Colorado Day Ten: The Final Day - OR - The poor, poor deer

It's cold in Boston as I write this. The wind is howling at 20mph sustained, and the temps are hovering at a cool 17 degrees. I don't even want to imagine what the wind chill is like. My fingers are nearly frozen, and the keyboard isn't making life easier with its stiff keys and poor response. I wish I was back in Colorado, just like on our last day of climbing when it was hot enough to split the day in half. "Jello" had two routes that he wanted me to get on. He said they were classic to Garden of the Gods, and they each offered a different kind of exposure that is difficult to find on such easy routes. One was claustrophobic, and the other wide open.

Garden of the Gods

West Point Crack (5.7+) - Three Pitches - Trad - Mixed Anchors - Greg and "Jello" led

Approach: From Parking Lot #6, walk down the dirt path across from the lot that leads down to the paved path that fades to the left. Walk past the two thin towers straight to a tall face on the left. Walk up the dirt path path to the short tower in front of the the tall cliff and take a left up the ramp / slab with a bolt on the ground. Walk to the left edge of the low cave with a bolt about teen feet above the cave.

Pitches One and Two (each 5.7+) - 60 and 130 feet respectively - Bolted Anchors - Greg led both in one pitch

We got up early to beat the afternoon sun and found the Garden buzzing with activity. It turned out that everyone had the same idea, but thankfully the climb "Jello" was anxious to stick me on was free. Apparently West Point Crack was first ascended by a few cadets who must have been eager to put up a route before the nearby Air Force cadets could get a chance. I can understand why. The second pitch in particular is anything but flying high, and one doesn't even get to see what's waiting at the start of the third pitch until the second is completed. This was a wild route for me, and I'm glad that "Jello" pushed me to lead the first two pitches.

I linked the first two pitches together, but I'll describe them somewhat separately. The first pitch follows the bolts to the start of the chimney. It's easy climbing that is somewhat sequency if you aren't very strong on slopers. There is a bolted anchor at the top of this short pitch. From there, enter the chimney and climb it to the top, exiting on the left. There are also bolted anchors at the top of the second pitch, but they are on the other side of the ledge (out of view as you top out). Be sure to extend yourself to make belaying easier and to help protect the soft rock from rope abrasion.

I'm not particularly strong at chimneys. OK, so I'm not particularly strong at any particular skill, but like a crack, a chimney just isn't something one finds in the Northeast. Sure, they exist, but they're rare and I haven't practiced my technique, well, ever. Despite the fact that I sometimes have a difficult time hand-jamming, when it works I can admit that I feel pretty damn solid. The fourth pitch of Kor's Flake (5.7+) at Lumpy Ridge in Rocky Mountain National Park is a good example of that. But jamming your entire body? Well, that's just silly, right?

It's funny because I found chimneying to be pretty easy to pick up. OK, so maybe this was an easy chimney, and maybe that made it easy, but to get up into a chimney as I did with this one and not feel completely scared out of my wits like I usually do with new techniques was impressive for me. I took my time, as I usually do, and made only the most secure moves. But once I topped out I was pretty satisfied. I had essentially climbed 130 feet of a style of climbing that was unfamilier to me, on really soft and crumbly rock, with only a couple of pieces of gear plugged in. Even when I didn't feel solid in my movements or stances, I felt as if I would get stuck in the chimney if I fell, therefore I considered myself to be my biggest piece of protection. The only downside was that I noticed later on that I had managed to shave off a few of the key buttons on my camera. Oh well, at least it looks like a climber's camera now.

Pitch Three (5.7+) - 40 feet - Gear Anchor - "Jello" led

Holy mother of sandbag scary piece of...

If you don't want to climb the third pitch, then I assume that with two 60m ropes you can rap down after the second pitch (rap on the same side as the anchors, not on the chimney side). But if you do decide to start the third pitch, just understand that it is committing and that the crux is before the first piece can be placed. And, oh yeah, to start the route you have to make an unprotected step across the chimney onto a steep face that doesn't let you know what you're about to get into. A fall here would hurt, so climber beware.

Step back across the chimney onto the face and, if you've got balls of steel, use the flakey features to traverse left to a small pod that is filled with slopers or crimps that are facing the wrong way. The pockey may look nice, but it isn't as good with body positioning as you'd expect it to be. There's a solid foot way on the other side of the arrete (to the left) that is absolutely wonderful once gained. But I have to tell you, those first few moments before "Jello" gained decent hands and feet and was in a position to clip the rope for the first time were scary. He struggled to get his hands into the pod and to trust the feet, and when he finally swung over to the left, I thought he was peeling off. I was very glad that he managed to hold himself in, and was even happier to know that the pod had decent hand holds once he got there.

But then it was my turn. I found the section getting to the pod just as difficult, and I huffed and puffed for several minutes fighting the barn-door that my body wanted to go into. I didn't like the feet, and I was even more worried about relying on the soft rock that I was supposed to use to get me to the pod. It was scary, but I finally decided to just go for it. After all, I had just seen "Jello" swing on good holds, so it seemed reasonable to expect that I'd be able to find them, too. Well, let's just say that I realized right then and there how much better he's become. I committed and reached into the pod, and I searched... and searched... and flailed... and searched... and swore... and started breathing heavily... and decided that I was out of energy and was just going to have to suck it up and swing off the holds. This scared me, though, not because of the swing but because I knew that the top only had a gear anchor and that most of the rock in the Garden was soft enough to not hold a fall. Even the bolts were somewhat scary to hang on when at belay or rappelling. Falling here quite likely meant not dangling in mid-air, but plummeting into the dark chasm below. I was just about to the point of letting go when, out of sheer desperation, I looked beyond where "Jello" had climbed, far out to the left, I spied a ledge big enough to rest my entire body weight on without requiring a solid hand hold. It was far away, and it would require a near hands-free move to get there, but if I was going to fall then I might as well have fallen while trying to save my ass. I made a lunge for the foothold, snagged it, barely, and struggled against all of Newton's gravity to push myself upright. It wasn't until I stood up that I found a nice jug to hold on to, but I was out of breath and needed a few moments to rest before continuing on. The rest of the climb was fine, and I topped out with both "Jello" and I happy that I hadn't fallen. His anchor was as solid as I could have guessed, but neither one of us was really happy about the quality of rock. Still, I climbed that third pitch with a much greater appreciation for how much he's improved since he's move to Colorado. It might have been 5.7+, but it wasn't something I wanted to lead.

Descent: The top of West Point Crack I think offers some of the best photo opportunities in the Garden, so be sure to take in the view before heading down (or see my photo at the bottom). To descend, walk off to the south, away from the climb. Find a notch in the rock on the left, and downclimb from there to the path below. Scramble down this to the base.

North Ridge of Montezuma's Tower (5.7R) - Two Pitches - Sport - Greg Led both pitches in one pitch

It was too hot at this point in the day to keep climbing, and so we went back home and chilled for the afternoon while the baking sun beat down on the dry ground outside. It was a relaxing afternoon, and I got a lot of writing and photo-uploading. It wasn't until about 6pm when we decided to go back. It was a good idea to wait until darkness was about to set in before actually climbing, as this route sits in the direct sunlight all day long.

Approach: From Parking Lot #6, walk down the dirt path across from the lot to the paved path. Walk down the path and fade right toward the second of the two thin towers (the taller one). Take a right on the path after the path with a fence.

North Ridge: This is technically a two-pitch climb, but I really don't see any reason to climb it that way. OK, so there's a little bit of rope drag at the top (why this is so I can't remember because it seemed pretty much a straight line), but it's not such a hinderance to require two pitches. Also, despite the fact that this is fairly well-bolted, and that the bolts are bomber and the rock feels bomber, too, I'm calling this an R-rated route because any fall would definitely send you to either side of the arrete, possibly swinging you out into space (or other rocks on the side faces) and dragging the rope across the edge. Sure, the rock is sandstone and very likely to be worn before it cuts the rope, but still, do you want to take that fall? The climbing is easy, but the answer to the question is definitely no.

