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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Dec 20, 2008 - 11:18am PT
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A fine tale about a proud climb, Philo. Great to see your story found its way into
the daylight, after Alpinist went poof!
We're still sitting on our tale, so to speak. Can't decide, waiting for the next
comet or something.
That writing weekend in Vegas, it escaped from the original size limits anyhow.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 20, 2008 - 12:02pm PT
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Thanx Spartacus. Kind words indeed. Bummer about Alpinist in more ways than three.
Since I have the hardest time keeping words to a minimum I can only imagine your story has blossomed into a remarkable tale. Someday I would very much like to read it.
I decided that my musings and doodles would get the best range of exposure on SuperTopo and MountainProject. It has been a great deal of fun and I must admit gratifying to know folks are amused.
Well the very best wishes of Merry Christmas and Joyous New Year to you and yours from me and mine.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Dec 20, 2008 - 12:05pm PT
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Great stories. Thanks.
Prod.
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noshoesnoshirt
climber
I don't even know anymore
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Dec 20, 2008 - 12:29pm PT
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word
I never penned anything about my trip up Resolution, but one of my partners did.
link
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Dec 20, 2008 - 02:26pm PT
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"How the f*#k can a gem like this get to the 2nd page so fast" Bump
Prod.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Dec 20, 2008 - 03:32pm PT
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The longest route on Red Rock's tallest wall? Resolution Arete is #6 in Phil's photo below,
posted on MountainProject.com.
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flamer
Trad climber
denver
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Dec 20, 2008 - 06:07pm PT
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Chiloe wrote: "Great to see your story found its way into
the daylight, after Alpinist went poof!"
I have something i wrote for that article as well....I had so much fun writing it! I'm trying to figure out what to do with it still though.
Maybe I'll post it here.
josh
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 20, 2008 - 06:20pm PT
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Please do Josh.
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flamer
Trad climber
denver
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Dec 20, 2008 - 10:09pm PT
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Hey Phil...I think I'm going to hold on to that one alittle while longer...I might yet do something wiht it.
Here is a story i wrote a few years back.....
Thursday March 18th, 2004.
I've been climbing in Red rocks for 3 days now, done some great routes and met a cool new partner.
By today my fingers are alittle raw, my legs alittle woren out, and my body is generally fatigued.
So what's next? It's SOLO time!!
I've been looking at some routes in Red Rocks that would make good car to car speed solo's, and decide on Jonny Vegas.
The route is supposed to be of high quality, it's very moderate, the hike isn't to far(but not to short!), and the descent is uncomplicated.
PERFECT!
So after a night of blackjack(and fifty bucks richer) it's time to have some quick fun in beatiful oak creek canyon.
THE DRIVE
I have this old punk CD, it's a compilation of bands from the Epitaph label...And it gets me amped up!! It's my CD of choice for pre speed 'o stuff so I plug it in. When I go thru check point charley the guy at the booth smiles at my golden eagle pass, glance's at my truck and says " have a good day climbing!", I smile and wish him well. Then laugh to myself- "HuH, HuH, he said 'day'".
Now normally I drive pretty fast. But when I'm all amped up for something like this and the punk rock vibe is flowing, I drive really fast.
The tourist's on the loop road look at me like I'm nuts as I squeeze by them on the left. Come on people this is a 2 lane road!!
The turn off to the oak creek trail head comes quick and I tear a$$ down the short gravel approach road. Of course I forget about the bump in the road and catch some air, but that's what trucks are for right?
I slide to a stop with my dust trail engulfing me.
Several cars in the lot but no people- GOOD! They would only ruin my vibe.
GETTING STARTED
I gear up- lightweight alpine harness, daisy chain, rappel device, 50M X 9MM rope(tied to my back), shoes, chalk.
I force myself to stretch, it's always hard to do this when I'm ready to charge. But it always pays me back when I start moving.
My watch set to chrono, I toe the imaginary line made up by the sign at the start of the trail, BEEP!! I start the watch and am off!!
I hate the first 2-3 minutes of cardio, it hurts!! I know it's better to warm up first, but da*n it I already stretched!! I push through the"you can't do this too me" feeling my body gives and am now making good time down the trail.
I'm noticing that my sense's are starting to pull in, heighten if you will.
I see the lizard's running their daredevil paths in front of me. This makes me happy, I'm of the belief that these little guys are good luck for climbers. Seeing them push's me further down my path towards the"focus".
THE FOCUS
For me soloing bring's me so far into myself that the only things that matter are what is right in front of me.
Sometimes I get this from doing things other than free soloing, but never is it more pure.
The focus is dangerous for me, it's addictive. I crave it.
I keep it in check by staying within my limit's, and thinking things through ahead of time. What will I do if something goes wrong? What are my options? I memorize these options and they come into play when I need them.
THE BASE
I make the base of the climb in just over 20 minutes. Not bad. Not great.
On the way I notice 2 party's on the route, I hope they're cool.
I sit and switch shoes. A 2 minute time waster.
"Off belay" yells the guy just finishing the first pitch, "you're off" comes the female reply.
Then she start's singing, what a lovely voice!
I scramble up to the base and say "hi! what's your name?" She tells me (and I forgot), and I tell her I like her singing, she blush's and says she didn't know I was down there. I ask if I can climb through, she hesitate's then says "ok, but there are 2 people ahead of us as well", I thank her and am off.
THE CLIMB
Knobs. Classic Red Rocks Knobs.
I fly up the first pitch. When I reach the belay I meet the girls partner. "where ya' from?" "Duluth, Mn." "cool! Sorry if I'm in your way your partner said I could pass"- "no problem I've never seen a soloist before". Pitch 2 away I go!!
More knobs. Then some smaller knobs at the "crux".
I catch team number 2 while they are racking for pitch 3.
"HI!" I say they greet me and say I can pass. They are also from Duluth and are friends of the first team. Thanks for letting me pass!! Nice people from Duluth!!
Pitch three- you guessed it Knobs!!
Pitch4? Slab...and super easy. I motor up the final slabs and top out. Watch says 33 minutes. The route took me just under 13 minutes. SWEET!! I moving well. And I feel awesome.
I head over to the solar slab gully and begin my descent.
THE DESCENT
Now I brought the rope along because there are fixed rappels down this gully and I wasn't sure if I'd want to down climb them all. The rope never left my back.
I come across 2 guys from Montana who had simul climb solar slab. They were gracious enough to let me pass through and even waited to throw their ropes until I was clear. Thanks guys!!
The bottom section of this gully was alittle weird to down climb so I did some traversing to find the easiest path. Even though I could have just rapped I know that dealing with the rope would kill to much time. And I'm feeling plenty solid.
Back at the base, watch says 50 minutes. DA*N!! I don't think I'll break an hour!
I switch shoes again- 2 more wasted minutes!!
THE FINAL DASH
Down the trail I go!!
Crashing through bushs, sliding down slippery slopes, and bounding over rocks.
I always laugh at what this must look like, to someone watching me.
My slightly out of control head long tumble down small climbers trails. Rope swinging wildly on my back, catching on everything. Eyes ablaze with a healthy mix of Adrealine and endorphine's. Sweat!!
I get back to the main trail and really start to run.
I finally yield to the loose mix of sand and stones that make up this trail and almost take a spill. But I catch myself without lossing any momentum, and keep pushing.
Almost there....BEEP!!! I hit my watch just as I cross my trail's-end finish line.
1 hour 8 minutes 15 seconds.
Not too bad for an onsight free solo!
WHY??
Some people will ask why I would do such a thing?
My answer is the focus. When I'm in focus nothing else matters.
My body preforms without thought, my mind is sharp. It feels good!!!
Am I risk taker?? Maybe. But I'd rather die in focus than sitting on the couch watching Dr Phil, eating potato chips.
ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS
Red rocks lends itself to Car to car speed climbing like few other climbing areas.
Whether you are climbing with a partner or solo, the possibilties for this type of climbing in RR are awesome!!
In addition you have the loop road, which lends itself to "human powered link ups"
For example; You could park at Check point charley, jump on your bike, ride the loop road, leave your bike at the trailhead, run the trail do the climb, get back on your bike and stop your watch back at CPC!!
A climbing triathalon!!!
Also Johnny Vegas will easily go under an hour. Probably under 45 minutes. Next time no rope, and hopefully I'll be in better shape. Plus Knowing where the route goes will be beneficial!
Hope you've enjoyed my story....
josh
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Dec 21, 2008 - 09:16am PT
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I've climbed Johnny Vegas just once, with a partner,
and Resolution Arete not at all. All these years and so little time.
Good stories, guys, I hope others will toss in their own.
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flamer
Trad climber
denver
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Dec 22, 2008 - 01:30pm PT
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Bump for more stories.
joah
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 24, 2008 - 11:06pm PT
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A Red Rock Story
Will the "real" Mike Gilbert please rope up (A tale of two Gilberts or Two Mikes for some reason);
Exquisite! The day had been simply exquisite. Seven of us, having rousted from the reverie of Jorge's seventieth celebration the night before, had hiked in to do a variety of routes side by side in the Solar Slab area. The sky was vivid blue and the welcome warmth of the sandstone was a tactile delight.
That morning Joanne played cruise director and paired us off into new teams that hadn't climbed much or at all with each other before. Like waiting to be picked for softball games in elementary school gym class. By coincidence or happenstance or ritualistic party dance I ended teamed with a guy calling himself Mike Gilbert. Which couldn't be true as I knew the "real" Mike Gilbert. He was the older brother of my (BITD) best friend Scott. That Mike Gilbert was a famous climber and this impostor was not him. After actually making him show me his drivers license, and having him explain that even though it said Edward he really went by his middle name which was indeed Michael, I figured I would have to let that anomaly slide. Though it ended up being the source of endless chiding on my part. Normally climbing with someone I don't know fills me with apprehension and messes with my focus in uncomfortable ways. What did I really know about this somewhat goony looking character I was slated to rope up with. We had chatted a little yesterday and I had found that he was some kind of doctor, had a quick mind and quirky humor. So we both laughed at the same kind of wry jokes. Big deal, so what! Mike and I were as different as the 50s and the 60s. I had a braid down the middle of my back and he had the buzz cut of a marine drill sergeant. Does this dude know how to climb? That's what I wanted to know and had to find out. While racking and roping at the base of Beullah's Book, Mike starts massaging and rotating his shoulder and saying he is way "on" the couch. Classic phaffer ploy. "Would I mind taking the first" he asked? And maybe all of them was what he was actually inferring. "Sure noooooo problem" I answered. You do know how to belay? is what I was actually inferring. Well I prefer to be in control and in charge in situations like this so that was cool. As we, "the odd couple" progressed up the 4 pitches to the terrace we seamlessly gelled into a coherent team.
Mike's belaying was perfect. Never tight always there. His climbing was top flight. Never harried always there. Our re-rackings were quick and smooth and we filled the time with good hearted razzing. As both of us were climbing old timers we did our systems the same way. By the time we had leisurely un-roped on the broad expanse of the Solar Terrace Mike was again comfortable enough to swap leads and I was comfortable enough to climb with him again. If I could only figure out who the "real" Mike Gilbert really was...
O Sheila where art thou? (exit stage down);
Of the seven of us that started out that day one rope team had opted to retreat from the Solar Terrace early to avoid the annoyance of a $50.00 late parking ticket. That left two rope teams. Mike and I. And the three ladies who were still continuing up Solar Slab. Joanne & Marilyn were enthusiastically flying up pitches swapping leads. Sheila didn't want any part of leading and was following with apparent trepidation. Mike and I leisured about in the warm sun waiting for the women to clear a belay stance before following after them. A few pitches higher we were surprised to come across Sheila alone on a ledge leashed into the anchor with her daisy chain and no other gear. To that point all I knew about Sheila was that she was the wife of one of Jorge's oldest climbing friends. The same friend who first brought Red Rock to Jorge's attention in the 70s. Having only met her the night before, to me she seemed a frail and timid wall flower. How deceiving first impressions can be. She turned out tough as nails. She had gotten to the point that she didn't want to climb anymore that day while MG and J were just getting warmed up. Well since Mike and I were coming up the same route and the ladies would soon be coming back down the same way she had opted to hang out on the ledge and wait. So pleased was she to see me arrive at the belay stance that I had the momentary flash that she had been worried she was being "ditched". The shadows were stretching east across the desert the day was fading away. Mike, Sheila and I decided to start down right away and we rigged for the first rap. Sheila was obviously nervous about the raps and the apprehension of the impending dusk had shaded her with an additional layer of gloom. She had appeared quite flustered since her husband and sole climbing partner for the past ten years had opted to descend earlier. Some instinct of our old trad minds had Mike and I automatically playing mother hens to our new rope mate. It's not that she didn't know what to do It was more that she was really withdrawn, more nervous than focused. Mike and I were checking, double checking, conferring, visually inspecting, and testing everything. We were of a like focus and needed few words to communicate quickly and clearly. It was one of those times where a glance or hand gesture spoke volumes. Sheila was at this point simply glad to accept the guided tour. We didn't know it then but she was fairly terrified of climbing situations in the dark as she had experienced a previous nighttime epic. Unfortunately for Sheila she was soon to have another. Uneventfully we arrived at the big Solar Terrace and pulled the rope as we watched the other two ladies rapidly descending. Lounging around un-roped on the commodious area waiting for J & MG to gather back up with us no one noticed that Sheila had disappeared.
And then it got dark! (I'll take "what happens when the sun goes down" for three hundred Mr. Trebek);
By the time we all arrived at the top of the Solar Gully we found Sheila hunkered down hovering over the anchor bolts in a Vietnamese squat. She had been up and down this way with her husband before. So at that time we were neither overly concerned when Sheila wasn't with us on the big terrace or too surprised when we found her waiting for us at the first rap. She really did want to get down ASAP. It was dark now but not pitch black. Red Rock nights are often impacted by a strange luminescence from the neon cacophony that is Vegas. This was such a night. Just enough of a cloud reflected glow to allow us to descend sans headlamps. The evening was warm with only occasional breezes. It was serene and enjoyable to descend in such quiet subdued splendor. With four ropes between the five of us we quickly developed a rhythm of leap frogging ropes on the way down. Everything could not have gone better and in no time Joanne was back on the ground at the base of the wall. MG was at the second to last rap and Mike, Sheila and I were atop the third to last rap. It is surprising, frightening even, how instantly situations can radically change. "You always want to be sure both strands are all the way into your rap device" I hear Mike remind Sheila as he rigs her to rap once again. Then she is off, slowly rapping out of site. Left alone Mike and I are relaxed enough that neither of us are tied into the anchor even though the station slopes steeply towards the void. We occupy the dark by quietly "pun"-ishing each other with high ball humor and wait our turns to descend. It has been a fantastic day and now dinner, beer and wine at Jorge's awaited our return. At about the time Sheila's rate of descent would have put her at or near the next station we hear OFFRAaa...a quick surprised squeal, sliding, scrapping, a short scream, a thump, more sliding, more scrapping and then a really heavy, bone crushing, ground shaking THUD! With barely enough light to read expressions Mike and I shared a mutual look of perplexed disbelief. WTF! we said in unison. Time elapsed? Nearly a lifetime!
And ugly! (butt ugly);
Screaming! Screaming! Screaming! The night was rent with the anguished sound of extreme suffering. A wild animal being trapped and devoured alive by a pack of ravenous predators would make such sounds. Certainly no mere mortal human could. It was horrible, terrifying and utterly disassociated with the ideal day of just thirty seconds before. The only good that came of the screaming was the knowledge that Sheila was alive and breathing. What ever else her condition entailed lie hidden ominously waiting in the darkness below. Like fireflies on a midwest summer night little LED lights started popping up as headlamps were at last retrieved and engaged. Many minutes dragging like hours ensued before we could get Sheila to stop shrieking and communicate with us. She was able at least to tell us her hip was surely broken. Meanwhile, fearing the worst kind of carnage, Mike was beginning his rap into the unknown. 80 feet down he also split the night with an oration that would have made a longshoreman blush. In his urgency to get to the aid of our fallen companion he had been more than lucky to just catch the taped end of one rope strand in his brake hand. His exuberant expletive enhanced exaltations were just his way of letting us all know how extremely close he had come to joining the heap of destruction below. With both Mike and Sheila frantically screaming I reached up and finally clipped in with my daisy chain figuring that events had certainly taken an odd turn for the worse. Anchoring in would soon prove to have been a very prudent move. Frustrating moments of not knowing oozed by before Mike could explain to me that the rope ends were offset by forty feet and that he almost rapped off them. He was trying to even them up as he cursed. Nervously marooned at the highest anchor I waited with nothing to do but a great deal to worry about. I flashed that Sheila, who had fervently worn it all the way up, was not wearing her helmet on the way down. During the descent it had been suggested more than once that she re-don it should pulled ropes bring loose rocks down. She inexplicably resisted this advise. Now I dreaded the imagined mess I would find when finally it became my turn to rap. Not again! wafted through my scattered mind. Hadn't I seen enough human wreckage all ready. I was beginning to feel like I couldn't go through this again When Mike called up that the rope was clear. The anxiousness of helpless idleness quickly became a blur of something to do. Action at last. Too quickly and distractedly I rigged my rap device. Weighting the system I was jolted to the realization that only one strand of rope had been engaged. Caught by my fortuitously clipped daisy chain I cautiously and meticulously re-rigged to rap. With enough going on all ready I never mentioned that I had nearly ended up in a mangled gang of three somewhere in the darkness below. I sharpened my focus and forced those thoughts from my here and now.
