Whipper Snapper at Parker Bluff

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Fixdpin

Trad climber

Carson City, NV

Topic Author's Original Post - May 22, 2019 - 03:23pm PT

Whipper!
PATRICK PAUL

A goodly number of years ago, when Herb Laeger and I used to climb together pretty regularly, we decided to meet up above Johnsondale and do some exploring along the base of Parker Bluff. It is always fun to climb with Herb, even if it might mean having to desperately inch your way up some dime-edged face climb, Bosch drill dangling below, and a small rack of hooks at the ready in case there is just no way to hang on with only one hand and drill. In fact, it may be that the promise of trying to put-up a new route using little more than dried bat crap for holds is one of the main attractions about climbing with Herb. When I really think about it, the terror of anticipating a long fall while discovering new territory is also oddly exhilarating, and if you get where you’re headed in one piece and without soiling your knickers it feels pretty good.
Herb also has a great sense of humor, very dry at times, has a keen eye for plumb lines on slabs, has plenty of time to explore since he retired at the ripe old age of 41, and has a calmly intelligent resolution about him that inspires one to go for it and risk taking the fall. Along with the lure of fun and challenging climbs there is also the intellectual stimulation. Whenever Herb and I get together we have wonderful conversations about non-climbing topics. We talk about everything from education in America to world energy consumption, from women’s plumbing to waterwheels, and from the anatomy of gnats to the true nature of nanoseconds. We both love a friendly debate about almost anything, and we’re both old enough to have an opinion about everything, so there is never a moment without spirited discussion between us.
We usually start out by greeting each other and catching up on what each of us has been doing. I tell Herb about my work and he reminds me that “teachers are over paid.” I share lovingly about my little family and he makes sure to ask questions about my son whom he has known since birth. I complain that I am out of shape to make sure Herb understands that I won’t be climbing very well. I always make sure that I tell him I am recovering from some injury, and make note of the fact that I am still over-weight and have been for the last twenty years. Herb catches me up on his latest fishing trip to Baja, his latest caving adventure to Borneo, Belize, or Mexico, his most recent climbing foray to one of his secret spots, and how his lovely wife Eve is doing. I remind him that his wife is a better climber than both of us put together; he ignores my comments about Eve and tells me about his mischievous cats (his version of kids).
Herb’s friend from L.A., Charlie Lai, the person for whom the route “Travels With Charlie,” is named on Hermit Spire, joined us on this occasion. Charlie was not a very experienced climber at this time, but always climbs really well and is one of the most-fit human beings I’ve ever met due his constant working out in the Martial Arts. We put the usual eclectic mixture of climbing gear together so as to be prepared for any situation, threw in the Bosch and batteries, bolts, hangers, hooks, a haul line, a hand drill, and a few extra micro wires and started skulking up the steep trail to Parker.
As is our habit, once we arrived at the base of the rock we dropped our packs and began to cruise along looking at the routes that are there, checking out what’s changed or is new, and reminiscing about our past experiences on the rock. This pre-climb activity is always a good way to warm-up our bodies and get our heads into the climbing zone before we actually commit. After our perusal of the existing climbs we moved along the base of the slab to the area were Herb had something in mind. As we were walking beneath a really blank section of the rock Herb stopped and looked up. I could just see the faint hue of rust colored streaks left behind from millennia of water tumbling down the face above. The rock looked very dark and featureless here. Right above where we stood there was a slight bulge to the rock and everything looked much more plausible to the right and left of where we were standing. Of course, Herb said, “This is it. I’ve been looking at this for years and nobody’s done it yet. Someone has put up a route over there (he pointed to the left of where we were). I think this has got to be done now, before they come back and grab this line.”
“This line,” I was thinking, “is only a line because there is a water streak coming down the rock. There’s nothing here to climb on.”
I started looking down along the bottom of the rock and really examining everything closer to eye level. I found a small foothold near the ground. I found a small edge for fingertips about head high. There was something else for feet about waste high, and Herb and Charlie began to point and make their observations, and a few moments later I was standing there, rope in hands, belaying Herb as he levitated up the blank face several feet and placed the first bolt.