Reading this route is as simple as, well, playing with letter blocks. Start on the right of the arrete and then follow the path of least resistance all the way up. I think I stayed on the arrete itself for about 90% of the route, with a small diversion out onto the right face about mid-way up. It's kind of a nice route as you near the top, too, because of all of the slopey steps that have been worn into the rock over the years. I imagine this was a much different and harder route when it was first climbed. The steps, due to their perfect slopey shape for feet, make this section both an easy route to walk up and heart-pumping at the same time. The feet may be nice, but the hands are less than ideal. This route sometimes feels more like a slab than it does an arrete. The hands, at times, are definitely more there for balance than for holding on to anything.

By the way, the photo below shows how thin this route is. Montezuma's Tower is the taller of the two slices in the lower right-hand section of the photo.

Descent: You definitely need two ropes to rap from the top. I'm not sure if there is a walk-off (very highly unlikely) and rapping back down the route that you just came up is not advised due to the angle of the top anchors. Rappel in one go with two 60m ropes.

It was now dark and that ended our climbing trip together. I have to be honest, I was kind of saddened by this. I didn't want to go back to Boston. Look, I love Boston. I think it is one of the best cities to live in, and it is close to home (Maine) and most of my family. I really can't see living anywhere else in the US, and that includes Colorado with its dry air and dusty front yards. But I was sad because I really had a great time climbing over the past ten days or so, and there was so much more than I wanted to do. Part of the reason I was sad, too, was that I knew how I had grown into climbing at the 'Gunks this past summer. I started by hating all things roofs, and ended up enjoying them in the end. For me, it was a matter of getting used to the rock and me gaining confidence over time. I definitely felt that I was tentative on this trip, and that was because I was climbing something new. I really felt that by the end of the trip I was ready to start trusting myself, and I wanted to continue to advance my climbing, but it was not to be. We threw our gear in the car and settled in for the short drive back to his house. "Jello"'s girlfriend "Iowa" and her dog "Jacques" was with us all day (happily snapping pictures despite it being too dark for the Montezuma climb), and I gave her the front seat. It's funny because "Jello" has a reputation for not being the easiest person to ride shotgun with, and so her and I had taken turns sitting in the risky seat up front. I could barely see around me, and that was fine for me. I wanted to watch the fading light darken the Garden behind us as we drove off. And as we did, we discussed dinner for the evening and what the plan was for dropping me off at the airport the next day. All was calm...

"JEEEEEELLLLLLLOOOOOOOO!!!!!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"

"Iowa" screamed at the top of her lungs and my widened eyes looked all around me in search of all of the excitement. I couldn't see much around me, and so I focused on the first thing that came into view: a side right on the right side of the car, my side of the car (and "Iowa"'s). Upon seeing the road, I instantly thought we were about to get side swiped by a car that "Jello" hadn't seen (or that car hadn't seen us). I have visions like this from time to time, and it scares the living daylights out of me but I've always feared more than anything that those visions would come true: where a car, or any object or tragic event for that matter, would come out of nowhere and be completely unable to stop with me rendered helpless only to watch in horror as it plowed over me and, thus, ending my brief living expirement on earth. But I was confused. I could hear "Iowa" screaming, and I could sense "Jello" being startled out of his mind, but I couldn't see any cars. "There must be another road or car up ahead that I can't see," I thought to myself and I braced for the impact.

SCREEEEEACHHHHHHH!!

The car came to a sudden halt and I waited... and waited... and, finally, after several seconds of no impact, I lifted my head up to see what was all the clatter. We were stopped, and the road all around us was devoid of cars. There was no impact, and yet, there was no car in front of us or around us either. "What happened" I wondered. And then I saw what all the fuss was about. We had come within inches of taking out an entire family of deer. Yup, sure enough, there was mom, dad, junior, sister, and little infant Fawny all staring at us as if we were the biggest jerks on earth. Deer normally run right at the headlights, but for some reason this family just sauntered off the road and kept going their way. It was a close call, and funny threats, warnings, and defensive conversation came to a boil the rest of the way home. We then went to dinner, came home, I packed, and the next morning "Jello" dropped me off in Denver for the long flight back. I'll be making more trips out there for certain. In fact, I can't wait to get back.

Click here for all 2008 Garden of the Gods Photos - newest photos first.

Colorado Day Seven: Back to the Garden, Nearly the Original One

"Jello"'s comments in Italics

And so it was back to the Garden for one of our final days of the trip. Our plan was to hit New Era (5.7) in the morning, a route that "Jello" had free-soloed earlier this summer, and one of two other options that we had also planned for that afternoon or early evening. It turned out that we got ahead of ourselves.

Garden of the Gods
Grey Wall or Kindergarten Rock

New Era (5.7) - Three Pitches - Trad - Bolted Anchors - Greg and "Jello" led

Approach: From the South Main Lot (#10), walk up the path near the info signs until you get to the top of the hill. Move to the road where the path and road meet, and follow it downhill to the second path on the left (first one is marked and the second is not). Take the path up until you're at the large boulder across from the path. Look up and you should see a right-facing crack /flake / chimney and a wide open book up and to the right.

Making our way up to one of my favorite climbs in the Garden of the Gods, I was happy. It had been good climbing for the past couple of days and for me this climb would be relaxing because I do it all the time and, as Greg mentioned, I had done this particular climb without a rope. The sun shining brightly above us would make it a somewhat sweatier ascent, but it was going to be a great day of climbing.

Pitch One (5.7) - 80 feet - Greg led: Climb the face or short crack to the right of the flake / chimney into the dihedral. Climb up to the bolted anchor. I combined the first and second pitch, so the story starts below.

Pitch Two (5.7) - 75 feet - Greg led: Stay in the dihedral to the ledge with bolted anchors.

Climbing at Red Rocks in Vegas was totally different than at the Garden. Sure, when I first got to Red Rocks I was pounding every hold in sight to ensure the rock's stability. But when I got to the Garden, I quickly learned that doing anything to the rock, even to test it, was potentially detrimental to the ascent. So when "Jello" told me that he wanted me to not only link the first two pitches, but that just below the anchors at the top of the second pitch, where I'd be most tired without a proper warm up on an easier to climb beforehand, was a lieback on slick and sketchy feet without great gear, well, let's just say that I was more than a bit nervous. He had already been up this without a rope, so I couldn't back down, not on a 5.7 that should have been well within my range. But I've never liked climbs with slick feet, and I was just as nervous about the rock holding my gear as I was about not falling. Still, "Jello" has frequently lectured me on being a better climber than I let on, to myself in particular, and so I trusted his confidence in me and I headed up.

I wanted Greg to combine the first two pitches for several reasons. The first being that I wanted him to have the crux pitch. The other reason was speed. If he combined the pitches we'd probably have time to do another climb nearby before it got too hot. As Greg made his way up he asked about gear and looked at me several times, inquiring if he should really combine the pitches. Continuing to look at me for reassurance, I encouraged him further. I knew exactly what was in front of him and that he really wanted to know where the crux was. As climbers we have that dichotomy where we want to know where the crux is and what it's like, but we also don't want to know. We want to push through it gloriously because it makes us feel like it wasn't so bad, as if we're a better climber for having done so.

I have to say that I found this to be a rather fun route, even though the crux had me scared out of my wits for a few brief moments. The initial face was fun (and run out) and full of large, cavernous pockets leading the way up to the book. Some of the pockets were actually pods, and I felt the urge to grab a sitting rest in a couple of them, but that would have been foolish fun on what I needed to treat as a serious climb.

It wasn't long until I came to the book, and I found the climbing to be a little more challenging than before. But there was nothing up to that point that made me feel as if I was getting myself into trouble. As I worked up the book, and as my forearms began to tire from the over-stressing (out of a slight fear that I was going to run into the crux at any moment and not realize it), I yelled down that the route wasn't so bad after all. Don't worry, you aren't at the crux yet, "Jello" shouted back up at me. I pressed on and wondered where the first set of anchors were.

As he made his way past the first pitch belay, I let him know he was getting close. The crux is interesting. It's not extremely hard but it requires a lot of reliance on feet in a somewhat insecure position. It's a layback, so placing gear is difficult although there are places to do it. I just never think of them as existing since I tend to burn through the crux to the anchors.