Waiting is Not an option! (Hang on);
One in a Million is an understatement. A disservice of words. This was a miracle! Somehow, that I am still unable to explain, Sheila wedged to a stop on the verge of eternity forty feet below the ledge of the last rap station. She was completely detached from the rap line. Had she not landed on that tiny sloping ledge there was nothing to stop her from tumbling all the rest of the way to the base. Her left leg and rump had wedged like a cam in a crack on the far side of the ledge. This undoubtedly saved her life. But it also meant that her right hip and pelvis were shattered by the impact and her right leg broken in a few places as well. In profound discomfort she was still alert and cooperative. She was in fact instrumental in her own triage diagnosis. Did I say miraculous? It was! Though she had removed her helmet earlier her dramatic vertical tumble had produced no head injuries. No spinal injuries either. In fact other than remarkably few abrasions her injuries were isolated to her savagely insulted hip and leg. None of the breaks were compound but the area around her hip was rapidly swelling with what we could only assume was internal bleeding. Quick reality check; she is alive but she is hurt bad. She is conscious and not in shock. But there is fear welling up behind the resolve in her eyes. We have to get her to the ground ASAP. Self rescue is the name of the game. Waiting for a rescue was not an option. But can we? She is literally stuck to the rock and any movement even the slightest has her instantly erupt in banshee song. With two doctors in our group we actually had med kits with good meds. All of which Sheila was allergic to and refused. Grimly we realized this operation was to be with out the benefit of anesthetics. Having established an equalized omnidirectional AMGA approved boomproof anchor to secure and eventually lower Sheila from, I proceeded to pull and clear the overhead rope and establish an additional rope to the ground. Mike is a leading heart transplant specialist which makes him a doctor but not one who's patients normally scream bloody murder in his face. So it was a great relief when MG, a trauma specialist, requested I belay her up. Our little sloping perch was now really crowded. So I decide to rap out of the way. I tell myself I am going down to look for things like my walking poles that can be used for splints but secretly I'm really glad to get away a bit and regroup. We are all just a little stressed by now. Secretly MG and Joanne are really hoping it's not really all that bad and that we can get the hopefully over reacting Sheila back to town ourselves. It is not to be. It becomes quickly apparent to MG even as I break it to Joanne that we really do need a search and rescue team. And we need them quickly. We can get her to level ground ourselves and that will save untold amounts of time. But she needed a hospital right away. Not counting the 40 minute drive to hospital we were still at least an hour hike away from our cars in the parking lot. And that would be without having to carry a seriously injured person. And that would have to be after getting her to ground!
Can you hear me now? (A trillion dollars of satellite communications for what?);
911...nothing. Damn! 911...nothing. Dammit this was maddening. We had all concurred that a Search and Rescue team medi-vac was absolutely in order. But now none of us could get a call out. There we were on the edge of the wilderness poised on the threshold of the twenty first century with the lights of Vegas in sight and we couldn't get one lousy emergency call out! Aaaarrgh! 911... nothing. Every available phone was repeatedly tried to no avail. A desperate urgency was beginning to be felt. We were on the verge of sending Joanne, our strongest runner, out to the parking lot to make contact when. "911 dispatch what is the nature of the emergency" faintly crackled through the static on my old junker back up cell phone. Miracle #2 the cavalry was on the way. Sheila was still anchored up at the crowded accident site doing her stoic best to remain calm. Joanne and I had just been startled by the unexpected arrival of Rob. Not surprisingly he had heard the ungodly din and abandoned his walk-about to see of what assistance he might be. Miracle #3 the angel arrived. To begin with we were a fairly remarkable group of experienced climbers. Several of us had rescue experience and two of us were highly trained doctors. If you were going to have a life and death type climbing accident out in the boonies this would be the A team to have with you. But when Rob appeared things really started happening. Rob was a recent transplant to Vegas and was out for a brisk hike that evening when we interrupted his return dash to avoid the ticket. Rob was also a very experienced climber who had spent a lot of years with SAR teams and working as a guide. It was Rob who fashioned a custom boson's hammock out of our emptied packs and slings to make lowering Sheila possible. It was brilliant too. Sheila was supported and stabilized with no undue stress or weight on her shattered pelvis. A work of rescue art. Now Rob was lowering Sheila while each doctor rapped along either side of her. Guiding her down as carefully and comfortably as possible. The roar of the chopper rotors thankfully drowned out Sheila's reoccurring banshee song. Which would erupt when ever she was bumped or jostled too much. But the helicopter's inescapable flood of light made it only too clear that she was indeed singing. Loud and Clear.
The Pit and the Pendulum. (the first cut is the deepest);
Three miracles was probably the house limit for anyone in a twenty four hour period of time even in Vegas. However, right about then I was praying we wouldn't need a fourth. Up till the last half hour I had always dug helicopters. But now my affections were waning fast. Initially the superbly skilled pilot of this tiny craft made several flybys to assess the situation. Then, over the course of many runs, dropped off a hoard of SAR personnel and equipment one at a time on a rock out crop that provided a one skid touch down. Sheila was down on essentially level ground by now but still along way away from medical help. And now this chopper jockey was tucking his fragile flyer within feet of the rock walls on either side of us. We were at the base of a steep gully in a tight side canyon. One of the most unnerving experiences I have ever had was the multiple approach runs that pilot made where his rotors were up against the wall and right over my head. Thwap, thwap, thwap deafening all sound deadening all thought. When the canyon wind gusts started picking up I found a wide crack to cower in and waited for all manner of explosions and flaming wreckage to further spoil this fine evening. In my mind, the fertile playground of a graphic and over active imagination, I envisioned destruction befitting Armageddon, a vastly swollen body count and an inability to properly explain the sequence of events to curious authorities. Thwap, thwap, thwap no BOOM.
Silence in the night. (deafening isn't it);
No such despair as a rescue copter crash occurred. After much wrangling Sheila, now secured in a liter, flew away dangling under the helicopter with two SAR paramedics swinging along side. A slew more flights to pick up the hoard and materiel and we were finally left to the blissful silence of the desert night. Even though we had successfully and quite efficiently performed a high angle rescue of our seriously injured companion, a task the SAR team was not prepared to do, we still had to convince the authorities that we could indeed find our own way back to our vehicles. I guess that meant we were turning down a perfectly free chopper ride but by that time the allure was gone and I was grateful to have them simply leave. Aahhh silence. A chance to think. WTF was that all about? We gather up the flotsam and jetsam of our hastily used gear that we only narrowly saved from the SAR scissors by the most stringent of protestations. Each of us pack in a state of muted numbness. Then one by one we head wordlessly down the trail. No bobbing headlamps, no jovial banter about a day wonderfully spent, no hurry to avoid the ticket. Just a weary stumble home in the dark. It had been a very long hard day and we were all emotionally and physically drained. Back and Jorge's cold dinner and colder beers awaited. As did many questions and hopefully some answers to our concerns about Sheila.
Debrief? (good 'cause these ones have skid marks now);
Chagrined. That's one way to explain the feeling of being immediately interrogated by the chief of rescue operations on our return. Immensely annoyed would be closer. Just as soon as one of us would straggle off the trail into the parking lot the Man would be on them with twenty questions. I didn't so much mind the need to fill out and file an incident report but the veiled implication that we had been negligent or somehow at fault was more than a little galling. And while we're at it mind if I put my pack down? It's a little heavy after all this time. We were tremendously grateful for the efforts of the SAR team and their psycho rotor jockey but much of our interactions with them left a bile-ish taste behind. As a team we had stabilized and rescued Sheila off the wall. A complicated effort that saved many hours of rescue time. But when the professionals arrived we were pushed aside and dismissed as unnecessary. In my case while still holding Sheila's leg in traction which was the only thing that gave her any relief. She cried out sharply when I was forced to move aside. When we insisted that they needn't cut off the hundreds of dollars of our climbing gear and packs that encased Sheila they boorishly radioed in that we were being uncooperative. And that our selfish concern for mere climbing gear was endangering our friends rescue. None of which was true. In considerable distress, Joanne having been stuck on the ground since shortly before the accident, approached Sheila to see if her long time friend was all right, She was immediately stopped and rudely confronted by the chief SAR professional. He actually grabbed her by the breast and heaved her on to a ledge and out of his way. It was all very surreal. We were deeply and directly involved. We were competent and experienced. We were there to help. Yet we were the enemy. Well here was the BIG big chief and myself nose to sternum in the Oak Creek parking lot. If I could only find a step ladder or a soap box he was going to get an earful that night. He was BIG and though he was also a SAR paramedic he was first and foremost a cop. Sometimes indignity gets the better of me and I defend myself against all odds. I had already had a few recent unpleasant encounters with the LEOs of the Red Rock regulars. So I really had very little business and less sense in facing up to this obviously annoyed official. Particularly at night with few witnesses. Or so I imagined. He was a badge with bullets and built like a barge. I was a pesky little old man with a burr in my britches. But I didn't care. I needed to speak my mind. Get it off my chest. I figured at least I was old enough to get away with it. Surely my patrician grey hair and beard lent an air of harmlessness if not respectability. In the end the Man listened to me as I concurrently praised his capability and paned his bed side manner. And I listened to him as he explained his perspective. We ended respectfully with a thank you and a handshake. I truly believe we are both better for it.
Epilogue. ('cause what else are you going to do with an unfinished story);
Seven or eight. I think. That's how many beers it took my adrenaline sodden mind to finally slow down enough to fall asleep that morning. Waking up again in the early evening I felt disoriented and foggy and pasty with dehydration. The others have already gathered. I hear the inevitable storm of questions already being asked. I stumble upstairs and into the fray. Everyone looks pale and somewhat stricken. I fear it is bad news from the hospital but it is only hangovers and exhaustion. Sheila is doing fine, her surgery went very well. She will be up and about in a few days and climbing again a little over a year after that. The miracles of modern medicine and a timely rescue from a miraculous accident. It's kind of funny to say that someone who gets hurt that badly was really lucky. Wouldn't it really be really lucky to not get hurt in the first place. But it is true Sheila was really, really lucky. It all could have turned out so very differently, so tragically. But what happened? Opinions vary based on the relative positions of those experiencing the accident. Trauma has blocked some of the event from Sheila's memory so we may never know for certain. But, based on my experiences of the accident here is my amateur forensic explanation of what I believe happened. In her state of flustered urgency Sheila arrived in the dark at the ledge of the next rap without actually getting to the station proper. The rap she had just done was a disorientingly awkward gutter ball affair down a steep corner/chimney system. She must of felt momentarily secure to finally stand on the horizontal shelf she knew from past experience was the ledge for the next repel. That ledge, while comfortably large on the left side where the next anchor is, is shaped like a long triangle and precariously narrow on the right side. It is the right side of the ledge, at it's narrowest where it abuts the corner/chimney system, that gravity would have compelled sheila to. From what I heard this is what I believe happened next. At about the time Mike and I thought she should be down I hear her start but not finish saying "off rappel". The last word is cut off by a startled shriek and the unmistakable sound of a body falling. I believe Sheila, feeling more secure on the ledge though not yet anchored to the next station, took her self off repel and turned to walk toward the next rap. Turning to the left her next step met with nothing but air. Starting to fall she clutched for her previous repel rope to steady herself with. When she caught only one strand she pulled it down with her as she tumbled. Probably releasing it with the first impact. The first thump we heard. Her extended left leg still straining for purchase amazingly guided her to the only crack that could catch her. Her abrasions, contusions and fractures were all on her right side, the side she would have most likely ridden down after turning to the left. I can only imagine the terror she must have experienced. For now she was very much alive. Her injuries would heal, the memories fade. She would make a remarkable and thorough recovery. It turned out to be a pretty good day after all.
Final assessment (for lack of anything else to say);
Well hindsight is a perfect vision and second guessing is a human art form. So what did we learn from all this? This miraculous slice of raw life and death. What could we have done better? What should we have done differently? It would be easy enough for any number of others to tell us what they would have done and by extension what we should have done as well. Certainly some one could have stayed at the top of the last repel until Sheila got there. Or we could have simply tied the ends of the preceding repel rope to the anchor of the next repel. It would be easy for me to argue that knots in the rope ends weren't necessary as each repel ended on ledges with ample spare rope. Two people had just previously descended that same rope so it is reasonable to assume the ends were not uneven before Sheila's turn. The fact that they were wildly uneven after Sheila's accident indicates she pulled on them when she fell. The additional fact that when found she was thoroughly detached from the rope Indicates she took herself off repel. Rapping off uneven rope ends generally entails the long rope staying attached to the repel device and only the short end zipping through the anchor. This was clearly not the case in this particular situation. In the unlikely event that she rapped off the ends of both ropes essentially simultaneously she would have had to have rapped well past the obvious ledge of the last repel station. This would have substantially shortened her fall. And probably lessened her injuries if she could have still stuck the landing! In the final assessment lots of things could have been done differently but weren't. Sheila could have taken the offered headlamp which would certainly have helped her see where she was and where she was going. But she turned it down twice. Fortunately she didn't need the suggested helmet. Luck, even painful luck, is it's own reward. But being prepared is always undeniably wise council. We are in fact, each of us, responsible to and for ourselves first. We are accountable for what we choose.
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Dec 25, 2008 - 12:30am PT
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That's one amazing story, Phil. That one should be in Alpinist,
or some other 1st class publication. Maybe you should write a book.
Thanks, wow!
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 25, 2008 - 12:49am PT
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SteveW thank you. You are always so appreciative and kind. I do like to write and can get ponderously verbose at times. A lot of times actually. I thought about parting this one out a chapter at a time. Then I figured heck it's christmas eve let me empty the dust bin all at one time. Glad you liked the telling that means a lot! Jim says hello. I had no idea you guys knew each other till you mentioned it recently. Nigro and I were a strong team for several years and good close friends for many more. Very cool SuperTaconnection. Merry Christmas and Happy new year to you and yours from me and mine.
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Captain...or Skully
Trad climber
North of the Owyhees
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Dec 25, 2008 - 12:51am PT
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Super classic read, man......whoa.
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Dec 25, 2008 - 12:53am PT
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Thanks for the story, Phil. Well told. I could hear the screams
and all of the rest. Glad it was a happy conclusion.
Say hi to Jim for me too.
And from one pollack to another, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year,
and hope we get to share a beer soon.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 25, 2008 - 12:58am PT
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And some galumpkes. Man don't forget the galumpkes.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Dec 25, 2008 - 09:35am PT
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Wow, what a story, Phil. Your reconstruction of what happened makes sense, and I'm glad the nightmare ended as well as it did.
Oh, and you've cleared up the mystery of the "other" Mike Gilbert, which had confused me for years.
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Buggs
Trad climber
Eagle River, Alaska
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Dec 25, 2008 - 12:52pm PT
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Classic Phil. Makes me yearn for the desert, and the sun....AK sucks. Not.
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Dec 25, 2008 - 08:15pm PT
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Bump, because these stories need to be read!!!!!!
I'm knott kidding.
AWESOME!!!!
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blackbird
Trad climber
the flat water trails...
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Dec 25, 2008 - 09:21pm PT
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Fantastic stories, and thanks SO much for sharing (and for bumping!!)
As odd as it may sound, it's stories such as these make me want to go back and "redo" my Red Rock memories so that I may better appreciate the difficult experiences from my first (and only thus far) trip. Memories currently logged into my brain are better left in the past... BAD partnering, bad timing, bad juju...
BB
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Dec 25, 2008 - 09:27pm PT
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 26, 2008 - 02:39pm PT
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That is a great picture. What a cast of characters. I know just where it was taken but who took it?