When you drill a bolt while standing on thin edges there is probably nothing more lovely than the “click” sound of a carabineer gate as it lovingly closes behind your rope and you know that you are finally belayed through protection at eye level and no longer facing a long fall. Herb had stood there; toe tips seemingly attached to the rock with invisible glue, and placed the first bolt with what looked like no real effort at all. I have watched Herb stand on nothing many times. He sets his feet where he wants them to be and they stay there. It is weird because nothing moves below his knees. His arms do their work; his body moves slightly left or right, but his calves, ankles and feet never move. He is the quintessential “rock steady” climber and it is never really evident that he is burning major BTUs to maintain this solid position. After placing bolt number one he was ready to lower off.
“It’s great climbing,” he said. “And it’s not that bad.”
He untied from the rope, handed me the sharp end, and clipped the tag line for the Bosch to the back of my harness. Charlie looked at what Herb had just climbed and bouldered a few feet up. He jumped back down and, with a big grin on his face, told me that it was going to be a great climb if we could just get past the next few moves over the bulging face. I started to strain my way up to Herb’s bolt using the any of the little finger tweekers I could find along the way. I was trying my best to believe that the fear being manifested as severe shaking in my back and legs was actually excitement. In too short a time I was at the bolt and ready to launch out onto new ground.
I couldn’t see any way of continuing straight up and decided to try moving left on some small holds. I could see a stance out there; but I was not convinced that there was anything between me and what now looked like a ledge by comparison to what I was standing on. I started to crab-crawl my way left and then retreated. There was something to stand on, but the move required a long, reachy step over and it did not feel secure at all. I attempted to move left several times and almost fell. I wasn’t happy about the idea that I would swing down and right across the face, and I could tell by the loud silence of Charlie and Herb that they too were tense about what I was doing. I convinced myself to try the moves across one last time before I could excuse myself and come down. My muscles strained, fingertips fried trying to hold the weight of my entire body as I moved across, and my smoking toes seemed to squeak along the face with me until I made it to the stance. "Now what?"
I pulled the drill up as fast as I could and punched a hole in the rock. I hung the heavy drill on my waste, fumbled for a bolt and hanger and pounded away, dropped the hammer and let it dangle by my feet, pulled the wrench from the bolt bag and tightened the head of the bolt enough to clip a carabineer and then pulled the rope up and clipped.
"Aaahhhh!"
I weighted the bolt and relaxed as Charlie held me fast. The second bolt was in. After a good rest I lowered off. Charlie climbed up to our high point and so did Herb, but it was getting late and we decided to go home and finish the route the following week.
The next week we were back and ready to climb. I volunteered to place bolt number three and began to climb but I could not get to the second bolt. I kept falling off and I just didn’t have the steam to motor across the bulge. I was really frustrated when I lowered back down to Herb and Charlie. Herb took the gear. He climbed up and past bolt one to bolt two. He moved carefully and steadily across and commented about how hard it was so that I wouldn’t feel so bad. I couldn’t believe that I was unable to repeat the moves and felt like a real wimp. Herb placed the remainder of the bolts on the first pitch and put us up and slightly right of the water streak. I actually had to take tension on the rope to move to the second bolt as I went up to meet Charlie and Herb at the first belay. I was feeling really bad now as I geared up to start pitch two.
We were under another bulge on the main face and in order to stay with the water streak it was necessary to move out left again and climb on the left side of a slight cleft in the face. Placing the first bolt for this pitch was not too bad. I returned and Herb went out and placed a bolt high up on the left side of the cleft, and then he came back in. I went out for bolt number three slightly up and left of the cleft where we could then begin to move back right. I was feeling like I should do more than my share since I had been so wimpy on the first pitch and offered to keep drilling.
About twelve or fifteen feet up and right from where I was perched I could see what looked like a good foothold for a drilling stance. I moved across on smears and small edges to the spot. Unfortunately the good foothold had dematerialized into a really crappy, down-sloping smear and I was now desperately far away from my last bolt and shaky. After a little discussion with Herb and Charlie – who were almost directly below me – I began to look for something else to stand on. I could see a possible foothold about ten feet above my head. I told Herb that I was going to go up and try it and he reminded me that I was already looking at a thirty-foot fall from where I was. I rationalized that the climbing wasn’t too bad and that the foothold looked pretty good for drilling.
