Twelve Days in the Northeast

Hi folks,

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

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

Ratherbe's Return

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click here for all 2009 North Conway photos.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cathedral Ledge

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

A Passionless Weekend

Rain, rain, rain, judging a comp, rain, rain, rain, grandfather in the hospital, rain, rain, rain, elbow tendinitis, rain, rain, rain...

I climbed in the gym last week for the first time in a little less than a month. The body felt fine but the endurance was whacked beyond dead. Still, there's been a weird difference between my outdoor and indoor climbing this year - they've reversed roles.

In past years I've always been stronger in the gym than outside, and this makes sense. But after battling two injuries in 2009 I've been worried about losing strength, endurance, and ability outside, particularly considering I've been climbing like crap in the gym (i.e. - hanging on 5.8 and struggling to clip the anchor at the top...when hanging onto the anchor itself). The gym always helped to build that strength and endurance, but this year it hasn't done it's job and I've felt a bit uneasy with that. I have some goals this year, and one of those goals is to push the grades a bit. If I can barely lead an eight in the gym then how am I supposed to climb harder outside while placing gear? Of course, it might be my attitude.

Inferno (5.8) - Three pitches - Trad - Gear anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

With two days of flailing at the gym after not climbing for a month out of the way, "Ratherbe" and I risked the weather and headed north for our first climbs in North Conway in 2009. The forecast was beautiful blue sky on both Saturday and Sunday with downpours overnight in between. We weren't sure what the rock would be like on Sunday after the rain in North Conway, but we knew two things that sent us north anyway: 1) we were starting to get 'Gunks'd out and; 2) the downpours scheduled for Saturday night in North Conway were going to pound the 'Gunks Saturday afternoon. We figured that one good, solid day of climbing up north where we weren't yet bored was better than a half day of climbing in a place where we knew we'd be back to several more times before the season ended.

There was little to no traffic on the way up Friday night, and we pitched the tent just before 10pm. I feel asleep seemingly worriless about the climbs ahead the next day.

Saturday awoke us early, and we were in the Whitehorse parking lot by 830am. We had directions for the approach to the Inferno area, but we weren't sure exactly what to look for because the guidebook we were using was written in the mid-1990s. Still, I was sure I had been to Inferno before, and I was certain it was a long walk in, but I couldn't remember how we had got there in the past. All I could remember was the large, right-leaning roof feature that makes up the first pitch. I knew that once I could see that feature we'd be fine. Unfortunately, things weren't so straight forward and we were about 30 feet less patient than we should have been.

We walked about 20 minutes in and lost sight of the cliff. This worried us, but we kept going because I had a hunch it was much further down than we thought. But as we kept walking along the trail seemed to fade further and further from the cliff. All we could see now were trees and a few dirty slabs and boulders up the hill above us. It didn't feel right, so we read the guidebook again. The guidebook noted a climbers' path marked by ribbons on the uphill section of the path. We hadn't seen any ribbons but we sure had gone uphill and downhill several times already. We continued onward and checked the guidebook each time we went back uphill just to be sure that we were reading everything correctly. There was still no sign of the ribbons, though, and the only trail we saw really wasn't a trail at all but more of an inconvenient scramble up through the forest instead.

Finally, we reached a point where we could see a faint hint of cliffs to our right. The path went left uphill some more and then it went downhill and away from where the cliffs should be. The cliffs appeared small and everything in between us and the rock seemed sloping and dirty. We believed we had passed the climbers' path for sure because it seemed as if the cliff was now somewhat behind us.

"Ratherbe" took the initiative of starting the bushwhacking back across the leafy and wet forest while I went ahead just a bit to ensure that the main path did actually move away from what realistically seemed to be the end of the cliff. It was a quick run uphill to a flat spot for me, and it was easy to see that the main path continued downhill and to the left. I ran back to catch up with "Ratherbe" and never saw the climbers' path to my left on the way back. I ran a mere 30 feet uphill and the same 30 feet back downhill, picked up my pack off the ground where I left it to run ahead, and tried to follow "Ratherbe"'s path through the brush. I met her at the base of a cliff, but we weren't sure where we were exactly. I certainly didn't believe it was where Inferno was because I didn't see the roof-like feature. She had an idea of where we were based on the pictures in the book and the features on the cliff in front of us. We frustratingly decided that we had not gone far enough and needed to head back whence we came, except this time we'd try to follow the cliff if at all possible.

