MetroRock Climbing League: Week 2

Not going to say much except that we plummeted in the standings. "TMR" was trying to jump out of planes in 44mph winds in Florida for the week while "Gecko" was playing "too-dumb-to-know-that-I'm-snowboarding-with-killer-trees" in Utah at the same time. I was sick and thus scored a less-than-stellar 45 points (60 points per week is the goal - at least). I don't know how "RRC" scored, but he e-mailed me earlier this week complaining about our score (see! the infighting has begun). But all four of us are back this week, and because "TMR" pushed her limits last night to score 65 points, we came up with a song to commemorate her performance:

"TMR"
is our super-star
she climbed the hard-est
by far

No, we didn't steal it from a certain Andrew Llyod Webber rock opera (tongue-in-cheek).

Hough I Dialed in on the Nippletop and Got My Kicks on Dix, and Ice Climbed

I have a lofty goal for this winter. I want to summit all 46 of the 4000 foot peaks in the Adirondacks. I only have 38 left. Last weekend I was able to get hit in the knee with a splitting wedge, it's like the head of an axe but you hit it with a hammer. Suffice to say it's heavy, it's metal, and it hit me in the knee at high speed. Despite the injury I went and ice climbed one of the days and managed to fall on my ass. Probably seems pretty funny, especially since my pants were white, so now it looks like I shit my pants. This weekend was going to be better. I was going to do the entire Dix Range, which seemed feasible given my three day weekend.

I have a lofty goal for this winter. I want to summit all 46 of the 4000 foot peaks in the Adirondacks. I only have 38 left. Last weekend I was able to get hit in the knee with a splitting wedge, it's like the head of an axe but you hit it with a hammer. Suffice to say it's heavy, it's metal, and it hit me in the knee at high speed. Despite the injury I went and ice climbed one of the days and managed to fall on my ass. Probably seems pretty funny, especially since my pants were white, so now it looks like I shit my pants. This weekend was going to be better. I was going to do the entire Dix Range, which seemed feasible given my three day weekend.

So late friday I set off with a very full pack for Keene Valley having already spent the previous night outside for work "enrichment". I have the camping thing pretty dialed now so it was no big deal. Pulled into the Round Pond trailhead around five thirty and was able to hike into Round pond just a little after six. I was cooking dinner by moonlight and reading a book by eight with a warm water bottle between my legs and memories of the past floating around in my head. That's right I've been here before. With my last job we hiked to Dix mountain, some kid said he was going to hit me in the face with a log. That was all in the summer but the experience tainted my thoughts on how to proceed.

The plan was simple. Camp at Round Pond on Friday night. Hike to the Boquet Lean-To on Saturday and rest up for the main event on Sunday, that event being climbing all five peaks in the Dix Range. Then hike out Monday morning. Not a small task, but not so difficult as to be impossible. Now if only I had remembered that the hike to the Boquet Lean-To was less than three hours from the trailhead. So when I woke up at six in the morning to go to the lean-o I was there by nine and was not prepared to simply sit around all day doing nothing.

Being the silly map reading fellow I am I decided to bushwack to Nippletop and Dial. No big deal, just get a bearing, and follow it till you can't go any higher. After a few hours of bushwacking I made it to the summit of Dial. The view was lacking, the summit barely distinguishable. So after a quick picture I got to follow a trail to Nippletop. It was pretty much a straight shot north. I figured I could make it in an hour. An hour later I have no idea where I might be except somewhere along this trail. After several false summits I finally came to a clearing where the summit became very obvious. It was a great summit with fantastic views of the Great Range and the Dix Range. It also gave me a nice preview of what I was in for the next day. Despite the erogenous name it was nothing special in it's physique. Most nipples are more fun.

A quick return trip in which my tracks had already been blown over and I almost fell of a cliff I am back at the lean to cooking up dinner, a nice rice and lentil dish with some carrots and potatoes. So I decided to take some fruits and to see how they faired in the sub-zero weather. Orange-not frozen, Apple-sort of frozen, Carrot-not frozen but turned to mush later, Potato-not frozen but turned to mush later. So pretty much carrying around fresh fruits and vegetables in winter works alright although if they thaw they become mushy crap pretty fast. After dinner I did all the usual cleaning up, tossed a hot water bottle down my sleeping bag and went to bed.

Just seven hours later the bladder was full and I was up getting ready to go. Unfortunately, my stove decided to be a pain in the ass and I didn't get moving till after nine. This put me at the base of the slide at a little after ten. On go the crampons, out come the ice tools and away I go. The nice thing about slides is that there are no trees. It gives a real mountain feel to things. Besides that they certainly seem faster and more difficult.

Things were going great. The snow was the perfect styrofoam that you can stand on top of but not sink in. The ice was reasonably soft. Conditions couldn't have been more ideal. That was until I got to the little verglassed rock . After the first swing I knew it was rock. As I tentatively picked around for some thicker ice only to find none. I looked for small edges to hook onto and get a few inches higher, nothing. I stretched and searched for something, anything. So now came a choice. I could move my feet up and see what I could find, thus putting me in a difficult balancing position. On the other hand I could just downclimb the whole thing. I really didn't want to downclimb six hundred feet. So I stepped up and then there was a sliver of snow and ice. Check that it will hold. Now my feet are on the crappy ice that I was trying to pick up. By now though I could actually rely tentatively on my tools to hold me. After his everything was peachy, so to speak.

Then I got to the top of the slide. Let the bushwacking begin. It took a little over an hour for me to reach the trail through the bushwacking. The whole time I was following the small tracks of an animal. Which was interesting because their had been people foot prints on the slide I took.

The summit of Dix was quite good. Views of the Great Range and the rest of the Dix Range were improved greatly by the plentiful sun. Nonetheless it was cold and windy. So after a few pictures I headed on to Hough Peak (It's actually pronounced Huff, not How). Despite their being somewhat of a heard path Hough was pretty tough to get to. Several false summits led to the top of Hough where I realized I would not be able to possibly make it to the rest of the mountains in the Dix Range without getting benighted. Exhausted, and slightly dissapointed, I turned around to repeat the bushwack.

Upon returning to the lean-to I was exhausted, but decided that since it was only four and it was going to be another cold night and I might as well just hike out. No big deal, just pack up the big sack and hike another five miles. Thus making the total daily mileage close to fifteen. Hiking out by moonlight was pleasant though. Winter is unique in it's quiteness. The sounds in my ear were limited to the crunching of snow and my own breathing. That and the occasional sound of branches snapping under the weight of their snow load. This sound was slightly disconcerting, especially being by myself. Either way I was back at the car before nine and lo and behold it decided not to start. Luckily someone stopped after about ten minutes and gave me a jump. Unfortunately, upon returning home the car battery had not gained a charge.
So what do I do? I go home, call all the people who might think I was dead, and then called someone to go ice climbing. All this even though I could barely walk up the stairs. So the next day I woke up and my partner picked me up and off into the mountains we drove once again.

More freezing, more vain arm flailing and feet swinging to stay warm, more dangerous swinging of sharp objects. My partner actually managed to kick himself in the leg with his crampon on accident. After a long day of picking my way up frozen waterfalls I went home to collapse into my exhaustion.

Strained Fingers

I learned something new recently that should take me to a new level in the coming months, if I prepare properly.

My fingers have been killing me. I mean, they've been so sore that they immediately hurt when grabbing a hold on any climb, regardless of grade. I've felt soreness in my fingers before, but this has gone away over time in the past. Unfortunately, this has not been the case recently. This soreness has persisted and has even gotten worse lately. Considering how much I've been climbing lately, a lack of rest certainly hasn't helped. But I'm not stopping any time soon because I want to keep climbing at a three-days-per-week rate until spring when, if "Jello" is still around, I know I can get out just about every weekend. In short, I want to get stronger, but this finger pain persists.

I was telling "Geneva" of my problem and he recognized it immediately. Both he and I love crimpy climbs and, if one does enough of them (or too many of them), one tends to grab holds as if they are crimps, regardless of the hold type. I know that one's fingers can hurt if one continuously climbs crimpy routes, but that isn't the problem. The problem is applying crimp techniques to climbs that don't require the technique. "Geneva" was told that he could combat this finger fatigue by grabbing holds with an open grasp more often and only crimping when absolutely necessary. This does three things: 1) it rests the fingers from having to crimp all the time; 2) it gives the fingers an opposing exercise that strengthen both types of grasps (i.e. - it keeps my fingers from developing crimp muscles only and, thus, keeps my fingers from overcompensating on those crimp muscles because they are stronger even if they are tired) and; 3) it teaches better core technique.

Of course, the first two will correct my finger-fatigue, but it is the last one that may help to propel me to another level. By being able to rest my strongest muscles by not using them I will be able to: a) learn how to get through tough sections without relying on my strength all the time; b) conserve energy by relying on my legs to do most of the work (I'm assuming that legs are more likely to be used with an open grip than with a closed grip) and; c) allow me to be even stronger when I need the strength the most.