I began to climb on the smears and small pockets that characterize the upper pitches of Parker Bluff (The word bluff is so ironic in the name of this rock because that is exactly what you can’t do when you climb there. You have to be totally in sync with delicate face climbing or you will fall. There is no room for bluffing on these steep, smeary upper pitches.) And when I got to the spot that was going to be my comfortable drilling stance there was nothing there! Once again I was trying to stand on a small, steeply sloping, crappy little nothing of a smear hold; I was going to die and I knew it.
I looked down at Herb and Charlie now some 35 or 40 feet below me. They huddled silently together at the anchors with their heads down as if they were praying together. I looked down and left to my last bolt nearly 25 feet away. There was no way I could down-climb without peeling off the face. I had two of the fingers of my right hand on a miniscule edge, too small for hooking, and right by my face. My right toe was smearing on the nasty sloper while my left foot and left hand were resting against the face on nothing. Somehow I was sticking to the rock so I decided to try and drill. I began to pull on the tag line and the heavy Bosch began to rattle up the face of the rock towards me. I would pull two feet of chord and chomp down with my teeth to prevent the line from slipping backwards, pull two feet and chomp, pull two feet and chomp.... Over-and-over again I repeated this maneuver and the drill slowly scraped its way up to me. As I pulled the chord I could feel the sensation of something wedging between the tip of my right toe and the rock. I stopped pulling long enough to notice that the slack from the tag line was piling up on top of my right foot with one little piece wedged firmly between my shoe rubber and the rock. I was powerless to change the situation and just kept pulling up the Bosch. I hoped that I could just get the drill started and then place a hook over the bit shaft so that I could rest off of it.
After what seemed like an eon I got the drill in my hand. I reach up and placed the tip of the bit against the rock and squeezed the trigger. The drill made about two full revolutions and I found myself reeling through space and screaming like a little girl at a Psycho screening. Time slowed to a crawl and I could hear myself thinking as I fell towards Herb, Charlie, and earth:
"I wonder how long this will take? I better hold this stinking drill out away from me so I don't end up with it stuck in my leg!"
Suddenly I could hear the sound of something skittering along the face of the rock. I could the hear the sound of climbing gear clanging together and it sounded like someone was getting the wind knocked out of them. Zzzzzz-ssssshhhhaaa...Whump!!
As soon as I came to a stop I could hear Herb and Charlie yelling at me.
"Are you okay?
"Patrick, are you okay?"
"My God man, that was unbelievable!!"
"Are you okay?"
I righted myself and turned myself around so that I was facing the rock again. I started saying I was okay, but I really hadn't assessed the damage yet. My left arm was still extended and holding the Bosch out away from my body. The arm felt numb and the forearm ached terribly. I started to swing over to an area just below Herb's feet and I handed Charlie the drill. My entire left arm from the tip of my little finger to the tip of my elbow was missing several layers of skin and dripping with blood. I was as high a kite on adrenaline, smiling, and really happy to be alive.
"Wow, that was totally amazing!!!" I said.
We all started to breath again and each of us told the story of the fall from our own perspective. We figured that with rope stretch it was about 50 feet. I came within a few feet of hitting Herb and Charlie until rope tension caused me to fly off towards our last bolt and away from them. We all regained our composure and I decided that I would go up and try to drill again. Herb admonished me to keep it down to a reasonable distance away from the last bolt this time.
I climbed back up to the bolt above the cleft and then began to move right again above Herb and Charlie. This time, when I came to the first crappy smear it didn't seem too bad for a stance. In fact, compared to the stance I had when I fell, it now felt like a bivy ledge. I stood and drilled my bolt and then rested. I climbed and drilled two more before I went back down to Herb and Charlie. Herb took over for the rest of the pitch. He climbed flawlessly past my high point and placed the remaining few bolts of the second pitch for us. We all climbed the remainder of the pitch and gleefully rappelled off of the rock.
On the way down to the car we began to discuss names for the route. Names like "Death Fall," "Nearer My God to Thee," "Welcome to Parker Bluff," and "Whipper Snapper" were all discussed but we couldn't agree on what to call it. Charlie finally came up with a solution. We would put all of the names we had thought of in a hat and he would draw one out. As we sat at the cars in the waning sunlight Charlie drew out the name Whipper Snapper.
Whipper Snapper is rated 5.11c and follows the longest, most prominent water streak on the face of Parker Bluff. It turned out to be very good climbing and well protected for a climb at that level. It also turned out to be a very fond memory for me and another experience with Herb that I will always appreciate and never forget.