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Dec 26, 2008 - 05:16pm PT
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I know just where it was taken but who took it?
Geir Hundal and David Sampson were the other two party animals that night. We'd run into them
earlier at Desert Rock Sports too, where Joe made his first climbing-shoe purchase in decades.
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drljefe
climber
Toostoned, AZ
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Dec 27, 2008 - 11:19pm PT
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Philo- that story is very well written- vivid and...scary! I had my own epic there years ago, but it is pale in comparison.
Thanks for sharing that.
Anything less... traumatizing? I'd love to hear more- how 'bout Eagle Dance.
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Jello
Social climber
No Ut
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Dec 28, 2008 - 12:40am PT
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Awefull story, wonderfully told, Phil. Vivid, dramatic and of all things a tiny bit humorous, too. Glad Shiela was not hurt any worse than she was.
Looking forward to more such recounts from your lively fingertips (unless you're so old skool you still use pen and paper like I sometimes do).
-Jello
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BrassNuts
Trad climber
Boulder Colorado
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Dec 28, 2008 - 12:41pm PT
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Ok, not an epic story, but an amusing story that can be appreciated by all of you that have been around for a while...
A few years ago, on the way back to CO after a great time in the Needles of CA, we stopped by Red Rocks for a few days. It's late September and I'm psyched to do some climbing on the beautiful North facing walls in the canyons - where I have frozen my ass off on numerous occasions other months of the year. First on the list is Cloud Tower, a super classic RRocks crack climbing extravaganza. Almost the entire route is on the North face, but the last pitch actually faces West... I figure most of the route will be perfect temps in the shade and the last pitch might be a tad warm. We get a somewhat leisurely start. We hike by the usual crowds on Crimson Chrysalis to find Cloud Tower devoid of climbers and the temps are perfect - eggzellent! The first 5 pitches go well and the climbing is stellar. Here's a pic on the crux tips corner:
After pitch 5, a wide crack that doesn't require wide crack skills thanks to RRocks edges (Yah! no 'wide fetish' here!), pitch 6 consists of a quick squeeze through a slot and tunnel like feature that takes you over to the final pitch on the West Face. As I start into the tunnel, I can feel the heat coming towards me from the West face... Here's a pic of George coming through the tunnel:
So, it's maybe 4pm and the temps at the base of the last pitch corner are hotter than a deli roasted chicken! (Love those chickens in a bag eh?). It's so hot I can't get motivated to head up, so we decide to hide in the corner/tunnel for a while until the sun lets up... we doze off in the heat, dreaming of cold swill... Here's a pic of the final corner, roasting in the sun:
My internal alarm clock finally wakes me up reminding me that it's probably 5:30 or so and we don't have headlamps with us and it is LATE September... whoops. I head up the enduro corner which is both excellent and still super hot. I sweat so much that I think I'm gonna oooooze out of the crack for sure, but eventually I top out with chalk paste running down my arms. George comes up and we hurriedly negotiate the somewhat cheezy raps to the base. Seeing that we're short on time, I look for a fast way out up the mossy wall detour (heheheheheh):
Since that didn't work, but did make for a fun photo, we hurry back to the base of the climb to pack up as quickly as possible. When we leave the base, it's almost dark as we start heading down the many braided trails back towards the parking area. The descent becomes comical as we really get off track not far from the trailhead, near the fire ecology trail. We laugh and thrash our way through probably the only thick brush in the area until things clear enough that we can tell which way to go to reach the road. After receiving more wounds from the brush than from the climb, we find the car and drive the loop back to camp. Upon arriving, first things first and a couple of cold ones are popped to celebrate the outing. I also indulge in a quick bird bath to wash the crusted sweat from my bod. Feeling dehydrated and experiencing a fine wall buzz from a single beer, I suggest Epinepherine for tomorrow... my suggestion is met with less than optimal enthusiasm, so more beers open up and we declare the next day a drive/rest day. Moral of the story; Headlamps, we don't need no stinking headlamps!!! ;-)
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Dec 28, 2008 - 01:23pm PT
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Dave
That sounds like when I took a friend up
Castleton Tower--I think in late October.
After having to wait for another party in front
of us, we prance up to the top, then get back to the
base just as dusk is deepening. I DID have a headlamp,
but my buddy. . . oops. So down we go with me in the lead
for a bit, and of course getting off Castleton in the
dark is about as much fun, but we ended getting cliffed,
not scratched as you & George did. Finally, working our
way through the maze with a single headlamp, we descend to
the camp/car, one beer, no two for me, then collapse.
No din din, just bed. . .
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 28, 2008 - 02:15pm PT
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Dave that was great! I could feel the heat on George's face. Thanks for the fun story and nice pics.
SteveW, although technically this is a thread about climbs on rock that is red,
shouldn't you start a Canyonlands thread for that story?
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Dec 28, 2008 - 02:42pm PT
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Philo
I know. . .
but Castleton's rock is red, if not in NV. . .
more a comparison to Brass Nuts' descent fun. . .
Besides, you two tell stories so much better than I!!!!
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 28, 2008 - 02:55pm PT
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How would we know? You never post up any stories. lol
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Dec 28, 2008 - 03:32pm PT
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Believe me Phil--your's, Dave's, Crimpie's and L's
stories are the ones to be measured by. And mine just
don't measure up. . . plus, I'm hoping to maybe get a few
slides scanned from my collection, maybe if they turn out okay,
I'll post a few. . .
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 28, 2008 - 04:15pm PT
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Please scan on!
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Captain...or Skully
Trad climber
North of the Owyhees
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Dec 28, 2008 - 11:39pm PT
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Big bump for climbing story Masters!
That IS the Shizz, & that's what it's all about.
Thanks.
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John Moosie
climber
Beautiful California
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Dec 29, 2008 - 01:13am PT
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Thanks for the Great stories.
Holy shizzle Philo. That injury story had me gripped.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Dec 29, 2008 - 01:36pm PT
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Great stories guys.
My Red Rocks stories can’t touch those of major FA’s or epic rescues, but I do love the place. On a recent trip there I had dinner with Brass Nuts and we both agreed that if we could only climb 1 place for the rest of our lives it’d be Red Rocks.
My first trip was with Will Nichols, aka Unibonger, in 92 or maybe 93. Night 1 we stayed at the camp ground across from the gypsum plant, that sucked. The next 3 we slept in the parking lot of BVC. We climbed Rock Warriors, Dream of Wild Turkeys, and something else in Black Velvet which currently escapes me. What I remember most about that trip was laying under the stars after we smoked a joint and trying to eat Altoids, first time I'd had those, without chewing them. Then laughing our asses off when one of would say "oh sh#t I just chewed it." I know it’s not that funny but we were stoned. Later that night I remember awakening and running for the car scared out of my mind by some ungodly noise about 15 feet away. I had never heard a burro bay that close. We were both searching for our lights to figure out what was about to eat us, then we turned the head lights on and started laughing when we saw the Burro. That one still gives me a chuckle. Other than that I think Will flashed Fear and Loathing, and I hung my way through it.
My next trip to Red Rocks didn’t come for another 12 or 13 years, when I brought Christa there. This was her first time to climb multi pitch trad stuff. It was also my first time having a partner that would cry, I am now getting more used to this but I still do not like it too much. I also now get commentary on my leading as I am leading, “It’s been a long time since you put a piece in” “I know hun, it’s ok” “I was just checking if you knew how run out you were” “SWEETS, I GOT IT” “ok, don’t get mad at me” “Sweets, let me get through this section then we can talk ok?”.
Since Christa and my first trip to Red Rocks we have been 2 more times. The last trip was over Thanksgiving she only almost cried having to follow an easy but run out traverse, the end of which was a hanging belay made of trad gear (pitch 5 on Jubilant Song). She really really did not like that and asked if I would make another belay at the first ledge I came to. 2 nights later we got engaged in the Red Rocks campground while eating brats and drinking Scotch. I guess that last part could be considered Epic?
Prod.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Dec 29, 2008 - 01:37pm PT
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OK instead of yet another self indulgent bump here is another climbing related Red Rock story. I'm not just blowin' smoke here this really is climbing related.
Having experienced the delights of twelve surgeries on the same knee in a ten year span. Having reveled in the joy of twelve rehabs in the same time period. And having the oh so special opportunity to learn to crawl, walk, run and climb a dozen extra times in a decade. I have developed an abiding appetite for herbal alternatives to pain treatment. Sure I pounded down my share of pills and the post operative needles were, when they finally started working, just so dreamy. But if not for my use, some might say abuse, of Mother Nature's finest I would surely be a strung out pill junkie.
So you are probably asking what has this got to do with Red Rock climbing? Everything would be my answer. Because as my leg is still attached to me I am still attached to my pain treatment of choice. Strictly for medicinal purposes I assure you.
There I was at the baggage claim in McCarren. Airlines don't appreciate "loose" items in your baggage. And Nevada has some strict agricultural restrictions so I arrive dry in that parched land. Usually I drive which makes luggage restrictions less of an issue. But this time, well it could be a pain.
Fortunately a four wheeled friend arrived to whisk me away for an extended roust a bout. Fortunately for me my climbing partner friend was, as he had learned in scouts training as a lad, always prepared. We climbed and had a great time!
But then it came time for him to return to reality while I planned on staying on. Before driving away he "grub staked" me with provisions enough for several feasts. What a friend! I climbed and had a great time!
But then it came time for me to check my bags and venture into the (un)friendly skies. I still had plenty of painless meals with me. What to do? Can't cache anything at local friends houses. Violations of agricultural restrictions in Nevada are pretty punitive. Can't leave anything behind in a conservation district. Can't just consume it all before flight time as that would be needlessly wasteful and no doubt exceptionally awkward. Ahh now I have the plan. Utilizing an all too ordinary yet easily identifiable container I proceeded to clandestinely secret my meds away in what I hoped was a recognizable landmark. A cactus just outside the official boundry. All safe and ready for my next sandstone sojourn.
But I didn't make it back until after a huge ground fire had swept through the area leaving it blackened an unrecognizable. No one thought I would ever find it again. They patiently waited in the get away car while I repeatedly scoured the desert. For days the search continued till my friends were barely willing to assist me in yet another try. This was not something you could put on a milk carton after all. I have to admit it was a pain. With my friends I barely had a leg to stand on when, believe it or not, of all things, there it was right where I left it not 18" outside the burn line. Whew. I climbed and had a great time.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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It was 28 years ago today that the Madman and I finished the first ascent of the Res. I still clearly remember waking up New Years Day on Sherwood Forest to a crystalline frosty blue morning and a sunrise to "live" for. It was magical!
I just exchanged Happy New Year greetings with both Jimmy Newberry and the Madman and I am immensely gratified that all these years later we are all still great friends. And then I realize that compared to wearing dirt for a shirt, LIFE is GOOD! And good friends are GREAT!
Happy New Year all!
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Headlamps, we don't need no stinking headlamps!!! ;-)
Fine photos and a good story from Cloud Tower, Dave. You made the crux sound casual!
Historical footnote:
Joe gave the whole formation that name BITD, before any routes in the canyon were climbed.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Prod's and Philo's stories remind me for some reason of my least-favorite Red Rock bivy.
It happened while my son and I were car camping at the old Oak Creek campground, which
(for those too young to recall) was characterized by great views and lots of deep
red sand.
On this particular night there was a strong windstorm, blasting sand around so hard it
chased us out of the tent. We slept in the car instead, which was stifling hot because
the slightest window opening filled the car's airspace with sand. The vehicle rocked
like a boat all night from the wind.
Meanwhile, in Las Vegas, there had been a Grateful Dead concert that same night. Large
quantities of Deadheads made it out to Oak Creek afterwards in high spirits, so mixed in
with the sandstorm we could hear hellraising and arrests going on.
Sweltering sleeplessly in our sand-filled, rocking car, we spent a miserable night.
Sport climbing was all we could manage the next day.
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BrassNuts
Trad climber
Boulder Colorado
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Ahhh yes, the windy & sweltering sand filled car bivy - super classic! Deserves to be in the upcoming book; "50 Classic Bivies" :-) Great stories Chiloe & Philo... makes me want to be there (but it will have to wait for Spring). Cheers!
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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I'm thinking about writing up a real story, concerning a route the FA party thought fun,
but all subsequent parties have disliked -- Centerfold. It could be a bad route,
but I'm not sure others actually followed the FA line, which has been drawn wrong on
several topos (one by me).
In the meantime, however, I offer some historical confusion about a different climb.
Both Joanne Urioste's and Jerry Handren's guidebooks list a route called "Action By
Knight," 5.10, FA (1974) credited to Joe and Betsy Herbst. Joanne also describes a
variation called "Mother of Knight."
I think the date should be January 1975. Some other details that need tweaking:
The "Action By Knight" route was originally named Mother Knight, a pun on the
Kurt Vonnegut novel, and climbed by Joe Herbst and Tom Kaufman. The "Action By
Knight" name might originally have referred to an easy variation to the left, which
I climbed to bypass the crux because it was getting cold and late.
Below, Joe Herbst starts up the crux pitch, belayed by Tom Kaufman, on the FA of
Mother Knight.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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After placing one bolt, a 1/4" Rawl drive as usual, Joe dances the Mother Knight crux
on a cold and windy day. Jerry's modern guidebook rates this section 5.10b.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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It was so cold that I soloed an easier escape, and in fading light took this shot
of Tom Kaufman following the Mother Knight crux.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Awesome pics Chiloe keep them coming. I think I did that route quite a while ago. It was stout but I at least liked it.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Birdland is a totally fabulous route! One of my favorite routes in RR. Jorge Urioste took our kids on a nature hike so Julia and I could relax and enjoy the climb. I don't know if my ankle-biting rug rats will ever fully appreciate what an honor it was to be tour guided by a legend, but Julia and I still break into perma-grins thinking about that day. THANK YOU Jorge! The finger crack on the fifth pitch is not to be missed! The belay stance is wild. I can only imagine the sphincter puckering that took place when whatever stood atop the triangle ledge cut loose. It is totally clean and scenic now. Jorge told me the fourth pitch while easy was unprotected. Probably because most of the hard cores just 3rd class through it. On the other hand I was able to essentially lace it up with decent gear every fifteen feet or less. Probably because I am anything but hard core. The climbing on every pitch of Birdland is aesthetic and varied. This climb is a real treat for the senses. Be careful running and pulling rap ropes around pitch three.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Joe & I made a fine trip up Birdland last fall -- the first time for both of us.
It was all Joanne's idea. She and Jorge showed the way, as we climbed in two parties of two.
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Roxy
Trad climber
CA Central Coast
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bump
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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A Red Rock story in itself: a couple of photos above show the same climber, 33 years apart.
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flamer
Trad climber
denver
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I can't even remember the year anymore....
I had purchased a Silent partner solo belay device from a friend, to use mostly when hanging out in Vegas partnerless. Since my family moved there 11 years ago I've had many great days with partners in those deep red canyons. I've also had a Plenty of days with no partner and plenty of time.
After working out a few kinks in my system here in Colorado I headed to Vegas.
It was January and I wanted something easy and long...preferably with a small gear list and few people.
I choose Crimson crysalis. Granted this is one of the more popular routes in RR, but it's fully in the shade. Mid Jan? I'll be moving all day so no biggie for me.
The other thing about CC is it seems to catch the wind worse than anywhere else in RR.
About 5 pitchs up and making good time, wind howling around me, I had a thought. "Hmmmmm, Goose" I said (goose is my SP's name...I'm maverick) "what do you suppose it's going to be like rappeling in this wind"?
"Well Mave, I'm thinking it might be like flying through Iceman's jet wash all over again".
"Ok Goose let's get out here".
Down I go. I developed a slick plan to rap with my ropes stacked in slings hanging from my harness. This worked great until I had to pull my ropes(duh!). They were instantly blown around the the buttress... but by some magical, lucky ass something they didn't get stuck!
"Sweet Goose we might be ok after all!"
It was not to be so easy. For as my ropes hung down from the next rappel they again blew around the corner....at least this time I was above them.
Decsending down and 50 ft to the right(climbers) I find the worst tangle I've ever laid eyes upon. Ropes are caught on knobs then they go up 10 ft to flakes, then they tie monsterous granny knots around themselves. While this mess is daunting the only way down is through it so I begin. Nearing the end I have another thought.
"Um goose"?
"yeah Mave"?
"what do you suppose is going to happen when we cut this final knob loose"?
"Gee Maverick since we're 50ft out of the fall line and hanging, I'd say we're going for a ride".
