to take our shirts off and brush the needles off our backs. We were so hot and sticky that we had to pick most of the needles off because they wouldn't simply brush off. It's a miracle I wasn't bleeding, too, though I did find many deep scratches the next day. To be honest, I'm kind of worried about two of them on my left ankle. They're yellow.

Anyway, we followed a series of cairns to the Kinsman Ridge Trail and that led us to the top. To be sure, the only reason I went to the top of the watch tower was because there was this really hot Asian chick in a short skirt on that windy day just a few feet ahead of me (I wonder why she was always just a few feet ahead). It was a stroke of bad luck that kept me from realizing a life-long dream (OK, not life-long. It was more of a "holy shit I can't believe my luck today" kind of dream - After what I had been through, I was desperately looking for a reward, so leave me alone). It turned out she had a firm, fist-like control over the flow of her skirt. Crushed, I headed down hill with "Jello". Two miles later, we were at the bottom...at the wrong fucking parking lot. Forty-five minutes after that, we returned to his car...11.5 hours after we had left it that mornin

Moral of the story: don't think that just because "Jello" has a goal that it will lead to you living a loving, lucky or dreamy-pornographic life. It won't. But it will leave you with unidentifiable scratches, scars (physical and psychological) and a passion to never, never do that again.

Now I Know Why They Call It "Cannon"

I'm going to cut right to the chase here and leave out the drive from home to the campsite. It wasn't that interesting, but what was interesting was when I bumped into "Jello" (he drove into the campground literally seconds after I had secured us a place to stay) and his first words were, "Guess how much of an idiot I am?"

I admit, I froze for a few seconds because I wasn't sure exactly what he was going to say. One has to understand the difficulty we have had to endure just to get together for a weekend of climbing. For one, we're travelling from different places (me from Boston and him from the Adirondacks). Two, his cellphone doesn't work where he lives, and mine doesn't work anyone outside of where I live. Three, he can check his e-mail, but only once per day if the one, single satellite-internet-cable available to all those who work at the education center is not being used. Finally, there's this thing about us not knowing the place where we're supposed to meet, what time we're supposed to meet, and how the hell we're going to get in touch with each other if certain things don't work out.

Let me give you an example of what I'm talking about:

- We want to climb at Cannon, but we're not sure of where to stay, how far away it is from campgrounds, what the approach is like, how early we need to get there to ensure that we get on a climb, etc, etc, etc.

- We have decided that it may be best to stay at Rumney the first night just in case we can't find a place at Cannon, especially since we know that bandit camping is not ethical at Cannon and we know our way around Rumney.

- I call the Rumney campground we're to stay at. They don't want us showing up too late.

- I call "Jello" to tell him that, but he doesn't get the message until late that night.

- My cell phone rings at work, we talk and decide to try the campground in the Notch.

- I call the campground at Cannon, leave a message, they don't call back.

- I call "Jello" and leave a message telling him that there's no luck as of yet.

- He leaves a message on my phone saying where he bandit camps at an undisclosed location (I'm not giving that up - sorry) when he can't get a proper site in Rumney. Though we haven't figured this out yet, it assumed that we are to meet at this place.

- I call the campground at Cannon again. This time they answer and say it is first-come-first serve, but there are 34 campsites left.

- I call "Jello" and leave a message that we should go for the campground at Cannon. We set a time to actually talk on the phone (thurs at 1030pm).

- We talk Thursday and decide that whoever gets there first should get a site and leave a message for the other. If there are no sites, they should meet in the parking lot of the campground. If we aren't allowed to park there (I'm not sure why we wouldn't, but maybe there are loitering laws. One never knows) then we will meet at the "Old Man Viewing" lot and go from there. What we will we do? We don't know, but at least we have a plan in case our plan doesn't work, and then another plan in case that one doesn't work. Can you see the difficulty here?

Anyway, I wondered what it was that "Jello" had left and thought the worst:

ME: Harness?
HIM: No, got that.
ME: Shoes?
HIM: Nope.
ME: Gear?
HIM: Never left the car from last week.
ME: Helmet?
HIM: Got it.
ME: What did you forget then?
HIM: Sleeping bag and pad.
ME: PHEW! That's OK. We can work that out.

