A Farewell to the 'Gunks

Waiting my turn on Shockley's

This was probably my last trip to the 'Gunks in what is likely to be a few years. Kind of sad about it, to be honest, but excited, too. This has been the summer of "vacation" climbing, as one of my friends coined over our recent trip to Acadia. Ever since my disaster of a Rumney trip in June, I've been hoping to simply get out and enjoy the day with nothing more getting in the way. As a result, climbing has never been more relaxing: No goals, no cares, just climbing and being with friends. This has been a sort of a good-bye summer even though I know I'll be back someday. However, when I do come back it'll undoubtedly be as a different man than not only the one who left but also the one who has chilled the last two seasons. Who that person is will be a surprise to me, I'm sure, and, oddly, the 'Gunks have played a large role in that transformation.

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.

Consecutive Days and I'm Ready to Go?

It was only a week or so before when I awoke after my first day of climbing after contracting Lyme Disease that getting out of bed was the crux of the day. I rolled my feet to the floor, stood up, and immediately felt as if a truck had hit me head on. My swim session later that day was the slowest I'd had in a couple of weeks, and I wanted to eat the house out of food. I didn't, of course, but if that's how I was going to feel after one day of climbing easy stuff at Rumney then I openly wondered how my trip in September with "Jello" was going to turn out when we would hopefully be climbing every single day for two straight weeks. One day clipping bolts at Rumney clearly wasn't going to do the trick; I needed multiple days in a row of plugging gear, and "Lost", so nicknamed because we got lost trying to find our tent after heading back to the car to fetch the ill-forgotten beer in the backseat, provided me with an opportunity to climb for three days at the old haunt in the 'Gunks. We had been somewhat trying to climb together for a couple of years without luck, so I took the opportunity when it finally emerged and off we went in search of my long-lost endurance.

The Weird Season: Part I

CCK (5.8)

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

High E at Night

"Five hours later, when we had quit in the afternoon's heat, and after we swam in the chilly pool at Split Rock, we slept in the shade, read in the sun, gazed upon the shivering women who, upon exiting the cold water, were wet and glistening in the sun, and, after we had eaten at the campsite, we headed to do Arrow (5.8) as our warm up to a 5.6 classic just a few minutes down the path."

The rest of this post is located at Climbing.com.

Guidebook: Gunks - Easy Keyhole (5.2), Bunny (5.6)

Easy Keyhole (5.2) - Two Pitches - Trad - Tree Anchors


Approach: One of the first climbs in the Trapps, walk down the carriage road until you get to the first obvious face with climbing on it (obviously on the left-hand side). Walk up the first path (has stone steps) after this face (around the corner from the arrete) to a thin crack on the left and an off-width on the right. Both are within 10 feet of the carriage road. Not a good route for beginning trad leaders.

Pitch One (5.2) - 60 feet - Tree Anchor: Stem the block that forms the offwidth on the right and jam the crack on the left (crux). Climb straight up this section to the roof. Climb up to the roof and exit left, belaying at a tree.


Pitch Two (5.1) - 60 feet - Tree Anchor: Walk right of the tree to the "keyhole." Climb up on the left-hand side, then trend left to the large ledges above. Belay from any of the solid trees.

Descent: Walk off left along the easy path that fades right. You will end up about 50 feet uphill from the start of the climb.

Bunny (5.6) - One Pitch - Trad - Tree Anchor

Approach: Walk down the carriage road to the Uberfall area. About twenty feet left of where the obvious roof starts, find the crack in a shallow, right-facing corner that starts a couple of steps up from the road that.

Bunny (5.6) - 130 feet - Tree Anchor: Climb the corner straight up to the tree. Climbing the roof that is midway up the route directly results in a 5.6. Stepping left and going around it makes this easier (5.4). A great route for beginning trad leaders. Belay at the tree that has slings for rappel.

Descent: Rap off the slings on the tree with two 60m ropes. Or, walk off right. The walk-off to the right has an easier-than-it-looks down-climb that is about 150 feet to the right of the climb.

Guidebook: 'Gunks - Trapps: Moonlight (5.6), Snooky's Return (5.8)

'Gunks

Trapps

Guidebook: 'Gunks - Near Trapps: Grease Gun Groove (5.6), Te Dum (5.7), Alphonse (5.8), Main Line (5.8), Grand Central (5.9), Broken Sling (5.9+), Criss Cross (5.10a), Birdcage (5.10b) Spinal Exam (5.10c)

'Gunks

Near Trapps

Approach: Take the path just after the Route 44/55 road sign as one walks downhill away from the Near Trapps Bridge. Routes noted below are arranged according to grade (easiest to hardest) and each has it's own approach directions.

A Weekend of Debauchery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Click here for all 2009 'Gunks pics

The Silver Lining

I've wanted to taste the adventure of climbing for a long time. But just as in life, I've also always kept things as well mapped out as possible. After all, what's the point of attempting success if you aren't going to actually succeed? Advanced planning is probably the most important tool that I have with regards to success. Whenever I've succeeded easily or even spectacularly I can always look back and point to my preparation: the harder I worked preparing the easier success was. And this begs the question, where is the adventure in that?

I'm not a very good climber, yet I dream of doing first ascents. In fact, "Jello" and I nearly had an Epiphanous moment when we first rolled into Moab a few months ago. We looked up at the towering buttress and for a few seconds we were both convinced we were going to bag one of the corners that rose high above the highway below. But then we realized that we didn't have the best gear, and so we drove off with a mixture of somber and relief flowing through our hearts and brains. "Jello"'s part wanted the route adventurously, and my part wanted the route intelligently. We both understood each other's position, and I can't speak for him anymore, but since that moment I've wanted to answer the question, "why did I want it intelligently?"

I've said before that I don't climb for the adventure. Instead, I climb for the escape. But what is the escape if there isn't a bit of the unknown? According to my use of the word "escape" in this context, isn't escaping about getting away from the familiar? If so, then isn't getting away from the familiar adventurous by definition?

I've been saved by my partners more than once. This is partially because I generally climb with stronger climbers. But this is also partially because I know that I climb with stronger partners. I'm not afraid of heading up a route that is too difficult for me because I know that my partner is likely able to clean up my mess if I fail. Look, I know this isn't a good attitude. It certainly isn't one that I consciously take with me. I'm both a budding and enthusiastic individualist, so I want to both make and stand by my own decisions. But deep down I know that I can make certain decisions because I have someone to bail me out. This is why I've always played it safe in life: because I'm not sure who will bail me out if I make risky decisions in life. It is why I plan ahead so much: because if I'm going to live by a decision then I might as well see it through, and planning in advance, for me, is the easiest way to ensure I complete the task successfully. It's also why I don't mind beta on climbs: because I don't care about the surprise as much as I care about completing the task. But alas, without rapping down to see the route first, how can I ever be so prepared for a first ascent if I'm so stuck on planning the damn thing first? I'm not sure the answer is "I can't" because I feel as if it is more complicated than that, and I also feel as if I have a long way to go before understanding enough to answer that question outright. But this weekend I unexpectedly got a taste of what the answer might look like, even if it was on a route that not only was definitely not a first ascent, but it was also a route that I have been on before as a second. It was only a taste. I don't know what the full flavor is yet, but I have enough information now to think hard about what the answer might look like.

Easy Baby Link-up (5.6) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear and tree anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

It poured Friday night, the night we arrived, to the point where "Ratherbe" and I felt the water rushing underneath my tent. It felt as if we were on a water bed, but thanks to the footprint under the tent most of our stuff was dry. "Blow" and "Caboose" were just as lucky, and even though the downpours lasted for hours over night, and even though the rain hadn't stopped until relatively late in the morning, the rock was surprisingly dry at 830am when we all awoke. Still, it made sense to grab breakfast first, so after we ate in town, and when we arrived in the West Trapps parking lot, the rock was even drier and ready to be climbed then.

Probably the most amazing aspect of that Saturday was that the 'Gunks were nearly completely empty. It was supposed to have been a beautiful day in New Paltz, with the sun shining all day and temps in the mid-70s, but it seems that there are a lot of visitors who don't understand how the rock dries there. We didn't care though because that meant more rock for us. There's definitely nothing wrong with that.

"Blow" had the duty of leading our first two pitches. We were worried that there would be a crowd on either "Easy Overhang" or "Baby", the two climbs we were going to link up in two pitches, respectively, but we were happy to see that only one group was on the first pitch and that they were continuing onto the second pitch. We would be doing the second pitch of "Baby", so all was working out as planned.

The first pitch went fine; it was a very easy chimney that took "Blow" no more than a few minutes to climb. I came up behind him, we exchanged gear, and he went straight up for the roof above.