"Smart man Goose, but what about that big right facing dihedral?"
Goose "Um, ouch?"
Me..."EXACTLY"
So with no further option and wanting to get down I did what any climber would do....I cut loose.
In a wonderous arc I sped across the wall, feet peddling....and at the last second I jabbed a toe hard into the face and pushed off. Swinging wide of the dihedral and paving the way to the final rappel...which goes without incident.
Back on the Ground I find 2 core shots in my new rope.
Those wonderous knobs and flakes that are a big part of ascending in red rock, can sure be a pain when descending!
josh
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Sweet Flamer! I could picture the scene clearly.
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Phantom Fugitive
Trad climber
Misery
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I apologize ahead of time for the long-winded story. I don't have any time to thin it out for internet viewing.
So Over the Rainbow
by Jer Collins
"It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat."
Theodore Roosevelt, 1910
“NO!” I shouted, and lit out for my bedroom. It was 1981, and I was being punished for something I said to a girl in class. My reasoning was simple for the lack of apology. I carefully explained “I am sorry she is hurt, but I am not sorry for what I said.” This stubborn story is something my parents love to bring up at dinner parties, birthday gatherings, and every time I haggle with a waiter on the bill. Whereas this personality trait won me a visit from dad’s belt in first grade, it has paid off tenfold in my adult life. Today we like to call it “tenacity”. Whatever.
Jump forward a few spankings, and a “tenacious” (hellacious?) 13 years of school. A friend handed me a stack of magazines she stole from a doctor’s office. How he got a-hold of the short-lived “Onsight Magazine” here in the midwest(Kansas City) I’ll never know. Published out of Las Vegas- its cover story was that of the recent free ascent of The Original Route on Rainbow Wall, found in the deepest corridor of Red Rocks Canyon. I read, re-read, and memorized the contents of the magazine. Salivating over the red rock pics, I wondered what it would be like to climb something like this. As far as I was concerned, I would more likely be able to dry-tool up the under-belly of the St. Louis arch. Weeks later, a friend and I headed to Eldorado Canyon with a torn out article from the publication, and started an adventure that has held my attention for almost 15 years now.
For six of those years, I spent my Thanksgiving dinners in good, albeit dirty company- a circle of kindred dreamers surrounding a fire, 20 minutes from the Las Vegas strip. I made my way through the classics, checking boxes on a tick-list a mile long. Or 13 miles, actually- all through the Red Rocks Canyon loop road, and down south at neighboring Black Velvet Canyon.
October of 2004 found me at the bottom of that tick-list with the glaring Rainbow Wall inked in broken cursive. It was naked- the only remaining unchecked box, while numerous others had been repeated, some three times over! It was time and I knew it. I had been training like a fiend all summer, but I narrowed my focus, and bought tickets for early November. My friend Josh from Boulder met me in Denver for the drive out. We warmed up in Indian Creek for a few days then headed west through Utah towards the glow of the ever-growing suburbs of Vegas. We basically got to know each-other on that drive. We were new, but fast friends, and I saw in him the same willingness to “fail trying”, instead of “fail wondering” I had. We had the same sense of humor, same food tastes, same tick-lists, and same taste in gear. {Insert obvious internet dating joke here}
Josh had moved to Boulder from Pennsylvania to start a youth leading internship through a local church. He had never climbed before, and a local quickly introduced him. His cut his teeth daily in Eldorado, and he was instantly smitten with the vertical world. Dedicating himself to training, Janes worked his way up the grades, quickly climbing the upper level classics including the “reputation routes”. He on-sighted the notorious “Jules Verne” that summer, a local test-piece saved for only the most head-strong climbers- a run out and thin sea of blankness guilty of sending many strong suitors for a forty–plus foot ride through the Colorado skyline. A lifetime achievement for some…an afternoon outing for Josh. Josh had only been climbing for a year and a half. He had found more than he was looking for in the Rockies, and he was hooked.
We arrived in Vegas to colder temps than expected. Traveling over 2000 miles, though, we weren’t going to let a cold morning thwart our attempt. After stalling for a few seasons, and failing miserably at finding somewhere locally to train for “thin, lay-back and stemming corners”, I came to the conclusion that “the best training for the rainbow wall was on the rainbow wall”.
Of course I wanted to on-sight it. Who wouldn’t? Every night I dreamt of it. I did plenty of mental training for this- visualizing myself pulling the crux coolly, and clipping the anchors pitch after pitch. The beauty of the Rainbow Wall challenge for me was that for it’s 13 pitches, at least 80% of those were at or near my onsight limit at the time!
The guidebook said the approach time with a full pack varied from three to eight hours. I rarely believe such wide estimations like these, and we arrived at the base in less time than it took us to watch Mission Impossible II the night before. Dropping the packs we gazed up at the wall in awe as the sun set behind it in a firey framed display. We traced the line with our fingertips and squinted eyes. I anticipated some level of intimidation, but felt very at ease- psyched to finally be here, and focusing less and less on the climb, and more on the full experience, the new friendship, and of course -dinner.
A short bit of scrambling led us to an eight foot deep cave for the night. We built a small fire and enjoyed two-foot long subs we had packed in from town. Neither of us cared much for elaborate, slow cooked camp dinners. Our bellies quickly filled as we watched the fire, and told stories about climbing, girls, mistakes, and dreams. The great thing about newer partners is the stories are ones you haven’t heard 30 times before. Also, if you feel the need to exaggerate the truth a bit, there’s no-one there to correct you. Josh and I yapped it up like two school girls for a couple hours as the fire ran it’s course. As the temperatures dropped, so did conversation, and my thoughts shifted to the wall above. I took some sleeping pills and faded out.
My alarm went off at 6 am, and I looked at the temperature gage. 31 degrees. My nose was cold, but I jumped from my sleeping bag to confirm. Yep. Bone cold. Unmotivating cold. Get back-in-your-friggen-bag cold. We agreed to try again in an hour. Seven A.M. arrived three degrees “warmer”. We heated up some drinks and stared up at the line. It truly was a rainbow of colors- a splitter, central line, slicing through an arching rainbow of a roof. Green, Yellow and Orange lichen screamed across the face, while exposed Red, brown and deep lavender streaks of rock peered out from beneath. I dove into my sketchbook while we realized and accepted the fact that this attempt was over. Today was reported to be the warmest day of the week.
We pouted for only a brief moment, realizing weather was weather, and there wasn’t anything we could do about it. Good partners can deal with it and move on. Great partners find another objective quickly, and squeeze life out of what could have been a waste of a day. Josh pointed down canyon at a favorite of mine- Cloud Tower, and said “how about that instead?” We quickly racked up, and filled our pockets with hand-warmers. Rainbow Wall would be there next season. Neither of us wanted to ruin our on-sight in the cold because of our impatience. We met friends on the strip that night, and I buried my woes in a gluttonous birthday feast at the Bellagio Buffet.
Winter passed, and late March brought a climber’s festival hosted in Red Rocks. Josh and I quickly made plans to meet at the event, both affirming that our winter training regime had gone well, and neither of us was in a state of injury. The week’s weather was a bust- every day arrived wet and gloom-filled. I dreaded every morning. Sixty mile an hour winds tore the festival tents to shreds; hurling them out into the desert like some biblical curse. We attempted to stay optimistic, but assumed the worse. The weather dissected into our psyche and attitudes quickly exposing our darkness. A biting word here; an inconsiderate comment there. Last seasons serendipitous relationship was in strong contrast to where the friendship was headed now.
A fit, cute, brunette at the event intrigued Josh, and I despised him for it; feeling abandoned in “my” project. She was also a friend of mine, which didn’t help. I had invested so much training and mental preparation, and here he was staying up late, and going out for “fun climbs” instead of packing up, and focusing. Josh had already let go of the climb, and accepted the fact that weather had again beat us.
I hadn’t. My stubbornness, err…tenacity wouldn’t let me.
The day of our projected climb rose cloudless, and sunny with
reports of 70 degrees by midday. I approached Josh’s tent at Four A.M. and whispered- “the weather’s good, let’s go for it”. I heard a rustle inside, and smelled something sweet- not the standard capilene-ish funk I was accustomed to.
"She" was in there.
He paused, then said, “I don’t think so, Jer”. I quickly snapped “this is our last chance, Josh, and the last time I am going to attempt this with you”. I instantly regretted it and felt a jab like a nut tool through my ribs. I said it as one final jab from a few days of annoying each-other.
Guess neither of us were much of morning people, as his response quickly confirmed. I was a consumed man, which lead to a tunnel vision of my goals and plans. In my mind, Josh’s distraction and accepting the weather was clearly a sign that he was not as committed as I was. Heck, he’d only considered this objective when I promoted the idea. At first he thought I was kidding! I was done with him. My self-absorbed focus and unrelenting attitude squelched the momentum we had as partners.
I packed up and headed across the desert alone, knowing of two parties planning on aiding the route the next day. Maybe I could rope gun. Heck, the best training for Rainbow Wall was Rainbow Wall, right?
I plugged in the tunes, and drowned out my thoughts in a fevered push into the canyon. I spent the afternoon stretching and watching Ammon and Gabe McNeely attempting a second ascent on an A4 line right of the Original Route.
I crawled into the cave we had inhabited six months ago. Josh’s bed was still hammered out of the dirt, and our fire ring was set up exactly as we left it. It felt empty as I did. I had placed a pin in the ceiling of the cave to hang food from. It was still there. The cave was very dark that night, as I wrestled with dark thoughts.
Lined with a few inches of snow from the week, it was a fitting, frozen place to hash it out inside...
What was important to me? This route? Why? Where did it fit into my life schedule and priorities? What was Josh going through right now? Did he even care? I felt horrible.
Finding a good, compatible climbing partner is sometimes harder than finding a life mate.
I had just cut off a limb from my family tree of climbing pals.
Dark thoughts indeed.
I lay awake listening to the ping-ping-ping of iron being pounded into the rock, with the occasional rock fall from 600 feet above in the abyss of night above my head. Ammon and Gabe climbed all through the night by headlamp, using the good temps to their advantage, eventually succeeding. Mine was a sleepless night reviewing my motivations and mistakes. I wished I were up there, enjoying their company, laughing at the absurdity of it all.
Morning was warm and clear. The two parties quickly arrived from the base, and I helped the friendly strangers hump loads up the first easy pitch. I offered to both parties to be a rope gun, and after a half hour of hemming and hawing, they both declined. I let go. I replied with an honest “Cool”.
What a release.
I sprinted out of there, wondering what was next. I had enjoyed my day and night of solitude, but I was over it, and looked forward to spending time with friends. Maybe even Josh.
I ran into a third party on their way to aid the route. We looked through binoculars at the two groups train-wrecked at the first belay, with two haulbags each and an octopus of ropes and haul systems. I convinced them to climb a route with me on the other side of the canyon instead- in the sun!
We had a good time in shorts and t-shirts, running up a few perfect corner pitches…then it began to rain. We blasted out of the canyon watching the teams attempt to bail from the route, still stuck on the first pitch, soaked.
I smiled.
Release.
On went the tunes, and I struck out for a tour through the desert, with my camera, and a pack full of unused gear and food.
Josh and I eventually met up and each coughed up a weak, forced apology, but things looked dismal for any future. I dropped him off at the airport, and we both flew out of the airport to different destinations, in more ways than one. Josh moved back home to Pennsylvania, and my wife and I committed to life in Kansas City by purchasing a home.
Although the experience left me sour, my time alone confirmed that attempting the route was still important to me. I hadn’t even been able to touch any of the true climb yet. I quickly recruited Ben Williams, and we made plans for late September, when I knew the temps would be warm.
The week we chose was plenty warm- mid 90’s for highs, and 70’s for lows. As the date grew closer, I dreaded being hosed again, but did my best to focus on the important things- time with friends, time in nature, and embracing the slow, and patient process of pursuing something beyond what I thought possible. Ben felt the same way, and if the weather beat us down, we could go somewhere else. Simple.
For the third time, I hiked into Juniper Canyon.
For the third time I looked up at the wall.
For the third time I set up a bivy at the base and fell asleep under a cloudless desert sky.
Everything was falling into place. I felt a peace about Josh and I’s sour trip. I was excited to be here with Ben, and the vibe was strong. We received many “send it!” emails the week leading up to our attempt, and there was a definite presence of friends in the canyon, although there wasn’t a soul in sight.
We had decided to haul our sleeping gear up the route to bivouac on the huge ledge half way up- to both savor the experience, and up our chances. Total overkill, but the highlight of this portion of the trip was the food. We joked that it was “an eating trip where we took hour-long breaks for climbing”- which wasn’t far from the truth.
The day was full, as were our bellies. At each large ledge we lightened our load of mango slices, GORP, peanut M&Ms, and canned peaches. We were living large, and I was relieved to finally be on the route.
Oh yeah! THE ROUTE! It was worth it. Although challenging, it went smoothly, and the on-sight was ours. It came quite easily in the end- a perfect "last tick" to the area. My dreams were realized, and we sailed up the thing just as I saw it in my mind. The mental training paid off, as did the waiting.
-I learned what it meant to let go of a dream, but not too much.
-I learned a lot about the nurturing of new friendships, and how personal timelines can easily get in the way.
-I learned that dried mango slices should be kept at the bottom of the bag, or your partner will eat too much of them at belays.
-I learned that victory could also be defeat if you allow yourself to become too attached to the objective.
-I confirmed the truth behind Roosevelt’s words. Failure IS success when one dares greatly.
Josh and I are still in contact, and have mended the friendship, but have only climbed once together since then.
Ben and I howled like monkeys on our way out of the canyon, giddy with our success, but quickly building a new tick-list for the next season…and the next. I guess it WASN'T the end of my red rocks list.
The wall faded behind us as we hiked out, but hopefully not the lessons learned at its base, and in its multi-colored-corners.
We came back the next year and did Rainbow Wall, Cloud Tower, and Chrimson Crysalis all free in a twelve hour day.
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Phantom Fugitive
Trad climber
Misery
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philo-
the above is mostly for you- since I so thoroughly enjoyed your posts and this thread. Thanks for the good reads.
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flamer
Trad climber
denver
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Awesome story Jer.
Your Rainbow wall, cloud tower, CC day gave me motivation for a long time goal of mine in Red rock. One that had slipped through my grasp a season before and was finally sent within a couple of weeks of your tremendous climbs. Good stuff dude.
I'm thinking one of these days you and I should rope up.
cheers,
josh
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Jer, that's an epic story. Did it inspire any artwork?
I agree that Phil has started and sustained a cool thread here. May it continue.
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Phantom Fugitive
Trad climber
Misery
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Chiloe- I was certainly drawing all along the way, and yeah- all those experiences end up inspiring in some way.
One of those trips, I rode my bike in from the campground with a
canvas strapped to my back to the Oak Creek trailhead, like some sort of desert sailboat. I painted the canyon at sunrise, then stashed my painting, and ran in to Solar Slab. My fingernails were crusted with hints of red, yellow and green paint.
I climbed Solar Slab Gulley to Solar Slab, then down climbed the old rap line down the dark chamber to the right. That was interesting... other parties were rappelling, and I was trying to navigate under their lines. Back to the bike, back to the campground... then back to "normal life".
Josh- yeah man, yeah!
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Your mention of the Solar Slab rappels, and Phil's much more serious story, bring
to mind one of my curmudgeonly issues. I'm probably the only climber in the country who
wishes that Solar Slab had never been retrobolted, so that it still had an element
of commitment, and climbers had the experience of moving self-contained up this long easy
route -- relying on their own judgment in starting up, knowing they faced a night out if
they called it wrong.
But I doubt many others agree.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jer, Man I LOVED that story! The way you brought around and tied it to the opening Teddy quote was terrific and made for a very insightful look into the mental and emotional evolution familiar to many who struggle and strive to ascend.
Thank YOU muchly! Please sir may I have another?
And dude bib BIG kudos on an impressive link up. All that IN A DAY! Blows my doors off.
This thread was motivated by having been asked and honored to pen up an add-on essay for Joanne Urioste's upcoming feature article in Alpinists. That request gave wings to the "MAD mad mad mad MadMan story. But when Alpinist swam upside down I was left just sitting on a story I really liked. What to do? Share it with you all!
Who better to appreciate and understand climber prattle than climbers.
For years I have fired off reminiscences like doodles on a napkin. Perhaps it's the debilitating effect of creeping codger-ness but I have recently been gathering them up along with my cartoons, maps, topos and artwork. Maybe I will notice a pattern or theme for a project maybe not. But it has spurred me to write more. So if y'all don't mind I will keep using ST as a venue. At least there isn't and ad space conscious editor limiting word count or rewriting and rearrange flow and context.