If I ever get through this period of weakness then I'll be stronger than I have ever been by this spring. I really hope this is true, because I want to get on harder climbs this summer.

MetroRock Climbing League: Week 1

I wish I could give you an update on the entire rankings, but I can only say that MassClimbers is situated nicely in third place, about 15 points behind the second place team, which, I think must have graded itself in a lower category than it should have. But hey, no one's bitter or anything.

We did manage to get a clarification from the powers that be on the rule controversy I noted in the previous post: climbers can climb and record scores on multiple days, as opposed to having to climb all climbs on one day. They changed the rule the day(s) before the the league started. That's a real bummer, too, because I'm really climbing at only a 5.10 level right now, and I'm sicker than a dog - cough, cough, sneeze. So that means my score will be incredibly low this week, as I'll have to register at 5.11 (thanks to all those who complained, really, thanks).

Anyhoo...

Controversy in the Climbing League

Due to the snow storm that never stormed, I didn't get a chance to hit them gym on Monday to see how my team did for the first week of the MetroRock Climbing League. Actually, after reading the rules, I've realized that the scores are posted on Tuesdays. Oh well. In any case, the season has not started without some confusion regarding the handicap and when climbs can be climbed during the week.

The rules do not state how or when an individual's climbs for the week can be climbed other than they must be clean, and by clean - even that is left up to the individual. But the biggest contention surrounds my handicap choice (5.10 - folks seem to think I should be in the 5.11 range) and whether or not all of the climbs in a week have to be done in the same week. I know I'm not making this very clear, so let me lay this out a bit more:
- I chose 5.10 as my group, but folks think I should be at 5.11
- I was told by the owner of the gym that all climbs have to be done in one night, but the rules don't say that
- I feel that I can't do six 5.11s in one night / day, but that may be irrelevant if climbs don't need to be climbed all in one night / day
- If I could have spread them out, I would have chosen 5.11 as my category
- It is unclear whether I will be bumped up (and thus lose points) or if others will lose points because they chose a higher level that they now have to climb all at once (which they weren't planning on doing)

Oh my God! What is to come of this? To be clear, I was not cheating nor being dishonest when choosing 5.10. Honestly, six 5.11s in one night is tough for me. My homerun grade is 5.10c. I can flash any 5.10c in the gym, most 5.10ds, some 5.11as, but rarely a 5.11b. I have to work 5.11a to get it clean most of the time. That, and, my body goes through tremendous swings of strength and energy that doctors still can't explain (no, it's not fibromyalgia or Lyme Disease, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist). I go through these periods when I feel as if I can scale glass, and then other periods when I can barely walk up the stairs without feeling gassed or tired. Right now, I'm in an energy-low period. My muscles are stale, my energy low and my overall, daily body soreness is high. So when I say I can't get six 5.11s in one night, I really mean that six 5.10s are hard right now, too. But even if someone does get 60 points, that doesn't mean anything either. I know two people who really struggled to get 60 points. I'd be lucky to pick up 30, but this has more to do with counting 5.10a the same as 5.10d (which isn't so bad when you think about it, because it ultimately gives a greater advantage to weaker climbers. This is because of the exponential difference between grades as the grades get harder. In other words, a 5.9 climber is more likely to get 15 points for climbing a 5.10 than a 5.11 climber is to get 15 points for climbing 5.12, so that oversight may be fair after all because it strategically gets weaker climbers more involved in climbing and, ultimately better secures their business. And, let's not forget that the grading in the gym within grades varies a bit).

But enough of the sympathy card, I should say that the rules don't say what the expected points per person per week should be. If one climbs six climbs in one's grade, then one gets 60 points (or ten points per climb). What did the creators of this league have in mind when they devised this league? They actually didn't have anything in mind. And let's be fair; they didn't start this league to have the perfect competitive atmosphere. It was probably devised over a drunken poker game when one guy said, "I bet if I put four of my friends together that we'd kick your four friends asses." It was created to have fun, but this hasn't stopped the worry-warts such as myself (and those pointing fingers are me) from openly discussing what could be done better for next year's league. Knowing these guys, I expect them to learn from this and to make it that much better next year.

I should get a clarification, anyway. Let me see if I can get two folks who should be in the know to weigh in. Check back for comments later...

Climbing League - Part One

We've all seen The Big Lebowski and heard of bowling leagues, right? Well, the local gym in my area has started a climbing league, and I joined with three of my friends from my MassClimbers Yahoo climbing group (see the link to the right): "The Mad Russian" (otherwise now known as "TMR"), "Gecko" and "Red Rocks Casino" (otherwise now known as "RRC"). I'll fill in a bit more later on where these names came from, but for now, let's assume we've assembled a pretty bad-ass group of climbers. We may not be the best in the gym, but we can all hold our own on stiff 10s, 11s and easy 12s. That, and, we're pretty edgy, we get agitated with each other often, we all want the attention to be focused on ourselves, and we won't stop talking about that fact (without, of course, not actually saying it - because that would arrogant). Mess with us on an individual level and we'll rip you to shreds. Just imagine what we're like as a team (or to each other as teammates - GULP!).

But before we get into how this bowli...err...climbing league works, let's start off with an inspiring moment in bowling history (courtesy of IMDB):
The Dude: Fuckin' Quintana... that creep can roll, man.
Walter Sobchak: Yeah, but he's a pervert, Dude.
The Dude: Yeah.
Walter Sobchak: No, he's a sex offender. With a record. He served 6 months in Chino for exposing himself to an eight year old.
The Dude: Oh!
Walter Sobchak: When he moved to Hollywood he had to go door to door to tell everyone he was a pederast.
Donny: What's a... pederast, Walter?
Walter Sobchak: Shut the fuck up, Donny.

OK, so the league works based on four components: a grading handicap, weekly scores, total weekly scores over a six-week period and a throw-out of the two weakest weeks that an individual climbs over the course of the league. One gets to climb whenever one wants, decides if a route was climbed cleanly or not and does not have to be judged by anyone. In essence, it's easier than a bowling league. I guess it's more like an honest-driven golf league. Well, I think climbers are less likely to lie about climbing a route cleanly, but that's another debate.

The handicap system works as such: you choose the grade that you most often climb clean. If you choose 5.10 (and there are no differences among the letter grades - so 10d is worth the same as 10a) then you get 10 points for each 5.10 that you climbed cleanly, 5 points for each 5.9, and 15 points for each 5.11. One can add 2 points for leads that are climbed cleanly for each grade, too. Naturally, you can make the same adjustments for folks who are 5.9 climbers (i.e. - for them, a 5.9 climb is worth 10 points). As you may notice, because the letter grades don't factor into the score, harder climbers are penalized because the exponential differences between 5.10 and 5.11 versus the distance between 5.11 and 5.12. But that's OK. It's about having fun and getting everyone involved. And Involved we are.

Now, let's meet the team:
- "The Mad Russian" or "TMR": The very first member of MassClimbers (after I created it, of course) and born in southern Siberia. She's just getting back into climbing after jumping out of a plane and breaking her femur over a year ago. She was a fantastic climber before the injury, and is just getting back into climbing shape now. She has gracefully moved from 5.8s and 5.9s the past couple of months into the solid 5.10 climbing category as of last night. And climbing is just her hobby among hobbies. When she isn't climbing she's skydiving. And when she isn't skydiving, she's jetsetting to stylish parties. And when she isn't jetsetting...it's impossible to go on.
- "Gecko": He got this name because we were joking about how he felt his arm was going to fall off after a dynamic move to a steep crimper. We both agreed that all would be OK because he'd just grow another arm (hey, I didn't say all the nicknames were great ones. So long as they stick, I'm OK). Anyway, he's an ex-boulderer who has little or no climbing experience. But hey, who the hell cares about that when you can go from 5.8 to 5.12 in a matter of three months...with a hole in the toe of his right climbing shoe. I should have called him "HGH". Probably too late for that. Just as an FYI - he was climbing 5.12 before he even learned how to lead. I'm not saying that he's stupid, but I think he doesn't realize that his rise isn't supposed to happen. Anyway, he signed up for the 5.11 category.
- "Red Rocks Casino" or "RRC": There's no running away from this nickname. When I was planning my trip to Red Rocks this past autumn I received feedback from several friends on where to stay. Most friends noted cheap hotels and casinos. "RRC" mentioned the Red Rocks Casino. He said it was the closest one can get to Red Rocks Canyon, and it was a nice place to stay. I then looked up the prices: $400 per night was the cheapest room. Yeah, that's my price range. Anyway, he's been in the group for a long time, dating back to when "Tattoo" and "JoJo" were regular members. He took a hiatus for about a year to live in California, but now he's back and climbing in the 5.10 category.
- Greg (no nickname needed, though I'm sure some people have nicknames that they've muttered under their breaths from time to time): I could probably jump into the 5.11 category, but I can't do six 5.11s in one day right now. I can get up probably three, but not six. So I'm in the 5.10 category until they move me up. As it is, I'm struggling on 5.10s lately. I've got a bum knee, a severe lack of sleep slowing me down and a cranky bloating problem. Gravity is not my friend these days.

