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speelyei
Trad climber
Kingman, Arizona
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Topic Author's Original Post - Nov 8, 2013 - 08:14pm PT
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I used to climb in Oregon. Then I started surfing. I was a better surfer than climber. My best routes, that is, the ones I remember most fondly, are the Headstone and Black Tide at Joshua Tree, the Alpenjager Chimney on Crown Point in the Columbia River Gorge, Karate Crack, the Poplar, and Pioneer route (W face var.) at Smith... Some long easies at Leavenworth, all those easy slabby cracks at Sespe Gorge...
So you see, I am your every-day, run-of-the-mill, manure pile buttress kind of climber. Yes, I have hexes. And sometimes a helmet.
I moved to Kingman, AZ, and friends, it's a choss bath here, but it's always sunny. I love it. Moderate and easy X rated crap everywhere... I still labor under illusions... of ground up FA's and bolting with a hand drill on lead, so, I don't do much. Just no partners. So, I spend a little time bouldering and re-building the rack, and now, here I am on your forum having a glass of port and sucking up bandwidth. After a ten year+ hiatus, I'm back.
Friends, I promised a story, so here's a no-holds barred introduction to me:
Speelyei’s Story (from 15 years ago)
In Northern California, there is a piece of rugged beauty called the Trinity Alps. The Trinity is like a sharp, pointy Yosemite with no Curry Village and no roads. If you want to climb something, you gotta walk a little. The most popular climbing area (popular like Southern Oregon surfing) is the extreme North East section called Castle Crags. If you are driving down I-5 and go through Dunsmuir and Castella, the white pointy tooth-like mountains are the granite spires of the Castle Crags. Probably the most widely known and climbed route is the Kosmic Wall on Mt. Hubris, better known as "The Ogre".
The route starts on the left hand side of Ogre’s chin, then angles up the right hand side of his right eye, obtains the large ledge on the right hand skyline about 3/4 of the way up, then turns left and goes up to the summit. All in all, it's about 800' of easy but exposed climbing. Not hard for the experienced, but not the best place to learn how to do this sort of thing. Now, to climb something like this, you really need a rope, a partner, and a bunch of metal thingies to stick in the rock.
So, about the second component; the partner. My partner, who was also my best and oldest friend at the time, was an often hysterically funny and out of control individual named Scott. Like anybody you've been friends with for years, we'd had good times and bad, and Scott is like the human incarnation of Dr. Gonzo…in Brian Dennehy’s body. The man is like a pit bull when he wants something, and he has never let good sense or experience dictate his actions.
We spent the night in Castella, sleeping via beer consumption, but we didn’t have a guide book. So we wake up early, surly, and buy coffee in town and walk up to the bookstore. We can see the copy of the guidebook in the window, the woman is there, but she doesn’t open for another seven minutes. I knock on the door and she looks up and points at the clock. "F*#k this. F*#k her!" I say, reasonably. "How many freakin’ people come knocking on her door to buy crap in this freakin’ town? I'm sure it’s just a retail free for all. F*#k it, let’s go". In retrospect, my attitude was inappropriate for the time and place. So we drive up to the Castle Crags parking area; we park, load up our packs and just get out and start walking. We walked for eight and a half hours. We walked to the wrong huge crag, bushwhacked through manzanita that was over our heads, got sunburned, got pissed, argued, found Mt. Hubris, (in the distance) and went back to the car. It was the closest we ever came to just throwing punches. We drank heavily, again, that night.
We got some info on the route in the campground that night, and armed with accurate information on where we’re supposed to go, we woke up the next morning bright and early (and hung over) and were on the way before 7am. At the car, we threw our stuff into our packs. You know how partners almost always share the load; one guy takes the rope, the other guy takes the rack and slings and carabiners, and each person takes their shoes, harness, maybe a chalkbag, windbreaker… you get the idea. So we walk in, it’s a beautiful morning, the granite is gleaming white, and we're both psyched. We get to the bottom of the route, and hit the first sign of trouble: Backpacks. Three of them.