He cruised most of the second pitch, stopping only once before getting to the roof due to an initially unseen high-step midway up. And then he hit the roof. This stumped him for several minutes and he went up and down to the base of the roof several times before noticing there were a couple of climbers ready to rap down the line he was on. There are a lot of loose stones, many about palm-sized, right on the lip of the ledge at the top, so he stepped aside to a good place where he could rest and let the other climbers rap through. It was sunny out, so I turned myself around to face the green valley that lain below the blue sky. It was so warm, and dry, and the air around us was peaceful and quiet. I felt as if this is what it must feel like during the week in the 'Gunks when the crowds are sitting in their cubicles at work.

I looked up to see if the final rappeller had passed and noticed that the rope was being pulled. "Blow" was also three feet higher than he had been before and closing in on the finishing moves of the roof. Within seconds he easily brought his lowest foot above the roof and was calling off-belay. I was impressed because it wasn't his climbing ability that had limited him before, but more his route-reading. Once he read the route it became easy, and it turned out to be a praiseworthy moment: it was his first 'Gunks 5.6, and he did it on only his second pitch of the day. I was happy for this accomplishment because I was with him when he backed off the first pitch of "Shockley's" the year before.

Bonnie's Roof (5.9) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

My confidence was the same as it was before "Ant's Line" (5.9); it was nervous, unsure, and completely convinced that I was not going to fall. I remember walking to "Ant's Line" that day and thinking about not being another Francis Macomber, about not quitting, and about showing up to do the job I had set out to do. I climbed OK that day, but I also climbed with courage. It was probably one of the most courageous days I've ever had. We walked to "Bonnie's Roof" with a spring in our steps. "Blow" was excited to finally get on such a classic and I was running the moves of the crux through my head.

As always, when we arrived I immediately noticed that the crux moves I had imagined in my head were different in real life. The committing section of the corner below the roof was longer than I remembered, and the roof itself was also longer and higher above the committing corner. There were at least six more moves than I remembered and imagined. I wondered how many of those six were actually harder, too.

We stopped and snacked before I racked up and "Blow" flaked out the ropes. I then tied in and headed up the first 12 feet to the ledge above the ground. Now the climbing started, and I moved up another 10 feet or so and plugged my first piece of gear. It was a bomber nut, and I felt good about it.

Two nuts and a cam later and I was standing at the last decent rest before the committing section of the corner. I was pumped and sweating despite the fact that the entire pitch was in the shade. "Blow" had given me some of his loose chalk before I went up, but my hands sweat from the the back of my hand and then through the knuckles and spaces in between my fingers. I can chalk my palms and the front of my fingers multiple times but if I don't move immediately after then the pores on the back of my hand wet the front all over again. I tried to chalk the back of my hands, and that worked for a while, but I was too pumped to move quickly from my stance so the sweat formed again, and I'd chalk again, and before too long I was chalking just to hang on during the rest.

I made two moves off the rest stance and quickly realized I was at the most difficult section of the climb for me. It was the slick and pumpy layback up to a thicker section of the crack where I could arm-bar easily, except that the feet were terrible there, and of course I was going to be too pumped to hang on one arm long enough to place gear and clip in once I got up there. I backed down and rested some more. I tried maybe twice more before I realized this was going to require complete commitment on my part. I finally went up, made it to just below the thick part of the crack, and threw in the first piece of gear that I felt comfortable with in a while (the two pieces below me at that point probably would have held, but if they hadn't then I would have likely hit that rest stance on the fall if the gear ripped). My breathing was heavy and my hands were soaked. The crack was unforgiving with such wet hands, so I chalked again only to realize that my hands became wet just as soon as the other one was chalked up. Resting on two hands seemed easy enough for a while until both hands needed chalking again. I wiped the rolling streams of sweat off my brow and that eliminated any and all advantage I had from chalking up multiple times. I knew I could do this. I just had to try. This the easy part to the roof, right? I wondered.

I stuck my hand up to where the crack continued and tried to jam, but I quickly discovered that there was no hand jam here. Instead it was a shallow section of rock deep and wide enough only for a couple of fingers. I bumped higher to what seemed a better hold, but it was not. It was worse, and I could see that the feet were slick all around me. I knew I was done and that I had no chance of getting "Bonnie's" clean. The cam in front of me seemed solid, so I cautiously asked "Blow" to take and lower me back to the rest stance.

He lowered me and I sat down on the flat section to gather my thoughts. A few minutes of rest would probably do the trick, but I had been battling endurance problems all season due to two injuries and a lack of good climbing weather. I rested for about 10 minutes and headed back up.

The initial moves were easy enough. I had rested after all. I also had the the energy to pull past the shallow holds that had just sent me downward a few minutes before, but then I was pumped again with still the most pumpy moves yet to come on the roof. The climbing past the roof is not that technical, but it does require a bit of stamina to pull through the five (or so) moves to the semi-rest above. I plugged a nut in the wide crack and tried to move up to the undercling crack in the roof. It was further than I thought it would be, so I backed off again to the base of the wide crack. Again, my hands were soaked, so I chalked up multiple times. I wanted to clip the tattered sling on a fixed, old cam jammed up high, but I didn't trust it. Still, I didn't trust the nut I had placed either. The crack above seemed to be a good size for a #3.5 Camalot, so I plugged it. I was worried because the crack was uneven and the lobes weren't sitting nice and pretty liked I'd want them to, but it was what it was and I had to rest once again because I was too pumped to hold on.

The cam held just fine, but it was still too low. I was now looking at hang-dogging my way up this route. There was a good chance that I'd be able to climb up the rest of the corner after the main roof, but I was too damn pumped to get through the next several moves without resting on each piece. However, this was only part of the solution; it was only the end goal. Getting through the roof was another problem altogether. It was so close and yet so far away. Every time I tried to pull myself up to place the next piece of gear I found myself too tired to get myself close enough to reach the upper crack. I wanted to get through this, but I wasn't sure I had it.

It was then that I started to think about the anchors that were about 25 feet to my right. I'm not sure which climb they are on, but I began to convince myself that I could traverse on the huge hands all the way from my position to the anchors, except that while there were great hands there were also no feet for the first 10 feet. Did I mention that I was pumped at this point? How on earth was I going to hand traverse without feet for ten feet when I could barely pull myself upward five feet? The traverse was also largely unprotected, too. If I fell then I was going to swing right back into the hard rock that made up the corner, with the entire swing being caught by the cam that was good for a downward pull but still questionable on a swing. To top it off, there was another corner to the right of me, so if I made it across OK and "Blow" fell then he'd be the one slamming into a corner. It wasn't ideal, but it seemed to be the best solution. At this point I didn't care about getting to the top. All I cared about was getting down without anyone getting hurt and without leaving any expensive gear behind.

Of course, the thought of first ascents was now playing in my head. I was ready to give up, and yet there I was wondering just how I was ever going to get good enough to bag a first ascent. It was completely ridiculous and I felt a fool for thinking such thoughts. I had always figured that if the climbing on a first ascent got too rough then I'd aid it. I didn't care about getting first free ascents, per se. I just wanted the adventure. And there it was, stuck in my head as a beetle in a spider's web - why was I climbing? Was it for the escape or for the adventure? It was even more frustrating when two women walked up the path behind "Blow" and I shouted down "any interest in climbing Bonnie's?" They looked up at me and I was instantly disappointed to learn that the women weren't "Ratherbe" and "Caboose", which I had assumed when I first saw them. Yes, I had even inquired about two other climbers on "Ant's Line" if they wanted to climb "Bonnie's", too, but the turned the opportunity down. At this point I was actively looking for someone to bail me out. I was ashamed. I had reached a point where I knew that first ascents were not in my future. I knew that if I didn't climb with someone stronger than me that I shouldn't push the grade, and I knew that I needed to climb harder routes with someone who could bail me out: "Ratherbe", "Jello", etc. This was nothing against "Blow". This had nothing to do with him at all. It was all about me and my lack of courage and my wealth of incompetence. Just like Francis Macomber would have understood all to unfortunately, I had injured the lion and was willing to let it slowly bleed to death despite it's willingness to fight back. I was being cruel, and everyone who was paying attention knew it. Unlike Francis, however, I knew it more than anyone else.

"Blow" and I conversed several times about what I was going to do. He felt more than confident than I did that he'd be able to do the foot-less traverse to the right, as long as there were large hand holds then he'd be fine. I wasn't sure I could do it, and I wasn't sure I wanted to put him in a position to test himself in that way. I was also sure he could do it, too, but if he fell then it wouldn't have been his fault. In fact, him merely climbing the traverse wouldn't have been his decision because he would have been doing his duty as the second. I thought again about aiding the roof, but I couldn't even get to where the next piece needed to go, how was I going to aid it if I couldn't place the gear?