When I finally got to the first pitch anchor, I clipped the bolt and took a few deep breaths before checking out the moves above. I could see where the feet blanked out as "Jello" had told me, but he made the sequence sound as if it was several moves long. All I could see was a brief section of about four or five feet; that was maybe one move on slick feet and that was it. If the rock could hold my weight on a lieback, then I'd be OK. But the other thing that was worrying me was that he had also mentioned that the gear was sparse, and that I should save my #1 and #2 Camalots to build a small anchor below the crux. It wasn't so much the possible runout that he was describing that scared me, but more to the fact that I could see possible gear placements most of the way up. What scared me was that I would think I was at the crux too soon and not have enough gear once I actually got there. I seriously thought for a few good moments that I should split the pitches in two just so I could have the extra gear that he would've brought up to the anchor, but I told myself that I was going to put aside my fears this time and go for it. "He'd never put me in a spot he didn't think I could handle," I told myself, and off I went.

I found decent gear for the first 10 feet or so. The climbing wasn't so difficult, and I knew that I was going strong due to "Jello"'s shouts of encouragement from below. He certainly knew where the crux was, too, as he kept encouraging me to stay calm just as I approached the blank section. I was happy with this because it meant two things: 1) that I was looking at the correct blank face from below and; 2) there really was more gear than he suggested. I plugged two quick cams, stuck my foot out, breathed a couple quick breaths, complained a bit, listened to "Jello" cheer me on, counted "one, two, three," and went. Boom...boom...boom - I planted my foot and bumped each hand over the other. Before I knew it, I was at the anchor and bringing my partner up.

Greg moved through the crux like it wasn't even there and as he called off belay I was glad to see him confident in his climbing. Greg is a climber of greater ability than I, but where I lack his ability I surpass him in confidence, so it's a decent match for pushing ourselves. Since we were on a relaxing climb, I decided I would try to climb it fast. I reached Greg's belay pretty quickly, and I started up the last pitch. It's a fun pitch - pretty relaxing - so I cruised up it and belayed off the large boulder at the top.

Pitch Three (5.6) - 75 feet - Greg led: Climb the steep crack to the face. Then follow the ridge as it fades left to the top. Either sling the pancake boulder to belay (preferred) or continue left and down to the bolted anchor (not preferred due to potential rope damage to the rock and rope drag). This pitch is a bit run out at the top, so be fairly competent climbing 5.6 without gear, particularly considering how brittle this rock is. "Jello" sailed right up and I had a fun time bringing up the rear. It was the end of a good climb, and I was ready for more.

Descent: But then there was the descent. Ah yes, the descent. Well, let's just say what is supposed to happen first: one can rap down from the top anchors on two 60m ropes. It is also possible to rap with one 60m rope at least twice (there's enough anchors for three raps if that is what you need), or one can walk off on a long, fourth-class scramble off to the left. But this isn't what happened.

One of my personal rules when climbing is that no one gets hurt because of me. If somone wants to do something crazy then I'm not going to stop them, but I don't like the idea that I helped in the process of someone coming to injury or worse.

We decided to trail a static rope that "Jello" had purchased at a recent AMGA course behind us so that we could rap down in one go.

I didn't remember it's length, just that I had bought the cheapest and lightest one.

All that was fine and dandy, so we tied the two together near the ends and sent them down. The blue rope (static) went down straight and easy, while the red rope (dynamic) got hung up on a couple of chicken heads on the way down. That was OK because I knew that I would be able to free it as I rapped down. This happens a lot when rapping, even if it is not desirable. It is particularly problematic on sandstone, though, so folks don't even tie knots on the ends out of the fear of not getting the rope back when at the bottom. It turned out that the rope was caught in a couple of different places, and on one of the occasions I merely picked the rope up off the chicken head and the entire chunk of rock (about as long as my forearm) fell off.

As Greg rappelled away I didn't think anything out of the ordinary. I watched him slide down the thin, fibrous life lines. He yelled "rock," and I watched a large chunk of the cliff fall away to the ground. Again, nothing out of the ordinary here.

Seriously, I didn't even tap the rock and it snapped off as if I shot it with laser beams from my eyes. Considering how nervous I was about the loose rock going up, and how easily that chunk of rock had fallen off, I was worried about the anchors. "Jello" had assured me that the rock was solid at the top. He had even told me that he would take a trad fall in this particular section of the Garden, so putting weight on the bolts was not something to worry about. Still, as I noted above, I kept my eyes both above and below me, worrying about the anchors, the rope running over sharp edges, and how quickly the ground was coming up below me. I was also continuing free the rope from being caught on the chicken heads as I made my way down. On the final attempt of freeing the rope, I looked and saw that the red rope had finally hit the ground after being cleared and that the blue rope was hanging solidly below me, which I expected because it wasn't hung up on anything. With both ropes clear of the chicken heads, I refocused my attention to ensuring the rope wasn't running over any sharp edges. My mind also wandered toward what would happen if the bolts did, indeed, pop. Why I had this stuck in my head, I don't know, but I just felt that - ZZZZIP!!! A blue flash flew past my eyes and I noticed myself dropping faster than before.

As Greg slid closer to the ground I heard/felt/saw the blue static rope ping and go loose.

"Friction, FRICTION!" I pulled the ropes down to arrest my fall and felt them running through my hands faster and faster. I expected to feel my hands burn, but it turned out that it was a minor miracle that I had decided to use my new rap gloves for the first time.

Instinctively I grabbed both ropes below the rappel anchor and muttered an expletive to myself.

Thankfully, I didn't have to worry about burning my hands because of the gloves, but that didn't stop the fact that the ground was approaching at a much faster pace than I wanted. As I zipped lower I pulled tighter on the ropes and it was then that I realized I was only pulling on the red rope.

"What the fuck?" I thought to myself. I looked up and saw the yellow tip of the blue rope shooting up above me, bouncing back into shape after the static had reclaimed its dominance over the stretch. My weight was now completely on the red rope and it was stretching such that I thought the blue rope was now running through the anchors above. My fear was no longer about the anchors popping, but about me plummeting 40 feet to the deck as I watched the blue rope rapidly fly upward beyond my reach. I tried reaching for it, as if by some miracle I could snag it and somehow reattach it to my rappel device for a safe attempt at bumping myself back up to what I hoped would be anchors nearby and above me. For some reason, however, I wasn't falling as fast as I expected. I mean, I was moving much more quickly, but I wasn't dropping like a sack of stones, which is what should have happened if I had rapped through my ends.

The rope wasn't moving but I held it anyway. What happened? Was Greg OK? I asked what was going on but I didn't hear anything. I noticed the knot was cinched tight against the rap rings keeping the ropes from pulling through.

Thankfully, the knot at the top was on the blue rope's side, and so when I rapped off the blue end the knot at the top snugged against the anchor and didn't slip through. That meant that I was able to put my weight entirely on the red rope without having it run down on me. I didn't take any chances, though, that I was correct in my assessment that the knot was holding steady. I've never been confident in rapping, just because the guy who introduced me to climbing died as a result of a rapping accident (well, that and I just don't feel as if there is any recourse if the anchors pop or if the rope severs over a sharp edge, etc), so I got down as quickly as I could. Unfortunately, the carabiner that I've been using to belay and rap with (the DMM Belay Master) gets really hot very easily when rappelling. So when I finally made it to the ground, I had to wait a few minutes for it to cool off. I wanted to shout up to "Jello" to let him know that he had to make two raps, but I couldn't see him and couldn't walk to where I would be able to see him without taking myself off rappel. I was also out of breath.

Eventually the rope went slack and I hooked into the rappel.

When the biner cooled down, I took myself off and walked uphill so that I could see him. When I looked up, he was about two feet down on his own rappel. I was worried that he was going to make the same mistake. I knew he wasn't going to fall, because the knot had stopped me, but I also knew that there was no way for us to get the rope back down if he did rap all the to the ground without hiking back up.

- "Jello", you have to make two raps!
- Why?
- Let's just say the knot saved my ass.
- They're both supposed to be 60m!
- Well, the blue one isn't.
- What the fuck? Holy shit!

Slightly horrified at my mistake and dissapointed that I had not remembered the actual length of the rope, I made my way down to an intermediate rap station: an old Garden anchor with rusty hardware hanging halfway out of the rock - not recommended.