Admit it: a party of three is usually the worst thing that can happen. They’re slow, they are usually "club" climbers, and it's an inherently inefficient way of going for the most part. Yep, and there they were. The old guy, the young hotshot, and the reasonable middle-ager. Helmets. Raingear. Ensolite pad and "summit" packs…club climbers.
So, we "slow our roll" and let them get a few rope lengths off the deck. You know, you don’t want to get too stacked up behind folks who are on the route above you because they have a tendency to drop things, dislodge rocks, and if you try and pass them they usually get all hostile and trippy…and there’s generally not a real good way to do it anyway. So we start to unload our bags. I’ve got some carabiners, Scott’s got some pieces of pro, one of us has the rope, the other guy the water. "Don’t you have the rack?”, I ask. “No, I got the 'biners and slings, isn't that the rack?”, he answers. “No, these are just a couple random pieces I picked up in case we wanted them", I snap back. A little silence. Because for about 800' of climbing we had 16 carabiners, six slings, and about 9 pieces of protection to stick in the rock of varying sizes. That meant that the leader had to climb a minimum of 20' between each placement no matter how hard or unnerving the route got. It also leaves damn little to build an anchor with.
It was about this time that I noticed I had to take a really bad crap. You know, one of those “coffee goin' through ya, ate too many pancakes” kind of turds. One of those “been pulled over with the four way blinkers goin’, wavin' the little ones by” kind of shits.
Well, there was some quiet tension as Scott and I secretly blamed each other for forgetting the rack and other important pieces of safety equipment. We got rigged up and started climbing. I forgot about taking a dump for the time being, as I had other things on my mind. The climbing was easy, the position phenomenal, and the group above us slow. I had figured we could climb this thing in a couple hours. Now we were waiting for these guys at the end of every pitch! We started, and reached the big ledge on the right hand skyline; this thing is about 12' wide and about 30' long as I remember. There were some large flat rocks, and a pile of boulders at one end. The third member of the party ahead of us was sitting at the end of the ledge watching the rope he was tied to trail into the sky like a snake being charmed by a fakir. He was painfully uninteresting.
It is worth noting that I decided to skip a belay station and make a run for the ledge. Our rope was short by about 30'. This meant that Scott had to untie and start climbing up before I had built an anchor and begun belaying him up to me. Also, I hit an unnerving section just before gaining the ledge, and I tried not to think of what would happen if he slipped coming up. I had taken a harder variation off the anchor, which I knew he would follow, and because of the way the route went I couldn’t holler back down to him. We only had about four intermediate protection points between us in 200'. Can you imagine if one of us slipped? The swinging, tumbling, rag doll down the less than vertical face, the sickening feeling of the top piece of protection being ripped from the crack as another 40' of slack goes into the system?
Anyway, we both make the ledge. Dullard McDullsville joins his party of three, and Scott starts to put together the little rack to lead the next pitch. "OK", I say, "The next pitch goes straight up the little vertical headwall, and then it turns to the LEFT, and there should be a belay spot in an alcove. Don’t try to run the pitches together because we don’t have enough rope to do it here…especially here." 'OK, Mom", he says. "OK, seriously… just go to the next anchor, it should be a pretty short pitch", I tell him. "Yeah…climbing" he says.
So after we can no longer see the trio, he starts climbing up. And up. And he gets to the "hard" part, and climbs through it pretty easily. And he disappears into the alcove. The rope keeps going up. "Are you at the anchor!!?", I yell. No answer. Again I yell up, "Hey!? Are you at the anchor?" The rope stops moving. My neck is aching from looking up. And suddenly, the pressure on my ass is unbelievable. The turd is trying to erupt, it wants to tear through my ragged khaki shorts and boxers like tissue. I start hopping in place. Stepping back and forth, side to side. Clenching, relaxing, deep breathing. If he just yells so that I know he's to the anchor, I can drop my drawers and give birth.
Not being able to communicate is common in climbing. You've been there. Both people review the route, and have a pretty good idea of the layout before they climb it. There is a rhythm to everything, and climbing is no different. A leader will usually move at a pretty regular pace, stopping at the hard spots or to place gear and then moving smoothly and assuredly over the easy ground. When they get to an anchor or to a spot where they intend to build one, the upward motion of the rope being pulled through your hands stops temporarily. They will pull up about 8' of rope as they tie in and situate themselves. If possible, they will yell "Off belay!" so that you know to unclip your belaying device and carabiner so that they can then pull up the excess line out of the system. The rope will come up tight on your harness, and they'll yell "Is that you!?" After an affirmative answer, they tell you "Climb!", or something similar. You get so used to the rhythm that when you can’t talk you know pretty well what’s going on.