One other note: what's to keep a 5.11 climber from climbing in the 5.10 category only to get 15 points for climbs he / she should have been climbing for 10 points? Well, nothing, at first. But the keepers of the league will be on the look out for this. If anyone is caught cheating (well, maybe cheating is too strong of a word), then they will be bumped up into the next category.

The league started this week and I think Team MassClimbers got off to a good start. "Gecko" scored six 5.11s, "TMR" scored six 5.10s and "RRC" scored four 5.10s and two 5.11s (I think). My day is on Saturday. I'm not climbing well right now, so we'll see how things go. But hey, it's all about fun right?

Jesus Quintana: You ready to be fucked, man? I see you rolled your way into the semis. Dios mio, man. Liam and me, we're gonna fuck you up.
The Dude: Yeah, well, you know, that's just, like, your opinion, man.
Jesus Quintana: Let me tell you something, pendejo. You pull any of your crazy shit with us, you flash a piece out on the lanes, I'll take it away from you, stick it up your ass and pull the fucking trigger 'til it goes "click."
The Dude: Jesus.
Jesus Quintana: You said it, man. Nobody fucks with the Jesus.
Walter Sobchak: Eight-year-olds, Dude.

Self-Rescue Day

I've been climbing since the winter of 1998; when two college friends in Edinburgh convinced me to try this wacky sport that used ropes, harnesses and a stable mindset. I didn't have any of the required components, but I forged ahead anyway thinking that maybe this would be a great way to learn something about myself. Certainly, I have learned a lot, but it was this past summer, and more specifically this past fall during a trip to Red Rocks, that I realized there was a lot more that I needed to learn if I was going to get out and do bigger climbs. Thankfully, "Sensei" and "Burrito" were planning on heading out this past Sunday to Quincy Quarry to practice some of this stuff. They asked me to join, and I happily accepted.

Both "Burrito" and I recently had the same revelation about climbing big routes, but we came to the same conclusion from different perspectives. She's certainly a good climber. She's a bit on the vertically challenged and slight side, but I've seen her tactically reach through with ease what would be difficult reaches for me, so she's a pretty good climber. Her fiancee, "Sensei", with his beard, thin frame and years of climbing curiosity built into experience, is almost always the important safety component when they climb together. In other words, they can both climb well, but if something happened, it was he who got them out of trouble. While I don't know the story behind it, there was an apparent moment during a recent, long climb in Arizona that made "Burrito" think that if anything happened to "Sensei" they could both be screwed. I'm not so sure that she wouldn't have figured out what to do, but the point remains the same: that in a party of two climbers, one should not assume that the other will be able to get the party out of a jam. Because in the end, what happens to the party if the knowledgeable climber is the one who is hurt, or, as we'd assume to be even worse, unconscious?

My own revelation came upon my rappel with "Tattoo" off Crimson Chrysalis in Red Rocks, which happened well after sunset and with headlamps that would only shine a few feet away with any clarity. We were both tired and in the dark, and yet, as warned, the rope did not cooperate when we pulled the rope from station to station. Because of the frequency of Chickenheads (rock formations that stick out like tentacles trying to reign in unsuspecting ropes) on that route, it is not uncommon to find one's rope wrapped around an unwanted rock feature or even stuck in a crack. During the day, one is likely able to see where the rope is stuck, diagnose the situation and make changes to the rope-pulling strategy based on what one sees. At night? Forget about it. If the rope is stuck, there's only so much one can do to free it from whatever owns one's life at that given moment.

It was during this descent that made me think, "Crap, if this rope doesn't come unstuck, then what am I going to do?" I would have figured something out, but I would have had only a small arsenal of techniques that I could have used. "Tattoo" had the same arsenal of techniques, but a lesser understanding of those than I had. We could have potentially been stuck on that route hours longer than we actually were, so the same thought crossed my mind differently, "What if something happens to me while I'm trying to free the rope?" The answer ultimately led me to realize that I had put my regular partner, "Jello", in an awkward situation all summer long by relying on his expertise to save the day if something happened to me or us (note: remember when I dropped my belay device off Paralysis at Poke-O? It's a good thing he knew how to belay with a munter).

As I noted above, I eagerly met "Sensei" and "Burrito" at Quincy Quarry to practice ascending a fixed rope (both from the ground and "at the crux", so to speak), become hands-free on rapell when not using a friction knot as a backup (i.e. - prussic), and how to become hands-free when belaying with an ATC. "Burrito" and I did not learn how free ourselves form the belay, but we learned how to let go.

I'm not going to go into actual techniques, but I'll say that we used an Bachman to learn how to ascend, a Legwrap to go hands-free on rappel, and a Munter Mule to go hands-free while on belay. "Sensei" also showed us how to belay using a munter. I'll need practice with the two Munter techniques, but at least I know it's available.

Six doughnuts and a couple of hours later, we zipped out of the beautiful spring-in-January weather knowing a heck of a lot more than we did going in. And it is amazing because the techniques we learned weren't that complicated. Just a little bit of knowledge opened up an entire world of safety in a matter of moments. I feel so much better now than I did before. I hope "Jello" is reading this because he should feel better about my advancement. And he should feel better about the text message I received from "Sensei" later on that evening suggesting that we take it to another level the next time out. I can't wait.

America's Mountain via the Southeast Ridge

Pikes Peak was a lot of things for me. It was my first fourteener, my first Colorado mountain, my first time above ten thousand feet. It was also my largest vertical gain, longest distance traveled for a mountain, and all of this by myself.

Pikes Peak was a lot of things for me. It was my first fourteener, my first Colorado mountain, my first time above ten thousand feet. It was also my largest vertical gain, longest distance traveled for a mountain, and all of this by myself.

It all started when I convinced my family to go to Colorado over Christmas. After we all decided to go to Colorado Springs I started looking for mountains close by. Pikes Peak was the closest and after deciding on climbing the Y Coulior all I could do was try and prepare. I did so by jumping on some local Adirondack mountains. Having no couliors in the east I climbed the next best thing, the Trap Dyke on Mt. Colden. Unfortunately, my group turned back because of some discomfort among my peers, but I felt very comfortable and competent, which made me feel good about my proposed route.

Fast forward a couple weeks. I'm driving through the snow and ice again. The usually deafening sound of punk music is turned low so I can listen to the sound of the engine as it struggles to accelerate. Cars, can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. I'm also listening to the tires on the snow and ice. Tires have a different sound when they're sliding and I didn't want to ruin my trip before it got started. Six hours of white knuckle driving later I'm spending the night at my climbing partner's house. Then after a fun day on the plane I was almost there. Just a ten hour drive away. Scratch that, since I was visiting my girlfriend in Iowa we had to drive on I-80, adding a few more hours. While I waited to go though I had some fun. Went to Hawkeye Point. Tried to reach Panorama Point in a blizzard, and failed, but finally I was there.

My family and friends were not quite as excited about my plans. Despite trying to calm all feelings of fear there was little I could say to assuage such fears. They feared I would be too cold, I would fall, I would be mauled by a mountain lion (the warnings at the trail head didn't help), they feared that I would get lost, die, that I would not return.

Despite this I was still excited. I felt prepared and the night before I was to leave I got some helpful information about the weather. Unfortunately, the weather didn't make my proposed route look like a fun or viable option. Likely avalanche hazard and unpleasant post holing dissuaded me from the Y coulior and instead I decided to head up the Barr Trail.

As morning came I double checked my gear and jammed it in the car.
30 minutes later we were at the trail head. The family decided to follow me up a few switchbacks. After about two they were done and decided to head back to the car. Then I was alone.

Welcome to the longest day on the Barr Trail ladies and gentleman. The name of the game here is Switchbacks. During no point during the first mile did I do anything except go back and forth. As the sun began to rise, so did I above the Manitou and Colorado Springs. Despite the monotony of the switchbacks I felt noticeable progress. After passing a few hikers I felt considerably alone. Alone with my thoughts I started to sing to myself. For some reason Katherine Bates' "America the Beautiful" came into my head. After passing under the rock arch and getting to what Roache describes as the second section of the Barr Trail I was able to push the song out of my head simply because I was thinking about what a Hansel & Gretel forest would looked like.

For some reason it wasn't that scary. Checking how fast I was moving it was a quick two mph. Maybe I could get to the top in a day. Oh how foolish I was.

I took a quick break in the quaint forest to go to the bathroom and to rub my aching back. I sat wondering why I put myself through considerable physical pain just to get to the top of a pile of rocks? Since I had a schedule to keep I ignored that thought and the pain and moved on. A surprisingly short while later I found myself at Barr Camp. What a welcome respite. The caretaker was very caring as she invited me inside. After a quick bite to eat I bid the people at Barr Camp goodbye. Moving quickly I passed two women who told me they had broke trail for two miles past Barr Camp. They said if I was determined I could make it. Buoyed by the thought that I could top out in a day I continued to press on.