I lent him my sleeping pad and a small belay carpet in the trunk of my car, and he used the rope bags for blankets and a rope for a pillow. But before we went to bed, as we were racking up that night for an early-morning wake-up call, he turned to me and said, "You ever get the feeling that bad omens happen?" I looked him square in the eye and said, "After last weekend, I think we're safe." Famous last words (btw - this has become a bit of a slogan for us). I then closed the passenger side door in my car and heard a SMASH behind me. Dangling there was "Jello"'s car battery charger for his cellphone and camera. Oops.

We arose the next morning before sunrise and found ourselves the first people on the trail up to Lakeview (5.6). Our goals for the weekend were Lakeview on Saturday and the Whitney-Gilman Ridge (5.7) on Sunday. Our additional goal was to finish Lakeview by late afternoon and hike from the top of the cliff to the summit of Cannon before heading down. It was an aggressive goal, but we figured that we could do it.

Lakeview (5.6) - 8 pitches - mixture of face, corner, slab and crack climbing - For the most part, build your own anchors.

Pitch #1 - 5.3 - corner / face - build your own anchors - 140 feet - Greg led

This pitch starts pretty much as far to the right of the main, uninterupted face as you can get. There is a nice, small (one or two person) belay stance, and the climb starts on a series of steps going up a face to a good anchor spot below and on the right of the first over-hanging arch. Don't listen to the book when it says "step right". I'm not sure what it is talking about. Just climb straight up, keeping the left-facing corner on your right, until you get to about 10 feet from the bottom of the right edge of the arch. Anchor there and you'll be fine.

I should say that this is where we met a kind group of folks from the Rhode Island AMC. They arrived just after we did, and planned on climbing the same route. I should thank them here because as I was up on the first pitch, I was told several times that I was fading too far to the right and would end up way off route if I kept going to the right (note: I was trying to find the stupid "step right" that was in the book). The gentleman who kept shouting the route directions to me (and "Jello" on his leads) really kept us on-route several times throughout the day. Without his incredibly accurate help, we never would have finished the climb as we were supposed to.

Pitch #2 - 5.4 - horizontal crack - build your own anchors - 140 feet - Greg led
Again, I needed help finding the route here because the book says to step over the arch and follow the wide crack left. Well, there are about six different arches. I stepped over the first arch and didn't see the wide crack, but did find a crack that I could have protected underneath the second arch, so I assumed that was what I was supposed to climb. Again, the AMC shouted from below and told me to go over the next arch as well. OHHHHH! Yup, there was the wide crack, and as I high-stepped to get up to that crack, guess what fell out of my pocket. The guide book. Thankfully it fell near where the AMC folks were climbing, and they returned it "Jello" before he started climbing this pitch.

This was a fantastic lead that is easily protected. It traverses almost the entire 140 feet. I took a couple of pictures of "Jello" as he came up, but then the battery died. That's one of the reasons why I don't have photos on this post.

Pitch #3 - 5.5(R) - unprotected face / slab - build your own anchors - 160 feet - Greg led

Again, there was a bit of route finding here, but I did manage to find a way to get across the run out section of the slab. Depending on where one sets the anchor, one will have to step up above yet another arch and delicately step across loose rock and pebbles (the pebbles were by far more dangerous than the loose blocks) on the way to yet another long traverse to a left-facing corner at the start of... ... ...yup, another arch. Kudos again to the AMC folks for convincing me that I was climbing too high and would miss the anchor. They were dead on yet again (btw - if you can't tell, I'm building something here with the AMC. Read on).

Pitch #4 - 5.2 - face / slab - build your own anchors (though, if one has 60m ropes, one might be able to climb the next 30 feet to a larger, more comfortable ledge where there are two, brand new fixed anchors on the wall. These anchors are basically in between the belay I describe below (with the sling) and Lunch Ledge - 150 feet - Greg led

Another stupid traverse. Yawn. And yet another bit of route finding from the AMC folks. You know what? We just wanted to go up at some point, but, alas, that is not where the route went. Anyway, continue traversing across until you come across a small slab (about 10 feet tall) to the right of a right-facing corner / flake. There is a sling there, but I recommend not using it. I'd also recommend not relying on the chockstone there as the only anchor points.