He rapped down to the next anchor and made the transition to a second rap within a few minutes. He was soon down and the ground and immediately apologized for not knowing that the static rope was only 46m long.

I apologized profusely and looked at the blue rope as I pulled it down. The small plastic tag held the unfavorable answer that the rope was in fact 46m and not 60m long. Despite Greg taking responsibility I still feel the situation could have been avoided had I simply double checked the length of the unfamiliar rope.

He really felt badly and couldn't believe that he had nearly broken his first rule of "no one gets hurt." However, I have to say that while knowing the rope wasn't 60m would have helped save a potentially dangerous situation, the blame absolutely falls onto me. Simply put, I wasn't paying attention as I was rapping down. Even without knowing the length of the static rope, I could have prevented this completely by paying attention. In any case, it was a lesson learned, and a funny one, too, because I've had the Warrant song Heaven Isn't Too Far Away stuck in my head all week long.

Despite it being fairly early in a nice day we decided to call it a day for now. I was a little shaken but Greg was surprisingly pretty calm. We went back to the house and decided that relaxation was in order.

Is it needless to say that we decided this was the end of our day? Yeah, we didn't climb for the rest of the day after that, and it's kind of weird as to why we didn't. What is odd is that I've had some scary falls before that should have completely taken me out of the game mentally, but I've always felt fine after those incidents. Sure, I've been sketched out, but after the damage is done, after the fall is over, my confidence typically goes up and not down. "Jello", on the other hand, is full of confidence on the way up and has been haunted more than me, despite the falls happening to me, after the fact each time (though I have to admit that I can't remember the other time when this bothered him - it may have been on Paralysis in the Adirondacks, but I didn't document it on the blog). I've never understood this about me. I think his reaction is totally reasonable, but mine? No way. But for some reason, at the moment of stress, just as the shit is hitting the fan, for as long as I've remembered and regardless of the activity or situation, time has always slowed down for me and I've always been able to focus and see things clearly as if I have a super-human ability to pick apart the landscape and see everything happening at once. It's a weird feeling that I honestly wished I had before I started to rap down.

Click here for all 2008 Garden of the Gods photos (newest are first)

Colorado Day One: Garden of the Gods (an introduction to soft sandstone)

"Jello"'s comments in italics

Everyone needs a break every now and again. While I'm not disadvantaged in any realistic manner, I certainly have felt under the gun the past year or so. Life changes do make things interesting and challenging, especially against the pressures of expectations. And I've worked hard to maintain some semblance of progress in my life. Despite some important setbacks, I've really tried to ensure that I haven't taken any other steps backward. Of course, that doesn't mean I've moved forward all of the time, because I haven't, but when keeping my head above water is the best I can do, well, all I can hope for is to do the best that I can do and that maybe, just maybe if I've done a good job and worked hard and focused on doing good, then I will be rewarded, even if that reward comes out of the blue and carries the risk of having to work harder, doing a better job, and doing more good as a result. I consider this trip to be that reward, and because I'm not sure what will come to me as a result of taking this trip, I'm going to enjoy it.

Many of you who read this blog back when I first started writing it full-time last year will remember my adventures with "Jello". We went everywhere the northeast the has to offer, driving from two different locations to meet up only to climb that weekend's agenda. And if that agenda wasn't possible, then we formed Plan B, or Plan C, D, or E; whatever it was, we had the opportunity to climb, we climbed it, and it was a good experience, even if it seemed that we had more epics per days climbing than any other climbing tandem in history (epic-to-route ratio was 1:1). Of course, like anyone living life, he had professional goals (to be a climbing guide) and that took him to Colorado this spring. Since that time, we've been talking about me coming out to visit and climb for a few days. Unfortunately, I haven't had the money to go on my own, but that all changed when I decided to go to a conference in Dallas. Seeing an opportunity to save my company some money by flying on off-peak days and by not staying at the expensive hotel where the conference was offered, I proposed that I fly through Denver on the way back, with the difference of me returning to work ten days later than expected. The offer was happily accepted, and I landed in Denver early Friday morning.

Going to Denver International Airport (DIA) is a pain. It’s on the outskirts of Denver and it’s far from Colorado Springs but I was happy to drive up there and pick up Greg because I knew it meant fun and adventure were in the future. So as I weaved my way through traffic on my way to pick him up I did what I always do when I don’t have anything to think about, I think about where I want to go climbing. Even though I have been living in Colorado for a little over six months there are still many places I haven’t been and climbs I haven’t done. This was an opportunity to do some of those undone things. First I had to deal with the airport. DIA is confusing for pretty much everyone so finding Greg was a challenge, first he was upstairs, then downstairs but I just couldn’t find him. After looking around for half an hour we finally were cruising down I-25 to Colorado Springs. I already had big plans.

When "Jello" picked me up he relayed me our newest agenda:

- Friday: Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs
- Saturday: Turkey Rocks somewhere in the South Platte region
- Sunday: Boulder Canyon in Boulder
- Monday: Eldorado Canyon
- Tuesday: Lumpy Ridge in Rocky Mountain National Park in Estes Park
- Wednesday: Garden of the Gods
- Thursday: Red Rocks in Colorado Springs
- Friday: Either Garden of the Gods or Red Rocks
- Sat / Sun: The Black Canyon (I'm not sure where this is exactly)

An hour later we were in the main parking lot of Garden of the Gods for my first sandstone experience since attacking Red Rocks in Vegas last November.

Potholes (5.7) - 65 feet - Sport - Chained Anchors - Greg led

Approach: Take the path from the main parking lot and look for the large "Garden of the Gods" plaque on the right. When facing the plaque, turn left to the small pillar(s) (there are two, but you may not see them both from this angle) that is in between the two larger cliffs. Potholes starts just right of the sign that says "A priceless gift."

Potholes is a really fun intro to the Garden. The climbing is gym-like although not nearly as safe. The carnival-like atmosphere is very much a detraction, but since I’ve had to deal with it since getting here I really don’t notice anymore. For the most part, if you don’t like people watching you climb then don’t go to the Garden. I have fantasies of climbing Potholes naked while hundreds of tourists take pictures and yell in disgust.

This place is surreal. It's an interesting mix of glorious towers, easy access, and somehow the feeling that this little park that tries to be so grand is just a cheap trick on the tourists that come here. I've never been to a climbing area where the cliffs are both imposing and not so much at the same time. They are certainly tall, the rock is soft, and the slabs are slick to the untrained sandstone climber. But when you're belaying from the walking path with kids who have never seen climbers before pointing up at you and asking their parents what you're doing, well, it kind of takes away from the adventurous feeling this sport can have. There's something to be said about solitude when climbing, and I'm not just talking about getting away from climbing crowds (because certainly that is ideal as well). This is a city park, no different than Boston Common in atmosphere. Sure, Boston Common doesn't have stark red towers jutting out from its paths, but it does have the same touristy feel, except instead of taking pictures of the swan boats, the tourists are taking pictures of me instead.

Potholes: Climb the bolts to the right-facing flake with the pods on the right. The chained anchors are directly on top of this spire.

As I noted above, the last time I climbed sandstone was with "Tattoo" at Red Rocks in Las Vegas. My first experience on sandstone was interesting, but without any fear that related to the rock specifically. I was told to tap every hold before committing, and I did that for a good while until I started assuming the holds were strong. In fact, two climbers who were climbing the same route that "Tattoo" and I were on noted that I'd stop tapping the holds after a while because it really was a useless activity. The rock in Vegas is, well, fairly strong and solid when it hasn't rained. The sandstone at GOTG, however, is a little bit different.

The first thing that "Jello" told me about this place was that the rock was soft, and that he wouldn't take a trad lead fall on most of the towers in the park. He would take a sport fall on the bolts, but even then it would be hard for him to do so without thinking about his underpants afterward. In short, he believed that falling was simply not something I wanted to risk, but that shouldn't stop me from pushing myself anyway. He also noted that when pulling on the hand holds I should only pull downward and not outward, as the rock was more settled in this direction. I cautiously took his advice and jumped on my first route, a 5.7 that "Jello" felt was a good intro to climbing in the Garden.