I thought and thought and thought for a long time. I was at least 20 minutes at the wide crack below the roof when I finally made the decision that it was too dangerous for me to try the traverse and too unfair to expect "Blow" to risk himself on the traverse as well. I had to make it up. Three tries later and I finally plugged my first cam in the upper crack, and I rested. I then moved out left, horizontally to the end of the roof, where the crack also ended and where one exits past the roof, and placed a red Link-cam. "Blow" took in the rope and I rested on that. This was working. I was getting somewhere. I knew that if I just rested a little while longer then I could pull the final moves to the rest stance above. I dangled and shook out my arms. The tide was turning. I had actually managed to pull through a difficult section when I had nothing left in my arms. I was happy, and then -

- CRRRACCKKKK!!! -

- Me: What the fuck?
- "Blow" (about 100 feet below me): What the hell was that?
- Me: The Link-cam.
- "Blow": What?
- Me: Holy shit, I gotta go, NOW!

I threw my hands to the jugs above and hauled myself up. Pain surged in my biceps as I ignored technique and pulled myself higher. There was no falling now. I was not going to fall. My breaths were shallow and quick and I felt my nose and the muscles around my mouth go numb. One jug led to another and before I knew it I was at the rest stance trying to slow down my hyperventilation. I had swore the cam was good. There was no reason whatsoever for it to crack like that. The mere thought that a cam had possibly broken shook me inside. I climbed the rest of the route clean because it was easy and because the adrenaline was shooting through my body and mind. "Blow" came up and commented how stiff that section was and that I shouldn't be embarrassed. But I was, and it wasn't because of the climbing but more because of my attitude. There was a question as to whether we were going to head down because the second pitch is a no-fall pitch in certain sections (lack of decent gear and the fixed pins are a bit sketchy). But I had just gone through one of the more difficult periods of my climbing life and I wasn't going down without leading the easier money pitch.

Just to be clear, though, there was nothing wrong with the Link-cam. It merely moved a little bit as I hung on it. The sound was much worse than it really was. I was relieved to hear that, but it was difficult to get past the fear that the sound had invoked.

Horseman (5.5) - Trad - One pitch - Gear anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

I was completely toast by the time we got down from the top of "Bonnie's" but "Blow" still had a bit more in him. He had already knocked off one of his goals (his first 5.6 lead in the 'Gunks) and wanted to knock off another. "Horseman" is one of those classic climbs that only certain people have ever climbed: those who climb at the 'Gunks when it is not busy, those who are lucky enough to have jumped on the route when it is busy, and those who are lucky enough to remember when the 'Gunks weren't so busy. The rest of the climbers are like me: those who climb at the 'Gunks on weekends and easily resist the urge to climb in the sickeningly busy and loud Uberfall area. But because Saturday was such a shockingly unbusy day, this classic was open and "Blow" took the lead.

Because "Horseman" is so sustained "Blow" took his time working through the traverse and upper face. There were a few moments when he called down to me but we couldn't hear each other due to the road noise down below. Still, I never once thought he was going to peel off the route, and I was impressed at his stamina when I finally climbed up.

By the time we walked down the walkoff, the girls had met us at the base. It was time for swimming and dinner at Split Rock, so we packed up and headed down for some refreshing, cold water and campstove vittles.

Hans Puss (5.7) - Trad - Three pitches - Mixed anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

"Hans Puss" is one of the wildest climbs at the grade that I've ever been on. Each pitch has fun and interesting moves with a unique flair that makes one wonder which one is the money pitch. Add in the fact that the gear isn't always great and the moves aren't always the most predictable, and you've got a climb that gets the blood flowing from the ground to the top.

Because it was "Blow" and "Caboose"'s anniversary, the plan was to climb until 2pm so they could get out of town early. At that point, "Ratherbe" and I would decided what we wanted to climb in the afternoon while the other two ran off to a secret, romantic hiding place somewhere in the Berkshires. And we knew it was going to be hot on Sunday, but just how hot was not something we fully understood.

The walk in was warm, and "Blow" and I hoped the route would be in the shade. We were discouraged to find that the entirety of the first two pitches were in direct sunlight, and it was going to be particularly bad for "Blow" because he was going to lead the first pitch while I was going to lead the second pitch. This meant that he'd be hanging at the bolts at the top of the first pitch the entire time I climbed both pitches. But he racked up and cruised through his second 5.6 lead in the 'Gunks in as many days. He hesitated a little bit at the physical crux where a high step was required to clear some slick rock, but once he found the high step he was fine. He's a much stronger climber than he gives himself credit for, and I felt that on each of the past two 5.6 leads that he did, in each instance where he was a bit wigged out at the crux, he ended up climbing through it easily once he discovered how to climb it. In other words, it was more about route finding for him than it was actually making the move. It was funny, though, because the mental crux is over an exposed, traversing step that doesn't appear to have many holds at first. He looked down at me and asked me to read the route description a couple of times because he couldn't believe that what he was about to do was still at the grade. But he hesitated much less this second time because I think he read the route confidently enough to make that exposed step. Once he did, he was at the anchors in no time. Now, to be completely fair, even though I lead a couple of grades harder than he does, when I got to that same exposed spot I said, "holy crap!" and I saw instantly what he was seeing when he was on lead. The moves were definitely easy, but you have to commit before you see that the holds are good all the way across the gap and around the arrete. It was a bold lead for him, and I hope that he gets more comfortable at the grade as the season progresses.

It was hot at the bolts. The rock was hot to touch and "Blow" was sweating profusely. He had also been on some medications lately and had to stay away from sunburns moreso as a result. I looked up at the roof above me and the left-facing corner seemed harder than 5.7, but I figured that it would be easier once I got up there and checked it out. But the book said to traverse right. I looked right of the corner directly above us and saw another left-facing corner with chalk directly below it. "Well," I said, "if it has chalk then that must be where the route goes." The only problem was that I couldn't see chalk in the corner itself (only below it), and there was a lot of lichen around were I figured the climbing would be. Neither option looked good.

I was a bit nervous because all this year I've been short on endurance, particularly the day after pumping myself on a hard climb. "Bonnie's" had taken the energy out of me completely, or so it seemed. I was still able to climb the 5.7 final pitch and a sustained 5.5 at the end of the day after that, and I felt fine so far on Sunday despite the heat slowly sapping me of my energy. Did I really want to do this harder-than-5.7 corner above me? Did I really want to take a pass on that and risk heading up through the lichen and chalk? I told "Blow" that I was going to head up and check out each corner before committing to one of them. I figured that once I got closer I'd be able to see which one was the right corner to take. So I headed up and took a look.

The first corner looked much harder up close than I expected. I figured that once I got closer I'd see better holds, but there were none to be found so I followed the chalk right to the lichen and took a peak at that corner instead. This, too, had no decent holds, and the lichen was everywhere. There was no clear path up through this corner, at least one that had been climbed in 2009 (or else it would have been a bit cleaner than it was).

I traversed back left to the first corner and rested on better holds. I asked "Blow" to read the description again, and this time we interpreted it differently. Instead of traversing right and heading up 50 feet, we read it as if it was saying traverse right 50 feet and then head up. I couldn't see a corner that far to the right from my vantage point, but "Blow" could see a very shallow corner way off and I decided to head there.

This was a good decision because it turned out to be correct. I later learned that the original corner was actually the second pitch of "Feast of Fools", a 5.10a pitch that "Ratherbe" had actually led a couple of weeks before with another partner. It was her first 'Gunks 5.10 lead, and I felt a little foolish for not remembering her description of the pitch (and where this pitch was located). I also felt a little foolish for not realizing that the reason why there was chalk below the second corner and not up in it was because that chalk was used on the traverse farther out right. It all made sense once I saw how the route went. I shook my head at myself for wasting so much time hanging on in the sapping sun.

Anyway, once I got to the proper corner, I started to play around and realized that the climbing here was harder than I expected. I told "Blow" that I had found the crux, and he confirmed that he had me if I fell (not that he needed to say that, but it's always a nice conversation to have before you crap your pants). After meddling on the rock for a few minutes, all the while that "Blow" remained hanging at the bolted belay directly in the sunshine, I found an easier way around the difficult climbing and reached the next stance. I played around there for a few minutes and once again told "Blow" that I had found the actual crux this time. Again he confirmed his attention to my climbing, and again I found an easier way around the awkward moves. A third stance brought me to the final moves below the ledge. I could clearly see where to go, but it was going to require using a semi-sloper to move up. This was the guaranteed crux, and I made a dynamic move up to the sloper, switched my feet around and shifted my body position so that I could free my other hand to grab the jug that was higher up. It was an exciting move that really got my blood pumping because my hands were sweating enough that I wasn't sure I'd be able to hold on to the sloper for very long. I was exilerated to have done that pitch, and I rushed up to the ledge to build and anchor so that "Blow" could get out of the sun.