Pitch #5 - 5.3 - face / slab - use the bolts - 110 feet - "Jello" led

"Jello" took over the lead at this point because he was going to get the best pitches on Saturday while I got the best ones on Sunday. It seemed like a good trade since I wanted to avoid being too tired to lead the crappy routes on the second day. In short, I didn't want a repeat of pitch #5 on Paralysis at Poke-O-Moonshine. We found more route finding difficulty, but ended up at the bolts, on a ledge and decided to have lunch. I should say that, at this point, we had no problems communicating with each other because we could see each other the entire way up. That changed on the next pitch. (note: we thought the bolted ledge was Lunch Ledge. It is not. Lunch Ledge is the top of the next pitch).

Pitches #5 and #6 - 5.3(R) - slab / gulley - Belay at Lunch Ledge (small, two-to-three person belay station with a dead birch tree that one should not use as an anchor) build your own anchor as the bolt is too old to trust - 140 feet - "Jello" led

"Jello" climbed this entire pitch with one piece of gear placed. This is somewhat due to the fact that he misread the route and went up a bit too early instead of continuing to traverse left. If he had just traversed another 10 feet or so, he would have found the "dirty gully" that the books talks about. Instead, he climbed up into what I consider to be a dangerous, slabby alcove with a large, exfoliating boulder the size of an SUV offering the only available anchor opportunities. Oh yeah, the cracks were wet too. Gulp.

This was the only pitch where we didn't have any guidance from our AMC friends, and we managed to screw it up enough to bring me closer to crapping my pants while belaying him than I've ever come before. It was essentially a hanging belay on two cams stuck in a horizontal, wet crack. If one of them slipped, we were both goners. Thankfully, after doing some searching, "Jello" found Lunch Ledge on his own (it was up to our left about 20 feet, and hidden around what turned out to be a left-facing corner. Because we were now having problems communicating (and our rope signalling hasn't been perfected yet), we dug out my radios so that we could talk to each other. I was somewhat concerned at the fact that the clips on the radios weren't that strong, but I decided to take "Jello"'s advice and buy shoestrings to tie around them in order to keep them from falling accidentally off the cliff. Besides, he needed to buy a sleeping bag and pad for that night anyway. We could make an easy trip to Walmart up the road and kill two bird's with one stone's throw. The radios, by the way, turned out to be an amazing luxury on the next pitch.

Pitch #7 - 5.5 - crack - build own anchors at the large ledge below pitch #8- 90 feet - "Jello" led

At this point, due to our frustrating reliance on the party below us to guide us up the damn route, we were insanely glad to finally find decent climbing. I mean, pitches #1 through #4 were OK, but #5 and #6 were crappy and boring. Nearly the entire climb up to this point was one, long traverse with the only excitement coming from the foot-management side of things. In other words, one slip and you're gone. But the climbing was so easy that it felt more like walking. Pitch #7 changed that, but it also became another pitch of disaster.

The climb itself is a short crack climb that is fantastically protectable. Top out on a large ledge just to the left of where the Old Man used to be (you can see the cables clearly from the parking lot). There are several belay spots on this ledge. We used the large crack to the right of the ledge, below the actual face that the Old Man was connected to. There is another spot called "Two-Butt Belay" right at the top. This spot allows the belayor to belay and watch the climber come up the crack. "Jello" initially chose the smaller belay spot, but he didn't like it and thus unclipped the first piece of the anchor he was building and... ...oops, dropped one of my nuts into the crack (God, I love / hate climbing terminology). That was mistake #1.

Realizing that his original anchor was probably going to create more problems than it was going to help (and knowing that he didn't want to lose any more of my gear), he moved to the larger crack along the face to the right. There were plenty of places to set gear, but because the area where he was setting up the anchor was sort of in a small cave, he was having a hard time keeping the antannae on the radio from jabbing him in the thigh while he scrunched up enough to reach the crack. He pulled it out of his pocket and clipped it on a sling and went to work. Soon after, I heard him yell "ROCK". I ducked and listened for the rock to tumble over me. I never saw nor heard it, and figured all was well. About ten minutes later, I felt three, strong tugs on the rope telling me that my belay was on and could climb. Knowing that we were practicing our rope signals as well as using the radios, I tugged three times back to tell him I was climbing, and then confirmed that fact by telling him on the radio. Up I went, smiling all the way on the best pitch of the day thus far.