As I came to the end of the women's tracks I found that my second wind was a while ago and that I might be running out of steam. After an exhausting hour of breaking trail I was beginning to wonder where the hell the A-frame was so I could just stop for the day. As I stopped to rest there was all of a sudden a man behind me. Came out of nowhere! He asked if I would like him to take over and I graciously accepted. Then he was gone. Never did I think someone could move so quickly post holing through the snow. I continued to push on and after several times of questioning my will to push forward I came to the A-frame and one of the longest feeling days in a long time.
First things first I tried to start my stove. As I pumped the fuel pump it simply would not push air into the fuel bottle. A small bit of fuel spewed into the priming cup and after priming I turned the flame control and to my surprise the stove simply sputtered. I tried pumping but it would not pump and eventually the stove went out as my water went unboiled. I took the entire stove apart and could find no problems. For the second time in my life I cursed the stupid stove. Why is it that whenever I try to push myself something gets in my way to make it more difficult? After several more tries I gave up. Looking at the meager ration of water I put several handfuls of GORP in my mouth and swallowed the rest of my water.

Slipping into my sleeping bag and bivy sack I resigned myself to the fact that I would be in for an uncomfortable night. For the rest of the night I awoke to cotton mouth and muscle cramps. So I played the clock watching game. First, I woke up at nine. Then, I woke up at two. Then, at four and finally my watch went off at six and I sat up. Gathering my things I decided I'd let urine color be the go, no-go decider. With only two liters the day before I thought for sure that I'd be in the brown and be heading back down. Amazingly, it was bright yellow and so away I went. The lessons I learned was to always bring more than one pump and to bring other sources of purification (the streams nearby were not completely frozen).
Awaking slightly before the sun I decided to watch it rise before I set off for the summit. I decided to cross the gully to start ascending the southeast ridge. The caretaker had said that the best route to the summit would be on the south side of the gully to avoid the cornice at the top.

This put me on the southeast ridge for the remainder of the ascent. While mostly first class with bits of second class and some snow to plow through the difficulty was not technical. Each step became a struggle upward. While my muscles were perfectly willing to speed up, my lungs were not, but I persisted. Slowly, and with great difficulty I continued. Every time I looked up I could see I was closer. After three hours I finally came to the top of the ridge right near the cog tracks. A few more minutes and I was there. Again I was alone. Despite seeing the cog train ascend a little while ago I did not think to try the door to the summit house. After a short time I decided to head back down.

The knee-jarring descent was arduous and it was quickly wearing on me. Half way down as the angle of the gully lessened I decided to glissade down the wind harden slab. Despite the bruising of my ass it saved me at least an hour and was far more pleasant to my knees. Reaching tree line I began to descend towards the trail head and sweet, sweet water.

I decided to try my cell phone to let my family know to come get me. For some reason it worked and low and behold they were on their way to the summit. By this time I was already past the A-frame and I told them I would not go back to the top. instead they said I could meet them at Mountain View and catch the cog the rest of the way down. Unfortunately it was past one and I was still just past the A-frame, a good distance from Barr Camp. I practically ran down the trail, determined to save myself the six miles past Barr Camp I would have to walk. As I booked it down the trail I made it to Barr Camp in approximately an hour from the A-frame. Stopping briefly to get info on how to get to Mountain View from the caretaker and finally having someone to share my triumph with I hurriedly walked towards Mountain View. After burning up the trail there in less than half an hour I realized I was incredibly early. So I waited. Then I waited some more. Finally the time of arrival had passed. After ten minutes I wondered if it was ever going to come. Then there it was slowly rolling down the hill. As it pulled to a stop the people in the passing windows pointed at me. Stepping on to the train I hugged my mother and people around us clapped. It was the most unique welcome back from a mountain I've ever received. My father handed me a liter of water which I quickly chugged and then a bag of chips which I quickly devoured and finally let the success and exhaustion take over.

Red Rocks - Day Six - Getting One More Climb In

I can't say that Red Rocks is ugly anymore. I've had too many experiences the past few days that have struck me in such a positive way that I'm sad to be going home. This post is going to be a quick one that will have the three climbs we did that morning and a some photos that didn't make the other posts.

Ultraman Wall - First Pullout

Scent of the Ultraman (5.7) - 110 feet - Sport - Greg and "Tattoo" led

This was our warmup route at 630am on the day we were to fly out. Gotta love the fact that we didn't read the damn book. Because my rope wasn't dry from falling into the pool on Dark Shadows, we only brought "Tattoo"'s 60m rope. Well, guess what doesn't equal 110 feet when folded in half...that's right, a 60m rope. Good thing there was a walk-off spot about ten feet above the bottom of the route. Jesus, I was pissed at myself.

Climb the slab on the far left of the wall, but not as far as the right-facing corner / roof. This route will end just below a smaller roof to the right of the feature I just described. This was a nice, easy route, but I was so pissed that we had not seen height of this route. We came to this wall to do the ultra-classic Ultraman (5.8+), but had to walk away because there was no walk off from Ultraman like there was Scent of the Ultraman. It was a wasted 30 minutes, too, because I really wanted to give A Fraction of the Action (5.10b) on Tiger Wall a go before leaving, but this waste of time prevented that.
Panty Wall - First Pullout

Great name for a wall, eh?

Brief Encounter (5.8) - 65 feet - Sport - Greg and "Tattoo" led

This is the left-most bolted route on the wall. Great climb. Just follow the bolts and chicken heads to the top. It never feels exposed or committing. Feels more like a 5.7 to me.

Sacred Undergarment Squeeze Job (5.8) - 60 feet - Sport - Greg and "Tattoo" led

This is the the route directly to the right of Brief Encounter. Same kind of climb, in fact, except this felt more like a 5.8.

After these three climbs, we hurried down to Tiger Wall just in case I had time to get on A Fraction of the Action. We didn't have time, and so I simply scounted the route for the next time. The next time...the next time...The. Next. Time.

But who cares about that, here's some "left-out" pics from the rest of the trip.

<- Greg on Birdland
Way up on Crimson Chrysalis -> "Tattoo" at the bottom of Dark Shadows/\

<- "Tattoo" taking a break at the end of the day One last, long look before going home ->

Red Rocks - Day Five - Into the Darkness

I noted in another post that on my first day in Red Rocks I sought out several climbs just so I knew where they would be. Almost all of the climbs were in the Pine Creek Canyon area, and all of those in that area were long, multi-pitch climbs in the 5.7 to 5.8 range. I was looking for classics, in particular, and one of the climbs I wanted to get up was Dark Shadows (5.8). I had heard good things about it and really wanted to see what it looked like before going up.

As I also noted in the older post, I didn't find the route that first day, but I did hear the waterfall. I couldn't see the waterfall, but I heard it and I knew I was nearby. Later that night, before I picked up "Tattoo" at the airport, I hit the local climb shop and got some directions: find the waterfall and you shall find the climb. "Tattoo" and I also had a bit of help while on the path from some folks who knew the area well. They told us to stay high above the wash until we couldn't stay high anymore. I thought I had done this a few days before, but I wasn't true to the directions. The directions say to stay high until the path dumps into the wash. Well, on my previous attempt I simply found the first path that dumped into the wash, therefore leaving me about two hundred yards short of one of the most fantastic corner cracks I've ever seen.

When we finally go there, I admit, I was nervous. I had seen the pictures in the book and the climbing looked committing and exposed. The descriptions told of holds appearing out of nowhere, so I was confident that I was going be OK, but this thing when straight up out of nowhere, and the right half of the corner seemed to be as varnished as brown glass. I was still a little tired from Crimson Chrysalis two days before, and wasn't sure if I wanted to layback 120 feet of finger crack. But I didn't show up to walk away. No way. If I was damn near puking at the bottom of Crimson Chrysalis, I wasn't going to walk away because of butterflies in my stomach. Instead, I looked up at the two parties above us and saw them working the various sections of the crack and the steep face / crack / pod at the top. Damn that looks exposed, I thought to myself. Damn I'm scared.

I've written before about how I climb for emotional therapy; how the throbbing fear inside me drives me to the brink of hopelessness and makes me feel as if I'm my own hero every time I'm lowered to the ground. Look, you have to understand that this goes way back to my days of being pummelled into "yes sir" submission by my strict, Navy stepfather. I had love and support showered onto me by my family who felt that his behavior was unwarranted, but in the end there was nothing they could do to help me. If I wanted to, the knife that I had stolen from a friend's kitchen was hidden under the desk. Two swipes and I didn't have to deal with it anymore. Thankfully, one day, I told myself that it didn't matter what folks thought. It was my life and I was going to do whatever I had to do to survive. In short, I saved myself, and whenever I start to whine about my limitations (in climbing and life) I always turn to what I know best: that I've conquered this fear before and all I need to do is conquer it again. What's the worst that can happen? I can lose, but that isn't really failure because even then I have something to hold close to my heart as a lesson for the future. All I have to do is get over the fear of caring the way society wants me to care, and everything seems to work out in the end.