Because I was not only climbing on a somewhat foreign surface for me but also in a new area, too, I asked him how the grades in the Garden compared to the 'Gunks, which is supposedly notoriously sandbagged (I'm still not convinced of this, by the way). He noted that he felt the grades were comparable (this further proves my skepticism that the 'Gunks are sandbagged), and so I started up thinking that if there were no roofs on this 5.7 then the route itself would be technically challenging in some other way. It turned out not to be the case. While I felt there were a couple of 5.7 moves, they seemed to be more like gym grades than 'Gunks grades and so my initial feeling that the 'Gunks aren't sandbagged came into question. I flew up this route with relative ease; the only thing that kept me back was my uncertainty with the soft rock. I also had a chuckle on the way up. Maybe this was just my inexperience with this type of rock, but for a sport route I was expecting only bolts on this route, not pitons. Well, to be a bit more clear, if I did see a piton then I expected to see it hammered into a crack. That is not always the case in GOTG. Of all of the fixed pieces that I saw that day, about 10% of them were pitons hammered right into a blank face. I'm not so sure why this seems unusual to me. After all, the piton is long and sharp and could easily be pounded into the soft rock just like a normal bolt could be, but it just looked funny.

Potholes is a route that I take clients on all the time. Its gym-like appeal makes it easier for most people. While Greg took his time I did notice he seemed a little perturbed by the rock and the protection. Potholes is not a well-protected route. The newest bolt is about ten feet off the ground, certainly a fall resulting in a broken ankle if taken. The first time I climbed the route, though, that bolt had not been placed and the pin was the first piece of gear, a twenty foot fall that has resulted in broken legs. From there the pins are usually eight to ten feet apart. Not a horrible fall but certainly unpleasant and possibly painful. Add to the fact that Garden rock is notoriously rotten and hollow, and I could see why Greg was taking his sweet time. His estimate of soft iron pitons pounded into drilled holes is a little off. There are over two hundred routes in the Garden. Rarely do more than twenty of them get climbed, and some have never been repeated. While the trad routes tend to be run out, a lot of them have good bolts. Most of the Garden is nasty old pitons. I have yet to see one fail but I have seen a lot that used to be in the rock and now reside in people’s personal museums of Garden artifacts.

Anyway, after we both got back down, "Jello" asked me if I wanted to get on something harder. I replied that I thought that would be a good idea, since this route seemed kind of soft. He then pointed out a nice 5.9 not too far away. It was a corner with a bit of stemming and I thought to myself, "a 5.9 corner with good feet? This has to be as soft as the 5.7 I just did."

I would hesitate to call the Garden sandbagged, same for the Gunks. I think for the most part that you get used to a certain style of climbing and it feels right on or even soft. Crescent Corner is not one of those routes. It’s very smeary and pumpy so in my mind it is certainly 5.9+. It is also one of the routes that relies a lot on your hands which can be scary given the Garden rock.

Descent: Rap with a 50m rope.

Crescent Corner (5.9+) - 90 feet - Sport - Chained Anchors - Greg led

Approach: Find the plaque noted above and turn around so that the plaque is behind you. Find the path heading to the crag on the opposite side of the path. Take that path and walk up to the right a few feet until you're below a left-facing corner that arches left at the top.

Crescent Corner: Follow the corner, clipping the bolts on the left roofs for the first few pieces of pro. Climb to the chained anchors and only continue if you're confident in your climbing. The rock above the chains is supposedly weak and not worth continuing the climb for.

Well, so much for the grades being soft. One thing that GOTG does is test your mental fortitude. Three things stood out on this climb: the spacing of the bolts (not really that unusual, but certainly scary considering the soft rock), the hollow-sounding nature of the rock itself (I was tapping on the thickest part of the crag itself and still heard the deep thudding sound of emptiness on the other side), and the requirement of liebacking the crux. Now, all three of these go in tandem with "Jello"'s advice from above: that one should pull down and not out on the holds. Add in a bit of slick and crumbly feet, and you've got yourself a full-on basket-case route. Seriously, I tapped the rock (not a flake mind you, but the actual cliff. You know, the rock where all the holds are molded to?) and heard the hollowness on the other side. The reason you don’t tap the rock is because you don’t want to know that the most solid looking pieces are hollow and fragile. You don’t want to know. As far as Garden routes go this one is pretty well protected. The first bolt is a little high but it’s easy ground and the rest of the route is decently protected. Even so I think the funkiness of the Garden was getting to Greg.

- Me (to myself): This cliff is 30 feet thick. How can it be hollow? OK, so that makes the rock a bit more sketchy, so let's make sure I pull down instead of out. Hmmm...nothing to pull down on....
- "Jello": You have to layback.
- Me: Um, doesn't that take away from your advice of pulling down?
- "Jello": Uh, yeah, but that's how the route is done. It's a lieback.
- Me: OK, but the rock is hollow.
- "Jello": It's always like that.
- Me: Um, OK, so I'm supposed to pull out on sketchy rock that I'm otherwise not supposed to pull out on.
- "Jello": That's correct.
- Me: And where's the first bolt?
- "Jello" (pointing upward): That's it, about 20 feet above your head.
- Me: And the next one after that?
- "Jello": Can't you see it? it's about 10 feet above that. And so is the third, and fourth, and so on.
- Me: Gulp!

Well, my head couldn't convince me to just go for it, so I hung a few times at the crux (between the second and third bolt). The bolts were spaced apart appropriately (and placed appropriately, too), but it sure felt like I was destined to go for a ride each time I pulled on the holds. I eventually made it, but this was a lesson in climbing sandstone for me: never trust the holds completely, but just understand that they're probably OK.

Descent: Rap with one 60m rope.

Silver Spoon (5.5) - 65 feet - Sport - Chained Anchors - Greg Led

Approach: This is in the same section as Crescent Corner, except instead of taking a right where the path meets the cliff, take a left. Walk along the base until you see another path on the left that leads to a fence where that meets the paved path. Walk a little farther over (about 10 feet) until you see a fair amount of names carved into the rock. I particularly remembered the name "Aurthur" for some reason.

Silver Spoon: Climb up to the first bolt and then smear left over what appears to be blank rock to a large right-facing corner that arches left into a roof. Follow the corner up to where it meets the gully. To find the anchors, peer into the gully (you may have to look below you) and find them on the other side of the arrete. It is best to set your anchor long so that you don't belay inside the gully but on the face below the corner instead (i.e. - left of the arrete). This will protect the rock from the rope scarring the arrete itself. If there is one thing that bothers me it’s when people do stupid things. While climbing Crescent Corner, the person on Silver Spoon asked if I would carry up a rope to set up a toprope for him. Figuring they were done and it wouldn’t take that long, I said sure because I’m a damn nice guy. After waiting around a few minutes I decided to see what was going on. He was just finishing the climb and was preparing to rappel...down the wrong side of the face. There are two directions you can rappel off Silver spoon. Down the gully or down the face you climbed up. Because of the placement of the anchors it is a much smarter idea to rap down the gully. You save your rope, you save the rock, and it’s just nicer that way. When I explained this to the gentleman he simply said, “this is the way I always do it.” People used to also always not take showers and we know how well that worked out. So while the rock-grooving pile of monkey spunk struggled to pull his rope over a sandstone edge, I wandered back and told Greg what was going on (because he was waiting at the top to bring me up for about, what, 10 minutes? When they finally came over I quickly put their rope up and moved on trying not to be a jerk, which was hard because I’m really good at it.

This was a very nice route that got me back into my smearing and slab technique. I found that I had a lot of confidence in my feet on the rock after this climb. "Jello" wanted me to do this climb first because it is a good introduction to GOTG. However, we did it third due to it being taken when we first arrived. Silver Spoon went well for Greg which I expected given the grade and rappelling down the gully went fine as well. Don’t damage the rock when you rappel and don’t toprope through the anchors, you didn’t pay for them.

Descent: Rap down the gully with one 60m rope. Do not rap down the route itself. Again, this will help save the rock from scarring. The rap should put you back down to the path that leads to the fence. Despite the route being so short, it is advisable to rap with a 60m rope because the gully route is actually longer than Silver Spoon is.