When I got to the top, "Jello" looked at me disarmingly as asked how the route was. I smiled and said "best so far."

"Jello": It gets better.
Me: The next pitch? Yea, that's what the AMC folks said.
"Jello": No, I mean, I lost some of your gear over there.
Me: Really? What did you lose?
"Jello": Small nut. It fell into the crack when I went to take it out and move the anchor.
Me: That's OK. It happens. We should work on a protocol for losing gear.
"Jello": I agree, but it gets even better.
Me: Why?
"Jello": You know when I yelled "Rock"?
Me: Yeah.
"Jello": Guess what it was?
Me: A rock?
"Jello": Something not quite as natural. Think more...mmm...electronic.
Me: [silence] ... [silence] ... [silen - YOU DROPPED THE FUCKING RADIO?
"Jello": Hey, at least if it's found you don't have to worry about someone using an unsafe piece of gear like the Reverso you dropped last week.

In short, when I radioed back up that I was climbing, he never it, and he wasn't practicing his rope signals.

Pitch #8 - 5.6 - flake / crack - use the Old Man anchors - 90 feet - "Jello" led

Best pitch of the climb. Walk up from the edge of the ledge to the obvious flake on the very large, left-facing face. Either dig into the flake and hump your way up, or smear the outside and highstep. I did the latter and it turns into a bit of a stiff mantle, but the jugs are all there. Stem and climb the face to the top. It's a great way to finish the day.

The entire route was a struggle in a route-finding manner, but we had the AMC folks to help us along, and when they topped out behind us, we asked them how long the hike was to the summit. They told us that while there was not a path (it would be a quick scramble), the hike would only take about 30 minutes; 45 minutes tops. We thanked them as they took off down the cliff, and we began our scramble to the top.

Scramble to the Summit

OK, so a 30-minute hike shouldn't be too bad. Even if it is a scramble and not on an actual path. We'll just leave our gear on the edge of the cliff near the gutter / path going down to the parking lot so we can see it if we get lost. No need to take any gear with us, right? Besides, as we started up, we could see cairns all over the place. So there had to be somewhat of a path, right?

Um...no. Let me lay out the scenery for you: from the edge of the cliff, one can look up to the top of what appears to be the summit not too far off (a slight, rolling hill on top of the cliff), and patches of unconnected granite slabs separated by thick, stiff spruce trees that have grown short due to the wind that rips over the top of the mountain. There is no real path, but that is OK. The granite was nice and sticky under our approach shoes and we found ways of walking around the patches of brush. We got to the top of the hill in about 20 minutes, only to see what we expected to see, another rolling hill going upward. To be honest, that's fairly common around New England (seeing what you think is the top only to find out that it isn't the top once you get there), and we were not dismayed to see that we had not reached our final goal of the day.

However, as we were going up the second hill, the weather coming from the west became significantly more visible to us. I pointed north and noted that there was rain falling from the clouds. We climbed a little higher and saw that the clouds weren't just coming from the north, but the west as well. We thought about retreating, but we figured that we were halfway there (based on the time estimate given to us by our previously incredibly accurate AMC friends) and could beat the rain. Besides, we were making good time scrambling on the nice, sticky, granite slabs. It wasn't going to be a problem.

When we got to the top of that hill, however, foul language spewed from my lips at a rate I hadn't spoken since stubbing my toe against the door two weeks prior to that when I specifically warned myself not to step in that direction when I turned off the light. "Jello" looked at me and asked, "What's your problem." I pointed. He looked and couldn't see what I was pointing at (we were in bushy section). He came back to where I was standing, stood on a rock and joined me in my foul mood. There, about a mile off, was a large structure otherwise known as a ski lift, at the top of Cannon Mountain. Mother fucker.

We looked around and saw the clouds moving in faster than we expected them to move. If we only had to go as far as we had come, then we would have made it (no shit, right?). But we knew we couldn't make the summit in time now, and decided to turn back. Well, despite our disappointment, at least we knew the way back: just stick to the slabs, avoid the bushes and fade left toward the avalanche gully on the mountain across the street from Cannon Cliff. Easy, right? Not so fast.