Ksolem

Trad climber

Monrovia, California

May 22, 2019 - 05:20pm PT

Yikes!

I've been up to that crag a couple of times with Herb. He kept that story to himself.

I recall one time when Herb and I were putting up a route at Courtright called Face of a Blue Eyed Dog (a very steep slab.) Actually I was a replacement, his first partner bailed. So when I got there the first 4 bolts were in. Herb told me to go up and get the next few. This rig is devoid of stances so we were hooking. And the thing is .12 thin when you have both feet off the ground.

My plan was to pull the drill up with a zip line when I got up and on the hooks. I set it all up, climbed up past the high point to a spot where I could hook, and a climber could make the clip. The holds the climber would use were slopers, so I was hooking on thin stuff.

I pulled up the drill and started to, well, drill. But the damn thing wasn't doing anything. It was running, the hammer was working, but it was barely going anywhere.

"Herb, your drill is screwed up."

He's yelling back up at me that it's fine. Then he says to check if it's in reverse. Reverse? I'd never seen a Bulldog that had a reverse feature. Doing my best not to wobble my hooks around, I figured out how to switch it, and it worked fine. Until my hooks blew. By then the hole was probably about an inch and a half deep, or so. I held onto the drill. The bit bent. Herb was screaming at me because I was gonna screw up his drill. Then the bit broke and down I went.

I didn't fall as far as you did by a long shot, and just scraped the skin off one elbow. There's a moral in these tales somewhere that has to do with climbing with Herb:-)

Gnome Ofthe Diabase

climber

Out Of Bed

May 22, 2019 - 05:23pm PT

This looks to be really good, The Big Herb L !

wait let me find my readers, (please excuse my need to break it up)

Whipper!
PATRICK PAUL

A goodly number of years ago, when Herb Laeger and I used to climb together pretty regularly, we decided to meet up above Johnsondale and do some exploring along the base of Parker Bluff.
It is always fun to climb with Herb, even if it might mean having to desperately inch your way up some dime-edged face climb, Bosch drill dangling below, and a small rack of hooks at the ready in case there is just no way to hang on with only one hand and drill.

In fact, it may be that the promise of trying to put-up a new route using little more than dried bat crap for holds is one of the main attractions about climbing with Herb.

When I really think about it, the terror of anticipating a long fall while discovering new territory is also oddly exhilarating, and if you get where you’re headed in one piece and without soiling your knickers it feels pretty good.

Herb also has a great sense of humor, very dry at times, has a keen eye for plumb lines on slabs, has plenty of time to explore since he retired at the ripe old age of 41, and has a calmly intelligent resolution about him that inspires one to go for it and risk taking the fall.

Along with the lure of fun and challenging climbs there is also the intellectual stimulation. Whenever Herb and I get together we have wonderful conversations about non-climbing topics.
We talk about everything from education in America to world energy consumption, from women’s plumbing to waterwheels, and from the anatomy of gnats to the true nature of nanoseconds.

We both love a friendly debate about almost anything, and we’re both old enough to have an opinion about everything, so there is never a moment without spirited discussion between us.

We usually start out by greeting each other and catching up on what each of us has been doing. I tell Herb about my work and he reminds me that “teachers are over paid.” I share lovingly about my little family and he makes sure to ask questions about my son whom he has known since birth. I complain that I am out of shape to make sure Herb understands that I won’t be climbing very well.