Finger Ramp (5.7) - 75 feet - Sport - Chained Anchors - Greg Led

Approach: When looking at the plaque noted above, head left up the paved path and find a climber's path on the right. The climber's path will lead back toward the same cliff that the plaque is on, but this climb is on the face that is around the corner to the left from the plaque itself. Start where this path meets the cliff.

Finger Ramp: Fade up left, following the bolts to the large and wide, left-fading diagonal crack. From there, either climb up so that your feet are in the crack and you're using the upper holds to walk up the crack and around the corner, or stay low, keeping your hands in the crack and using the thin but solid foot jibs below.

My first inclination was to stay very low below the crack so that I wasn't even using it, and there are some solid crimps that could lead straight up to the anchors. However, this is definitely not a 5.7 section of rock and it is difficult to retreat from. I then decided to keep my hands low in the crack and was able to stem with good feet through this crux. "Jello" took the high holds, but this is because he did this once before and fell, which, if you look at where the last bolt was, means he took about a 15-foot swinging whipper on sandstone that you'd never want to fall intentionally on. He wanted to conquer that demon, and did so with relative ease. Finger Ramp is a fun climb but it had me a bit shaken after my last fall off it. Luckily I had my trusty new shoes to see me through the smeary section. Despite this I still hesitated. I don’t like hesitation. Ninety-nine percent of the time I don’t hesitate and everything is fine but that small percentage is what usually ends up with nasty falls and scariness. Thankfully, today nothing significant happened.

This was a fun route, maybe the best route of the day. I do recommend this as a good single-pitch climb if you've only got a limited amount of time to climb. It is also nice because the anchors are perfectly placed to tackle on top rope the hard 5.10 route directly below.

Descent: Rap straight down and end up at the top of the hill that is up left of the start of Finger Ramp. A 50m rope would suffice here.

Lower Finger Direct (5.10+ X) - 65 feet - Sport - Chained Anchors - Greg Topropped

Approach: I topropped this after leading Finger Ramp, and this is advised due to this route not having good pro (or any for that matter). So, if you lead Finger Ramp, then the rope will automatically be in the proper spot for this climb. But if you're bold enough to lead it, then walk up the hill from the start of Finger Ramp and start in a small, shallow, left-facing corner (its more like a series of ridges that fade and get smaller to the left than an actual corner) that is just below the top of the path. This is right of another and very similar looking section of rock. The left-hand corner is much harder and doesn't follow the thin crack seam as well as the right-hand start does.

Lower Finger Direct: Follow the thin seam / crack up left to a pin, and then step immediately right (crux) to what will appear to be blank rock, but once you do manage to step right and you are able to smear up one move, then the climbing is essentially over as it gets very easy to the anchors.

I was happy to have climbed this clean after struggling so much on the 5.9 earlier. It was my kind of climb, though, with thin crimps and static-but-balancy moves throughout. It was a good way to end the day, though I wish it was bolted or had better pro because I would have loved to have led it. Isn't this always the case? I find this happens a lot to me; the solid, hard climbs that I could lead are never leadable without serious risk of injury. It's a bummer for sure. I hope this isn't always the case.

Descent: Rap off the chained anchors with a 50m rope.

I think the most impressive part of climbing here is that "Jello" only lives 15 minutes away. That allowed us to climb until some heavy winds came in and it was time for dinner. A few minutes later and I was unpacking after my flight and cooking salmon just as I had never left home.

There's a few good pictures in the 2008 Garden of the Gods Album. Click here and enjoy.

I Recently Had a Near Life Experience

So my trips have been slowing down as of late. After a day trip to Grand Junction and a personal trip to the Black Canyon I was back in the Springs. The boss left for his own trip to the Wind River Range earlier and so I was basically in charge. I also had 5 trips that week. Pretty good.

So one of my trips was with an older woman doing multi-pitch climbs in the Garden. This was a great trip. We ended up climbing the three classic multi-pitch climbs in the Garden as well as the last pitch of West Point Crack which I had never actually done before. Before this we climbed the North Ridge of Montezuma's Tower and then at the end of the day we did New Era. So just a great day.

The day before I had a group of gentleman who I was going to be teaching everything I knew for three days. So we started the day off with some toproping and anchor building. Then near the end of the day I started to introduce trad gear and sport leading. One of the guys was having a little problem dealing with the height but everyone was grasping the concepts pretty well and so at the end of the day we decided to meet at Red Rocks to do some sport leading and anchor cleaning. Nothing big going on there, got some leading in and a few good climbs. So as the day ended we were once again going to the Garden to perhaps learn some multipitch climbing.

Meeting the next day they're all obviously quite hungover. No big deal, we'll take it easy. So I head to the first climb of the day, Finger Ramp. A real nice 5.7 with a little smeary crux at near the top. It's bolted in typical garden style with a good fifteen foot runout to the chains. It's also traversing in nature. As I double checked everyone being tied in and harnessed correctly I shoed up and shook my head dismissively at the quarter size hole in the toe of the right shoe. As I head up I feel pretty good I clip the first four bolts. I clip the last bolt before the anchor and look ahead. How did I do this last time I wonder. Oh well, it's 5.7, I'll figure it out. As I start to pull the layback moves I reach towards a large jug that ends the crux section. Looking at the hold I notice it's cracked around the entire hold so I shift my feet to move my hand higher to reduce the leverage on the hold. As I go to move my hand my foot slips and I'm sliding. Amazingly quite a few thoughts fly through my head. The first is that I should have resoled my shoes earlier. The second is that I've been sliding for a while, then I see the bolt go by and I think that's it's nice to have a client who knows how to belay.

As I slow to a stop I'm shaking. I look over to my clients to see them staring wide eyed as one of them asks if I'm ok, to which I reply, "yes I'm fine, but that's pretty much what it's like to fall." The thing about falling as a guide is, A: you're not supposed to do it, because it's very life threatening, and B: get your ass back up there because you can't let your clients know you're freaked out. Not only does it freak them out but it takes away the confidence they have in you. So I pulled my self back up to the last bolt, shook out my arms, which were scraped and bleeding, then proceeded to finish the climb like it was no big deal. Despite my fall everyone made it to the belay.

Despite eating lunch and hiking to the next area to climb I was still a little electrified from the fall. This combined with the many phone calls from the boss asking me to make many phone calls while on a trip, I felt really crappy for the day. In my opinion it was probably my worst day of work ever. The dark clouds and light rain reflected my mood as I cleaned the last anchors and we parted ways.

When everything goes according to plan guiding can be enjoyable. I get to take people on some of my favorite climbs. When things go wrong it can be very stressful. You can't avoid doing a climb because you're not feeling like doing that 30 ft. runout. You can't end the day because you take a bad fall (in fact you shouldn't fall at all). You're entirely responsible for the lives of others as well as you're own. The people belaying you might not catch you, in fact there is a chance that they might pull you off (hence the reason I free solo more often). A good guide will be able to hide their fear, boredom, frustration, and all the while being cheerful and efficient in order to bring the client an experience that they paid for. That day I did not do this very well although the previous two days with this group I had done this very well. I guess two out of three ain't bad.

Seeds of Doubt I Am Without

Doubt gnaws at my uncertain mind. Like some carnivorous beast it eats at my insecurities and dignities alike, clean and efficient. I'm simply reading a book but the conversation in my mind prevents me from anymore than the appearance of attention.
"You're going to die."
"It's 5.7, you've already climbed it, you know what to expect."
"Something will break and you'll be splattered on the talus. You're friends and family will have to pick up the pieces...all of them."
"Without confidence and competence you are weak. You can do this. You have done this, it's already done." I put the book down and go to the garage. My hands are sweating profusely. I'd called someone last night to go climbing but they hadn't called back. I start packing the necessary accoutrements of my trade. Rope, harness, rack, slings, chalk, shoes. I'm giving myself time, like a prisoner on death row filing useless appeals. I call someone else, they don't answer. The bags in the car. I grab a letter to my parents with my paycheck in it. Have to pay the bills. "Where ya headed" asks my boss and current roomate. "East face of Kindergarden, probably climb New Era." He asks if I plan to rope solo it and I point my face at the ground. "I was actually thinking of free soloing it." The previous look of mild interest changes to one of surprise as he exclaims, "Well shit...whatever you want to do, it's your decision."