Dark Shadows (5.8) - 4 pitches (out of a possible 10) - 340 feet - trad with bolted anchors at each belay station - Greg led

Pitches One and Two (5.5 and 5.6) - 145 feet combined

First off, very few people do all 10 pitches. Most only do the first four. The descent is difficult above pitch four, so make sure you know what you're doing before setting off.

Start on the slab right above the pool, which will be to the left. Follow the bolts up the face, climbing the pockets to the anchor at the bottom of the right-facing corner and finger crack. Stop here for the top of this pitch, but it isn't worth it to stop here. For one, the belay station isn't great and the next one is a huge four-person ledge. Two, it's only another 75 feet of climbing.

To continue, climb the thin crack to the top, then traverse left and back down on to the ledge at the bottom of the third pitch. I have to say that I don't think this second pitch is really 5.6. There's a stiff section about mid-way up the finger crack that requires quite a bit of body tension. I felt as if it was a series of two or three 5.9 moves before it felt solid again. And this section made me even more nervous than I was at the bottom. If this thin crack was a 5.6, then what the heck was the 5.8 money-pitch above me?

Pitch Three (5.8) - 120 feet

Just as "Tattoo" came up to the ledge, the first party was on its way down. I asked them how the rest of the route was and they unanimously said that it was spectacular, especially the third pitch. But one of them warned me about an awkward move on the fourth pitch. He didn't say much about it beyond that, and I didn't ask. I wanted to tell "Tattoo" that I was worried, but I kept telling myself to shut the hell up and climb. Just get over it and go. Trust yourself for once. You're a freaking Pisces for crying out loud, you have great instincts. Have courage and go.

For the third pitch, it's pretty simple: follow the crack and take the route of least resistance where it gets hard. Un-be-lieve-able. I couldn't get over how the holds that weren't there suddenly appeared, and the moves were so stable and dynamic at the same time. This pitch takes commitment, but the rewards are there. Just trust the route...and go. (Oh yeah, bring tri-cams for the run-out section).

Pitch Four (5.8) - 75 feet

As "Tattoo" was on his way up, the second party was rapping through. They, too, had smiles on their faces and I figured that the last pitch was just as nice as the third, but I was still a bit worried about the awkward section coming up. I asked again how this pitch was, and again I was told, this time with great hesitancy that it was a good pitch, though not as nice as the third. This time I learned that the awkward move was protectable, but that placing the gear was going to be tough. The guy recommended running through it if I could. I thanked him and then gulped. I was aware that there was an awkward move, but I hadn't considered how well protected it was. Thus far, the pro had been so-so. This route doesn't take nuts very well, though I did use a couple. Even the cams were somewhat useless in the pockets. Look, the third pitch wasn't all protectable crack. In some areas the two corners melted together so there was no gap. In other areas, the melted rock spilled out of the corner as wax would spill off a candle: it formed odd shapes at the bottom. The odd shapes I'm speaking of were pockets; that's right pockets...in the crack. It was bizarre.

Anyway, as "Tattoo" came up, I shifted back and forth as my spine tensed up, my face cringed and my chest tightened. A particular swear word ran through my mind over and over again followed by the words "calm down" over and over again. I studied the climb in front of me to see where the crux would be. The route ran right, out over the face instead of staying left and in the crack. I imagined looking down as I was on it - a direct shot to the ground of over 250 feet would be staring back up at me. Any fall meant not only falling into a self-rescueless empty space but possibly swinging hard back into the corner below. Where the hell is that crux?

Finally, "Tattoo" had me on belay and I thought one more time, do I tell him that I'm scared? Is it a safety issue? Should he be prepared if I fall? The answer was "no". I was going to put the pressure all on me to not fall. "Tattoo" is a good climber, but he doesn't have the outdoor experience that I have. I had already given him his first rappel in the dark, an event that he wasn't overly fond of. I had already pushed him farther than he really wanted to go on Crimson Chrysalis. This had to be on me. I had to do this because: a) I said I would and; b) I needed to, both for the team and myself. I guess I should say that I prefer pushing off risk unless I absolutely have to take it on. I'm not particularly fond of taking on risk on purpose (I know, as climber, that sounds weird). I'm not the guy who walks into a bar ready to pick a fight. I'm the guy who walks into a bar and tries to find the easiest way out without getting hurt once a fight breaks out. This time, I picked a fight, and I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out, but I knew I was going to scrap until my body failed me.

I started out on the face and set the best pro I could. I was aiming for the pea pod-like, diagonal crack on the right face. Above that was a bulge, and I figured that was going to be the crux. I entered the pea pod and shoved my entire body into it. This was as safe a spot as any, and I felt that I should have been able to place gear below the bulge. This was starting to feel OK, as a 5.8 should feel. So what if the bulge was a bit pumpy. If I could protect it then I was as good as gold.

I looked around the pea pod for signs of a fissure where I could plug a cam or two. Nothing. I looked outside the pod and saw some thin cracks to my left. I tried to reach out but found the feet terrible, so I backed off. I then saw another crack above me. It was in a perfect spot, and I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before. This crack was right below the bulge, and with "Tattoo"'s height, I knew I could plug this and give him a chance to safely take it out. I reached up, but was about six inches too short. I tried to step up to get a better position, but as soon as I did I felt my body start to barn-door. Now, let's be clear, this isn't a barn-door where one goes from side to side. My feet were somewhat below me, so that meant it was a barn-door that went headfirst down into the abyss. I retreated and again looked inside the pea pod for a spot to place my pro. Nothing. I looked below me and realized that my last piece was a good six or seven feet below me. The pea pod itself was about four feet long, and the bulge was above that. All of a sudden I realized that I wasn't going to be going over this bulge will good pro below me; I was going to be running this out at least 10 feet. I know, a 10-foot run-out isn't that bad, but it is if the 20-foot whipper slams one into a jagged, chickenhead-infested wall. I wasn't looking forward to this at all.

But after taking stock, I reminded myself that I was on this climb and there was no going back. It was only 5.8. I know I said that at Poke-O, but this felt right. Poke-O never did. I made the decision to go over the bulge without an extra piece of gear. I know this is a philosophy that I'll have to fix someday (hopefully sooner than later), but I often run out difficult-to-place sections because I feel as if I'm more likely to fall while placing gear than just getting to the next best section. The flaw with this? Someday I'm going to get to a spot where there aren't any good spots to place gear, and I'll be too far up...

Well, the lack of pro wasn't the last surprise the pea pod had for me. It turns out that the crux isn't the bulge, but the pod itself. Body-jamming doesn't help one bit, because the pod ends and at some point one has to go over the bulge and, thus, leave the pod. There are some jams, but they go in the wrong direction. Ordinarily, when laying back on a diagonal or horizontal crack, one's back is facing the ground. It's just easier to hang on one's arms that way. But all the hand holds suggested the layback was in the other direction, with me facing down, straight down, all the way down. Did I mention the barn-door feeling? Imagine walking across a balance beam. Now imagine walking across a balance beam propped at a 45-degree angle. Would you rather climb it like a pole, from below with your hands and feet wrapped over the top? Or would you rather climb it like a slick ramp with your body bent over so that your hands were only a foot or so above your feet? This was the boldest trad move I've ever done. I had no clue what the holds were like above the bulge, no clue if I was going to be able to shift my body weight in the complete opposite direction at the top of the pod (as the holds suggested I was going to have to do), and I had no clue if my last piece was as good as I hope it was. This felt like three, stiff, bouldery, layback moves where my abs and thighs were as stiff as I've ever had them throughout the duration of the moves. I kept telling myself to breathe, to calm down, to just go, go, go. And I did. I saw the change-in-body-position hold and went for it. If I grabbed it then I was home free. I could see the bulge at that point, and could see that there were huge jugs waiting for me. The bulge wasn't the crux after all. The pod was, but if I missed it then I was going. And I wasn't sure what that meant. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I took three, quick, deep breaths and grabbed. My body twisted out of position. My feet started to give way, and I felt the barn-door whip my hips downward. But somehow I held on, and within a split second I lunged for the jugs above and soon after found myself at the anchors. A huge yelp erupted from within my chest and, just as it was about to bellow out, I held it in and thought, act like you've been there and you'll be a better man for it later.

I did admit to "Tattoo" that I was afraid later on, but that was OK at that point. I didn't care. I had once again conquered my fears and was stronger for doing so. I'm still happy about it.

Rappel

With two ropes, rap straight from the fourth-pitch anchors to the bottom of pitch three. With one rope, rap down to the anchors on the route on the right, and then rap again to the bottom of pitch three. Understand that you can probably rap straight down from the bottom of pitch three to the ground, but you'll be tossing and potentially landing right into a large pool of water. Your rope will get wet. "Tattoo" and I did the short rap around the corner to the top of pitch one so that we could rap down to the original starting slab to avoid getting the rope wet. Still, when pulling your rope once down to the bottom, it will get wet. No hands are faster than gravity. I hope your OK with that.