He did fine through the entire pitch including the long, semi-unprotected traverse, the three "crux" moves, and searing heat. While the climb seemed fun and challenging enough, we knew that we had little energy to do another climb after this one. Despite what the girls wanted to do, "Blow" and I were ready to jump in the water at Split Rock. We were dehydrated, tired, and the back of his neck was redder than a fire truck. The plan was for him to lead the next pitch, a 5.5, but he was too sapped to do so. I took it on and had another wild experience.

The start of the third pitch is an awkward, yet fun offwidth that is much more comfortable for shorter people than taller people. I had to scrunch myself into the offwidth below a small roof and really commit to leaning way out away from the crack to get up and over the roof. It was only 5.5, but it felt pretty exposed despite being only about 10 feet above the ledge.

Once I pulled past the crack / roof, I stepped up onto a larger ledge and took a look at the right-facing corner above me. It looked pretty straight forward, so I headed up and immediately noticed there was some route-finding that I had to do. Things were a bit awkward for a few minutes while I figured out which of the non-lichen paths I should take, but I eventually found my way up to the blank slabs that lead away from the corner and to the right.

The slabs looked interesting. They weren't as slick as one would expect them to when looking at them from below, but the pins that protected them certainly didn't inspire confidence. I climbed up to the start of the hand traverse that led back left to the top of the corner and the belay ledge. The traverse looked wild with good hands down low and good feet up high. The two didn't match each other well without scrunching uncomfortably, so I tried to go with the good feet and use the crappy hands up higher. That was too pumpy, so I looked at using the lower hands with crappy feet on the slab below. I was surprised at how sticky the seemingly slick rock was, and within a few seconds I had my shoes off and an anchor built.

After "Blow" came up we determined that we were done. "Ratherbe" probably wanted to climb some more, but I was ready to jump in the water. "Blow" agreed, so we rapped off, packed up the gear, and headed up the carriage trail to meet the girls. "Ratherbe" still had her harness and gear on when we met her, but I was relieved to find that she had little to no motivation to climb the rest of the day. Split Rock was our destination, and we all were happy to feel the cold water rinse away the day's sticky heat. We parted ways after that and I felt better about the weekend. "Bonnie's" had still kicked my butt, but I was able to come back and climb a solid 5.7 with committing moves the next day, which was something I was worried about heading into Sunday. The biggest relief, though, wasn't that my endurance might have started to work it's way back, but more that I was able to work my way through a difficult situation without any help. Sure, it came with a lot of second guessing and some embarrassing whining, but I was still able to pull through. Am I ready for first ascents? Not by a long shot, but I'm slightly closer than I used to be, and I know that now, which may mean I'm a lot closer than I think I am.

Click here for all 2009 'Gunks photos (newest are first)

Bonnie's and Birdland; the pump that keeps on giving

We had two goals in mind: "Birdland" and "Bonnie's Roof", and we had a strategy to bring it all together. Unfortunately, the lingering effects can still be felt.

"Birdland" was a leftover goal from last year. I had fallen on both pitches, but I knew what I had to do this time. The moves on the first pitch, the mental crux where one preses the left foot on a slick knob and leans back on good side pulls in order to bring the right foot up high, had stumped me last year and I had been thinking about it all winter long. I was going to send, and I knew it, even if it was through deduction.

Layback (5.5) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchors(<-- Click here for guidebook info)

But first it was time for a warmup. "Ratherbe" had recommended "Layback", a chimney start with a juggy layback to the top for a good first pitch, and an easy traversing 5.1 for the second pitch. The second pitch is probably the best 5.1 pitch I have ever done. I know, it's only 5.1, but seriously, have you ever been on a 5.1 that had dynamic moves? This was such a pleasure. I highly recommend it.

However, this means that you'll have to do the first pitch. It was a slick chimney that I fell on, but not because it was difficult (OK, it was difficult, but that's not why I fell). Just as I got up into the hardest part of the chimney, where the gap in the rock became a full-on chimney with arms, legs, back, and body were fully tensioned, just as I was about to slide up and grab onto the block that caps the chimney, and just as I was feeling secure, the nastiest spider I had ever seen in the east crawled straight down toward me from behind the block above me. I don't like spiders, but I can deal with the spiders we have in the northeast. Other than Cambridge, MA, where the Chilean Recluse Spider lives as a result of someone accidentally bringing one back from Chile and allowing it set up shop in various locations in Harvard Square, there really aren't any poisonous spiders out here. There's copperhead snakes slithering in the cracks throughout the 'Gunks, but no nasty spiders (I hate snakes, too). Someone later suspected that it was a Wolf Spider, but those are brown. This was black, and it clearly had the venom bubble on its back with a menacing pattern for what appeared to be more than just decoration. He had successfully blocked me from moving any higher. Had I slithered up, I would have easily either squished him with my back, which would have probably hurt because I was sure he wasn't going down without a fight, or he was going to be quick enough to dodge my slow-moving body and crawl up my shoulder blade and rest right behind my ear, where I couldn't see him but could feel him, where I'd know that he was there and would wonder if his jaws were open and ready to rip open my flesh the moment I swung my hand behind my ear to brush him off. I imagined his open mouth sitting an eighth of an inch above my skin with his mind saying, "come on buddy, just try to knock me off, I dare you." And even if I had brushed him off, regardless of whether he bit me in retaliation or not, I would never be sure if I had brushed him off completely or if he was waiting somewhere else on my body where he would have the attacking advantage if I so much as hinted at any aggression.

I said "screw it" and hung on the rope. I don't have that much pride anyway. I tried to take a picture, but my hands were shaking too much and the photos were blurry. I wish that it was still there when we got down, but it was not.

Birdland (5.8) - Trad - Two pitches - Bolt / Gear anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

I turned to "Ratherbe" and said:

- Me: I'm not sure if I'll send.
- "Ratherbe": You'll send.
- Me: I'm not nervous or anything, I just don't know.
- "Ratherbe": Well, go get it.

The truth is that I knew I would send. It wasn't because I knew it, I honestly wasn't sure, but it was more that I couldn't imagine not sending. It was an interesting feeling. I was cold, but not in the muscles. There was no fear and there was no love. I wanted it, but at the same time there was no ambition, no drive, and no barriers either. It felt like semantics, as if I was simply going through the motions of something I knew so well and needed no practice in order to achieve perfection, so I started up. The pumpy section at the bottom, where the first horizontals are gained, were easier than I expected. And so were the moves after that to mid-way up the lower face. All the crimps and side pulls felt fine. My feet were solid and the rock was not slick. I hit the mental crux, placed my left foot out wide on the slick knob, leaned back, pulled up my right foot up, bounced my right hand up the side pulls and stood up. Boom. That was it. The mental crux was over. I clipped the pin and backed it up for fun. The physical crux was next, but the invisible footholds were solid under my toes and my hands quickly found the jug to the right of the arrete. Only a nut that didn't stay in the upper crack slowed me down at the top. Within minutes "Ratherbe" was at my side flaking the rope so that I could take on the second pitch.

The second pitch of "Birdland" is completely different from the first. The first is very thin, crimpy, and technical, with tenuous moves in don't fall situations at several points in the first half of the pitch. But the second is all pump and pull. You get to the roofs and go. Once you commit there's no turning back, and the crux isn't even the first roof, but the first roof definitely takes something away, enough to make the second roof that much more difficult.

I got to the first roof and was immediately discouraged. All winter long I had imagined the first moves of the first roof to be a side pull up to a sloper that lead to a juggy side pull higher up. But I had remembered incorrectly. The first side pull was much higher than I had imagined, and that meant I was going to have to move off tricky feet and small fingers. The jug that I wanted was even higher than that. But oh well. Such were the circumstances. I moved my feet high, dug my fingers in, pulled, stepped up, and found myself at the second roof.

The second roof is less of a roof than it is a technical section with two crimps out wide to the right and thin feet leading up to a ledge. One can certainly pull the inside section of the little corner that one is standing in, but that is physically more difficult because it feels like a roof. The crimps are difficult because they aren't solid and are a bit airy, but they're definitely solid enough to trust. That's the thing, they have to be trusted. So that's what I did. I trusted them, leaned way out to my right, threw my left hand up to the ledge and scurried up. Easy. I was there.