So back we went along the cliff and we followed the worn dirt beaten down by years of climbers' impact. Then we came to the same wet slab we had tentatively stepped across only a few minutes before,and that led us away from the cliff. We thought we saw a scramble back up toward the cliff, but it looked nasty and worthy of exporing. So "Ratherbe" went first on the wet slab and slipped on the other side. I followed her without slipping, and then we approached another wet slab, this one farther uphill from where we previously had thrashed through the trees before. This time she slid all the way down to the base. She swore at our misadventure while I found another way over the slab. Her frustration grew with each step through the thick brush, and at the same time my apathy kept me calm. She wanted an better day than this, and yet, I didn't really care.

We could both that see the main path was ahead and that we were also 25 feet higher uphill than when we had previously abandoned it. Staying next to the cliff hadn't worked and for a moment we felt defeated. We walked along through the brush to the main path, and then we stood on it, except it wasn't the main path. We could see the main path as clear as day, and it was about 10 feet in front of us. So what were we on? Huh, wouldn't you know it, it was the climbers' path that I had missed only a little while before. If we had simply walked another 30 feet up the main path instead of bushwhacking then we might have already found the path.

There was a little bit of tension in the air when we finally set our bags down at the base of the cliff. But after a few minutes of eating, drinking water, and catching our breath, we unpacked our gear and scrambled up the easy first face to the ledge about 40 feet up, which is where Inferno actually starts. It was my lead, and I was a little nervous about what condition I was in. I remembered climbing this with "Jello" a couple of years back, but I also remembered that he took a more direct route straight up and that route was a harder climb than what I was going to attempt. We checked our knots and harnesses and I set off to the right on a 30-foot run-out before I got my first piece of gear in. I then moved upward about 20 feet without any gear and plugged a cam that I didn't trust. The plan now was to head up left toward a point where the right-leaning roof ended and a left-leaning ramp began and headed up to the ledge above the roof. I spied a good flake to plug a cam, but alas there was a lively hornet nest conveniently hung in the middle of the flake. This was really too bad, too, because this flake offered not only the best protection I had seen thus far, but also it had the best holds for moving up to the easier dikes that led to the point where the roof and ramp met.

I thought for a few moments (in fact, I took a good long look at all of my options because while some of the climbing looked easy, none of the routes had 100% easy climbing and none had obvious gear placements, either). The last thing I wanted to do was stupidly commit to a sequence of moves with no gear. I hadn't climbed in a month and I wasn't prepared to do something so physically challenging that I'd put myself in a position of taking a nasty twenty-foot fall on my first climb back.

After thinking, I decided to climb below the nest and risk running up through a series of dikes that led to a section that I knew "Jello" had struggled on when we did this route before. It was a stroke of luck that I did this and found a fairly new piton hammered into a solid crack. I clipped it and felt comfortable about the gear for the first time in a while. And all the while I fretted over not having any gear, it never occurred to me to be afraid. I simply didn't care enough to be worried. "Just get to the top, Greg," I said to myself. "That's all you have to do." It felt more like work than fun, albeit work that I enjoyed.

But now it was time for the real challenge. I seconded the route when "Jello" led it and pulling the point was a real challenge for me then. It requires a committing layback at an awkward angle and I wasn't sure I'd have the strength to pull it without resting or falling. I placed two cams, one below the point first and another above the point after I moved up higher. I was confident that the gear would hold, all I needed to do was pull the moves.