In keeping with the spirit of my Vegas entertainment theme, I think this video best represents my feelings of the day (it may take a couple of seconds to load):
Placebo: Sleeping with ghosts



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Fun Times in the Not so Deep South

Arkansas, despite it's reputation, has many fantastic adventures for the outdoor person. There's the beautiful rivers, The precipitous cliffs, cavernous....uh...caverns. Nonetheless Arkansas is well deserving of its reputation as a backwards, racist, bible belt state, filled with simpletons. Nevertheless I went and had a good time.


The reason for heading to Arkansas was twofold. First there's the climbing. The sandstone is just dreamy. The second reason was to hang out with family for Thanksgiving. I'm not going to lie I was a little more excited about the climbing. This isn't to say I wasn't excited to see family but I really wanted a second chance to tear up the Arkansas sandstone.

So in case it wasn't too obvious, I'd been climbing in Arkansas before. Two other times to be exact. It was actually where I had my first outdoor climbing experience. Now that I've been climbing a while I wanted to really push myself and so I got my chance.

To start though I had to drive all the way from upstate New York to Boston to catch a flight. It's a five hour drive, something I did not enjoy, especially since my car does not have cruise control. Luckily, Greg was kind enough to let me stay the night before my flight and even gave me a ride to the airport the next morning, thus preventing me from throwing out my back trying to carry my stupidly heavy bag. Then after a flight from Boston to O'Hare and from O'Hare to Des Moines. The total time from Boston to Des Moines was about 4 hours. Then after meeting up with my girlfriend we had to drive another 3 hours to Kansas City and then after staying the night another five hours to Jasper, Arkansas, the location of Horshoe Canyon Ranch. I had to do all of it again, today being the Boston to upstate New York portion of the trip.

We made it though and after paying some fees we settled in for a well deserved rest. The funny thing was that I ran into some people from my Alma Mater's climbing club and so we all traded stories by the fire and decided to climb together the next day.

The next morning I woke up early. It's a problem I have when I am outdoors where I wake up at the crack of dawn. I don't know why and despite feeling well rested I wish I didn't do it because nobody else ever wakes up at near the time I do. So what to do at six in the morning? Go bouldering! After succesfully fiddling around on some V3's and V4's I went back and got the morning rolling. To start off we headed to the Roman wall which had a good mix of easy and moderate climbs. I immediately onsighted a 5.9, Sybarite which made me feel pretty excited about the rest of the week. The next climb I did was Centurion, a 5.10a. Unfortunately, I blew the onsight because I misread the sequence although I climbed it again later and suceeded easily. After a few more climbs we called it a day without much ado about anything.

The next day was my girlfriends day, she not being a climbing fool such as myself, so we decided to head into town and see what fun was to be had. On the road we saw a lot of billboards for for Mystic Caverns so we decided to check it out. All the "God Saves" signs didn't dissuade us from visiting although by the end of the tour I became convinced the guide had spent too much time in the cave and probably thought they were seeing Jesus, because apparently Sasquatch, and several other furry creatures were in there. It was still really neat. Since town didn't have anything fun to do we decided to head back. We stopped along the way at a bridge before Jasper to check out the Buffalo River. If you're ever in Arkansas I recommend it. I would love to canoe the Buffalo River.


Afterwards we decided to call it a day because there wasn't really time to climb and we were pretty tired. So we hung out with one of the ranch dogs, Chili, and cooked some Quinoa. Too much in fact. So then we rested for the next day.

I woke up early again and decided to walk around the west side of the canyon which is home to the Confederate Cracks and Crackhouse Alley as well as what appears to be some awesome bouldering. The forecast was for rain and I had gotten sprinkled on a bit while walking so I was a little uncertain of whether climbing was going to even happen. We quickly made our way across the canyon and after trying to redpoint a few climbs we decided to head back to the car to replace the guidebook I thought was lost (but later found underneath the food) and get some more water. Funny thing though, my parent's car was there which was totally unexpected because they said they weren't going to come out. So after a little phone tag in "no signal land" we met up at the North Forty walls. After doing a few easy climbs the temperature had plummeted at least twenty degrees and the steady sprinkle was slowly doing in our will to climb. So we decided to head to my grandmothers house to get ready for Thanksgiving.

Now my family isn't crazy persay, they're just a little odd. Before the normal Thanksgiving day stuffing me and my uncle went and shot shotguns behind some of his tenants. I'm sure they weren't scared at all.

Arkansas is a funny place. The bible thumping is so in your face as to make you wonder whether people actually talk to each other anywhere but church and the racism is almost quaint, ("those nice black folks", there's only four of them). Despite this I still enjoy going there. It's the damn Natural State and the natural beauty is as prevalent as the praise Jesus signs. I can't help myself, whenever the opportunity presents itself I will go to Arkansas for the fun things available there.

The Friday we were to leave it was twenty four degrees when we left the house. This time it was just me, my dad, and my uncle. We decided to start on something pretty easy till it started to warm up. So we did a nice little trad route on the Kindergarten Boulder. Then we climbed Narwhal a short 5.7 chimney. I don't climb a lot of chimneys so it was fun. Then for our final Arkansas climb of the week we climbed Cows in the Mist another short 5.7 face climb.

Suffice to say I'm quite enamored with the climbing in Arkansas. The solid sandstone, dinner plate jugs, and the beautiful color of the rock simply mesmerize me. Shotgun toting, bible thumping, confederate flag flying, backwoods hicks, won't stop me.

OK, I lied...

I was supposed to have finished my Red Rocks trip report this weekend. However, "Jello" called on Friday and needed a place to stay on his way back from visiting the family over Thanksgiving. I picked him up Saturday afternoon, and on Sunday, instead of him driving back in the crazy end-of-the-weekend traffic, we went climbing at the gym.

In any case, it ain't happening this weekend, but I may get "Jello" to become an occasional contributor to this blog. He is building a website that will host similar content (only his versions of our adventures, among others), but he may also write a bit on this as well...if I can get him to actually do it (I've offered to write some things on his site, just to be fair and balanced). So stay tuned for a possible Arkansas Horseshoe Canyon report...

In other news, I've now jumped on lead my first 5.12s. I haven't done them clean, and I'm a ways away from that, but it's a start.

Red Rocks - Day Four - The Life and Times of a Poor Man in a Rich Man's World

Simply put, we sat our asses in the hot tub for three straight hours. We didn't leave the hot tub until the water was cold. In fact, we had to do laps in the pool just to make the hot tub lukewarm again. It was a day off, and we both needed it.

Red Rocks - Day Three - One Man's Rope Drag is Another Man's Glee

After getting our hands dirty on an easy climb and easy approach, we decided that it was time for a little mini-big wall action without haul sacks, bivies, and assault-style attitudes. We wanted something bigger than we had ever done before, something classic, something famed around the world and, most of all, something with an easy-ish approach so that we wouldn't have to work so hard. Our options were numerous, but in the end only one choice presented itself with the kind of authority that we demanded: Crimson Chrysalis, the lord of Cloud Tower in Juniper Canyon.
Europe-The Final Countdown



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Crimson Chrysalis (5.8+) - 9 pitches - Mixed (trad and sport) - Bolted anchors at each station - 960 feet - Greg led

The Approach - One Hour - Pine Creek Canyon Parking Lot

We had two choices: follow the long trail west into Pine Creek Canyon before taking a left straight south toward the col that leads up to the start of the climbs on Cloud Tower, or cut directly southwest through the wash, thus saving ourselves what would probably be an extra 30 minutes of hiking. Both guide books had the shortcut listed (in fact, the Handren book, which is newer, has nice, full color pages, and seems to be the talk of the town since it came out, only has the shortcut as the way to go), but the supposed weaker guide (Brock and McMillen) also had what appeared to be a longer route that led all the way into Pine Creek Canyon before cutting across toward Cloud Tower. We looked at the two books and the landscape in front of us. It was obvious which path we wanted to take; the shortcut, but in the back of my head I kept hearing "Philly"'s voice (I remembered his nickname...yeah!) saying, "It's the desert. Just because you can see it in front of you, that doesn't mean you can walk straight there." Yeah, whatever. It was early, there were a couple of cars in the lot already, we knew this was a long, classic climb that required a late pass, which we had already requested, and we wanted to get up this thing as our major project for the weekend (well, to be fair, it was at least my project. I'm not so sure "Tattoo" realized the commitment that would be needed to get up this thing). So we cut out along the Pine Creek path before we cut left across the wash in search of the path on the other side.

And we searched...

And we looked around some more...

A little more...

Just a wee bit more...OH, a cairn! Cairns had become one of my best friends this summer (not to mention that it is a Scots word). All summer long "Jello" and I found ourselves refreshed at the sight of odd-placed cairns. To see one with the hot sun (yes, it was warm at 630am) beating down on our heads wasn't as refreshing as the water we were gulping down, but it was a relief to understand we were on the right path, or at least a path. All we had to do was follow this small path until it met with another, larger one. Or was it that small path over there?

Or that one?

What about that one?

Found another one over here.

Yep, me too. Hmmm...