All I had to do was walk right, climb the final bulge, and walk left back to the belay ledge. But I wanted more. I wanted the 5.9 finish, the last roof. I thought about spoiling the 5.8 clean ascent, but I wanted the 5.9, and so I moved up and searched around. I moved left and realized the route went to the right. The downclimb was pumpy, so I rested before going back up. I moved up on the right and couldn't find the jug to pull over. I climbed down again and was once again pumped from that. I rested another minute and went back up. I found the jug and started to mantle up, but I couldn't. I couldn't move my feet and I couldn't push upward anymore with my lower arm. My upper arm was maxed, too. I had found my limit. It wasn't difficult. In fact, I'm not sure the third roof was any harder than the first two, but it was definitely pumpy and I was pumped already from the first two roofs. I just didn't have the strength to finish, so I very tenuously "fell" back on each of the jugs that got me to my high point. I didn't fall on or weight the rope, but to say I down climbed is exactly correct either. Each move downward was as much of a hold-on-and-collapse than it was a down move. I stood on the ledge and decided that the 5.8 was enough. I walked right, pulled the final overhang (not very easily, mind you) and breathed a sigh of relief as I secured myself at the top. "Ratherbe" then came up behind me and easily pulled the final roof for the 5.9 finish. It was a good route for both of us. That route had haunted me for over a year. I had fallen on multiple occasions on different spots throughout. I was happy to have knocked it off, but now I want to go back for the third roof.

Yellow Belly (5.8) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

I was too pumped to lead the first pitch of the next climb, but I felt OK to give the next route a go. I was a bit nervous, though. I wasn't sure if I had another 5.8 in me, but the second pitch of "Yellow Belly" loomed anyway. I had told "Ratherbe" that I wasn't sure, but we each took a wait and see approach. She led the first pitch easily, and I followed with relative ease. It was a little pumpy, but it was 5.8 after all. I chalked that up to the grade more than my own physical deficiency.

- "Ratherbe": You want the next pitch?
- Me: Uh, maybe.
- "Ratherbe": It's yours if you want it.
- Me: Where does it go?

She said it was supposed to go up the blank face to her left, but she said the corner way over to the left was easier. The face did indeed look blank, but the crack looked thin and without good pro. If I blew the stemming then it was going to be a nasty fall onto blocks below. But then again, the face was blank. I chose to do the pitch.

The first move off the ledge was OK, and it got me in a good position to scout the face. It was as blank as I expected. My only piece was a 0.4 Camalot at my waist that I wasn't overly confident with. If that blew then I'd plummet straight down onto "Ratherbe" who was sitting on a thin-but-good belay seat below. There was no need for both of us to get hurt, so I made the easy traverse left to the corner. But even then, I looked up at the corner and saw very little pro. The crack wasn't a jam crack, but more of a shallow finger crack used for balance more than anything. It would require good feet, and I couldn't see any let alone ones that were good. The face on either side of the corner was less than thin, too. Neither option looked good.

We usually climb with two ropes. I found a good placement that I felt comfortable with at the bottom of the crack (below my first piece, which was clipped with the right-hand rope), clipped the left-hand rope, and made two moves up to a good stance below where the face gets thin in the corner. Getting a better look things didn't help. The corner now seemed more blank than the face. And the exit from the corner back right to the top of face, where the route went, appeared unprotected and very awkward. All I could imagine was a barn door swing on sloper hands and then my feet cutting away before I'd get my hands secure. The fall would be nasty. I trusted the piece below me, but the moves were high enough that I'd likely deck out on a ledge below. Suddenly, the face seemed more reasonable.

I guess I should have done a better job of listening to myself. After what happened over Memorial Day weekend, I was sure that I had found a good way of identifying when I was ready and when I wasn't. It wasn't so much about the climb as it was about the decision-making. Last weekend I made the decision to do "Ant's Line" (5.9) and I did. And then I made the decision to not do "Birdland" and I didn't. Everything felt so good. I was so certain and secure with my decisions. But this time there was something hindering me. I wasn't sure what it was, but somehow my decision-making wasn't good. I actually knew I wasn't listening to myself, but I covered up the criticism with the "be bold" thoughts that were waving through my brain. Sometimes even when you know you're making a mistake you make it anyway because that's all you know what to do at that moment. It was as if my mind was sharp enough to realize I was doing something dumb and yet not focused enough to give me a reason why. Under most circumstances I would call this void "fear," but this felt more like stupidity.

I traversed back up to the right where the face was. Face climbing is typically my strength. It may take me a while to trust the feet and hands, but once I go I'm usually in good shape and make it up clean. The corner looked as it if was too risky. I probably could do it, but I didn't like the fall. If I was going to do something, anything at all, it was going to be on something that I felt I had a chance on. That was the face.

Closer inspection with my hands revealed that there were a few hidden and very positive slopers up high that couldn't be seen from below. But the feet were bad and would require smearing up to more slopers that I wasn't fond of. I moved farther right toward the initial moves off the belay ledge. I was about two feet higher than the start at this point, and so my perspective of the face was better. I found a way to get my right foot up high and crimp down on two tiny edges above. It worked. Two moves later and I was cruising through the jugs toward the infamous squeeze pod.

Infamous isn't quite the word I'd use today. More like woodchipperly painful. It was probably the most awkward position I've ever been in on a climb. Seriously, my knees were practically higher than my ears and I wasn't even sitting down. But that was the easy part. The hard part is moving out of the pod, out the slick traverse, and around the arrete to really crappy holds - all when you're nearly too pumped to hold on. There are about five very strenuous moves in a row that are nearly all hands at the crux. The gear is good, but the fall is scary. I sat in that pod for about 20 minutes trying to find a way to get around the arrete. I made it far enough to see around the arrete twice, out of several tries trying to get to the arrete itself, and I couldn't see where to go. I was too tired to be adventurous and bold. It was a stupid decision to take on this pitch. I jokingly blamed "Ratherbe" for the mess. "Listen," I said, "next time you decide to be cranky then we need to sit down and have a little talk before we climb."

I plugged another cam behind me (decidedly not that easy) and was lowered to the anchor. We left the ropes in the gear, switched rope ends, and "Ratherbe" went up instead. She got to the pod and found it difficult, too. But she had done it before and had admitted to being totally stoked for leading it the first time. I think she gave it two tries before she finally made it around the arrete on the third attempt. The pump hadn't ceased for her, though. It took nearly all she had to place her next piece. All she really wanted to do was to keep climbing to a better rest. But that would have required a bit of a run out with a dangerous fall below.

When she finally called off-belay I started up. I only tried once and got it clean as the second, and I was certainly happy with the decision to back off. I was too pumped, and where she was barely able to plug that first piece after the crux I was likely to have fallen or run it out the final 30 feet to the top. I wouldn't have been able to stop. I was barely able to stop as the second to clean her gear, and I had been resting at the anchor while she cleaned up my mess. The decision to back off was good, but it came too late. I really should have made that decision before starting up the second pitch. I kicked myself for having learned that lesson only a week before and having ignored it so soon after. I ran from the lion while someone else slayed my mess. We called it a day, and I was glad.

Bonnie's Roof (5.9) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

Sunday morning we awoke early. The parking lot was already filling up but we knew we were walking far enough down the path that we'd be avoiding the crowds. "Ratherbe" had been tossing in her head whether she wanted to do a warmup first, but she finally decided that the walk in would be enough of a warm up to jump right on her goal for the weekend.

She had tried this the weekend before and had fallen at the crux, the pumpy, hang-on-and-go roof midway up the first pitch. I really wanted her to warm up first, but she insisted and so we headed there for the first climb of the day.

As expected, there was no one there. She racked up and started right up the route. The first 20 feet to the ledge at the base of the corner felt hard for her, and I wasn't surprised. She said it was probably due to her head not being in the right place. I thought it was because she hadn't warmed up. It didn't matter though. Someone had left a rubber snake on a boulder up there and soon she was angry enough at the joke to forget about her lead head. She headed up the corner and looked fine, but this was a section of the climb that was fine. It didn't get hard or even scary until about 10 feet below the roof.

I advised her to take a good, long rest at the last ledge, and she did so, except that she claims she didn't hear me. It was kind of a funny thing to learn later because she seemed to be talking to me the whole time. Maybe she was but was really only talking to herself. I can't imagine what kind of responses I was giving her if she was imagining the conversation. It's kind of funny to look back on it now that I know neither of us had any clue we weren't actually talking to each other.