I scouted the moves for a few minutes and saw two different options: 1) up left through a notch with good feet but crappy hands or; 2) pulling the awkward layback on the right with great hands and crappy feet, with the hands becoming marginalized with upward movement. I decided to try both by pulling through the good hands on the right until I could get good feet on the left. It worked. There was a bit of grunting and worrying, but it went better than expected. I then brought "Ratherbe" up and she commented that it was a nice lead, particularly for my first time out in a month. It was strange to hear that, though. I believe she meant it, but it didn't feel like a good lead to me. In fact, it felt rather ordinary, or maybe it was simply uninteresting. I think the biggest thing for me this is year is that my lead head is much healthier than it has been in previous years. Maybe that's why I wasn't freaking out when climbing on moderate terrain (for me anyway) without much (or any) gear. It may be why I'm simply climbing better outside. Maybe that pitch was simply an uninspiring pitch, too; one that's easy enough to keep me from worrying too much and from having fun at the same time. I generally like all climbing, even when I'm struggling or climbing well below my grade. For me, climbing was about getting away from the world. It confused me why I was so apathetic about having walked ordinarily far enough away from civilization to feel as if I had got away, and I was still unimpressed.

The next two pitches belonged to "Ratherbe" and she sent both crack systems with ease. I highly recommend doing the upper pitches on this route, even if the third pitch isn't as good as the second. The second pitch offers pretty good jamming, particularly for the northeast.

Hotter Than Hell (5.9) - Two pitches - Mixed sport and trad - Tree anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

We then rapped down to the base of Hotter Than Hell (5.9) (which is where the rap off Inferno leads to) and looked up. It was one of our goals for the day, so we decided to tackle it. I felt good on lead earlier, but that first pitch of Inferno was only 5.7 and Hotter Than Hell goes at 5.7 for the first pitch and 5.9 for the second. I gave the second pitch to "Ratherbe" and kept my thoughts about wanting the second pitch to myself. I ran up the first pitch easily and "Ratherbe" came up and started on the second pitch soon after. She did very well despite slab not being her favorite style. There were a few tenuous moments, but all in all she made it up clean and then I followed her.

I got to the top and said that I wanted to give it a go. It took a little prodding from "Ratherbe" to get me to say it, but I wanted to say it all along and held back because I wasn't sure I even wanted to climb let alone this route in particular. It had actually pained me to climb it as the second. I really wanted to challenge myself by grabbing the hard lead as an onsight climb, and to have done it as the second was a disappointment. But I had made the decision to give her the lead and that was what I had to live with. The decision to give up the initial lead probably had more to do with me accepting my place in the world of climbing - as the second and not the leader. I didn't understand this, but I felt it was true. It is important to note that this has nothing to do with my climbing partnership with "Ratherbe", as I'd feel the same way with anyone right now.

I wasn't sure now if my endurance would hold up, but I was going to see just how much I had in the tank. We lowered back to the start of the second pitch and, after taking a necessary bathroom break, I raced through the opening moves.

The pitch was actually pretty easy in the end. I was a little pumped, and I said so as I neared the top (this pitch is about 130 feet of sustained climbing after all), but I never felt as if I was going to fall. Not once was I afraid of the thin and committing moves, and not once was I afraid of the distance between the bolts and / or gear. "Ratherbe" said I cruised it. Maybe I did and maybe I didn't, but I certainly didn't struggle. Later on we both stated that we were somewhat disappointed by feeling good about what turned out to be a sport route (eight bolts and three cams spread over 130 feet). OK, so it was more of an alpine sport route where the bolts weren't placed every few feet like they are at Rumney, but 5.9 is well within my sport range and the success seemed empty.

It was getting late at this point and we called it a day. I'm not sure why I felt this way but I was completely uninspired by my performance. In fact, I was rather unambitious. I felt as if I could have climbed anything and nothing at all at the same time. It was an odd mix of emotions that were swirling inside of me. I worried if I had suddenly lost my passion for climbing.