I always make sure that I tell him I am recovering from some injury, and make note of the fact that I am still over-weight and have been for the last twenty years. Herb catches me up on his latest fishing trip to Baja, his latest caving adventure to Borneo, Belize, or Mexico, his most recent climbing foray to one of his secret spots, and how his lovely wife Eve is doing.

I remind him that his wife is a better climber than both of us put together; he ignores my comments about Eve and tells me about his mischievous cats (his version of kids).
Herb’s friend from L.A., Charlie Lai, the person for whom the route “Travels With Charlie,” is named on Hermit Spire, joined us on this occasion. Charlie was not a very experienced climber at this time, but always climbs really well and is one of the most-fit human beings I’ve ever met due his constant working out in the Martial Arts.

We put the usual eclectic mixture of climbing gear together so as to be prepared for any situation, threw in the Bosch and batteries, bolts, hangers, hooks, a haul line, a hand drill, and a few extra micro wires and started skulking up the steep trail to Parker.

As is our habit, once we arrived at the base of the rock we dropped our packs and began to cruise along looking at the routes that are there, checking out what’s changed or is new, and reminiscing about our past experiences on the rock. This pre-climb activity is always a good way to warm-up our bodies and get our heads into the climbing zone before we actually commit.

After our perusal of the existing climbs we moved along the base of the slab to the area were Herb had something in mind. As we were walking beneath a really blank section of the rock Herb stopped and looked up. I could just see the faint hue of rust colored streaks left behind from millennia of water tumbling down the face above. The rock looked very dark and featureless here. Right above where we stood there was a slight bulge to the rock and everything looked much more plausible to the right and left of where we were standing.

Of course, Herb said, “This is it. I’ve been looking at this for years and nobody’s done it yet. Someone has put up a route over there (he pointed to the left of where we were). I think this has got to be done now, before they come back and grab this line.”

“This line,” I was thinking, “is only a line because there is a water streak coming down the rock. There’s nothing here to climb on.”
I started looking down along the bottom of the rock and really examining everything closer to eye level.

I found a small foothold near the ground. I found a small edge for fingertips about head high. There was something else for feet about waste high, and Herb and Charlie began to point and make their observations, and a few moments later I was standing there, rope in hands, belaying Herb as he levitated up the blank face several feet and placed the first bolt.

When you drill a bolt while standing on thin edges there is probably nothing more lovely than the “click” sound of a carabineer gate as it lovingly closes behind your rope and you know that you are finally belayed through protection at eye level and no longer facing a long fall.
Herb had stood there; toe tips seemingly attached to the rock with invisible glue, and placed the first bolt with what looked like no real effort at all. I have watched Herb stand on nothing many times.

He sets his feet where he wants them to be and they stay there. It is weird because nothing moves below his knees. His arms do their work; his body moves slightly left or right, but his calves, ankles and feet never move.
He is the quintessential “rock steady” climber and it is never really evident that he is burning major BTUs to maintain this solid position. After placing bolt number one he was ready to lower off.
“It’s great climbing,” he said. “And it’s not that bad.”

He untied from the rope, handed me the sharp end, and clipped the tag line for the Bosch to the back of my harness. Charlie looked at what Herb had just climbed and bouldered a few feet up. He jumped back down and, with a big grin on his face, told me that it was going to be a great climb if we could just get past the next few moves over the bulging face.

I started to strain my way up to Herb’s bolt using the any of the little finger tweekers I could find along the way. I was trying my best to believe that the fear being manifested as severe shaking in my back and legs was actually excitement. In too short a time I was at the bolt and ready to launch out onto new ground.

I couldn’t see any way of continuing straight up and decided to try moving left on some small holds. I could see a stance out there; but I was not convinced that there was anything between me and what now looked like a ledge by comparison to what I was standing on.
I started to crab-crawl my way left and then retreated. There was something to stand on, but the move required a long, reachy step over and it did not feel secure at all.

I attempted to move left several times and almost fell. I wasn’t happy about the idea that I would swing down and right across the face, and I could tell by the loud silence of Charlie and Herb that they too were tense about what I was doing.