Straight from the horses orifice so to say.
I should have another "blast from the past" story soon so check back.
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Phantom Fugitive
Trad climber
Misery
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Chiloe-
I think the best rap routes generally don't follow the ascent line, but the line for the best pulls. Not sure if the gully is that or not. I do remember stacks and stacks of slings and tat.
Philo- Funny man, I was lined up to do the map for that Allpenis't article. I was excited because I had always wanted to do one for Red Rocks, but had never got around to it. Maybe I should do it anyways...
The only time I got on resolution arete, it took us a long morning to find the starting pitch. Four pitches up we decided we had started too late. The rappels were... interesting. Later, we did "Dogma" and really enjoyed it.
I'll see if I can pen some more to help keep the momentum. Looking forward to more from you.
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flamer
Trad climber
denver
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To funny....Phil I think you know that Joanne asked me to pen a story about an adventure I had in Red rock, for the same Alpinist Article.
I'm still sitting on it....wondering if now that Alpinist has been purchased...
Anyway I'm enjoying this thread tremendously!
I'll have to see if I can't put together a "real" story, as opposed to the quick little writing's I've posted.
Jer...I'll be in RR for most of March. Handren's new guide has inspired me with new, good routes and revision's to some old classics!
josh
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Jer, my lost-cause point is not that the rap anchors should be somewhere else, rather
it's that they changed the whole nature of the route -- making it a no-commitment endeavor.
The FA party placed no bolts, except for one on the Painted Bowl descent. Natural anchors
give fine belays, all the way up.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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I agree with Spartacus. Conga lines of non committal climbing be damned!
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Conga lines of non committal climbing be damned!
Do many other areas have this feature, where the main descent for high-traffic multipitch
routes is the route itself? The crowding this creates in Red Rock seems to be a major
point in most trip reports I see about routes such as Solar Slab, Crimson Chrysalis,
Birdland, Cat in the Hat, etc.
It certainly brings out a different attitude towards long climbs, when people know they
can retreat more or less easily from any point on the route. Fixed anchors provide
obvious safety of one kind, but I wonder if they don't also encourage a dangerous lack
of judgment on the other. Like, a team might think there's no risk in starting up a route
they're not competent to complete in the available light and weather.
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drljefe
climber
Toostoned, AZ
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Chiloe- I agree with you about the retrobolting of Solar Slab. I'm actually shocked to hear about bolted belays there- I don't think there was one bit of fixed pro when I did it in the early 90's. The descent route then was down the massive chasm. My ropes got horribly stuck and an epic ensued. BUT, there was not another soul around. Character building stuff.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Centerfold, III 5.10, FA Scott Woodruff, Larry Hamilton, Joe Herbst, April 1977
A recommended route in Joanne Urioste's red guidebook (probably taking a first
ascentionist's word for it).
"Reportedly not a great route," according to Todd Swain's guidebook.
"Beware of poor rock on the crux pitch (pitch 3)," warns Roxanna Brock's guidebook,
although her written description calls the 3rd pitch 5.8, and rates a higher pitch 5.10.
"The problem is that the rock is poor on the crux pitch, making for a freaky pitch," reports
George Bell on MountainProject.com. Several other posters agree with George's assessment,
noting also various problems with the upper pitches (too easy, not enough protection, etc.).
So why did the FA party like this route? Were they on crack?
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Possibly, the FA party confused their own good adventure with a route others might enjoy.
They weren't the only ones confused, however. Looking through various guidebooks,
I was surprised to notice that their topos showed Centerfold in several different places,
none corresponding to the route taken on the FA. That is, the topos in Urioste, Swain and
Brock guidebooks, and also the one posted on MountainProject, all appear to be "wrong"
with respect to the original line (which might not be quite as bad as the lines followed
by later parties, who were following various guidebooks).
I don't blame the guidebook authors for this uncertainty. When I provided a topo photo
myself to "correct" the one on MountainProject.com, I drew in a mistaken line as well.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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The one author who seems to have gotten the route right is Jeremy Handren in [url="http://www.redrocksguidebook.com/"]his 2008
guidebook[/url].
I hope Jerry will forgive my copying his topo below, with green numbers added by me,
as an aid to telling the climb's story.
For comparison: the MountainProject.com topo (rightmost line shown below) appears to
jog left near the crux, around the same place where Jerry's topo (and the FA party)
jogged right to reach better rock.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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When Scott and I reached Red Rock that spring, on our way home from Lovers Leap, Joe
as usual had some projects in mind. The first of these was on a formation he and Betsy
had named Bottle Bill, because it was bottle-shaped and Nevada was debating a recycling
law at the time. Everyone called that law the Bottle Bill.
We ended up climbing his Bottle Bill route in a mass assault with five climbers --
including Tom Kaufman and Steve Allen, as well as Joe, Scott and me.
With five guys and a new route on Bottle Bill, what else could we name it but Five Pack?
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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The day after we climbed Five Pack, Scott, Joe and I walked out to Mescalito.
In common with many of Joe's projects, our planned route already had a name: Centerfold,
because it would follow a line like the fold between pages. Or so we hoped.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Looks like a winner. Adding it to my "Larry H. FA" tick list climbing trip to RR.
Great thread,
Prod.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Prod, Philo, glad you're enjoying this. It's cool that a forum exists now for
sharing historical and not-so-historical stories, before they get lost forever.
I'm posting installments between work on a paper that's due today, and a report
that's due tomorrow -- "task rotation" seems to make it all flow.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Joe started up the first pitch, some 5.8-ish face climbing with nuts for pro. This section
is below the first belay (green "1") marked on the topo photo above.
Scott climbed second; looks like he's carrying most of the rack. Hexes, stoppers and
a few bolts were all we brought.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Scott the led the second pitch, which I described as follows in my notes written that night:
"P2 -- Climb the right-most of two chimney-cracks above to an overhang. Traverse down and
left, around a corner. Difficult climbing up a thin crack leads to another good belay (5.9)"
In the photo below, he is climbing the thin crack just above the short leftwards jag.
The above photo was taken looking upwards from the belay marked "1" on the
topo below. The sharp photo in Jerry's guidebook clearly shows the features of this
pitch, including the angular white overhang that pushes the leader to traverse
down and left.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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I led the third pitch, up to the point marked "3" on the topo.
"P3 -- Follow the vertical gully above, moving right at its top to a comfortable ledge
with a bush (5.8)."
I think it's the bush you can see in the earlier photo of Scott leading P2.
Above that, things began to get a little weird.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Well I have a start to another RR story which I sincerely hope you all will like. But I got carried away with my last Black Canyon installment before I finished it. Please check it out.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Philo, the nature of Red Rock climbing seems to make for good stories. I'll look
forward to your next one.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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(back to Centerfold)
From the 3rd belay we looked up and didn't like what we saw. I'm guessing the next
bit is what these MountainProject.com posters are describing:
George Bell:
The problem is that the rock is poor on the crux pitch, making for a freaky pitch....
The crux (3rd?) pitch involves white rock, an old bolt, flexy flakes and questionable pro.
Manuel Rangel:
I remember climbing through a slightly overhung face with lotta flakes and gear left behind.
Pete Bresciani:
I remember the crux as coming up to a small roof, then going straight up over this into the
white, chossy, poorly protected (poor rock quality) 5.10 section.
It must have looked unpleasant to us too, because we decided not to go there. Instead, we
headed out for a detour on the highly featured, black-varnished face to our right.
But there was another problem: Joe wasn't feeling so good. Perhaps it was food poisoning
from something he ate the night before; or maybe just some random virus. Whatever was
happening, he gave the fourth lead to Scott. Scott lead up and then traversed well right,
belaying out there on a narrow ledge in the varnish.
This crucial rightwards detour shows up clearly on Handren's topo, but appears missing
from all of the others -- which might have led subsequent parties to engage the
loose crux we avoided. In the photo below, Scott belays at the point I marked "4."
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Reilly
Mountain climber
Monrovia, CA
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First, nicely written Phil!
It would appear that I have a story to relate that may be unique. In 1979, I think, we were four bumpkins from Seattle possessed of some extremely sketchy, actually sketchy prose, beta of an unknown provenance to me. No matter, I set the timeing on Dave's Fiat 131 the night before our departure with the trusty ol' match book cover and we were off!
While well versed in the delights of the Cascades' notorious choad we were a bit awed by this new world spread before us at Pine Creek (I think). At least there weren't any crevasses or mosquitoes! We picked a nice looking line that didn't appear to pose too much likelihood of serious embarassment. I think it was to the right of that 'Negro Blanco' thing a few posts back. We were actually having a pretty good time until I had to surmount a humongous block that was only tenuously, at best, still attached to the main mass. I slithered up it and parked on a nice ledge. When Dave was coming up the most seemingly dangerous part I pleaded with him not to layback it! Just then I caught something in the upper limits of my peripheral vision. I looked out through the canyon's mouth in shock. What appeared to be a good mile of the top of the ridge that parallels the east side of the N to S highway had silently erupted to an elevation of at least 1000'! I shouted the proverbial holy cheese wiz and clamped on the belay fully expecting the worst with the arrival of the shock wave. I'd already been in five avalanches and figured this would be my sixth and last. When the sound wave hit I swear I could hear my ears flapping in the breeze. Of course, nary a pebble stirred to our utter amazement. Nevertheless, for the rest of the climb we fairly held our breath expecting the next wave of incoming. Why hadn't our beta noted the proximity of a B-52 bombing range so close by?
Shaken, not stirred!
Reilly
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Bump for another good story.
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Inner City
Trad climber
East Bay
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This thread is so great! I've enjoyed reading all the tales. I have some of my own, but they don't merit mention in this class. If we started a thread called. "Red Rocks mini epics" I could chime in, or 'bad moments at RR' but my stories of bad runout and fear are too distant and minor in comparison. Thanks for the stories...wow.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Bull sh#t Inner City,
Post up.
Prod.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Reilly, I liked this part especially:
We picked a nice looking line that didn't appear to pose too much likelihood of serious
embarassment. I think it was to the right of that 'Negro Blanco' thing a few posts
back.
How it was climbing in Red Rock in the 70s, before our overbeta-ed age.
Inner City, Prod is right -- you got stories, post 'em up. Just for fun, not for
greatness. Here I am, going on and on about Centerfold, fer chrissakes.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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(meanwhile, four pitches up Centerfold)
Joe was feeling poor, so Scott took his lead, going out right to belay on a narrow
ledge in the varnished face.
"P4 -- Climb up a few feet and make an obvious, long traverse to a narrow ledge on
the face to the right (5.7)."
Joe followed this pitch, but he was getting worse by the minute. By the time he
reached Scott, his distress was acute: he needed to be off the wall now. Feeling
the pressure of imminent disaster, Scott rigged a single-rope rappel and Joe immediately
headed down. I can't recall the details -- it might have involved Joe rapping to a
ledge, Scott dropping the single rope, then Joe rigging a second rappel. As soon as he
reached the ground, poor Joe vanished into the bushes.
In the photo of Scott below, you can see the blue rope rigged as a single-strand rap
line, tied off to one corner of the ledge and (because we evidently didn't trust
that) a few inconveniently-located nuts.
If Scott and I had been better people, we might have gone down with Joe to be sure he
was OK, and left the route for another day or party. But I don't recall anyone, and
certainly not Joe, seriously proposing such a thoughtful sacrifice at the time.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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What happened next was, for me, the heart of the climb, and the part I remember
most clearly.
Following Joe's sudden departure, Scott and I took stock of our situation. We were less
than half way up the wall, with half the day gone, one rope, and unknown difficulties
above. Naturally we decided to go for it.
I led on up the varnished face, which wasn't difficult but felt "out there" enough
to be fun. My holds ended at a stance on the left, atop the last bit of varnish.
There was unfriendly rock above, offering no protection or anchors. The main crack
line was still 10 feet out of reach to my left.
I began hand-drilling for the first bolt of our climb. It seemed that my one drill bit
might have been sharpened at a wrong angle (by me), because it kept binding in the
hole. After a longer-than-usual effort, I started to hammer in a 1/4" Star expansion
bolt. Its head snapped off when the nail was halfway in, uselessly plugging
the drilled hole. I began a second hole, and after more effort managed to
place one good bolt. It turned out to be the only bolt on our route.
A few minutes later, I would be wishing that I'd had the patience and good
sense to drill one more, building at least a two-bolt anchor. Instead, weighing the
hour and the uncertainties ahead, I had rashly decided that one 1/4" bolt would have
to be good enough. At least, I'd placed this one well.
"P5 -- Go up through the varnished section above, then angle up left to a narrow,
exposed ledge with a bolt anchor (5.8)."
I belayed Scott up to my stance. This belay is correctly marked on Handren's
topo, left of my green number "5."
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Todd Gordon
Trad climber
Joshua Tree, Cal
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I guess I've had my fun at Red Rocks;......some memorable moments.....
I climbed Solar slab with a German girl who had only been climbing twice.
We went to climb Cat in the Hat,...but my car broke down and was in the shop until well afternoon;...we finally got the car out of the shop, and ran in and did the climb in 1 1/2 hours.
I did Black Dagger with a young ladie who got a 2 foot rip in her sweat pants.....(no problem with that...)
When we climbed Frogland, we were the only party that did the climb that day ...
My brother in law led Neon Sunset.....he is a non-climber who has climbed in the gym a few times.
When we did Chrimson Chrys, it was only getting done a few times a month....if that...
We did Epinephrine when it was very hot;...in 5 hours .
I think the Nightcrawler is one of the best climbs in Red Rocks.
I think Out of Control is one of the best crack climbs in Red Rocks.
We climbed Rock Warrior all the way to the summit, and got back to our packs after midnight.
We got stuck over night on Dark Shadows on my girlfriends 30th birthday. We went all the way to the summit of Mescalito.
Running Man in one of the best face climbs in Red Rocks.
Leavitation is one of my top 10 climbs.
I climbed Eagle Dance with a Communist.
I didn't want to climb the FA of Delicate Sound of Thunder with Wonderly and Evans because it was too cold.
The first time I saw Black Velvet Canyon, I thought it was so cool I almost cried.
When we did Rock Warrior, we went over to Richard Harrison's house to get beta (He was on the FA ) He told us to bring slider nuts.
On the drive home from Vegas after climbing Epinephrine, I hit a cow in my truck near Cima.....the cow's head hit the windshield, and broke the window, and my passenger door never opened after that too.
Radim Bedan; communist.
Dave Evans on the Rock Warrior.
Eagle Dance
Black Velvet Wall;....one of the most beautiful sites a climber can set eyes upon...
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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After reaching my exposed stance, Scott downclimbed slightly and accomplished
a thin traverse left -- the route's crux. At the start of this traverse, he had
almost a toprope belay, but this illusion of security didn't last. He regained
the main crack at a position below and well left of the belay, but still could not
place any protection until he had climbed up ten more feet, as seen in the
photo below. All this time, there was nothing between us and the ground except
Scott's climbing ability and my lonely bolt.
Eventually Scott placed a nut, but it was a large hex that looked doubtful for the
kind of outward-diagonal stress that might happen. Fortunately, he did not fall, and the
difficulty began to ease off.
I see that we rated this scary pitch 5.9+:
"P6 -- Climb down from the left side of the belay until it is possible to traverse a
few moves and regain the main crack system. Follow this over a difficult bulge
and belay (5.9+)."
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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We had little idea what would come next, but it turned out that Centerfold got a
lot easier after that crux. This was fortunate for us, because we were feeling a bit
frazzled and the daylight clock was ticking.
"P7 -- An easy, obvious ropelength to a dirty belay.
P8 -- A strenuous, though moderate, chimney and crack pitch (5.7).
P9 -- Take the smooth, left-hand chimney, simple but not protected."
About this last part, Manuel Rangel wrote on MountainProject:
We perservered and ended up doing a scary last pitch on a grainy groove/chimney
that I stemmed with hardly any pro, none good. After that, we ended up with a cold bivy.
Or as Pete Bresciani described it:
After that the climb continued up uninteresting rock, many bushes, and more low
quality rock.
I don't recall these last pitches at all, unlike the vivid memories about pitch 5
and the start of pitch 6.
In my notes written for Joe's notebook on the evening of the climb, I summed up
our consensus about its quality:
"The climbing on the first six leads is consistently interesting and dramatic.
Although the route eases considerably towards the top, the line is maintained.