We drove back to the base of Cathedral to meet up with some friends who we will collectively call "The Bickersons" (individually they are known as "Popeye" and "Astro"). They are an interesting pair who formerly and briefly dated but decided to continue the climbing partnership after the romance ended (similar to "Ratherbe" and I, except we don't bicker nearly as much, nor is our bickering nearly as entertaining). The four of us went into town to grab some food, stayed longer than we should have, and headed back to the tents earlier than we should have, and fell asleep well after the down-pouring rain began. It's easy to tell when it is raining hard - if you're in a tent and under the trees then usually the leaves break up the fall of the raindrops before the raindrops hit the ground. Saturday night's rainfall was nothing of the sort; the rain fell hard and straight from the sky, through the leaves, and deep into the softened dirt and layer of pine needles beyond the protection of our rainflies. None of us figured there'd be any dry rock available in the morning, but after taking our time getting breakfast and coffee Sunday morning, a last minute decision took "Ratherbe" and I up to Toe Crack, a 5.7 that "Jello" and I had also done as an alternate start to Cathedral's Standard Route (5.7).

Toe Crack (5.7) - Two pitches - Trad - Gear anchors - usually climbed as a variation to surrounding climbs (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

The rock on the Thin Air face was surprisingly dry. I thought I knew that Cathedral doesn't dry quickly, and I thought that was true when the rain was as far out as two days let alone downpours the evening before, but I was apparently wrong on this day. There were certainly wet streaks, but the dry streaks were thicker than the wet ones and we decided Toe Crack was going to be a go. We also decided that, depending on the situation at the top, we'd probably finish on the final two pitches of Thin Air to get to a project of mine at the top: Pine Tree Eliminate (5.8).

Since the normal approach to Toe Crack that goes up the dikes on the very bottom of Standard Route was wet, we decided to use the ramp-like traverse uphill and to the left to gain the small tree ledge at the base of the crack, which is about 40 feet up. I took this pitch, and for the second straight day I found myself on sketchy terrain well beyond my last piece with a potentially nasty swing if I fell. The climbing was a little more difficult this time with a no-hands step across onto a long, inch-wide ledge mixed in ten feet past my last piece of gear. But again I wasn't afraid. In fact, I was more annoyed that if I did fall then I'd have to go back and do it again. It turned out that I didn't fall, and despite the fact that I was having fun, I didn't feel as if I was at the same time. I know that sounds contradictory, but it's true; sometimes it is possible to really enjoy what you're doing at any given moment without enjoying anything at all. I wondered if this was because of my diet, that maybe I wasn't eating properly and it was throwing off my psychological balance, but that can't be the case because I eat lots of veggies and fruit on a regular basis and nothing had changed in that regard. I was simply enjoying the moment without enjoying the long-term, with the moment being the same as one move and the long-term being the same as a ten-foot stretch of climbing.

I brought "Ratherbe" up and she ran up Toe Crack like it was nothing new. What is going on with my partners the past few years? Both "Ratherbe" and "Jello" have grown increasingly more comfortable with climbing cracks while I've floundered in them. As I did on Saturday, I climbed this crack clean but not without trepidation. We were now two pitches up and had to make a decision to either continue up the crappy finish to Standard Route or make the long, run-out traverse to the Thin Air (5.6) finishing pitches. There was already a party on Repulsion (5.8), which splits Standard Route and Thin Air down the middle, so we decided that Thin Air was the best way to go.

This naturally left me with another run out pitch. OK, so it was likely only 5.4, but it was also about 90 feet of traversing along thin, wet ledges and crossing over the rope owned by the party on Repulsion. A fall would have been both 90 feet down and back to the right, with the finish being a beautiful leap over and into a crummy gully. Was I even the least bit afraid? No, not at all. The fear of falling never came over me because it simply wasn't going to happen. And again, I actually had a lot of fun, but I had considerably more fun belaying "Ratherbe" over to the top of Thin Air's third pitch and belaying her as she led the final pitch to the top. It wasn't an emotionless day, but to call it anything but cold emotion would be inaccurate. I barely felt anything while I was climbing, I felt more while I was not climbing, and all of what I felt was neither good nor bad nor apathy. I was there, I was doing what I was doing, I had no reason to complain nor shout for joy, and I did nothing while doing something at the same time.

When I finally got to the top I told "Ratherbe" that if we were going to run up Pine Tree Eliminate then I wanted to toprope it. She noted that it was getting late in the day, so we decided to skip the route altogether. And there it went - one of my goals for the year was blowing kisses at me from a few feet away while I coldly and calmly walked past it to the tarred road on the other end of the path. I wanted to climb it badly, and yet I didn't care if I even looked at it again.