We wandered around for about twenty minutes following what we thought were cairns leading us in the proper direction until we finally stumbled on the larger path. We followed that path until we came to a point where we had to make a decision: either go right and follow the path that seemed to go away from the col, or continue left and follow the path that clearly went up the col. Since Crimson Chrysalis started at the top of the col, we figured left was the way to go. Certainly, as we headed up the hill, this seemed to be the correct choice because we were going uphill, and that was a good thing. However, I was getting tired and hot. The water wasn't providing much relief and, at one point, I remarked "I feel like I'm climbing Everest where one takes a step every minute." The heat was starting to get to me a little, but I forged ahead.

At one point, about two-thirds of the way up, we looked to our right and saw a team of two climbers on a separate path that also went up the col. I wondered aloud if they were on a different path to the same place, and "Tattoo" wondered if they had found the actual path that we, given our earlier history of losing our way, had somehow missed. We both shrugged it off and actually considered it to be good fortune to be heading in a similar direction as another party, even if on completely different paths.

We kept hiking up the winding path and saw these two gentlemen a few more times until they disappeared behind what we knew was the large boulder at the top of the col. They went right, in the direction of the climb, and our path took us left. Still, we were confident because we could now see the wall was only about 100 yards in front of us. The gentlemen to our right seemed to be fading right, almost away from the wall. We felt as if we had made the correct choice at the bottom. Feeling hotter than before, I was glad to see that we were approaching shade, too. But then the path took a curious twist and brought me back to what I had experienced all summer long, and completely despised: a bushwhacking opportunity.

Bloody fucking hell!!!!!!!

OK, so I've bushwhacked with "Jello" on Cannon, twice, and endured its wonderfully stiff, dead, spruce branches. I've bushwhacked in Keene Valley on the way to Beer Walls in the Adirondacks. I've bushwhacked at the top of Poke-O-Moonshine, also in the Adirondacks. I've bushwhacked already in the desert with "Tattoo" and I was really, really, REALLY looking forward to a nice, easy path leading to the climb; just for once; it's all I really wanted. But no, I just couldn't have it my way. My head felt as if it was swelling, my legs were barely holding me upright, and my shoulders were pleading for me to take the 50lbs of gear off so that they could reminisce about what it used to be like to be free and healthy. And to top that off, I had to bushwhack through trees with prickly ends and cacti. Spruce has nothing on cacti, especially when the bushwhacking requires crawling because that's the only way a human body could squeeze through the brush.

OK, so maybe I'm complaining just a bit much because we got through that section fairly easily and soon found ourselves talking to the gentlemen who were hiking to our right. One climber from that team was already on the wall, and another was ahead of them. We were third in line, and that was fine by me. I told "Tattoo" that was I feeling nauseous (I have been known to get heat stroke before) and that he should beware of vomited projectiles as we went up (seriously, I considered not climbing). He suggested I vomit away from him, and that just about settled whether or not we were going, even before the choice was verbally presented. I stole some ibuprofen from a couple of guys who had just come up behind us, rested my forehead against the cold rock and waited for the stroke to go away. Water just wasn't cutting it, so I stopped drinking it so profusely. Instead, I just waited. Finally, about three pitches up I realized that I hadn't felt sick in a while. It was comforting to know that the old adage of me getting stronger as I go along was playing out at just the right moment.

Pitch One (5.7) - 140 feet

This was a pretty easy pitch that spent less time in the crack than one would think. Basically, Crimson Chrysalis sells itself as a crack climb when viewed from below but turns into a face climb throughout much of the way up. I have to laugh a bit here because someone had drawn arrows in the rock with chalk to guide people on the way up. I'm not sure if that ruins the on-sight or not, but it was funny to see.

In any case, whenever the route gets difficult in the crack, look for bolts out right and follow them through the face. When getting up to the belay, stay right and then traverse across at the top. It may look longer, and it is, but it is easier this way.

Pitch Two (5.8) - 90 feet

Pitch Three (5.8+) - 100 feet

Each of the two parties above us combined pitches two and three into one, long pitch. I wasn't sure if I could muster 5.8 and 5.8+ back-to-back for such a long stretch, especially feeling the way that I was. But when I got to the top of the second pitch and saw that the belay was really awkward, I kept going. The belay at the top of the second pitch is a hanging belay at an odd angle. At the very least, the top of the third pitch has small ledge to rest on. Both are hanging belays, but the third pitch belay seemed to be a nicer one to use.

There are two cruxes in this stretch: one is a route-finding crux and the other is a true climbing crux. The route-finding crux will come first where the crack seems to get much harder all of a sudden and the face looks blank and committing. Trust the face. It's a bit of tricky traverse that requires one to really go for the face holds out left, but everything is there and, in fact, I found this small section to be some of the best climbing on the entire route. The second crux is right below the anchors. Just layback the small flake and trust the feet. It's a bit pumpy, but it's better than one would think.

Speaking of pumpy, as I mentioned in the previous post, I wanted to avoid having to belay two ropes in a Reverso on nine pitches of climbing this day. For one, I was leading the whole route and wanted to ensure that I didn't sap my energy as we approached the top. However, the other reason was because I wasn't feeling well and didn't think I had the strength to make it all day. If I was going to hike all that way in and be sick, then I wanted to get my money's worth. Besides, I was carrying the majority of the gear; let "Tattoo" haul something up for once! So I made, as one of the guys in line behind us said, an executive decision that he was going to trail the spare rope and I was going climb on one rope.

Well, it's not that simple because these were all hanging belays and that meant that we couldn't coil the trailing rope very well at each station, at least not without finding a way to tangle it with the "live" rope or dropping it when "Tattoo" started to climb. That meant that once "Tattoo" got above the first belay anchors that he was carrying the weight of the rope in its entirety as it hung below him. On top of that, he was cleaning my gear. I still think that we had an equal amount of weight to pull, as I never cleaned my rack on the way up (never even came close, in fact), but he still had portions of the rack and the entire rope to haul. As we got to the third belay, "Tattoo" informed me that the rope was starting to wear him down and that we should find a way to make this easier. Unfortunately, there were only a couple of non-hanging belays the rest of the way up, so he was stuck dragging the whole weight of the rope for nearly 800 feet.

Pitch Four (5.8) - 140 feet

For the next pitch, go through the chimney and over the steep section. It's easier than it looks from below. And in keeping with my entertainment pledge, and because "Tattoo" could only hear every third word coming out of my mouth due to the wind, I present to you something completely different; a scene from Spamalot:

Me: Hey "Tattoo"!
"Tattoo": Yeah?
Me: There's three cams up here. Two of them are not mine. One of them is mine. The one that is mine is placed right above one of the ones that isn't mine.
"Tattoo": OK, so the three cams are yours.
Me: No. Two cams are not mine and one is.
"Tattoo": Right. So, one cam is not yours and the others are.
Me: No. Two cams are not mine. One is mine.
"Tattoo": So two of them are yours.
Me: No, one is mine.
"Tattoo": None are yours.
Me: No. THERE ARE THREE CAMS...
"Tattoo": Right, and two are yours.
Me: NOOOO!
"Tattoo": I was just kidding. I know, all three are yours.
Me (to myself) - well, if you can get all three of those out then God bless you. I'll give you the old ones as your first booty gift.
Me (to "Tattoo"): Only one cam is mine! That's the one connected to the rope and is next to an old cam.
"Tattoo": So you only connected the rope to your cam then?
Me: Correct...NO! I clipped another old cam, but that one is alone!
"Tattoo": OK, so your cam is the one that is alone.
Me: NOOOOOOOO!!! THREE CAMS!! ONE IS MINE! TWO ARE NOT MINE! MINE IS THE ONE WITH THE ROPE AND NEAR ANOTHER CAM THAT IS WITHOUT THE ROPE. THE CAM THAT IS ALONE BUT CLIPPED IS NOT MY CAM.
"Tattoo" (with a shitty grin on his face): So leave all the cam where they are then?
Me: Fuck you, I'm climbing.
"Tattoo" (laughing): Climb on.

Pitch Five (5.8) - 100 feet

Thankfully there is a very nice ledge to belay from here. In fact, despite the fact that it is still a hanging belay, the ledge is large enough for one's foot to be completely on the ledge if facing the wall (i.e. - not sideways). This allowed us to pull the rope up and give "Tattoo" a bit of a break. He really needed it because, as I realized that I hadn't had a sip of water in about three pitches, it dawned on us that there was no water left in the reservoir in the backpack that he was carrying (oh yeah, he also had the backpack, but all that had really was the water, a camera, a small first aid kit and the guidebook). That meant that we were both getting on with the fatigue factor, as one would guess, and we didn't have water. It was now going to be a waterless shot to the top, but at least we were more than halfway there at this point and, as luck would have it, we found another couple of small ledges along the way to pull the rope up onto, thus saving "Tattoo" a bit of energy that he wished he had lower on the climb.

As for the pitch itself, follow the crack up until you get to the anchor. It's as simple as that.

Pitch Six (5.8+ or 5.6 depending on one's height) - 100 feet

Follow the crack on the left and then fade right to the next belay. The crux is about 15 feet from the belay and requires a bit of a stretch if one can make it. If one can't, just go for it. The hold is big enough to trust, if you trust sandstone, that is.