No sooner than we had to turn around did we feel the first few drops of water pelting our heads. "OK, it's only sprinkling," we said and carried on. But then came the fog. "Hmm..." we said, "better stay away from the cliff's edge in case we can't see it" (an unfortunate consequence considering our bags were still on the edge of the cliff, somewhat - we stuck them on the path so we could find them if we got lost, but they were within 20 feet of the edge). Knowing we had to stay away from the edge took away some of the easier paths. This meant that we had to bushwhack our way through a few of the stiff trees in order to stay as much on the slabs as we could. Still, while our legs, arms and chests were getting scratched to hell from the unforgiving branches, we were minimizing our bushwhacking somewhat and could stay on the sticky slabs for fast moving. But then it rained. And I'm not saying that it "rained". I'm saying that it rained. The rain fell out of the skies so fast that within seconds the slabs became useless waterfalls and slides. We were only halfway back to where our bags were (or so we assumed), but our strategy of moving quickly along the easy granite had to change. Now, we had to stay off the slabs as much as possible. This meant we had to bushwhack, jump from rocky edges into unknown patches of trees, sometimes more than 10 feet down. We had to crawl under the tallest trees (never more than 10 feet tall, and usually only about five feet tall), pray that the branches we were stepping on for balance didn't break under our weight (thus sending us down into deeper, unknown depths) and sincerely hope that we weren't stepping on snake beds or disturbing otherwise unfriendly wildlife in our blind, mad dash to get back to our gear. It was dark now, the fog and rendered our position points (the gully on the other mountain in particular) invisible, and every time we reached a slab that we had to cross, we sat on our butts and slid over as carefully as we could. We were soaked, hungry, tired (not yet cold) and the thrill of adventure was waning inside. While we never heard thunder, we did see the clouds light up a couple of times and wondered if we should just find a spot in the bushes to hide under until the rain passed; if the rain passed. Fortunately, we stumbled upon a landmark that we had noted on the way up. We breathed a collective sigh of relief and realized that we were close. Believing it was better to go move the final 100 yards or so and get under the cover of the retreat path (and on our way back to dry clothes and a warm car) than it was to get wetter and possibly cold, we dashed (carefully) back to where we thought our stuff was. "Jello" saw the bags first. We smiled, we sang, we rejoiced, and then we headed the fuck downhill.

It was a long hike down and muddy, slippery and downright unpleasant. We were wet, climbing over slick rocks, wet roots and doing so carefully with only headlamps for light. An hour later and we were back in the parking lot. "Jello" signed us out (there is a sign-in / sign-out form climbers must fill out before heading up) three-and-a-half hours after we said we'd be down (good thing the forestry service checks those logs). I walked to my car (the only one in the lot) opened the trunk and proceeded to take off all my clothes to put on dry ones. Stupid me. Just as I was about to drop my underwear, a car drives into the lot. Well, two strangers got a show. What can I say?

When "Jello" came over to the car, he did the same, except he needed my spare dry clothes because (guess what, the bad omens continue), not only did he forget his sleeping bag and pad, also a spare change of clothes. That's right, he was going to wear the same clothes Saturday as Sunday (because he forgot).

We then drove to Littleton for dinner, went back to the tent to sleep and decided not to do the Whitney-Gilman Ridge the next day (good thing, too, because it didn't stop raining until I got back to Boston).
Summary:

- "Jello" forgets bag and tent

- "Jello" fears bad omens, but Greg calms him and is not worried

- Greg smashes "Jello"'s battery charger

- Greg and "Jello" need a lot of help route finding

- Greg drops the guidebook

- "Jello"'s camera dies

- Greg and "Jello" need help communicating and dig out the radios

- "Jello" drops radio off cliff

- "Jello" loses nut in a crack

- Greg and "Jello" get bad advice on the hike to the summit

- Greg and "Jello" get caught in fog, rain and darkness on wet slabs

- All of our gear is soaking wet, including "Jello"'s camera

- Greg is seen naked in public

- "Jello" has to wear Greg's clothes

- Whitney-Gilman must wait another day.

- Greg loses out on his choice of the best pitches

And why does it matter that Cannon is named as such? Because it loads one up and shoots one out into unforeseen places; most notably, a country called "Epic".