Another bolt should be added to the anchor on pitch 5."
That's how we thought, "the line is maintained." It's the right-most crack/chimney
system on this wall:
But for a refreshingly different perspective, here's how Bresciani summed it up:
This ranks up there with the most highly overated routes in Red Rocks such as
Community Pillar, Magic Triangle and Geronimo. Not so good, no stars.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Chiloe I am really loving what you are puttin' down. I hope you will compile it cohesively once you get it all out there.
Long live Spartacus! Long write Chiloe!
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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So how did our original line become "lost"? I suspect that my loose page of notes
describing the route (quoted in pieces above) did not make it into Joanne Urioste's
hands when she wrote the first guidebook, aided by Joe's notebook. Consequently,
her description had to be vague:
The route ascends the crack system mentioned above to the top of Perception Tower;
it then continues to the summit of Mescalito.
Swain's guidebook sez:
The route goes up obvious white cracks and flakes to the top of a prominent tower.
From the top of the tower, continue to the summit of Mescalito, utilizing obvious cracks.
Roxanna Brock asked me about the route for her guidebook, and printed my pitch-by-pitch
description -- which mentions the right-face detour, and the crux on pitch 5. Perhaps
struggling to reconcile my description with accounts by more recent parties, however,
her text also mentions an overhanging crux on pitch 3.
My initial contribution to the MountainProject.com discussion did not help anything
either. I knew about the right-face detour, but wasn't sure exactly where it went,
and drew a topo as wrong as the others.
Jerry Handren printed the pitch-by-pitch description in his 2008 guidebook too. For the
first time, this was accompanied by a good topo photo. I'm guessing Jerry went and
studied the wall, with description in hand.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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And that's the untold story.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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All kudos to the earlier chroniclers of RR legacy.
But my hat's off to the tremendous job Jerry Handren did with his monumental project.
A truly meticulously researched and smartly produced guide book classic.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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That evening, reunited with Joe and Betsy, Scott and I recounted our adventure.
Joe, half-recovered, listened sadly. Perhaps remembering the 5.10 FA he had led the
day before, Joe turned to Betsy and sighed, "I used to be a strong man."
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Ow! I feel his pain!
Once I climbed a mountain, had some fun, stood up tall on a dime.
Once I climbed a mountain, now I'm done, belayer can you spare some time.
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Philo
I thought you were going to go with the song,
'brother, can you spare a dime?'. . .
You still stand tall. Veddy, veddy, tall.
(as does Chiloe)!
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Texplorer
Trad climber
Reno
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Liked Mr. Gordon's list so thought I would list my own RR bests
Climbed Epi with a Jesus look-alike that saw down-soloing it after his "foot slipped" in the chimneys.
Hit 200,000 miles on my mercury cougar in black velvet canyon
Climbed a fine FA with the venerable Joan Urioste
Found the best climbing partners of my life
Burned out the seat in more pants than I can remember
Learned to to hate the ire of those damned live oak leaves
Asked the girl I would eventually divorce to marry me atop Mescalito
Learned what it feels like prussik, dehydrated, in the dark, on a stuck rope, after 22 hours of climbing
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Todd Gordon
Trad climber
Joshua Tree, Cal
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This is NOT the Black Velet Wall..
Todd Swain;..he wrote the book....
Leavitation 29.....on my top 10 list.........
What happens in Vegas......stays in Vegas.....
The dreaded Chimney pitches on Epi
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Texplorer
Trad climber
Reno
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So here is a more modern contribution to the "Red Rock Stories" While not the best FA I have been a part of at RR this is the most memorable day I have had in those hallowed canyons.
In the fall of 2006 Larry DeAngelo and myself had discovered the potential of First Creek. This was probably the most untouched of all Red Rock canyons at the time. Larry had scoped out a few lines on the long slabs that rose just up the trail from the Lotta Balls and Romber Room areas.
Larry and I "rediscovered" what is now known as sunset slab. We had thought we were on an FA but later discovered that a young Joe Herbst climbed a route near the line we took and he was even benighted on the route. Unsure of the exact line Joe took we gave him the FA cudos. After over 1000ft of climbing we hit a large ledge system. I will never forget seeing the huge and intimidating wall above, steep and forboding. I asked the sage of RR FAs what routes lay on this upper behemouth of a wall. . . Larry knew of no routes there. At that moment I knew that I would be returning to this wall.
Fast forward a few weeks. I had climbed only a few days with this fellow Andrew and done a few of the RR classics but already felt at home. It was uncanny that totally separately we had aquired almost identical racks, shoes, jackets, harnesses, techniques, and experiences. When I conveyed to him that I knew where there was a 1000ft+ unclimbed wall in Red Rocks he didn't hesitate.
I have placed only one or two bolts in my entire career and saw no reason to start now. Andrew had even less experience so whether by stupidity or naivety we decided to leave the bolt kit behind. Armed with a double rack from brass wires to #6 friend we headed out at 5:30 one crisp autumn morning. An hour later we were at the base of sunset slab. This was the first time Andrew had even been in the canyon.
We tied in and I led the way as we simul-climbed the entire lower slabs section in about 1 1/2 hours. Now at the ledge system we scoped out several starts to the massive headwall and even attempted a few false starts before finally embarking on the route. We began climbing below the tallest section of the wall.
Approach Pitches
The first few pitches went well. We stretched our 60m rope to the limit on almost every pitch. The route seemed to have natural ledges about every 200ft or so and the climbing was generally on decent rock and clean. The first 4 pitches went by at a moderate 5.9ish feel. After weaving about the wall for about 1000ft we reached the final headwall.
This pitch proved to be the physical crux. What had looked like a nice crack from below was actually a 5 inch wide crack with about 3 inches of moss the inside. Starting out I aided a tenuous move on sandy rock and moved up into the dry mossy crack. It is an unnerving feeling to feel a "good" handjam start to slowly slip as the moss gradually breaks loose from the rock. Occasionally I would try to stop to get a piece of gear in only to find that the crack seemed to swallow the cam but it would pull right out. Luckily I didn't fall and fortuitously at almost exactly 200ft there was a small bush growing out of the crack. I stopped and belayed off the sappling.
Mossy Crack
As Andrew groveled his way up this crack I peered above and notice the crack system we were in seemed to get smaller and become overhanging. At this point we had maybe 2 1/2 hours of light left in the day and the spector of a forced bivy was looming.
Andrew arrived at the belay and I was very glad that I was not leading the next pitch. After a brief discussion of the situation he decided to traverse to the right to see what was around the corner. I had imagined a 20-30 foot traverse. Slowly he began to work his way across sloping face holds. The climbing did not look difficult but there was no protection. Andrew climbed around a bulge and I lost sight of him yet the rope kept going . .. .and going . . .and going. Finally, about 60ft out I heard a distant yell that he was moving up a crack.
Now I am no fool and know what a fall on a traverse like that would do to you so I yelled back for him to climb up as far as possible before placing pro.
About 30-40ft more rope out and he finally place his first piece of gear. When there was no rope left Andrew set up a belay.
As I followed out I was pleased the traverse was relatively easy climbing. Amazingly Andrew had climbed 20ft or so of 5.10 crack before placing gear while having probably 70-80ft of rope out. Yikes! Arriving at the belay I was unnerved to notice that it was a less than desirable anchor. A few more pitches later and we topped out.
Summit Photo
Relief washed over me. We had made it. . . or so I thought. A brief celebration and of course the mandatory summit photos ensued. Now the true adventure began.
We had scoped what we imagined would be a long but walk off descent. Walking back from the edge we began to descend a large but bushy gulley. It narrowed and became steeper and steeper. As the light faded we came upon a mountain goat carcass and we picked up the horns as souveniers. Perhaps this angered the mountain gods but soon thereafter things got more sticky.
We had finished the last of our water on the summit and I already felt parched at that point. Now the dehydration started to set in. I just kept telling myself the car was just a few hours away.
Darkness.. . . Darkness had enveloped us and we were still descending couloirs, chutes, and wading through dead and pointy live oak leaves. We came to what we thought was the ledge system atop sunset slab but nothing looked familiar to me. We traversed back and forth for about an hour to no avail. Finally we had to make the decision to rappel.
Less than ideal raps resulted in at least 3-4 lessons in night prussiking. The worst of our fears now was the we were rappelling into a dead end with no way down and no way back up. As the night wore on the dehydration changed from an annoyance to obsession. All I could think of was those powerades back at my fau-wood paneled station wagon. My lips were beyond dry and cracking, a throbbing headache tormented me and we were still moving downward. We were still downclimbing up to 5.7 offwidth and other things we should have been rappelling. A few rappels later and I spotted a bolted anchor! . . .but where were we? Then my dehydrated stupor cleared and I realized we were one easy rappel to the valley floor and it would be a 1 hour hike out.
Little did I know that those sandy walls had one last surprise. Our rope didn't pull again. It was my turn to prussik. Stand up, slide up. . . . rest. . . stand up, slide up . . . rest. It probably took me 45 min to ascend 60ft in the darkness. Exhausted I felt the ropes would pull from here. I had never deliberately left gear before but at this point I just didn't care. In went a #1 camalot and I made a makeshift anchor. Soon we were on the ground. The 1 hour walk out was more like 1 1/2 hours as we stumbled through the desert in the early morning hours.
About hour 20
Finally back at the car we gorged on powerade that burned my mouth. I didn't care. I had been 24 hours of non-stop movement on less than a gallon of water since we had left the old station wagon.
The drive back to henderson was a blur. Slowly the pain faded as the story was retold over and over. It is funny how one of the most grueling days of your life can become one of the best.
Since then we have done 3 more routes on the wall and found out that the venerable Jay Smith had scooped us climbing the first line on the wall probably back in the 80's. Still the most memorable for me will always be Tiers of the Setting Sun
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Todd Gordon
Trad climber
Joshua Tree, Cal
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Red Rocks is one of the greatest climbing areas on planet earth.....
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cowpoke
climber
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The Chiloe and Texplorer stories are wonderful reads. Both gave me the classic approach-avoidance conflict (i.e., simultaneously wanting and not wanting to experience the routes, first hand). Juxtaposed, they provide a cool perspective on past and present Red Rock adventure. thanks to all making this such a great thread!
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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I liked Texplorer's story too. They did the climb in classically good style, and his
write-up conveys the experience on these walls before other parties have cleaned
out the cracks, set the anchors, rated the crux and told you the best descent.
Here's to Red Rock adventure climbs, large and small!
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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After climbing Centerfold in 1977, my life took other turns. I didn't visit Red
Rock again until 1991, so I missed the late 70s and 80s, when Joanne and Jorge,
Philo, Geof C and many others put up their great routes.
When I finally came back, in 1991, the climbing world had changed. Scenic Loop
sport climbs, unimagined back in the 70s, were now all the rage. I had fun on
those too, before rediscovering the canyons.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Youse guise is amazin! I love the pics and the stories and the recollections through decades. Keep these gems a commin'.
So as warned here is the next story. But due to the length and complexity and the fact that most of it is still in my head this tale will be presented in the installment plan.
LOST WAGES.
part 1.
The gear was all packed and ready, drinks and last minute road snacks included. Gathered right off the shelves of Newberry's General Store in Cimarron Colorado. Gassed and ready to go we said our fond "see ya's" and rumbled off in Jimmy's dubious VeeWee bus. In the rear view mirror I could see Jaunita, Newberry's saintly mom, scurry back to the store. No doubt to light her candles for Jimmy's safety.
As the van jolted on to the hiway I wondered to my self if she has alloted any paraffin for me.
We had just enough time for the Wall Crawler and I to wander the dessert plucking towers like apples off the branch on our way. Our rendezvous in Sin City was to incorporate a few days of warm up climbing at some obscure place called Red Rock.
While traveling Jimmy did his best to increase my understanding about the scope of potential just outside of Lost Wages. I had heard a few hard to believe tales about this "so called "climbing area but in my mind I just pictured a Garden of the God's on steroids. So I was more interested in getting on down the road than scruffing around some soft sandstone.
We were to join up with Geoff Conley, the MadMan, at Las Vegas's McCarran airport in a few days. Our team's ultimate destination was the still untrammeled rock of El Gran Trono Blanco in the wilds of Mexico. My greatest concern was the numerous stories, warnings actually, about the mythical MadMan. His exploits of adventure were harder to believe that the TALL tales of big walls in Vegas. Everyone said he and I would either hit it off or hit each other. Consensus was for the later. Two strong willed diametrically opposite individuals were bound to mix like oil and water. The tree hugger and the lumberjack on the road. Complicating my concern was the explicitly expressed description of the MadMan's physical prowess and his compunction to not take any sh#t. I think the words used to explain what would happen if I were to screw up anything were something a kin to "He will likely crush you (heavy emphasis on the you) like a zit" followed by riotous laughter.
Whereas my old friend Jimmy the Wall Crawler Newberry was the perfect adventuremate, easy going, jovial and generous to a fault. On first impression my new acquaintance and future ropemate was anything but. Geoff the MadMan Conley came off the plane with a staggering bluster. A whirlwind of confidence and bravado. His gregarious Fu Man Chu mustache spoke almost as loudly as he did. I was lost in the background of a boisterous reunion, a wall flower from interloper university. The introduction turned to me and a hand the size of a boxing glove was thrust at me. I thought he was going to hit me. I think I flinched before losing my own futile paw to the confines of a hearty hand shake. Followed by a lock eyed and earnestly spoken "I heard a you". For a moment I again thought he might strike me. But then laughter filled the little terminal and we went to retrieve gear, a lot of gear. A mountain of gear actually. In those days you could still meet your party at the gate and extra luggage didn't cost more than your ticket. Even still the airlines must have cringed whenever MadMan went-a-climbin'.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Finally caught up on this thread, including Phantom Fugitive long read (well worth it BTW).
Good to the last drop there Chiloe, I think I could climb Centerfold sans topo at this point. Must have been clenching on the single bolt belay with a crappy stopper for a Jesus nut! Yikes.
Her Jer,
One of the great things about Red Rocks is that the tick lists can last for decades even heading there twice a year. Sh#t, there are main canyons that I have never entered, and many many famous climbs that I have not even thought about looking at... I sort of like obscure routes better anyways. Keep up the good work.
Flamer et al,
Great stories.
Philo,
Get with it, “bumpinski” only works so long. How about some more of that quality content.
*EDIT** Sorry Philo we must have been writing at the same tme..
Cheers all,
Prod.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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LOST WAGES.
part 2.
It was already late that winter day, too late I thought, to do anything more than get a $3 dinner at a casino. But no, Madman had the WallCrawler rap his now overloaded weenie wagon up and off we sped to the Calico Hills. These days the first two pullouts on the scenic loop road have become climbing destinations in their own right. Yet back then to me, compared to the Black Canyon in my back yard, the climbs we did that afternoon were mostly yawn inspiring. I still had absolutely no idea of the true enormity that surrounded me. The immense scale that is the walls and canyons of Red Rock country. Other than the swerving and squealing of the bus driven more by MadMan's impatience than by Jimmy the drive down Charleston towards the rocks was pretty ho hum. To me the Red Rocks looked like little more than lumpy sand dunes in the back light of dusk's approach. I was non-plused. "How long before we head to Mexico" was my primary contribution to the conversation that night. I think I caught a corner of the eye glimpse of Geoff looking at Newbs and pinching his thumb and forefinger together provocatively. Needless to say things looked different in the early light of a brand new day when what I hadn't seen before was thrust forward to slap me in the awareness.
The proposed three or four days lay over in Vegas morphed for a variety of reasons into a month. First and foremost was the predilection of the precariously drivable Newbs-mobile to strand us at any given moment. Leaving a sparking trail of random parts behind us we would abruptly swerve off the roads and into empty lot bivys midst the rubble of construction detritus. Those same ad hoc campsites are now the locations of luxury homes and sprawling casino complexes. The residents of which haven't the slightest idea what once took place in their very own back yards. Which is the only thing I find funny about the urban blight now encroaching rapidly on the very door step of Red Rock country.
We also lost Jimmy for an extended period of time. We in fact had and repaired two vehicle breakdowns before we located our wayward teammate. Rumor has it he enjoyed an extended nap in the exterior shrubbery of the Sands landscaping. I don't know for sure what all he experienced in those lost days but I do remember his prodigal return. On the very day and at the very time that Geoff and I were packing up and leaving the dive motel room we had rented on the Strip the WallCrawler stumbled home out of nowhere. Loud, belligerent, and stuffed like a sausage with more poker chips than I had ever seen outside of a casino. He threw handfuls of winnings into the air laughing maniacally then blithered off to crash in the motel bed. MadMan gathered up the Manna from Hell and wandered in to check on his old friend.