That's what it comes down to. Despite all the squabbling in my head when I walked up to the rock I would either go up or turn around and walk back to the car. It wasn't lack of climbing partners, I can choose not to climb. It wasn't some need to prove myself to anyone, I hate posturing and since I already have a job that I want I have nothing to prove. Nevertheless, I left hoping someone would call and we would all go do something a little more sane.
I dropped off the letter and picked up some stamps with white hot adrenaline in my veins, my breathing slightly laboured. The post office clerk didn't seem to notice. As I drove closer the voice in my head, perhaps the rarely heard voice of reason was screaming, "TURN AROUND, FINISH THE BOOK, ANYTHING, DON'T DO THIS." But I was going to do it. My mind was made up and I didn't even know it. As I drove the Juniper loop to the South Parking Lot my breathing became even more laboured. I was soaked in sweat. Never was the phrase, "Why am I doing this?" more prevalent.

Upon parking the car I pulled out the shoes and chalkbag. I sat in the car debating on what else to take. I decided to bring water, harness, regular shoes, and of course a camera. As I made my way towards the approach trail I had no thoughts, just sensation, the wind and the heat, the sound of the leaves and the occasional car or cyclist. Making my way up the approach trail I concentrated on being flawless. To make a mistake is to fail, to fail is to die. I wanted a sign, a raven cawing, tripping over my own shoelaces (in sandals), something that would give me an excuse to walk back down the hill. I reached the base and sat under the shade of a boulder contemplating my task. I was the essence of calm now. There would be no mistakes.
New Era is an aesthetic climb that follows the crack line from bottom to top of the South Summit on Kindergarten Rock. Usually done in two pitches it can be done in three or not pitched out at all if you're out to solo it as I was. This is one of my favorite climbs in the Garden. The rock is better than anywhere else and the climbing is varied. While I've done the first pitch many times I have only done the entire climb once. Not hard, lots of rests

At this point I have donned my harness and opened my chalkbag. My shoes are on and I'm off the ground. It doesn't take me long before I am at the first pitch belay but I don't stop and clip in. I rest and take in my surroundings. The climbing is not hard but it has more of my attention than I've ever given to anything. After a brief rest I start towards the crux which features a lieback for about ten feet on less than helpful footholds. Once above it I crawl into the second pitch belay and sit down inside the cave. I cough/heave and reach for the water. I slowly calm down as the lactic acid drains from my arms like water after a refreshing shower. The crux is passed but the climb is not over. I still have the last pitch an easy and exposed arete to the summit. I was surprised to realize that I had not taken any pictures up to this point except at the base so I took a few more. Feeling like a high voltage line, full of energy and immense tension I begin climbing again and summit after fifty feet of easy climbing and the feeling of explosive energy fades. As I sit at the summit I contemplate the folly of my actions. I think back to when I climbed trees as a kid. The difference is minimal. A fifty foot tall tree and a two hundred foot tall cliff. Wood and stone. The climb was easy for me like so many trees but the knowledge of the consequences makes it serious in my mind.

Why do I do this. A question I often ask myself. Like many climbers I put forth cliche answers. I want to push myself or have fun, to experience new places. Inadequate answers, I have pushed myself...a lot. I've pushed myself physically to climb all the time and to push my capabilities. I've pushed myself mentally through scary runouts and free solos. The experience of new places is a bit more subtle. Of course I've climbed all over the country but some of the new places I've experienced cannot be visited by others. No one can go into my mind to see the exertion, the exhaustion. Sometimes the fear creeps in, more often than not when there is nothing to fear. Other times there is a place where mind and body are stripped so bare that the only thing left is will. Will to be flawless, will to endure and continue. Will is the antidote to negative inner thoughts. When body touches stone there is nothing left to say or doubt because all that is left is that will. On these days I am without fear or notion of failure and the world trembles at my fingertips. New Era follows the line in green. If you look near the bottom you can see a leader halfway up the first pitch of three with the belayer at the bottom. It took about thirty minutes to climb although it seemed like an eternity. When I first climbed it I did so in three pitches and it took more than an hour.

Work is always Work

So I've been guiding out here in Colorado for about two months. In some ways it's been really awesome. In other ways it is occasionally a drag. So here's what I've experienced/learned/done so far.


My climbing since coming to Colorado has been pretty much devoted to climbing in two places. The Garden of the Gods and Red Rocks. Climbing in the Garden is practically an art. First you must except that you are climbing on stone which is loosely conglomerated grains of sand. The ability to somehow defy gravity and not crush the holds supporting your weight is a learned skill. The incentive to learn this skill is so you don't die because the probability that there is a piece of gear or one of the numerous soft iron pitons that Harvey Carter pounded into drilled holes anywhere near you is highly unlikely. Since learning to climb in the Garden my mental abilities are astounding. An example follows.

The Fixer 5.10a two pitches:
The first pin is about thirty off the ground and climbing to the pin while averaging about 5.7 does have a few 5.9 moves right before you clip the pin. From here there are several stiff 5.10a moves on crumbly holds. After the last pin, at about sixty feet off the ground, it's at least another sixty feet to the anchors with a few fifth class moves. The second pitch follows a loose crack with a strenous overhanging start. I have yet to climb it but the first ascencionist told me it wasn't too difficult, just dirty.

Climbing in Red Rocks is a little different. The routes all suite my technical style but after climbing about 30 routes there I've found them to mostly be very similar and mostly boring.

The thing about guiding here is that it's different every day. Sometimes I climb with people who've climbed before and things go smooth, we climb some fun stuff. Then other days I'm soloing the same 5.7 for the twenty fifth time and trying to haul people up while, with no thought of style, they grab quickdraws and stand on bolt hangers.

Between the two places I must say that I really enjoy the Garden more. The climbing is just better. There are a few climbs that I don't think I will ever get tired of climbing:

Crescent Corner 5.9, a fantastic corner with lots of laybacking and underclings.
N. Ridge of Montezuma's Tower 5.7, a fantastically exposed two pitch ridge, just awesome.
New Era 5.7, a great three pitch dihedral on the most solid rock in the park, solid face and crack climbing with a fantastic last pitch.

I'm hoping that the future will bring more varied climbs in different areas. I'd really like to get to know the South Platte area better. There is a ton of first ascents to be had and it's nice to be on bomber granite every once and a while. I'd also like to explore some of the other classic climbs that Colorado has to offer. There is a ton of great rock here. Climbing almost every day has improved my climbing ten fold. Climbing eight pitches in a four hours is not something that I would find difficult. I feel like a badass.

I am impoverished but I enjoy my life. I walk the razor's edge in climbing shoes, it's awesome. Send money.

Welcome to the Wild West

"It should not be denied... that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations, with absolute freedom, and the road has always led West." -Wallace Stegner

So I have headed west with a new job and a new set of adventures to go on. Wait, let's back up a minute. For the past eight months I was employed by Pok-O-Macready. It wasn't a horrible place to work. Food and housing were provided. It had a great location near climbing and backpacking. Their were problems though. The pay was sub-par. The work to time off ratio was ridiculous. Mostly though it was just the constant bumbling and disrespect I felt from the management. So during a week off I scheduled an interview with a climbing company and also did quite a bit of climbing. My first time on the rock in several months.

Despite a lot of back and forth calling I wasn't sure what exactly was going to happen when I flew into Colorado Springs that March day. Fortunately, the day before I left things sort of fell into place. I was offered a place to stay and rides from place to place which made everything easier and cheaper. So on the day I flew in I met my future employer outside the airport and we drove to his house. He apologized in advance for kind of throwing me into the thick of things as there was a little party going on at his house. About fifteen minutes after walking in the door and introducing myself I'm offered a shot and then copious amounts of alcohol. Luckily I didn't make an ass out of myself and went to bed with promises of climbing the next day.

So after waking up the next day at an ungodly hour, especially after the drinking, flying, and staying up late, I kind of organized my stuff and got ready for some climbing. I also tried to fall asleep again since I figured if I slept from 3 till 9 then I would have accumulated an adequate amount of sleep. It didn't work. So I mulled around, watched some TV and when my gracious host awoke and made some breakfast we were off to sample some of the local fair.