We hitched a ride back down to the base, sorted our gear, and took off. I hadn't been on the Kancamagus Highway since I was a kid, and since I wanted to know where another local crag in the area was, and since that crag was near the "Kanc", we took that road peacefully across New Hampshire to I-93, one of the major arteries for Sunday afternoon traffic heading to Boston, and drove home.

Click here for all 2009 North Conway photos

If I Could Have Just One Weekend...

The first words that came out of "Jello"'s mouth upon my late arrival last Friday night were both uplifting, expected and discouraging all at once.

Jello: Guess what I forgot this time?
Me: Harness?
Jello: No.
Me: Sleeping bag?
Jello: No.
Me: Gear?
Jello: No.
Me: Can't be important then.
Jello: Not really. Just my headlamp.
Me: Eh, that's OK. We've both walked down this path in the dark before. That shouldn't a problem.

Saturday

Our goal for the weekend was singular: to onsight They Died Laughing (5.9+) in the North End. We had already tackled Bird's Nest (5.9) during our previous stay in the land of sandbagged 5.9s, and had drooled over the seemingly easier-to-protect crack to the left before moving on to Toe Crack (5.7) later in the day. We vowed then to return, but we didn't know when. Saturday was to be that day, until...pitter, pitter, patter, pitter, patter, patter, patter, patter.

Me: Is that rain?
Jello: That's rain.
Me: Upper Left Wall tomorrow?
Jello: I imagine. The North End doesn't dry that well.
Me: Sigh.

When we finally rose (a good two hours after we had wanted to get up), it was obvious that the damage had been done. The rain had fallen hard enough that we knew that the tree-covered North End Wall would have to wait until Sunday. Our plans had changed, and we decided to see if Thin Air (5.6) was available. At 10am, it was clear that it wasn't. That's when I mentioned Recompense (5.9). "Jello" was instantly hesitant. He had heard my story of the last time I had been up there, and, even if that wasn't his only reason for being hesitant, he was cautious and steered me to Funhouse (5.7) instead. If he couldn't get on They Died Laughing, then he wanted to finish Upper Refuse (5.5) because he hadn't been all the way up. But first, we had to get up Funhouse.

Funhouse (5.7) - 2 pitches - trad - make your own anchors - "Jello" and Greg each led

There isn't much to say about this route, except that it's damn hard with a heavy pack on one's back. But hey, what route isn't? And what kind of story exists that doesn't tell about mine and "Jello"'s exploits without some kind of stupid inconvenience? Not much of one, to be sure. So, even though the pack didn't really make a difference this time around, I'll still say it was heavy and a serious pain in my ass. The good thing is that we both share the pain. That's why this partnership has worked so well.

Follow the crack / corner / dihedral (whatever you want to call it) up to the ledge, build an anchor and wait for the "uhhh"s and "arrgghhh"s of the second with the heavy pack as he brings up the rear.

Start the second pitch in the crack and follow that up until the trees at the large ledge come into view. Pick a tree and belay. Whatever you do, don't go to the same spot where "Jello" dropped a load a few weeks back at the top of Bombardment. Why? Let's just say that there are two loads there now.

As a side story, we were still deciding on which route to do - Funhouse or Pooh (5.8) - when a group of three folks came up from below and wanted to know what route we were getting on. We told them we hadn't decided yet, but also asked what they wanted to do. They said Pooh, so we took Funhouse instead. This, I believe, was the first moment of good karma we displayed that weekend. I have to say, it feels nice to do good things and not worry about ego.

Anyway, that group of three had one climber who was practicing for the day on his rescues. As it turns out, he was a guy from Seattle who was going to take his week-long IMGA (or is it AMGA?) climbing instructor's exam. Because we were on parallel runs, we chatted a bit and got to know them some. They were a nice group of folks, and fun to talk to.

Upper Refuse (5.5) - 2 pitches (3 if you want to break it out) - trad - 2 piton anchor at the top of pitch #1 and trees at various spots above that - Greg and "Jello" each led.