Everyone had previously expressed some level of concern that MadMan and I would come to struggles. Our egos and stubborn sides being an obstacle to friendship. Surprisingly he and I forged a fast friendship and a tight partnership. It was Newberry however who at that time had my hackles up. In retrospect I think I was mostly worried I would have had to tell Jaunitta I had lost her son. But I laid into Jim for all the worry and inconvenience he had..yada yada. He didn't care he wasn't moving. Not, that is, until Mad man picked him up by the belt and scruff and flung him easily into the back of the bus. "And stay there or I'll kick your Ass" I think I added while getting behind the wheel. Starting the engine I let myself think how glad I was that the MadMan was for now at least my friend.
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Todd Gordon
Trad climber
Joshua Tree, Cal
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Eagle Buttress
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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I had to look up Texplorer's route in the guidebook to learn something about that wall.
Quite a find in 2006.
Philo's partners sound like a crux in themselves. Looking forward to more story.
To add more color after Todd's good pictures above ... here's Cowpoke high on
Dream of Wild Turkeys, named by the Uriostes after that English route
mentioned on the "shining sea" thread.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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That rock is the Artist's Muse for climbers.
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Inner City
Trad climber
East Bay
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Prod has shamed me into it and it ain't much, but here we go:
Camped down at the Colorado river near that hot spring about an hour outside of Vegas, we finally motivated to go back to Red Rocks and try to do Black Dagger. My buddy and I had done a few routes in RR and loved it there and always went to the hot springs to soak and camp for at least one evening/morning during out trips down from the Bay Area.
We made it across the dam and onto the loop road and to the trailhead by noon and got to the base by 1:30 or so. It was the third pitch, or the one that is below the 'tunnel through' section where I had my moment. My palms are now sweating as I recall, going up to a wide portion of the crack and thinking, eek, this ain't 5.7 and then going right onto the face and finding more and more holds, just continuing upward. Up and up I went, no gear, and no problems. I remember looking left back to cleft and thinking I needed to get back there and not seeing a good spot, but up higher it looks o'kay.
Eventually, I was about 80 feet or so above my last piece and the wall went slick above me and I HAD TO GET LEFT, back to the actual route! The move over there was probably only 5.7 but involved a matching foot thing and one hand hold. After looking around for any possible pro, I finally looked down at my belayer, said "I'm going for it" and made the move. I was so gripped that my feet were jiggling as I went and my hands were clutched in a death grip on the lone hold and then it was over. I almost peed as stepped to a good stance and tried to calm down. I really felt like I had escaped death or something.
We finished the route and I learned my off-route lesson big time, and can maybe thank a good bit of run out Tuolumne face climbing as the reason for my problem and for my survival!
Years later I hiked in to the base of that same route with my wife after hearing at the Visitor Center that there was a 20 mo. old drought on. When we got to the upper portion of that beautiful slick rock bowl below rainbow wall the skies opened up, there were water falls everywhere and it was a spectacle I'll never forget. I love that place.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Jan 10, 2009 - 09:43am PT
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Good stuff Philo,
What year was that?
InnerCity,
Yikes, I was gripped reading that. I got off route doing some odd 5.6 called Sandhole to the left of Tunnel Vision. After coming out of the Sand Hold, a cool long squeeze chimney, you are supposed to head left. I wondered off to the right on a sea of easy face holds with no gear. I ended up at the base of the tunnel pitch of Tunnel Vision, and finished off the last 2 pitches of Tunnel Vision. It was actually a nice link up.
Aren't rain storms in the desert amazing. When I was a river guide in the Grand Canyon I loved day time storms just to see all of the waterfalls erupt from every dip in the rim.
Prod.
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Studly
Trad climber
WA
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Jan 10, 2009 - 01:13pm PT
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I was just in Red Rocks this week Sun-Tuesday. Didn't do any canyon multipitch routes this trip. Stayed with the sporty stuff due to the time of year, but had a blast! Here's the link to my humble video of fun.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AiT7qMb7iUE
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 10, 2009 - 04:25pm PT
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LOST WAGES.
part 3.
The Newbs-mobile finally shuddered to a stop. Gear, garbage and dirt bags cascaded out of doors flung wide. Amazingly the vastly distressed VW van had made it all the way out to the Wilson Pimple bivy site. We had made three stops on our way out of Vegas. First MadMan needed new shoes. His other pair now completely blown out from miles of vertical terrain. Desert Rock Sports was and is the place to go, so we went. Geoff, for all his machismo, shops like a girl. "How long before we head to camp" I asked. Another briefly glimpsed "pincher" signal flashed between MadMan and the WallCrawler.
Next a stop at a health food store in a west Charleston strip mall. For all his redneckness, Geoff was even then a connoisseur of fine food and wine. He avoided junk food in particular. So we stopped to get his favorite wall food. Loaves of uncooked sprouted wheat bread. Lumps of sticky sweet vegetable matter by appearance, they were in the final assessment delicious and nutritious. The final stop was a gorge-fest at the Show Boat our favorite casino buffet. All you could eat, and for us that what a lot, for five bucks. In the final assessment, other than dirt bag cheep, casino food was at least eatable and excreteable. Overused lobster bibs eventually aside and we were once again on the road. Out of the cacophony and excess of Glitter Gulch and back out to the sanity and silence of desert country. The sandstone big walls and canyons, painted and sculpted by the unseen hand of forces beyond my limits to grasp; over a span of time beyond my imagination to fathom. Wide open wild spaces where the burro and the dirt bag roamed free. I was hooked I never wanted to leave!
It was firelight dark when we finished racking and packing for the predawn start planed and coming soon. Haphazardly sprawled bivies were strewn about Jim's hissing and groaning spaced shuttle. Various melodious snores filled out the evening's lullaby concerto. Even still sleep came slow and uneasily to me. The unimpeded stars teased my retinas with the simple glory of brilliant light. The silhouette of Mount Wilson stood, an utterly inert ebony void, looming overhead like an eclipse of the night sky.The view, like a giant Tao of light and dark, kept me pinned in my bivy sac. Between the edge of the campfire light and hem of the starlight lay an unknown adventure for my immediate future. The prospects of which had me tossing and turning thru a good deal of the night.
It had only been three short months since I had the last cast peeled off. Two and a half months earlier I had finally perfected walking. My injury should have been a career ender seeing as how my leg had been buckled backwards violently enough for my own shoe to split my lip. But the overdrive gear on an A type personality coupled with my Polish heritage's inclination to ignore suffering compelled me to get back on the proverbial horse. Yippee ei oooooh. I was actually climbing great. But the approaches and descents were a torturous process of moving in fear of every step, for the next might be the last. To mitigate this anxiety I had taken to using a steam bent ash wood walking cane, It had a big curved handle like a sheepherder's staff and a little webbing loop that I had affixed to it. It was strong enough to hang off of and versatile enough to assist over any terrain. And when the climbing got technical I just clipped it in to a gear sling on my harness. That cane and I had as close to a symbiotic relationship as a human and an inanimate object could have. But the impressively emphatic MadMan had been clear beyond doubt that tomorrow the "stick" stayed home.
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drljefe
climber
Toostoned, AZ
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Jan 11, 2009 - 07:57pm PT
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BUMP! Loving these stories.
+-1992
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 11, 2009 - 08:26pm PT
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Thank god. I was beginning to believe no one read climbing threads anymore.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Jan 12, 2009 - 10:23am PT
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Great stuff Philo,
What year?
Prod.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Jan 12, 2009 - 11:33am PT
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I was beginning to believe no one read climbing threads anymore.
But, our heroes haven't left the ground yet!
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 12, 2009 - 11:51am PT
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LoL Chiloe. Just for that here is part 4.
LOST WAGES.
part 4.
December 31st 1980. Short cold days and long frigid nights. Stiff achy knee pre dawn risings. We had already plucked a slew of fabulous routes including a planned bivy on the first continuous ascent of Eagle Dance. But now we were heading up the vast unknowns of towering Mount Wilson. This glorious geologic feature is truly a mountain and not just a big wall. We knew we had to move fast given such short days and long routes. So we carried almost nothing. One small pack for the second to carry hats, jackets, a loaf of sprouted wheat wad, two quarts of water and a lighter. We didn't have a headlamp because in those days they were just too bulky and heavy to justify. We didn't carry helmets for the same fuzzy logic. Additionally we toted one small old school rack, one 50 meter rope, and no bolt kit.
Still dawn dim we trudged up hill sweating from the pace in spite of the chill morning air. MadMan new exactly where he was going. He had been there before with Newberry the WallCrawler. Various unfavorable conditions conspired against their attempt and they abandoned the route low down. Now we were back. Everything above was in a vacuum of information. All I had as reference besides MadMan's horrific epic-fest tales was one lone article I had read. Larry Hamilton and Joe Herbst had created the monumental Aeolian Wall route years earlier. The hauntingly enigmatic tale they told had stuck with me for years. Years before I ever went there myself and realized that all the tales were true and where they were was where I was.
Roping up and donning tight shoes at the intimidating start to the first pitch I wondered, and not for the first or last time, what exactly was I getting myself into. Geoff took the first pitch as he knew right where to go. From that point on we swapped leads, he on the odds me on evens. Both of us hoping to not crap out. Whether by plan or providence Geoff got most of the devious pitches. Few people I have ever known have the route finding "nose" that the MadMan has. He could seemingly just sniff out the way to go, connecting incongruous features from a far. This route was his brain child. Forged by his drive and vision and lust for adventure. I was honored to just be participating as an equal partner.
Every chance I got, when a view of the rapidly descending desert floor presented its self, I would gaze intently trying to see my old walking stick at camp. Hoping to see it still propped where I left it and not tossed into the fire that Jimmy had rekindled. No such luck. The run-outs I engaged did not bother me near as much as my abiding anxiety about descending sans "stick" did.
The phenomenal foreshortening that occurs in places like the Red Rock canyon lands is not unlike the emotional experiences of sighting a desperately needed oasis in the desert only to have it be a mirage. Features I thought were two pitches away were still two pitches away after four pitches. This was a very big mountain! We were very small people. We were the only two people on Mount Wilson that winter day and one of us secretly yearned for the sense of security he left at camp.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 12, 2009 - 03:15pm PT
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LOST WAGES.
part 5.
(Previously presented in part as Adventures with a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, MadMan.)
Having already experienced a rich history of life on Sherwood Forest, the MadMan was first to rap to it. From our high point on Day One of our ascent of the soon-to-be “Resolution Arête”, we had rapped in for the night. By the time I got down to him he was already busy gathering the tall, dried and now flowerless stalks of the cactus plants that grow in abundance there. Unaware of his purpose, but sure he knew what he was doing; and a little afraid to question someone who towered over and outweighed me by an easy sixty pounds, I wordlessly followed suit. With both of us dragging armloads of what would end up being our firewood for the night, I followed that walking eclipse of muscle and sinew to the small bivy site he'd established years earlier.
Being New Years Eve, it was a bitterly cold night high up on Mt. Wilson. The only way to stay warm was to huddle as close to our small fire as possible, continuously feeding the long cactus stalks in as they slowly burned. Totally exhausted, I fell asleep with my legs draped over the far end of one of those brittle stalks. Meanwhile, like a sandstone gargoyle atop some desert cathedral, the oh-so-stoic Geoff Conley patiently watched over me. The MadMan waited…waited for the inevitable. He waited to watch my pant leg catch fire just as his own jacket sleeve had done at this exact spot two years earlier. Still wearing that same jacket, he laughed at my misery with uproarious contempt. Startled awake to the dual indignities of hellfire and humiliation, I wondered again just who exactly was this MadMan that I was now inextricably linked to.
One day earlier he had, in spite of my whining protests, made me—actually forced me—to give up my beloved walking cane. The MadMan knew I didn’t really need it. At that moment, however, he was having a beastly good time at my expense, watching me in bemusement as I beat out the flames on the very leg I was so sure required that cane. I realized—reluctantly—that if I had stubbornly brought it along, it would have just been in the way and ended up in the fire anyway.
The following day, after summiting the first ascent of the Resolution Arête, Geoffrey took on the role of nursemaid to me as we descended Oak Creek Canyon, in the pitch dark of that long winter night. He faithfully stuck with me on my turtle-paced caneless stumblefest. So dutiful was his attentiveness that, to this day, I have no doubt I’d roped up with one of the most competent and visionary climbers I have ever known and been proud to call a friend.
Such was my strength of faith in him and our partnership that we went back to Mt. Wilson a few days later to put up the adventurous Gwondonnaland Boogie. Again armed with only a single 150' rope and a minimal rack of hexes and stoppers. With the MadMan on belay, I was calm and serene, focused and alert when after 100 feet of hard steep face climbing, with only one very marginal sideways stopper between creaky flakes for protection I came to the crux of the route. Figuring that if he couldn't catch me, at least I knew he could haul my carcass down.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Jan 12, 2009 - 05:50pm PT
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What a pleasure Plilo. Thanks for sharing.
Prod.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 12, 2009 - 07:10pm PT
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Well don't go away I am not done yet.
LOST WAGES.
part 6.
(Previously presented in part as The Edge of a resolution.)
The name "Resolution Arête" did not spring into being simply because Geoff "resolved" to go back to it after his first attempt with Newberry cashed out. Though that was a motivating factor to be sure, the way it really went was like this...The morning after ascending our fixed lines, the first substantial pitch of climbing was a delicate face traverse, left and up into a gravely chimney slot with minimal protection potential. This pitch is now called “the tricky hand traverse”. I watched Geoff lead this poorly protected section like it was a walk in the park, and then he disappeared into the chimney.
Now back then the MadMan was a manly man, he was really large and powerful, not like the scrawny wimp he's become (umm…he's not gonna read this is he?), with a reputation for being an animal on hard cracks, off widths and the like. On the other hand, I was a scrawny face-climbing specialist. I assumed that if ol' Monstro could reef on those tiny little layback flakes, then it should be a breeze for me. Much to my chagrin, when I reached the crux, I unexpectedly popped a flake and went flinging into the overhanging void with a wild pendulum. I came to rest dangling 300'+ above Sherwood Forest, unable to connect with the rock and hearing MadMan’s emphatic plea to "GET OFF THE ROPE NOW!"
He, too, had assumed I would fly across that pitch, and when he didn't find any good anchors at the stance in the chimney, he just put me on a hip belay backed up by some really crappy wired stoppers behind a dubious flake. The jolt of my fall hit so suddenly that Geoff was ripped off his stance and dragged several feet down the chimney. Two of the three anchors blew out completely, and the two of us were literally saved from a fast trip to Nottingham by the MadMan’s brute force self-arrest, and the one remaining marginal stopper. How Geoff ever managed to keep it together, wedged like that while I struggled to swing into the overhanging face and unweight the rope, is beyond me. It certainly is a testament to his power and drive that he not only saved both our lives, but never once thought about going down.
We finished the first ascent of the route that day, and being that it was New Years, we (needless to say) made several resolutions. The first of which being that, even if the anchors are pathetically marginal, put in as many as you can! And of course, there was that reference to the well known quote from the old TV sitcom “The Odd Couple”, about the dangers of assuming(*).
We had talked about all sorts of names for our FA the night before at the bivy, but at the end of that second day, the name Resolution Arête just sort of made sense.
(*) "Never ASSUME, because when you ASSUME, you make an ASS of U and ME."
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 12, 2009 - 09:17pm PT
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(more to come unless someone stops me)
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Studly
Trad climber
WA
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Jan 12, 2009 - 11:46pm PT
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I will never rap down Solar Slab gully at night and feel the same. It is kind of a dark ominous spooky place even in daylight. There are a couple anchors you need to hang it out there to access, but overall it is pretty straightforward but for some reason I always feel better once I am back on the ground. Good story, it got me gripped!
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 13, 2009 - 11:12am PT
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LOST WAGES.
part 7.
As I mentioned earlier Geoff and I went back to Mount Wilson a few days after the FA on the Resolution Arete. This time our intent was a new route on the Horseshoe wall of Wilson. The only other line to breach the imposing sheerness of this big wall was another Conley masterpiece called Scotty put up two years earlier. Named for, and climbed with, our good friend Scott Gilbert who had perished tragically in a Canadian avalanche in the intervening year. This would be the second route up that wall and would cross over Scotty on the way to the summit.