Anyway, she moved up from the rest and entered the section of the climb where the ten feet leading up to the crux are protected only by an old, sketchy sling attached to a melting cam in the corner. If you're fine with that as pro, then you're golden. But she wasn't happy with it, and so that meant she had to keep plugging toward the pumpy crux. She plugged a cam in the roof and moved left, further committing herself to the climb. The cam most likely would have held if she had fallen, but it's not the most secure feeling in the world with the ugly tat clipped below and nowhere to down climb and rest. The fall would have been big and not very clean. With her head playing games, her lack of a warm-up, and her having fallen at this point last weekend, I braced myself to catch her. One hand after another moved through the jugs. She got her feet up and further committed herself. There was only one way to go now, and that was straight up.

At first, I thought she wasn't going to make it. The hard part is the point where the short traverse ends and the pump up the jugs begins. But she worked through that section fine. Once she stood up on the traverse ledge I thought she was fine. She rested for a second and gathered herself for the final two moves, which were all pump and no technique. And I was happy for when she started to pull and push her way up. But it was much slower going than I anticipated and she was clearly struggling to get to the small ledge above the roof. The first few moves of the crux had gone by so quickly and here were the final two moves taking so long. I feared that she had the same problem I had on the 5.9 section of "Birdland" the day before; I was too tired to even move and had to "down fall" to my last rest. She didn't have that option, so it was get it clean now or fall all the way to below the roof. She grunted. She whimpered, and then she grunted some more. I wasn't confident that she had made it until she finally stood on the ledge and took several deep breaths.

The second half of the pitch was easy, and when she told me that she was off belay and that I was on belay, I started up. I hung at the roof, but not because it was hard. It was hard, but I couldn't get the cam out of the roof with one hand due to it being buried too deep and the crack being too thin. It took me a few minutes to get it out (I tried for a long time with one hand and eventually did get it out with one hand, but I was too pumped after hanging on my left arm for so long at the crux). Unlike "Caboose", who the previous weekend had to swing back on to the rock at the same spot for the same reason, I was able to more easily reach and get back on. I cruised up and she racked up for the famous final pitch.

For a 5.7 pitch, this last pitch has one helluva mind game it plays with you. I mean, it's easy climbing, but the entire traverse and the first few moves up the arrete are protected by three incredibly crappy pins and a green and blue Alien, with the blue Alien being the highest piece and the one protecting the most exposed section of the route. Even still, this was one of my most favorite pitches in the 'Gunks. I can't wait to go back and get this on lead. I think I may knock it off in a few weeks when "Caboose" and "Blow" meet us at the 'Gunks once again.

Ursula (5.5) - Trad - Two pitches - Gear anchor (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

"Ursula" was actually a test-piece for me at this point. I was really struggling after "Birdland" and "Yellow Belly" the day before and "Bonnie's Roof" first thing the that morning. When I get pumped I can barely hold on to anything - it doesn't matter how easy the route is. If I can't hold on then I can't hold on. And the first half of "Ursula" doesn't look like a gimme from the ground. But I racked up anyway and headed up the blank corner hoping there would be jugs on the way. It turned out that everything was there, but that didn't stop me from nearly falling about five times both in the slick (but juggy) corner and committing traverse. I was glad to have gained the ledge for a much needed rest. I put "Ratherbe" on belay and she joined me at the there.

- "Ratherbe": So are you taking the second pitch, too?
- Me: Yeah. I guess so. Haven't you done this?
- "Ratherbe": Yeah. I was hoping to do the second pitch, though.
- Me: That's OK, but I thought I'd take it since you got both pitches on "Bonnie's".
- "Ratherbe": Huh? Didn't I ask you if you wanted that pitch?
- Me: No. I might have taken it if you had offered, but I'm not sure. I just assumed that you'd get both of those pitches since I got both pitches on "Birdland" yesterday.
- "Ratherbe": Oh man. Sorry about that. I was totally going to offer you the second pitch. Wow. I absolutely forgot.
- Me: That's fine. Like I said, I just assumed you'd take it anyway. It was a good reward for doing the first pitch.
- "Ratherbe": Yeah, well, you can have this second pitch. That certainly seems fair.

When I started up it didn't seem fair at the time. The crux is right off the ledge and while this might have been a 5.5 20 years ago, it has become much more slick in both the hands and feet. The first 15 feet are nothing but greasy, off-angle jugs with only a little bit of gear. Oh yeah, it's overhanging, too, so for someone like me, who was pumped enough already, getting off the ledge is a dangerous situation. I really struggled through the start. At any moment my hands were about to slip off, and that was during holding, resting, moving, clipping, and transitioning my body, hands, and feet up the steap rock. But I finally made it up to the easier climbing only to find a surprising amount of loose rock. I made up my mind that I was going to buy a stick of chalk so that marking loose blocks would be easier. For some reason I'm not very good at making an "x" with my climbing chalk and finger. It always comes out blurry and faded.

When I finally got to the top I put "Ratherbe" on belay and brought her up. She topped out and we decided that we were both tired but wanted another climb before heading home. I told her it would have to be easy because I wasn't in any shape to push myself. She agreed, so we rapped down and took a few suggestions from some folks who had climbed a bit more in this area.

In the Groove (5.6) - Trad - One pitch - Gear anchor

The Williams guidebook suggests this climb as a two-pitch route, so "Ratherbe" took the lower pitch and I said I could do the easier second pitch. The route was wet at the beginning, and there were two bulges to pull past. Neither one turned out to be a problem (though the second bulge was the obvious crux), but I was glad to have not taken the lead. It wasn't a gimme even though it turned out to be a fun climb in the end. It's amazing how many fun routes without a lot of stars one can find in the 'Gunks. This was a route that surprised both of us, even the crappy climbing at the top was kind of fun.

I guess the big thing was that we discovered the second pitch wasn't worth breaking out into a second pitch. The distances noted in the guidebook weren't exactly the most precise, and each pitch was short anyway. "Ratherbe" ended up linking both pitches together, which we had agreed that she should do before she started if she found it wasn't worth making an anchor. When I finally cleared the final bulge on the first pitch, I could see why she chose to keep going. It was pretty straight up from there to the top, particularly with double ropes. There's a lot to play around on this upper pitch. One can go right, straight up, or left at different points and all the climbing is fun. "Ratherbe" went straight up through the lichen and, with my pump, the finishing moves felt more 5.7+ than 5.6, but that might have been the variation grade anyway.

We were done. All we had next was the walk down the Stairmaster to the lower parking lot and we were off. We changed in the parking lot, hopped in the car, and headed for lunch. After eating we pulled onto I-87 and I noticed that I had to keep switching which arm was on the wheel. I was so pumped from climbing that driving the car was difficult to do. Two days later I went to the gym with a friend and couldn't climb past my sixth climb of the day. My elbow was throbbing. I'd felt this before, and it was difficult to get rid of the pain because I work at a desk where my elbow is constantly moving between writing, typing, and moving the mouse. A few folks called it tendinitis. Whatever it was, I knew I'd need to rest, but I wondered if my summer would be ruined because of this. These injuries sometimes require weeks off, and even when one feels healthy, they can flare up again and cause another month-long rest when maybe only one more week of rest would have done the job. It's frustrating, but it is what it is and I'll deal. Gotta love the pumpy routes in the 'Gunks - they're the pump that keeps on giving.

Click here for all 2009 'Gunks photos (newest are first)

A rainy start turns out great

"Ratherbe" and I hadn't climbed outside together since our last adventure in 2008, and I had only one weekend outside on real rock, Moab excepted because, well, I didn't actually climb and what I did get up wasn't real rock. I wanted to take things easy, but deep down inside I felt more confident than I ever had been before. My strength had not yet returned after a long recovery from an ankle sprain, and yet things seemed to be clicking inside my head to the point where I was already thinking of jumping on 5.8s, which I normally leave as either projects or until June when I have a few weeks of the easy stuff under my belt. It was raining when we approached Camp Slime, but the rain stopped in time for us to pitch the tent. We crashed, went to sleep knowing that the rain would soon end (and that the rock would be dry when the sun came out), and woke up unexpectedly defeated.

I woke a few times in the night, and I heard the water droplets pop down on the rain fly above me. Most of the time they were soft and intermittent, as if they were rolling off the leaves above us and not falling straight from the sky. But every now and again it was clearly raining: the pops were louder and more frequent, I could hear puddles forming on the ground outside. "Still," I thought to myself, "it's dark and I can't tell how long I've been asleep." If it was still night then there was still time for the rock to dry off by the time we rose from our slumber. The only downside would be that it would dry off later, but that didn't really bother me so much. I'd be fine as long as I got on rock at some point.

I must have fallen back asleep because when I awoke later the rain was really coming down. "Ratherbe" was awake, too, but not just because of the noise. Her eyes were peeled open by the early morning light. It was day now, and the rain had not relented.