"Jello" hadn't done the top two pitches, so I led the first pitch. This route is on the large ledge that is a short hike and small boulder problem to the right of the top of Funhouse. Look for the obvious right-facing corner that is to the left of a crack and another, smaller dihedral that has a smaller roof about midway up. Upper Refuse is essentially the low angle face on the left of that ledge.

There are a lot of variations to this route, but basically follow the crack on the left until one gets about a third of the way up to the ledge with the tree about mid-way up the cliff. At that point, fade right onto the easy face and climb up to the start of a block system that could also be called a short notch. There will be two pitons here, and you can use those as an anchor.

I led this pitch, and while I was belaying "Jello", I was leaning out on my anchor and checking out the route below: Book of Solemnity (5.9+), which is the other, smaller-looking dihedral to the right of Upper Refuse. I don't know why this is so, but for some reason I was feeling strong on Saturday, and wasn't intimidated by my history on climbs such as Recompense or potentially difficult climbs such as Book of Solemnity. I kind of wanted my first 5.10, which some books call this route, and felt strong enough to get on it. But our first goal was to get up Upper Refuse and find a way to rap back down because we had left our gear with the kind folks from Seattle who had just come up Pooh to the same ledge we were on.

For the second pitch, go up the notch and either belay at the tree just above, or continue past it onto the easy face / crack before turning left to the next ledge at the top of Cathedral Ledge. If one wants to walk off, then just hike up from there and get to the road that cars use to get to the top (wimps). If one wants to rap off, then, at the top of the crack, turn right and scramble down to a somewhat hidden ledge. There are chains here that lead back down to the top of the first pitch of Book of Solemnity.

We decided to rap, but not without some difficulty. Because we couldn't see the climbers below us, we guessed at the mid-point of the rope and shuffled it down. I went first, and got about ten feet from the ledge when I noticed that the right end of the rope extended about ten feet below the ledge, and the left end was short about ten feet. Gulp. It was OK, however, because I had set myself up with a kleimheist as a back up knot. I simply then took the right end of the rope out of my belay device (I was backed up, remember), and tied that into my belay loop. What did that do? It essentially put me on self-belay. All I had to do then was lower myself on the left rope. Tadaaaa!

"Jello" came down once I equalized the rope, which was, by the way, just long enough to get to the ledge. At that point, we had our second and third good karma moments: 1) if we had pulled the rope then we would have dropped the rope onto two climbers below us on Women in Love (5.12); and 2) the folks from Seattle were on Book of Solemnity practicing rescues. Most people would have complained about #2 considering the route's popularity, but we're two easy-going guys, and we understand that life doesn't revolve around us. We waited patiently until the two climbers on Women in Love were out of the way and then rapped off from there. However, I need to point out that if one raps off from this ledge DO NOT RAP DIRECTLY BELOW THE LEDGE. Why? Because there's really nothing there at the bottom. Sure, I found a ledge, but that ledge is just above a wide chimney that leads all the way down to the bottom of the cliff. One misstep and you're a goner. Take my advice and angle left back toward the main ledge.

Black Lung (5.8) - 1 pitch variation to start Upper Refuse that finishes on the upper sections of Upper Refuse - trad - Climb to the two pitons noted above - Greg Led

I know two guys who are going to ring some alarms when I say this, but Black Lung isn't a 5.8. It's a 5.7 in disguise. The crux really isn't that tough. It is heady, but the move isn't that tough. Anyway, this the right-fading crack directly in between Upper Refuse and Book of Solemnity. Simply put, climb the crack to the pitons and finish on Upper Refuse.