It was deemed that, even with a fire, pile jacket bivouacs in winter were less than ideal. Not the way to start a day of high level adventuring. So the decision was made to caravan gear up to the Sherwood Forest bivy. In those days it was possible to third class up Willy's Couloir to access the Ledges of Sherwood Forest. Otherwise the only options were one of the two Pink Tornado routes that MadMan had put up in the seventies.
So late that morning and at a leisurely pace four of us began humping gear upward. there was the WallCrawler and the Madman, myself and Geoff's girl friend Bianca. In addition to our shoes harnesses, single rope and spartan rack each of us carried a moderate load of bivy gear, food and water. At the base of the Pink Tornados I decided that slogging was much less fun than climbing. So much to my team mates consternation I took my personal gear and the rope, in case I needed it, and proceeded to solo the left Tornado. As they turned to continue the slog-fest up Willy's coulior they all looked at me as if for the last time.
Geoff in particular was worried as he knew first hand that the Tornados were not a walk up. But I progressed steadily without much ado. Hanging the pack from slings off my harness I would tackle the challenging chimneys. The rest of the time I would carry it climbing alpine style. Later that afternoon we spotted each other at about the same time. I was just heading up the last of the broken terrain to Sherwood Forest and the bivy site. And they were just turning the corner and traversing to the same place. I don't know who was more surprised, them seeing me alive, or me seeing them get there so fast.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 13, 2009 - 07:26pm PT
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Is there anybody out there anymore?
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Jan 13, 2009 - 07:47pm PT
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This was a very big mountain!
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Jan 14, 2009 - 08:44am PT
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Isn’t the Sherwood Forest bivy about 1/3rd of the way up Resolution Arete?
I have a ton of great classic climbing to do in RR. That area just keeps on giving.
Prod.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 14, 2009 - 09:33am PT
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No Prod. Subsequent ascents have established an "on route" bivy.
The Sherwood Forest bivy that Conley established is a wholly separate place. It is located on the upper edge of the ledges of Sherwood Forest. It is the "bomb diggety' of bivys.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 14, 2009 - 11:02am PT
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LOST WAGES.
part 8.
We had a wonderful evening. A deluxe bivy compete with extracurricular party favors, good food and drink, lively fireside chat and warm sleeping bags. Slowly, one by one, we faded off to sleep while visions of neon lights danced upon our retinas. Waking up on Sherwood Forest is not unlike waking up on the Diamond's Broadway. The dawn light strikes you first. The imposing wall at your back looms menacingly overhead. Out there to the east midst the still darkened plains you know there is a major metropolitan area. A place choked with people about to go about the mundane daily routines of their horizontal lives. Millions of busy souls with plans and expectations and no idea what so ever that your own meager existence is in sight but out of reach. You can see the city lights twinkling in the distance, a mirage of comfort and convenience. On Sherwood Forest that January our little party was very much alone.
MadMan and I got a real live bonified alpine start while Bianca and the WallCrawler packed up the party and hiked every thing back down to the Wilson Pimple camp site. I have many times been honored and gratified by friends who, because of my gimpy leg, were willing to hump loads and facilitate my selfish strivings. It was really magnanimous of Jimmy and Bianca to do all that work so Geoff and I could have a restful night and an easy, early start. They selflessly spent the remainder of their day and night reversing the scramble down Willy's Couloir and worrying about us from camp. Partners are not always roped together.
A rack and a rope and a little bit of...ah...hope and we were off and upward bound once again. Steep, intimidating and sparsely protected from the start we aimed for the foreshortened skyline more than a thousand feet away. Following the MadMan's innate "nose" for a line we ascended, linking devious subtleties connecting thin cracks and shallow corners. To either side of us was a seemingly endless supply of perfect virgin stone. We were awash in a sea of adventure. Overhanging above us towered the looming summit mushroom of the route Scotty. A gigantic sandstone Hokasai wave in, what I hoped was, suspended animation.
We climbed for a lot of reasons that day. To get to the summit, to beat the on coming storm, to feel the beauty and freedom of moving over untouched stone, to gaze in wonder at the enormity of it all and to be alive. Odd I sometimes think it is when dancing on the brink of forever can be such a life affirming experience. None of reasons we climbed for that day involved the slightest concern
for glory or "legacy". We climbed for our own selfish reasons with no regard for the future. Yet we established a route on that day that I feel should be an American classic. It is probably the best thing I have ever done. Though in the twenty following years it never received a second ascent. Something tells me it might have had a little to do with the "X" factor.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Jan 14, 2009 - 11:24am PT
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The topo on MountainProject.com helps me to visualize Gwondanna Land in relation to other lines.
My photo earlier on this page is near the top of the wall, I think about where the numeral
"6" appears -- where several routes (notably Phil's Resolution Arete, along with
Aeolian Wall and Woodrow) converge.
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Studly
Trad climber
WA
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Jan 14, 2009 - 11:30am PT
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Philo, In the new guidebook they don't give Gwondonnaland any stars. Is it a stellar climb, is it mediocore, what would you say? Well worth doing?
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 14, 2009 - 11:40am PT
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Studly I would say it is a STELLAR route. One deserving of many repeats and possibly "Classic" status. I think that it is a far better route than Resolution Arete. And if linked with a Pink Tornado it is the longest route at Red Rock. As I said I think it is easilly one of the finest routes I have ever put up. Unfortunately owing to an apparently deserved connotation as a death route it was never repeated till recently. Fortunately, someone, who shall remain nameless, went back and retrobolted the climb to make it repeatably survivable. All of the small hand full of the repeat ascensionists have praised the pure quality of this route. With new bolts and modern gear it should see an increase in traffic in the coming years. It is after all the current easiest way up the Horseshoe Wall.
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Largo
Sport climber
Venice, Ca
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Jan 14, 2009 - 12:17pm PT
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I have an electronic file of a story per the first ascent of Woodrow (1978, with Richard Harrison, with one rope, four bolts aand no chance of retreat), on Mt. Wilson, a trip that spooked the crap out of us. But I can't seem to find it.
JL
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Studly
Trad climber
WA
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Jan 14, 2009 - 12:19pm PT
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Thank you Philo! It just went on my ticklist for Spring. and JL, I have read that story you speak of about the first ascent of Woodrow. I think its in one of the guidebooks. Talk about laying it out there with one just rope, that story scared the crap out of me just reading it. and you pulled it off with no real epic. Had to be stoked at the end of that day.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 14, 2009 - 12:36pm PT
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Yeah JL I think that story might be in Jerry's guide. I remember it. A great, gripping read. If you find it please consider posting it here.Or any of your related tales that you care to pen up.
Is the Lost Wages story boring everyone yet? Or should I finish the damn thing?
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shwilly
Trad climber
vegas
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Jan 14, 2009 - 01:03pm PT
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are you kidding me ? i could read your stuff all day! please go on
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Jan 14, 2009 - 02:11pm PT
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Keep going I gotta hear why and where it is an X rated route.
Prod.
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ydpl8s
Trad climber
Santa Monica, California
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Jan 14, 2009 - 02:14pm PT
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Yes Phil, please continue, otherwise I'll have no excuse to stray from my work!
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 15, 2009 - 06:19am PT
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LOST WAGES.
part 9.
The "X" factor happens. It wasn't want we were trying for it is just what we dealt with that winter day. The demons of our own self imposed limitations were met head on and our consciousness was expanded accordingly. We were where we belonged, in our element and very much alive. Even though any one false step could have easily and instantly reduced that consciousness to zero. We climbed for more than just fun. We simply climbed to be.
When the MadMan and I finally reached the prominent "tectonic plate" traverse we were sure we had it in the bag. We were only a few pitches from the summit and moving fast. Surely the difficulties lay below us and smooth sailing beckoned us up. But then the dark clouds that had been teasing and threatening us all day moved in in earnest. MadMan's mood shifted noticeably. Suddenly he was nervous and impatient. Something was wrong and he was getting anxious.
Earlier Geoff had regaled me with horrific tales of an earlier life and death descent off of Wilson in a raging blizzard. He, Bianca and Newberry had struggled to survive the white out and iced rock of the Oak Creek Canyon descent. At one point Newberry, being the first to rap, alit on a iced over pool of water only to have it collapse beneath him. Instantly he was dragged down by the weight of his burdensome pack. Submerged, flailing and utterly unable to extricate himself from under the freezing water he began to perish. MadMan flew down the rap, grabbed the WallCrawler by the pack straps and hoisted him sputtering into the air at the last moment.
Now, high up on the Horseshoe Wall, as the snow began to fall he emphatically reiterated that epic story in gruesome detail. Suddenly the situation not so fun anymore. We had to get off this wall fast! In emotional and physical overdrive we pressed on with renewed intent and increased trepidation. Now we would climb to survive. On one pitch, a demanding wide crack, the rope slipped behind some brush in the back off the corner and became entangled. There was MadMan a half a rope length up and leading without protection for the sake of speed. At the crux he was yanked to a halt by the tangled rope as the snow fell harder.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 15, 2009 - 07:15am PT
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LOST WAGES.
part 10.
Two mighty tugs of war ensued. One was between MadMan and I, seesawing the rope while trying to not dislodge Geoff from his precarious stance. The other was between ourselves and our fears. Snow was swirling and beginning to stick, the rock was slicking up quickly. We were getting progressively chilled. The belayer would shiver uncontrollably while the leader would sweat through the rapidly worsening conditions. A final last minute heave of desperation and the rope came free. The offending shrubbery was loosed from it's rooted anchorage and flung into the void below.
Off belay, on belay and another rope length with no pro placed for speed. Suddenly I arrived on level ground just as a beam of sunlight burst though the storm clouds and illuminated the very spot of our top out. Like a gift from heaven saying congratulations boys you get to live. MadMan joined me shortly and we celebrated our survival to that point. While I danced around singing inanely like a court jester MadMan did something incongruous and unexpected. He pulled up his shirt and exposed his barrel chest to the warming rays of the Sun. Charging his batteries like a basking Walrus he seemed to slip into a momentary trance. Then without warning or word he stood and started running down hill.
Our brief solar interlude was done but we were not. We were not "off", nor were we not out of the woods. I ran after him concerned. This was only the second time I had faced a cane-less descent and the running scared me silly. I was taken aback with the realization that the MadMan, normally a rock of confidence and bravado, was running scared. Slip sliding down the long descent was, this time, a desperate affair. Cold, snowing and getting dark we made our way frantically but safely down to Oak Creek Canyon and the security of camp at the Wilson Pimple.
There was Jimmy and Bianca waiting at camp with concern creased faces. You could taste their prolonged worry in the air like acid rain from the heart. They too had recalled their earlier epic descent and had feared the worst when the weather had closed in. But we had made it, we were down. Their relief at seeing us approach was apparent. They wanted to celebrate. We wanted to sleep. But not before copious consumption of proffered party favors. Sleep came easily that night.
In the morning of a brand new day the dawn broke bright and warm.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 15, 2009 - 08:31am PT
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LOST WAGES.
part 11.
Our time for this trip was up. We never made it to Mexico. But no matter we had a grand adventure none the less. Early the next morning, MadMan and Bianca boarded their return flight to California. Jimmy and I headed for one more Showboat buffet. Jimmy's previous winnings having been exhausted in the preceding three weeks, we were down to our last $10 each,. $5 for dinner and a meager $5 for the return trip. Problem was the Newbs-mobile was limping along on a prayer and a roll of bailing wire. It needed tires badly and certainly more that $10 for gas to get to Colorado. What to do, what to do?
VEGAS BABY! It is often been said that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Our experiences might have been "a happening" but we had no intent to stay in Vegas. So wiping the lobster juice from our chins we left the buffet and made our way into the chaos and cacophony of the casino.
As MadMan has an uncanny nose for a line Jimmy has an equally impressive nose for a table. He veered abruptly towards a nearby black jack, I followed suit. He plunked his last fiver down and so did I. Let the fates decide.
I had seen my share of hapless busted gamblers with pockets pulled out trying to hitch rides out of town in defeat. A pitiful site that I started imagining to be our fate. But the patron saint of gamblers and lost causes was smiling on us that night. We both won. Jimmy with a black jack and me with a better hand than the dealer. Three hours later we stumbled away from the table sodden with alcohol and loaded with winnings. Laughing all the way to the door.
Suddenly possessing more than enough money to get new tires, gas and lots of road food we turned the van north. With the garish light of Vegas dwindling into the past we made our way home to our futures. Memories of a life time neatly stowed in our mental ruck sacks. Jaunita, still smelling faintly of candle wax, was delighted and relieved to see her prodigal son return. I wanted to ask if she had lit one for me but didn't want to disturb the heartfelt reunion. We were home. Content that our adventure lust was for the time being sated.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 15, 2009 - 08:34am PT
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LOST WAGES.
part 12.
Climbing in Red Rocks in those days was a grand adventure. A bonding of life-long friendships and a blending of evolving styles. A place and time for a few hardy souls to push themselves beyond what they thought possible. A sandstone crucible of exploration and creative expression. Unfettered by either crowds or bureaucracy, we had the red kingdom to ourselves. Driving all the way out and camping at the Wilson Pimple, we felt like kings of our own personal fiefdoms. There was so little known and so much to do in those days that it was literally a climbers' paradise.
Much is owed to the pioneers of those routes and keepers of the lore of Red Rocks. Folks like Joe Herbst, Larry Hamilton, Jorge and Joanne Urioste, and Geoff Conley. Their monumental efforts created so many incredible and classic routes. Without the ongoing efforts of the chroniclers, like Joanne Urioste, Larry DeAngello and Jerry Handren, so much vital history would be lost to the ravages of forgetfulness. Those pioneers whose fearless adventures and frightful antics etched an indelible legacy of some of the best of human capacity. They entered a three-dimensional blank canvas and produced enduring masterpieces.
Unfortunately, with the cancerous growth of urban sprawl threatening at the very door step of Red Rocks these days, much of the spirit of grand adventure has been sadly dissipated, perhaps lost forever. Yet the greater concern to my mind is the ceaseless encroachment of BLM restrictions. Their heavy-handed mistreatment of the climbing community is quite likely to squelch the free exchange of information that should rightfully be the lore and legacy of the future. These days, it’s not just the MadMan that is mad, mad, mad, mad, Mad!
The hope that many of us have is for a fundamental change in BLM attitudes and policies towards climbers. Certainly the fragile nature of this wildness needs to be protected. But, protected more from the encroachment of development and the burden of bureaucratic restrictions than from the adventurous antics of climbers. We the climbers who frequent the walls and canyons of Red Rock are not the enemy. We are the true advocates of conservation.
Well that's it for now. I hope you all enjoyed the tale. Now it's time for me to get back to penning up more Black Canyon stories. But like Schwartzeneger I'll be back.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Jan 15, 2009 - 10:51am PT
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What a road trip! I also liked your conversations on Mountain Project about that route. Have you ever been on Lady Wilsons Cleavage? I'm thinking I need to get up to that wall...
Prod.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Jan 15, 2009 - 12:28pm PT
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Climbing in Red Rocks in those days was a grand adventure.
Hear, hear to that! Sometimes it still is, witness Texplorer's grand adventure upthread,
from 2006. I suspect there are more adventure stories out there in Tacoland waiting
to be written, not all of them about first ascents.
I share Philo's dismay at the urbanization of the desert east of the canyons, that
openness was a sad thing to lose. And rising populations, traffic and pollution
directly affect the canyons themselves. In my view, that's a larger and less
reversible threat than the BLM regulations of climbers, onerous as those might be.
From the summit of Windy Peak, 1975:
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 15, 2009 - 01:48pm PT
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Chiloe that is an awesome picture from BITD. It almost looks like the face of an old piaute stareing of to the future in the East.
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Chiloe
Trad climber
Lee, NH
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Jan 15, 2009 - 02:00pm PT
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It does look like that, doesn't it? Don't think I noticed at the time.
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Prod
Trad climber
A place w/o Avitars apparently
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Jan 15, 2009 - 02:23pm PT
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Hiking out from Windy Peak over Thanksgiving. I think this was from the notch where you start to drop down the steep talis slope. Lots of city sprawl lights.
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philo
Trad climber
boulder, co.
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Jan 16, 2009 - 12:13pm PT
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Birdland is a totally fabulous route! One of my favorite routes in RR. Jorge Urioste took our kids on a nature hike so Julia and I could relax and enjoy the climb. I don't know if my ankle-biting rug rats will ever fully appreciate what an honor it was to be tour guided by a legend, but Julia and I still break into perma-grins thinking about that day. THANK YOU Jorge!
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| Messages 1 - 146 of total 146 in this topic |
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