I convinced myself to try the moves across one last time before I could excuse myself and come down. My muscles strained, fingertips fried trying to hold the weight of my entire body as I moved across, and my smoking toes seemed to squeak along the face with me until I made it to the stance. "Now what?"

I pulled the drill up as fast as I could and punched a hole in the rock. I hung the heavy drill on my waste, fumbled for a bolt and hanger and pounded away, dropped the hammer and let it dangle by my feet, pulled the wrench from the bolt bag and tightened the head of the bolt enough to clip a carabineer and then pulled the rope up and clipped.
"Aaahhhh!"

I weighted the bolt and relaxed as Charlie held me fast.

The second bolt was in. After a good rest I lowered off. Charlie
climbed up to our high point and so did Herb, but it was getting late
and we decided to go home and finish the route the following week.

The next week we were back and ready to climb. I volunteered to place
bolt number three and began to climb but I could not get to the second
bolt. I kept falling off and I just didn’t have the steam to motor
across the bulge.

I was really frustrated when I lowered back down to Herb and Charlie.
Herb took the gear. He climbed up and past bolt one to bolt two. He
moved carefully and steadily across and commented about how hard it was
so that I wouldn’t feel so bad.

I couldn’t believe that I was unable to repeat the moves and felt like a real wimp.
Herb placed the remainder of the bolts on the first pitch and put us up and slightly right of the water streak.
I actually had to take tension on the rope to move to the second bolt as I went up to meet Charlie and Herb at the first belay.

I was feeling really bad now as I geared up to start pitch two.
We were under another bulge on the main face and in order to stay with the water streak it was necessary to move out left again and climb on the left side of a slight cleft in the face. Placing the first bolt for this pitch was not too bad.

I returned and Herb went out and placed a bolt high up on the left side of the cleft, and then he came back in. I went out for bolt number three slightly up and left of the cleft where we could then begin to move back right. I was feeling like I should do more than my share since I had been so wimpy on the first pitch and offered to keep drilling.

About twelve or fifteen feet up and right from where I was perched I could see what looked like a good foothold for a drilling stance. I moved across on smears and small edges to the spot. Unfortunately the good foothold had dematerialized into a really crappy, down-sloping smear and I was now desperately far away from my last bolt and shaky.

After a little discussion with Herb and Charlie – who were almost directly below me – I began to look for something else to stand on. I could see a possible foothold about ten feet above my head. I told Herb that I was going to go up and try it and he reminded me that I was already looking at a thirty-foot fall from where I was.
I rationalized that the climbing wasn’t too bad and that the foothold looked pretty good for drilling.

I began to climb on the smears and small pockets that characterize the upper pitches of Parker Bluff (The word bluff is so ironic in the name of this rock because that is exactly what you can’t do when you climb there. You have to be totally in sync with delicate face climbing or you will fall.

There is no room for bluffing on these steep, smeary upper pitches.) And when I got to the spot that was going to be my comfortable drilling stance there was nothing there! Once again I was trying to stand on a small, steeply sloping, crappy little nothing of a smear hold; I was going to die and I knew it.

I looked down at Herb and Charlie now some 35 or 40 feet below me. They huddled silently together at the anchors with their heads down as if they were praying together. I looked down and left to my last bolt nearly 25 feet away.

There was no way I could down-climb without peeling off the face. I had two of the fingers of my right hand on a minuscule edge, too small for hooking, and right by my face. My right toe was smearing on the nasty sloper while my left foot and left hand were resting against the face on nothing. Somehow I was sticking to the rock so I decided to try and drill. I began to pull on the tag line and the heavy Bosch began to rattle up the face of the rock towards me.

I would pull two feet of chord and chomp down with my teeth to prevent the line from slipping backwards, pull two feet and chomp, pull two feet and chomp.... Over-and-over again I repeated this maneuver and the drill slowly scraped its way up to me.
As I pulled the chord I could feel the sensation of something wedging between the tip of my right toe and the rock. I stopped pulling long enough to notice that the slack from the tag line was piling up on top of my right foot with one little piece wedged firmly between my shoe rubber and the rock.