I started this route with droplets of rain spitting from the heavens. There were a lot of people on the Upper Refuse bottom ledge, and we wanted to get up ahead of folks so we didn't get caught in the rain. However, karma number four developed as I approached the pitons. About five feet below me was a climber coming up Upper Refuse. I had the option staying at the pitons or heading to the tree above. I asked the kid what he wanted to do and he chose the tree, so I chose the pitons. He went up and "Jello" followed me. As it was, there was already another party on the ledge with the tree, so it was OK because we wouldn't have to deal with other people - a thought that had crossed my mind as I asked the kid what he wanted to do. It wasn't really raining yet, so we were OK hanging in that spot until they moved on. But then it started to rain. We looked up and saw the two teams still here. It started to rain a bit more. We looked up again, and they were still there. It started to rain harder. We didn't bother to look up because he heard the belayor yell three times, "Are you at the top yet? Have you stopped climbing? Are you off belay?". Hey, I was a noob at one point, too, so I hope they learned from this. If not, may they never leave a team in the rain again, the bastards!

Finally, they got off the ledge and we went up. The final pitch was a waterfall, but an easy one. It didn't take long for us to hike down and decide that it was too wet to cook outside. We went to the Moat for a beer and soup instead.
The Moat

The Moat is a bar that is to the left of downtown North Conway if one is driving on River Road back toward NoCo. It will be about a mile down on the left, after the hospital. It is a popular place, and I recommend the burger and chili. Damn, that stuff was good. But this isn't why I mention this. We were to maybe meet two gentleman from RockClimbing.com, which we didn't until later, and instead started talking to this guy who happened to be sitting next to us. BTW - good karma #4 was when we put our names on the wait list (45 minutes) and then got a seat at the bar. I went back and told the host to take our names off because we didn't need to wait anymore.

Why is this casual, random conversation important? Well, because we ended up climbing with the guy the next day. Why else it worth noting? Because he, too, was in NoCo for the instructor's exam. In fact, he was supposed to meet the guy from Seattle that night. Small world. I'll call this new guy "Random".

Sunday

"Random" camped out in his car in the lot where we parked our cars. We didn't see the two guys from RR.com at the Moat that night, but I was so paranoid about the sound of the light rain on the tent and accompanying rushing water of the stream below us that I swore I heard footsteps. It turned out that I did. The two gents we were to meet found us and our camping spot. The next morning we woke up to more wet ground (so no They Died Laughing), and the chit chat of the two men we were looking for Saturday night under a tarp with their stove and coffee all ready to go (I don't drink coffee, but they offered and that should be noted). "Random" awoke soon after, and the five of us hung out for the better part of the morning until it seemed warm and dry enough to try to get on a decent climb. What was considered decent? Something easy and something that seemed as if it would dry easily. That meant it was going to be my first venture to NoCo's other famous cliff, Whitehorse.

Standard Route (5.5) - 7 pitches - trad - make your own anchors, for the most part - very runout in sections - "Jello", Greg and "Random" switched leads

I had never been to Whitehorse before, and didn't know what to expect. I knew it was all slabs and run out, but I wasn't sure what that meant exactly. Did that mean there simply weren't any cracks up there to place gear? Did it mean that the runouts would produce hairy fall potential? Was I going to die? I have run out my fair share of routes, some of which were not intentional runouts, but that doesn't mean I'm willing to put myself in a position where the elements could take my life. After all, I want to go out either on my own terms or through an event that is totally out of my control. Climbing runout slabs fits neither of those options, so when "Random" said that the approach to the first belay station went up what looked like a slab of wet, 5.8 granite, I tucked in my sack, took a deep breath and "trusted" that everything was going to be alright.

"Random" made it up to the belay ledge fine, though he did it with some trepidation in his otherwise sure feet. "Jello", having gone up five feet and slipped off only to catch himself from sliding another ten feet to the bottom by one handedly snatching out of thin air a dead tree that was conveniently resting where we were climbing, decided to take my approach and put his climbing shoes on first. While he did that, I carefully and swiftly worked my way up the slick rock to a steeper section when, as luck would have it, "Random" shouted down from the belay ledge, "I led you guys astray. The approach is to the left. Go back down. It's a lot easier that way."