First we made our way to Garden of the Gods, locally referred to as The Garden. Having climbed at The Garden quite a bit I now have some familiarity with the area and the climbs. Garden rock has a lot of variance. Kindergarten, or Grey rock is fantastic hard sandstone and has some of the best rock in The Garden. Technique wise it seems to have less smearing which is good because my shoes are blown out anyways. North Gateway rock is a little bit sandier and a little more fragile. I've pulled on some things that disinegrated under my weight. This is quite unnerving while leading.

The Garden is definately an old school area as well. Most routes were put up from the ground and can be sparsely protected. It's adventure sport climbing for the most part. I have yet to see a bolt that wasn't at least fifteen feet or more off the ground and many have runouts that will ruin your day if you aren't careful. I've also never seen so much old, homemade hardware. So many quarter-inch coffin nails and old iron angle hangers. For the most part though protection is old soft iron pitons pounded into drill holes. I've gotten used to it, but at first it scared the shit out of me. For a place with well over two hundred routes rarely do more than fifty of them get climbed on a regular basis.

My big intro to Garden climbing was the Lower Finger Traverse on North Gateway Rock. It's graded at 5.7 but is undeniably much harder than that. I've climbed 5.10's that required less fancy footwork. The first time I followed it and fell which was a little scary since it's a traverse and most falls will give you a big swing. I've since followed it again and did not fall so I'll have to go and lead it. Besides that their are many classics with spires and cracks and many technical face climbs it's a really nice area once you get used to it.

The next stop though was Red Rocks Canyon Open Space, or RRCOS. The recently aquired land had been through a flood of development and most of that development had been done by the company I was going to work for. Apparently the city did not want another Garden of the Gods and so the hardware is all bomber new bolts and everything is well protected. The rock is similar to The Garden in it's fragility and so the grades are always changing as holds break off and the sandstone is weathered. We showed up and I got to climb with some new people. One of them the guidebook author for the area as well as the Falcon Guide for the Northeast and I also met the owner of a company called Climbaxe. So we climbed around on a few 5.10's and I flailed a bit on a 5.11 but felt overall impressed that I was still in pretty good shape since the only thing I'd been climbing recently was ice.

The day thus ended we headed back and made plans for the next leg of the trip was to Colorado National Monument, Tusher Canyon Utah, and around Moab Utah. So I prepacked some things and headed to bed.

This time I slept pretty good and we were packing up the cars to be leaving by noon. After sorting gear and supplies we were on the road with another car headed for Grand Junction, CO which is where Colorado National Monument is located. After a long drive we made it to Fruita, CO where we met another member of our trip and made it the rest of the way to the proposed campsite, near the top of the canyon. It was around sunset and so everything was looking rather spectacular. Unfortunately, my camera wasn't capable of capturing this. After finding out that their were no fire rings at this campground we made our way to the local state campground and sat around the fire getting to know each other a bit better. The next day we packed up the gear so we were ready to make our way to Utah and headed to the trailhead that would take us to Independence Monument. After a somewhat long, but not unpleasant, and very scenic, route we were standing near the base of the tower. I really like towers. Maybe someone would psycho-analyze that and say it has something to do with some sort of phallic fascination but I think it has more to do with the fact that climbing up is generally the only way to get there. Most routes you climb and you get to the top of a cliff face in which you could have easily taken the easier albeit longer route around the side of the cliff. You can't do that with a tower. You have to climb to the top, you have to have some skill and maybe a little bit of craziness. Even more is that your at the very top of something, literally the pinnacle. Exposure is almost always there and it's climbing which is always fun.

Anyways, our proposed route was Otto's Route which is 4 pitch 5.8 which was first climbed by John Otto in 1911, solo. He hand drilled holes and pounded pieces of pipe into the holes to climb all the way to the top in time to plant a flag for the Fourth of July. He also had his wife carve the beginning of the preamble to the Constitution in a huge nearby rock. For some crazy reason they got divorced, imagine that. Anyways, the route is completely manufactured but it is definately of historical value and is fairly fun. The last moves of the final pitch are classic and the views from the top are fantastic as well. It was definately a good intro to tower climbing.

After rapping down we started to head out but made a quick stop to mess around on some single pitch stuff. I lead a route called Dihedral #1 which despite the mundane name was really fun. Having developed my gear placement skills in the East as more of nuts and tricams type of guy it was a little more difficult because I didn't bring an assortment of small cams. It went fine though and their are plenty of easy stance from which to place gear.

After the hike out we got in the cars and headed for Tusher Canyon, Utah. So the offroading adventure began.

Tusher is a pretty neat place. It's very secluded and the rock formations are vary from interesting to spectacular. Getting into Tusher is an adventure in itself. One needs a high clearance vehicle with four wheel drive to be able to make it through. Even so, one of our vehicles had some trouble when they got caught up in a sand dune. That was a good time. After screwing around trying to dig them out for fifteen minutes we finally towed them out with some webbing. We made it to camp alright though and after settling in we lounged around the fire, cooked some food, and rested up for some more climbing.

Having arrived in the dark I hadn't really gotten a good view of the feature which we would be focusing most of our attention, The House of Putterman. It's kind of a tower, almost a butte. At first glance it looks cool but when you get right up underneath it takes on a whole new air of seriousness.

We weren't undertaking anything real serious, just some fun climbing. We only did single pitch, nothing harder than 5.10's. Mostly toproping with a few leads. The first climb I did was only a 5.9 and I was feeling rather confident for some reason. Unfortunately as I came to the crux offwidth section I flailed and proceeded to turn my arms and hands into hamburger meat. Funny thing about crack climbing. If you have good solid jams you won't bleed. If your jams pull out you make an obligatory flesh deposit on the rock. Offwidths are not my friend. Even so I was excited at all the unclimbed rock and aesthetic lines all around.

The rocks need for blood satiated we left to nurse our wounds, some having more wounds than others, and recuperate for some more climbing the next day. That next day found us leaving Tusher Canyon to explore the local mecca that is Moab, Utah. Funny thing about Moab is it's circus like quality. The town thrives on the outdoor industry, especially mountain biking and the gaudy signs and billboards make it well known, also slightly comical. So we decided to head over to Potash Road. Some nice big cliffs right on Potash Road. When I say right on I mean you can belay from your car, you can feel the wind from passing cars, and standing right next to the rock still puts you in easy striking distance of a car should they not be paying close enough attention.

Nevertheless, it was fun climbing, good for a quick burn. Despite the height few of the climbs went to the top of the cliff. Expressing interest in something multipitch we headed over to the Tombstone. Our intended route, The Corner Route 5.12 III, being to the left of whipper inducing Epitaph which one can find videos of climbers taking sixty footers. That was not of great interest to me. I prefer to climb the rock. Either way though the climb was a burly one, following a dihedral system all the way to the top. The first pitch is a super scary 5.8 traverse. Thankfully I did not lead it. It follows a horizontal crack for about twenty feet. The crack is filled with dirt and the fall would be into the ground simply because of the slope of the ground. After almost yellowing my pants I was to lead the next pitch an easy 5.7 flake. I should have taken more time to recover from my near death experience but I racked up and lead off, sewing it up like a seamstress on speed. After climbing to a short offwidth section I couldn't figure it out. I was scared and pumped and just couldn't think straight, so I hung on the rope till I calmed down. Finishing the pitch I brought my partner up for them to lead the next pitch a pumpy 5.1o section. Cruising the pitch no problem he brought me up and after hanging a few times I finally made it. The last pitch, the crux, is a 5.12 finger crack or easy clean aid. Since we didn't have aiders and it was late we simply rappelled off. After some discussion we decided to head home because we wouldn't feel like climbing tommorrow and so off we went.

First we decided to check out some of the sights and so we drove through arches and I got to see the Fisher Towers and Castleton Tower. They were quite the sight to end my trip on. The desert is quite the amazing place and I hope to go back soon.

Since I've moved to Colorado I've been climbing more than I ever have in my life. I've been here about two weeks and climbed about 10 out of the 14 I've been here. I'm getting used to the chossy sandstone. Now all I need to do is get some new shoes and a new rope.