- Me: What time is it?
- "Rathberbe": A bit before eight.

Crap. This much rain falling this late in the morning meant we'd be waiting for hours. Yeah, I know, we're wimps. There are a lot of people out there who would rather squirm up waterfalls than not climb at all, but we don't belong to that group. Climbing for me is an escape. Adding wet rock to the equation doesn't eliminate the stress for me.

The rain stopped about an hour later and we crawled out of the tent and into the mist. A thin cloud of precipitation hung over the entire valley. I couldn't see more than a hundred yards down the road.

Breakfast was good, but slow. What do we do?

- "Ratherbe": I wish I had my short rope. We could do self-rescue stuff.
- Me: I forgot my book. I usually have it in my bag's pocket.
- "Ratherbe": I don't feel like getting things wet anyway, not if we're going to use them tommorrow.

We tossed around the idea of going to a movie, or heading into town to do whatever town offered: shopping, drinking, reading books for free at the local gear shop. A hike wouldn't be a bad idea. I didn't want to spend money if at all possible. We finally decided to do some scouting.

Neither of us are particularly strong climbers. A 'Gunks 5.9 is pushing our limits and we'd both managed our first 5.9 leads last summer. It was time to expand on that success and add a few more to the tick list. I was even thinking of a few 5.10s as well. Since we'd both rather be climbing instead of sitting around on good days, we figured it was worth walking around to see all the 5.10s that seemed within our range: it had to be no harder than 5.10a, had to have a couple of stars, and it had to have at least a PG-rating. There aren't very many of those, but we found a few and headed off to get some exercise.

Ant's Line (5.9) - One pitch - Trad - Bolted anchors (<-- click her for guidebook info)

I don't remember all the climbs we looked at, but none seemed doable to us. A couple of the tens that had been recommended to us as good openers to the grade seemed runout, thin, and devoid of good rests, the latter of which was important to gumbies such as us. It made us realize that we were probably dreaming above our abilities. But since we were near Ants Line, the 5.9 that she had conquered the year before, I wanted to take a look at it just to see if it should be added to my list of desired climbs. I had looked at it once before and felt that it was too intimidating for my tastes, but a mutual friend of ours suggested to me earlier in the week that it was much easier than it looked. Was I ready for this? Who knew, but I was going to look at it anyway.

Well, it turned out to be my lucky day. While we were out walking around and pouting and waiting for the fog to lift and the rock to dry, two climbers we knew from the gym were racking up for Ants Line. We had nothing better to do, so we decided to sit back and watch. It was worthwhile to see it, but it was also both comical and nerve-wracking at the same time. The leader is a very strong climber with a good personality. He kept mentioning how wet the rock was all the way up, and sometimes we could tell the hesitation in his voice. I mentioned that I was glad I was giving it a pass on that particular day on lead, but the belayor offered to let me give it a ride on top rope. I was hesitant. I'd have to use someone's harness and I wasn't sure I wanted climb a wet 5.9 in my approach shoes. But the leader offered to let me wear his shoes with socks on. I could have worn them without socks, but I wear a normal size 8.5 and he wears a size 11. The funny thing is that his climbing shoes are supposed to be a fairly high-performance edging shoe, and here I was wearing them with socks. Oh well.

After both the leader and belayor had taken a run, I hopped on the rope and worked my way up. Yep, it was wet; wet and slimey with water dripping through the crux. I took about five times due to the wetness and me jumping on a pumpy climb at my limit without a warm-up, but I eventually made it to the top. I felt considerably less intimidated by this route after I was finished because I realized it had a ton of jugs. Still at issue, though, is what is always at issue with 5.9s, awkwardness. There's just some really awkward positions.

We took off after I climbed and checked out a few other areas before we noticed the weather was turning. It certainly wasn't sunny and warm all of a sudden, but the sun was trying to break through the valley mist and it was getting noticeably warmer. We had lunch and then decided to do one climb once it got a little warmer. We were going to meet "Wonderwoman" and "BEC" for dinner to celebrate "Wonderwoman"'s birthday that evening, and weren't sure what time dinner was going to be. I think we could have climbed later into the evening, but the rain had really dampened our spirits.

Maria (5.6+) - Three pitches - Trad - Gear anchors (<-- click here for guidebook info)

I had done Maria the previous year with "KITT", but we couldn't find the start of the third pitch and decided to head down after climbing the second. We had been told that the money pitch on Maria was the second pitch, and so it didn't seem so bad that we didn't finish it up. However, after that weekend, several folks told us that the real money pitch was the third, and that clearing the roof was as fun of a move as any at the grade in the 'Gunks. Since learning that, I had always wanted to finish that up. Both "Ratherbe" and I are solid enough to climb a wet 5.6, so we headed off and got there just ahead of a family that wanted to set up a top rope on Frog's Head (5.6) nearby. Since we got there before them, and since the first 20 feet of Maria is shared with Frog's Head, they graciously let us go first and up I went.

The initial crack was wet, but my experience a couple of weekends before of climbing in my approach shoes had changed my perspective on what I could do with only a little bit of support under my feet. I moved up through the tricky crux and stepped right into the traverse with relative ease. It wasn't long before I was sitting at the anchor below the large, left-facing corner. I felt solid, and this was good to know.

"Ratherbe" was up next, and she soon discovered that the corner was still wet. I found it odd that she was as nervous as she was considering she is a much stronger climber than I am, but I chalked it up to her spending a week in the dry condition out in Red Rocks and me ready for the instability because I had lost my shoes two weeks before and was required to climb with a little more trepidation. However, my impressions changed when I made it to the crux. It wasn't just the crack that was wet in this specific spot, but also the face on the opposite side. This was the crux because the jugs had ended. Good feet and balance was needed to step through the thin series of moves just below the ledge. I was nervous even as the second and told "Ratherbe" as much when I topped out. We agreed that Maria is no picnic when wet.

But then it was my turn to be hesitant. I racked up and headed up the right-facing corner that is the start of the third pitch. The roof loomed over me, but it didn't look that scary. However, once I got beneath it I realized how awkward and committing the moves are for clearing the roof. It was bizarre that it didn't scare me that much. I should have been much more nervous than I was. Instead, it was a matter of figuring out the sequence. I pivoted out over the corner two or three times before I finally figured out what to do and where the holds were. Before I knew it I was up and over and belaying "Ratherbe" to the top.

We rapped off and headed back to the car with "BEC" and "Wonderwoman" for her birthday celebration. The food was tasty, the drinks smooth, the rain not so much (we were sitting on the balcony when the heavens opened that evening), and the games of pool fun. The evening came to an end and it was time to rest for what everyone hoped would be a better next day.

Middle Earth (5.5) - Two pitches - Trad - Gear anchors (<-- click here for guidebook info)

I had done the first pitch with "LiClimbs" two weekends earlier, but it was too dark to continue up the rest of the climb so we bailed. I told "Ratherbe" that I wanted to clean that up as a warm up for the day's activities on Sunday and she agreed it was a good route to start on. She led the first two pitches fine (she strung them together), and I followed up, again in my approach shoes (as I had done with "LiClimbs"). "Ratherbe" was skeptical of this decision, but she didn't voice much opposition. She was the one leading the first two pitches and I'm not sure she thought the third pitch would be too much of a challenge at the grade. In the end it was my decision, so I went with it.

The first pitch went fine. I had the same footwork issues in the same place as last time, but that was to be expected. Approach shoes don't edge as well climbing shoes and I wasn't leading this time. There was nothing to worry about.

The Williams Guidebook suggests this is a four-pitch climb, but the third pitch is really a walk along the GT Ledge. It's more than a few feet over, so I can understand why this would be described as a pitch, but I just don't see it as such. I walked over to the start and pulled the rope when "Ratherbe" had taken down the anchor. I scanned the pitch above me and didn't see anything overly daunting. It looked to be a quick climb up the shallow corner to the roof, then a traverse left to the jugs, and finally up over the roof. Easy. But then I read the guidebook and it said "This crux is the same as Wonderland - harder if short". "Hmmm," I thought to myself. "I have no clue how hard Wonderland is, but how hard can this really be? It's only 5.5."

I racked up and headed up the face to the roof. The gear was good so far and I could clearly see the line that I needed to take. But things became a little more stressful when got to the roof and discovered that the traverse to the jugs, and the face directly below the jugs, had few options for feet. "I should have worn my climbing shoes," I muttered to myself. It wasn't that it was hard, or that I needed my climbing shoes. Instead, it was more that the hands were clearly very good and the feet very thin. Climbing shoes would have helped to keep me from getting pumped out this early in the day.