If it's one thing I hate more than psyching myself out, it's down climbing a wet slab. How does one do this without looking like Porky Pig talks? Well, the answer is one does so very carefully. It took me about ten minutes, but I finally worked my way back to the tree where I could place my hands and feet on something solid. There I was, ten feet from the bottom. This was easy. I had just worked my way through the hard part. Now all I had to do was walk down while holding the equivalent of a staircase railing. Naturally, when I was two feet from solid ground...I slipped. It wasn't much of a slip; kind of like slipping on an icy set of front steps but catching oneself before one sends one's back into spasms by landing awkwardly on the crooked ground (raise your hands if you speak from experience: now picture Greg not just raising his hand but waving vigorously for attention just to make sure that you know that he does speak from experience as well). The problem with the slip, and the reason I mention it? Remember that gash on my ankle I got from climbing Mr. Clean at Barkeater Cliffs? I'll be damned if that thing wasn't opened up like a tomato dropped from the top of a third-story building. I'm telling you, that's pain, and not just from the open wound, but from the knowledge that I could have slipped where it was more likely and instead slipped where I shouldn't have. Stupidity hurts, too.

Anyway, we switched leads all the way up. I know I usually break out my routes by pitch, but this post is ridiculously late and I'm just going to say that we did the direct route. Basically, this goes straight up to a set of bolts both below and to the right of the large, obvious, exfoliating, arching roof that dominates the right side of the cliff. We could have then traversed left to follow the crack, by why do that when there's beautiful pockets leading the way up the next anchor (slings with rap rings)? We then followed the crack right until it ended and went up over the face to the upper slabs, which, by the way, one cannot see from below. From there, we found out that the wasn't enough rope to make it to the top with 60m ropes. So we simul-climbed from the large fir tree that is to the left of the next crack line and an easy, obvious dike leading upward like a true stairway to heaven (or, in my case, hell. Hey, no one said you had to go straight down first. I firmly believe St. Peter will be giving me my marching orders, just not through the pearly gates). I've since learned that most people untie here, but that's OK. This last pitch is probably no more than fourth class. Seriously, I was breathing heavy from the "walk" up. It was more of a cardio workout than a climb.

Anyway, we hiked down after that and decided that we'd take on Inferno (5.8). "Random" climbed the first pitch, and, while "Jello" was climbing the second pitch, "Random" wondered aloud what time his exam meeting was that evening. No sooner than the words had come out of his mouth did his phone ring:

"Random": Hello? Hey, yeah, I am coming to the meeting, what time is it? It's at 6pm? OK, what time is it now? Uh, it's 6pm? Huh. Well, I, uh, I'm going to be a bit late. Yeah, you see, I'm belaying the leader and, uh, well, I can't retreat until I get up. Uh huh. I'll see you then. Bye.

Oops.

As soon as "Jello" got up the route, "Random" raced to the top of the second pitch. By the time I got up, "Random" was gone. That was OK, because it was really starting to get dark. We saw that there were some folks rapping off another route on the other side of the ledge, so we walked over and asked if we could catch a ride. The group happily let us through, but not without them having to shine their headlamps on our rap devices to ensure we were properly locked in. Go back and read that sentence again. Uh huh. Now go all the way to the top of this post and read the initial conversation.

Uh huh.

Yep.

You got it.

Now imagine walking through your bedroom at night without any light whatsoever. Now imagine that it's not your room, but someone else's. Now imagine that feeling you get when you wake up in a strange room and forget, just for a few moments, where you are, except in the dark, with wet roots under your feet and a windy trail to the bathroom and back to the bedroom. For the love of God, I don't think we'll have an adventureless, perfect weekend. I'm starting to think that maybe, just maybe, our climbing weekends aren't about the climbing after all. Instead, it's about survival. At some point, and I hope this isn't true, we may become eligible for the Darwin Awards.

Sigh.

Still, we had our final good karma moment when "Random" trusted us to take his rope and remaining gear back with us to the campsite. He picked it up the next morning before going off to start his week-long test. I hope he did well.

Monday was a rainout, so we headed home without so much as a whimper (well, the stupid girl at Dunkin Donuts complained that my money was wet, but what the hell does she know?). They Died Laughing remained conqueredless and so did Recompense. That's OK. There will always be a time for beating back the demons. It just wasn't our time this time around. I'm off to the 'Gunks this weekend. Wish me luck.