I was powerless to change the situation and just kept pulling up the Bosch. I hoped that I could just get the drill started and then place a hook over the bit shaft so that I could rest off of it.
After what seemed like an eon I got the drill in my hand.
I reach up and placed the tip of the bit against the rock and squeezed the trigger. The drill made about two full revolutions and I found myself reeling through space and screaming like a little girl at a Psycho screening.

Time slowed to a crawl and I could hear myself thinking as I fell towards Herb, Charlie, and earth:
"I wonder how long this will take? I better hold this stinking drill out away from me so I don't end up with it stuck in my leg!"
Suddenly I could hear the sound of something skittering along the face of the rock.
I could the hear the sound of climbing gear clanging together and it sounded like someone was getting the wind knocked out of them. Zzzzzz-ssssshhhhaaa...Whump!!

As soon as I came to a stop I could hear Herb and Charlie yelling at me.
"Are you okay?
"Patrick, are you okay?"
"My God man, that was unbelievable!!"
"Are you okay?"

I righted myself and turned myself around so that I was facing the rock again. I started saying I was okay, but I really hadn't assessed the damage yet.

My left arm was still extended and holding the Bosch out away from my body. The arm felt numb and the forearm ached terribly. I started to swing over to an area just below Herb's feet and I handed Charlie the drill.

My entire left arm from the tip of my little finger to the tip of my elbow was missing several layers of skin and dripping with blood. I was as high a kite on adrenaline, smiling, and really happy to be alive.
"Wow, that was totally amazing!!!" I said.

We all started to breath again and each of us told the story of the fall from our own perspective. We figured that with rope stretch it was about 50 feet.
I came within a few feet of hitting Herb and Charlie until rope tension caused me to fly off towards our last bolt and away from them. We all regained our composure and I decided that I would go up and try to drill again.
Herb admonished me to keep it down to a reasonable distance away from the last bolt this time.

I climbed back up to the bolt above the cleft and then began to move right again above Herb and Charlie. This time, when I came to the first crappy smear it didn't seem too bad for a stance. In fact, compared to the stance I had when I fell, it now felt like a bivy ledge. I stood and drilled my bolt and then rested.

I climbed and drilled two more before I went back down to Herb and Charlie. Herb took over for the rest of the pitch. He climbed flawlessly past my high point and placed the remaining few bolts of the second pitch for us. We all climbed the remainder of the pitch and gleefully rappelled off of the rock.

On the way down to the car we began to discuss names for the route. Names like "Death Fall," "Nearer My God to Thee," "Welcome to Parker Bluff," and "Whipper Snapper" were all discussed but we couldn't agree on what to call it. Charlie finally came up with a solution.

We would put all of the names we had thought of in a hat and he would draw one out. As we sat at the cars in the waning sunlight Charlie drew out the name Whipper Snapper.

Whipper Snapper is rated 5.11c and follows the longest, most prominent water streak on the face of Parker Bluff.
It turned out to be very good climbing and well protected for a climb at that level. It also turned out to be a very fond memory for me and another experience with Herb that I will always appreciate and never forget.

shylock

Social climber

May 22, 2019 - 07:38pm PT

Thanks you for sharing! Loved the intimate details - from catching up with a strong climbing partner to gunning for a stance to drill that turned out to be nothing - all entertaining and very relatable.

Hopefully the end of ST will inspire a few more great stories to trickle in before the deadline.

And as it so happens, with this weird winter weather we're having this May, I was gonna head to Kernville this weekend and potentially check out Parker Bluff. Will for sure get on this line! Thanks Patrick!

I know I'm not supposed to post photos i don't own, but what the hey. EC Joe posted this thing on another thread here.

neebee

Social climber

calif/texas

May 22, 2019 - 08:02pm PT

hey there, say, fixdpin... man oh man... i am going to sure miss all this...

:(

and, me? man oh man, YOU CLIMBERS, will miss it far worse...
:(

thank you for sharing... say, gnome: i liked the break-up help, too...

wow, ksolem... makes me want to hear more about herb, too, :O
:)

glad you are all okay, :)