The traverse was fairly easy. Both the hands and feet were thin, but the jugs just at the lip of the roof were fantastically large enough to ensure good balance. I placed the best tri-cam I could get in the horizontal crack below the roof and reached up to the obvious ledge that made the top of the roof - wet! Ugh. The rain had obviously stuck around longer than I expected. I backed down to the lower jugs and dead-armed for a few minutes while I chalked up. This was a little discouraging because the feet weren't great and I was going to need the ledge to be solid while I smeared up to foot holds.

I finished chalking up and went back to the ledge, but the ledge wasn't just wet; there was a puddle up there and any chalk that I had caked onto my palm, fingers, and knuckles disappeared the instant I set my hand down. I muttered a few bad words and down-climbed to the jugs. I was tired this time and needed a moment to collect my thoughts. The only place to rest was before the traverse, so I delicately moved back across to the right, asking "Ratherbe" where the foot holds were because I was blinded both by the rock and the size of my springtime belly. I rested for a couple of minutes, thought out the moves, and headed back to the jugs.

I wasn't afraid. In fact, I was confident that I could do this very easily. But what stopped me was the fatigue. The time off as a result of a sprained ankle had sapped me of most of what I had in the tank before I slipped on the ice in February. Its tough coming back from that after so much inactivity. I'm too old to simply start off where I once was. Being in decent shape requires maintenance, and I had cut that part of the budget when things got tight. I was committed, and when I got back to the jugs, I went for it, moving past the slick and sloppy ledge and up to the next hold, which, as it turned out, wasn't the jug I would have expected on a 5.5.

"What the hell?" I thought to myself. The key hand-hold after the freaking puddle was a small, square-shaped ledge the size of my fist, and it sloped slightly to the right and was wet just enough to keep me from getting a good hold of it. My bicep was burning from the semi-mantle off the puddle-filled ledge and so I slowly lowered myself down to the jugs and, trying to ask for less help from "Ratherbe" this time, traversed back to the right for another rest. I shook my head and muttered a few words of disbelief. It wasn't because I was scared! That was the difference. It was easy and I knew I could do it, but my body was so far behind my head that I simply didn't want to trust the sketchy tri-cam at the crux. "For the love of God!" I shouted in my head.

"Alright, this is it." I wasn't going to take no for an answer this time. I was either going to do it or fall. That was it. I didn't care about the potential swing if the tri-cam ripped, or the fact that my body would potentially hurtle down to the large belay ledge below. "No, fuck that. It's a 5.5. Who cares if it's wet?"

I was tired before I even started. My outstretched muscles ached as I chalked up at the jugs. The puddle soaked my right hand and then my left hand as I matched on the ledge and moved my feet higher. I flicked my hip upward and snagged the stupid square hold and held myself there for what seemed like an eternity. "Great," I thought, "I've got the hold...now what?" I wouldn't say that my body position was awkward, but it certainly would have been if I had moved any of my four extremities. They all held me in that perfect spot, where I knew I wasn't going anywhere until the first extremity to lose all holding power collapsed with the full weight of my body tumbling after it. I thought about high-stepping with my right foot, but it was too high and awkward for me to do it confidently. To do that would have required putting too much weight on my left hand, the one that was on the insecure square hold at the top. I could have bumped my left hand higher if there were any holds that I could reach. My right hand was firmly pressed deep into the puddle and wasn't going anywhere unless I could move my -

- "Ratherbe": Why don't put your left foot on the jug?
- Me: Oh.

It took me no longer than a minute to finish the pitch.

Arrow (5.8) - Two pitches - Trad - Bolted anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

"Ratherbe" wanted to get on the ultra-classic Arrow and I was all too eager to join her. I had done this route a few years earlier with "Captain Obvious" and had ever since regarded it as one of the greatest climbs I've ever done. The first pitch is about as fun as a route can get: easy 5.6 face moves with lovely gear placements and fun, exposed climbing on gorgeous crimps and edges. We got there just as a guide was about to set up a top rope and we jumped ahead of him before he could get his harness on (OK - so he let us go, but we were quick). I had so much fun on this climb that I professed to a complete stranger two routes over that if I were the king of climbing I'd ban all vertical cracks. I brought "Ratherbe" up and she racked up for the famous second pitch.

I honestly don't know which pitch is better. The first pitch has such nicely spaced out semi-dynamic moves that it is difficult to believe anything could be more enjoyable. But the second pitch, with its similar style is different in that the notch (or the "arrow") at the start is juggy and overhanging, the middle is run out on slick, white, crystal knobs, and the top has what I call the blowjob hold. You get up to where it is and you feel around, but you don't find it. You lower to a rest, move right, and feel around again before you realize there's nothing there. You stand up directly above the bolt and feel around again, but still realize that you have no clue where this thing is. You retreat for another rest and move up again, feeling, feeling, finding nothing, nothing at all, completely and absolutely nothing and you're just about to give up until - OH! OH! OH! God yes! Oh yes! OH GOD! HOLY CRAP! I FOUND IT! I FOUND IT! WOOHOO!! - and you're at the anchors before you can clean up.

Annie Oh (5.8) - Two pitches (we only did the second pitch) - Trad - Tree and Bolted anchors (<-- Click here for guidebook info)

Our original intent was to rap back down to the ledge to do the second pitch of Limelight (5.7), the route that "Ratherbe" and I had chosen as our early-season warmup the previous spring. Back then it was too cold, and I seconded it but with a lot of pain. The crimps and raw temps were brutal on my fingertips, and I swear that I never would have made it up on lead that day. I was lucky to have made it up on TR. But Limelight was taken, and so "Ratherbe" recommended another of her favorite climbs, the second pitch of "Annie Oh."

I wanted to do both pitches, but between "Ratherbe" suggesting the first pitch was terrible and the fact that there were folks toproping it, we decided to hit the second pitch only. It was getting late anyway, and we wanted to head out at a reasonable time in the afternoon. So I racked up and headed up the blocky mess at the start. Easy enough. I then moved up to the more technical climbing and came to the upward-facing and seemingly death-encouraging flake.

I couldn't believe it when I first saw it. This thing looked as if it could be trundled by me breathing on it let alone weighting it, and it was loaded with chalk. I looked at it and the thin horizontal gap in the rock about three feet above. Was I going to have to make a dynamic move off this thing? There was no way I was going to do this. The thing is that my head was so confident this weekend. It just was. I had felt it building up the past few weeks and I thought this was a good thing. The fact that I was taking a step forward was not only something to get excited about but it was also believable. But here I was, staring at a death flake that seemingly required a dynamic move off of it to gain the spicy holds above, and I was about six feet above my last piece. I certainly wasn't going to place a piece behind it. If I fell after pulling off the flake then I didn't want my falling weight to pull this kitchen sink-sized block on top of me.

It had been a while since "Ratherbe" last climbed this route, so she couldn't offer any help. I wasn't going to down-climb. This was a route that should have been within my skill-level, so I said "screw it" and followed the chalk. The funny thing is that this isn't even the crux. I learned that as soon as I grabbed onto the top of the flake and traversed right. It sure looked scary when I was finally directly below it with both hands firmly attached at the top. But just as I was going move upward off it, I noticed a hand-sized horizontal crack to the right. "Hmmm...," I thought. It had chalk on it and it appeared to be far more stable than the flake, so I reached out and grabbed it, moved my feet into a better position below it, and stood up. The upper gap was easily within reach now, and I could happily move up to the real crux at the top.

The next few moves were tricky but easy. I felt so good about them. I was well above my gear at this point, but I felt fine moving through the larger 5.8 moves. I finally found a good spot to plug one last piece and I encountered the crux: a move up to two jugs for feet with no hands, all the while being pushed backward into space by an overhanging boulder sitting in just the wrong spot. The puzzle was fun to guess, but I couldn't figure it out. "Ratherbe" remembered the move, and she offered to give it up, but I refused. I wanted to figure this out. It stumped me though. There were no hands up high for pulling, and the obvious foot holds were both as waist level. Finally I turned and looked down and said, "I'm going to high-step and then do a mantle to get my other foot up, and then stand up with no hands. How does that sound?" She looked up at me said, "You do what you have to do." I was hoping for a little more confirmation. I mean, if I had guessed correctly then the guesswork was over. All I had to do was execute.

It was a little nerve-wracking, moving my feet up high without any hand holds to speak of, but I got my left foot up high and then pushed off the jug on the right side with both hands until I was high enough to match my right foot to my hands. Bingo. I stood up with no hands and once again professed my love for a climb to the strangers who were right above me. To steal a word from Hemmingway, it was grand, as grand as a climb could get, and I was standing on top.

Click here for all 2009 'Gunks photos.