This is a good time bring up the fact that I stopped pounding every hold to see if it was secure about halfway up to this point. I was still checking holds (flakes, chickenheads, etc) for firmness, but after a while I stopped checking the crimps and ledges. Still, it's about this point where the rock starts to turn red, and that made me a little more cautious than I had been.

It's also good to note that the bolts start to become difficult to see from below. This is probably due to both the color of the rock and the number chickenheads that cover the wall. In any case, find the path of least resistance and you'll do fine. However, you better be OK with running it out a bit if you miss the bolts, because there isn't much protection the rest of the way up.

Pitch Seven (5.7) - 130 feet

It's a sport climb now. Just clip and go.

We had our first party pass through at this point. The second party would pass through at the next belay station.

Pitch Eight (5.7) - 75 feet

Climb the steep terrain to the right until you get to a ramp. Follow the ramp up to just below the belay. The better holds are to the right of the right of the belay at this point.

It's getting dark. "Tattoo" has just told me that he wants to retreat to the bottom. All other parties are heading down. We are the highest party on the climb. I know that he's getting tired, and so I have decided to trail the rope myself to the top. But then he gets to the belay tells me he can't finish. He's worried about darkness setting in, and I can't blame him. Despite my experiences of being in the dark with "Jello" (both with and without headlamps), I, too, am concerned about rappelling all the way down this thing in the dark. I knew we had the headlamps in the bag, so lighting wasn't going to be a problem, but finding the rap anchors on the way down might be. My biggest concern? Getting the rope caught in the dark. I've rapped in the dark before, but never climbed (despite my desire to climb Thin Air (5.6) at Cathedral in the dark, it never happened). If the rope gets stuck, and we're all alone (btw - neither of our phones had reception in the canyon), then were were as good as screwed. But as he tells me, and as we watch the painful faces of the party below us descend (painful because they didn't make it to the top - get out of bed earlier SUCKAS!), I remember that this pitch is only 75 feet tall. I can see the first two bolts. They're old bolts, unlike the newer ones below, but I can see them. And I can see the anchors. They're right there. Right there. I can see them. They. Are. Right. There.

Me: Do you mind if I go?
"Tattoo": Um, well, if you think -
Me: OK, I'll be back in a jiffy.

Pitch Nine (5.8) - 75 feet

To be honest with you, this isn't a very difficult pitch. OK, so it heads straight up until it traverses way right and then left again. It is this sequence that prevents one from linking pitches eight and nine together (too much rope drag), but the climbing, I thought, wasn't worthy of a 5.8 grade (5.7 maybe). One thing to consider, however, is that all the bolts, even the anchor (which is a one-ring rap ring) are old bolts. So beware when coming off. Instead of rapping, I had "Tattoo" lower me, which was a bit of a challenge considering the traversing I had to do get to the top (and is winding because that's where the bolts / pro are). I down-climbed most of it just to be safe and to avoid swinging.

So there we were, at the bottom of pitch nine. It was now dark. We got out the headlamps and started our rappel. It wasn't a problem-free rap. The rope did get stuck several times, but we didn't have to do too much to free it. Naturally, our adrenaline was making these moments seem both oddly calm and worrisome at the same time. I'd say that it took us a bit more than an hour to rap nine pitches. Not bad if you ask me. The good thing about getting to the bottom (other than not having to spend the night in a cold canyon at a hanging belay for 12 or so hour)? We had water down there. Mmmm.

Walk Out

As we rapped down, we saw several of the parties heading down the col and tried to guage where their headlamps were going. Of course, once we started walking, knowing where they were helped about as much as throwing a stone into the grocery bag with eggs in it just to keep it from flying off in the wind. We found the main path down, but then lost it. Then we found it again. Then lost it again. Bushwhacked for a bit, still couldn't find the path, and then found it again. When we finally got down from the col, and had found the main path, we had a decision to make: take the northeast path (the one we had taken that morning) to the parking lot or take the more established path that goes way out of our way (the one we wished we had taken this morning) but was easier to follow. Why the choice when that morning's results should have given us the obvious answer? Because we had 60 minutes to get back to the car before we found a $150 ticket on it for being out too late. It was 7pm and our permit only allowed us to be out until 8pm. One good thing was that "Tattoo" had read the permit directions carefully and noticed that we didn't have to be out of the park by 8pm, but at the car by 8pm (see the previous post). Still, if we managed to get lost in the daylight, then we figured we didn't stand a chance at night, despite knowing that we had to head directly NNE to get there and that that direction would have gotten us there pretty easily. Feeling that we were better served $150 poorer as opposed to wandering for hours in the dark desert, we chose the easy route and immediately got lost. Son of a...

We wandered for about 20 minutes, both looking for the main path (which was clearly about two feet wider and more worn than the smaller paths that dotted the landscape around us) and heading NNE with the hopes that some miracle could force us to make a decision on which way to go. At one point I said "screw it" and started heading in the complete opposite direction (toward the canyons) from where we knew the parking lot was. "Tattoo" protested for a bit, but I knew the main path was now behind us. Walking back toward it had to yeild something. Alas, about 15 minutes later we found it and were home free. An hour later we took our final rest and looked back into the canyon. "Tattoo" noted how awsome the mountains looked in the darkness with the stars above. I sat back and wondered aloud how many people had seen what we were seeing at that moment (we found out two days later that one of the teams behind us was still lost in the wash, so we weren't alone). For all my trash talking about how ugly the desert was, I was incredibly impressed at this moment and could have stayed there all night watching the mountainous shadows rise up to the endless stars above. Which brings me to my next "Vegas" moment:

These guys are way to good for Vegas: The Church - Under the milky way



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After resting for about 15 minutes, we realized that we were 30 minutes too late to avoid the ticket. Resigned to splitting our added expense, we took our time getting back to the car. We didn't care at that point because we knew we were home free as far as getting back safe was concerned. That's all that mattered to us. But, as luck would have it, as "Tattoo" approached the car, he shouted back to me (as I was dragging my sorry ass up the damn, last, stupid hill) that there was no ticket to be found. Woo! Hoo!

Two other stories to tell quickly: one concerns our guests in the elevator ride back up to our room and the other revolves around dinner.

The elevator: Walking through the hotel with our gear, ropes and dirty clothes and faces was one of the most enjoyable aspects of this trip for me. I've already said how unimpressed I was with Vegas, so this just made me feel like a bad ass as I strolled by all the fat, slot-machine guests with a "fuck you I have more important things going on my life" look on my face. They all looked at us as if we were bad asses. Even security took a second look (btw - it astounds me that there are so many people who either live in or visit Vegas and have no clue that Red Rocks is right next door. Even as a scenic drive, Red Rocks should at least be a small getaway for folks, but most don't even realize it's there. Just odd). Anyway, we got on the elevator with four forty-something women in lacey evening dresses and large glasses of wine. Here is the basic conversation:

Woman #1: I need more wine.
Woman #2: I think there's more upstairs.
Woman #3: We're going back down right?
Woman #4: We're partying 'cause we're in Vegas. Of course we are.
Woman #1: Oh, there's guys on this elevator.
Woman #2: Like, wow! There are.
Woman #3: And they have ropes. Where have you guys been?
Me: Climbing.
Woman #2: So what have you guys been doing today?
Me: Climbing.
Woman #1: They have ropes. (note: not, you have ropes, but they have ropes, as if we are incapable of conversing)
Woman #3: Why do you need ropes.
Me: Clim -
Woman #2: Are you going to rob the place?
Me: No, we've been cli -
Woman #4: I know what they've been doing!!!! (picture her raising her hand and jumping up and down, knowing full well that her jiggling jugs are right in my face)
Me: Climbing. We've been climbing.
Woman #4: They've been rappelling all day.
Woman #1: Rappelling?
Woman #4: They're rappellers.
Me: It's climbi -
Woman #4: They've been rappelling, right? You're rappellers, right?
Elevator: DING!
Me: Excuse me, this is our stop.
Woman #4 (as we exit and the doors shut behind us): They've been rappelling.
Both of us: GROAN.

Dinner: After showering, we went downstairs to have dinner in the 24-hour cafe. This is the one where "Tattoo" had the worst Chinese food he'd ever had before. He claimed that if Burger King did Chinese then this is what it would taste like. In any case, I ordered the steak that was only orderable until 11pm. The waitress said they were out of that kind of steak, and so I ordered the other steak. I couldn't figure out why they were out of steak so early, especially when they served it until 11pm. This is a casino, right?, I thought to myself. They don't run out of food, right?

Anyway, after we got back to the room, I looked at the clock was astounded to see that it was after midmight. "Jesus," I said, "that's why they wouldn't serve it to me." So after a 13-hour day (car to car) our entire day had been a full 20 hours. One of the longest physical days I've ever pulled. I needed to sleep. Even more, "Tattoo" needed a day off.

But before I leave, here's one more "Vegas" tribute, this time to the girls in the elevator, whom I sure got plenty of the action described in the song below:
Divinyls - I touch myself



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