Now, taking a crap on the belay ledge is nothing new. Yosemite, Zion, Smith Rocks, The Gunks, The Dolomites. All these fantastic geologic features have flat ledges way up in the air where climbers have dropped their loads. Under the flat rocks and gravel are the tops of tube socks, sleeves of t-shirts, and the bottom 2 inches of boxer shorts used to wipe the asses of erstwhile hard men and women who had to answer the call of nature while looking across the tops of the world’s peaks and ranges. If you knew where to look, you could probably find Yvonne Chouniard’s crap encrusted tube sock in the backcountry of Yosemite, or Royal Robbins’ crappy bandana in the Cirque of the Unclimbables. You don’t go looking for these things, but you know they’re there.
So, I figured that ‘ol Scotty boy must be about there, and I had to do something fast. I walked back over to a little pile of rocks, and pulled down my pants and boxers. Not an easy thing to do while wearing a rock climbing harness. I tied a figure eight knot in the rope so that I could take my hands off the rope to work on my own little project. No sooner did I get my britches down than I just took a monster dump. Ever see MAX as it blasts out of the tunnel under the Portland zoo? This was bigger. And more solid.
Suddenly, the rope starts tugging. I’m trying to get the knot undone and feed some slack and continue pooping simultaneously. I also don’t want to get the rope in this topsoil I’ve just made, nor step in it. So the layout is thus: I’m half hunched over a pile of rocks on the east end of the ledge. The rope runs out about 14' horizontally and up the wall, into the alcove about 100' above me. Scott was supposed to stop there and build an anchor. Thinking he had arrived at the anchor, I undid the belay and was wiping my ass with rocks as I hear him yell "I’m almost at the ANCHOR!"
What?! What the f*#k? I give one good last scrape to get the last of the dip out of the bowl, toss the rock over the big drop, and pull up my pants. I look over the rocks in front of me, and there’s like 80' of rope all piled up there! What the f*#k? I grab a bight of rope and slap on the belay rig, and finally Scott yells “Off belay!”. He pulls the rope up, and I get all tied in and cover up my BM with a flat rock about the size of a TV tray.
So I climb up the pitch to him, and I’m like "What the hells been going on?" Well, while I was doing my John Hurt Alien impression Scott thought he could reach the summit by just pushing straight up the headwall. He climbed up to the anchor, took a right, and wandered out onto the face, not a stitch of protection and no crack in sight. Looking down almost 700 vertical feet of uninterrupted view, he must've started to back track just as I was pulling my shorts down. Totally unbelayed, he wandered back and forth, up and down, thinking all the while I was doing my job on the end of the rope, before retreating to the anchor. When I looked over and saw all the slack I realized instantly what had happened. I am so glad he didn’t fall.
Well, the rest of the route went fine. We made the summit, climbed a knife edge arete in the sky on the last pitch, and rappelled down 200' into a notch and ran and scrambled back to our stuff.
___
The dispersal of seeds and pollen is widely documented. Birds carry the genetic code and offspring of trees and plants across oceans, and flowers grow from cracks in the cement. And if you know just where to look up in the hills above Castella, there is a ledge with a bright strong clump of daisies growing high on a rock ledge where no flower should be.
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i'm gumby dammit
Sport climber
da ow
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that was funny, especially the part about chounaird's crap in the cirque of the unclimbables
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survival
Big Wall climber
Terrapin Station
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WELCOME!!
Story. Too. Long. For. Right. Now.
Post picture for kids who can't read good, and wanna learn to do other stuff good too!
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nature
climber
Boulder, CO
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good story! welcome to the club!
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johntp
Trad climber
socal
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Now, how do you feel about Obamacare ;
Too funny.
Welcome; I'm not that bored, but maybe I'll read it when I am. Thanks for checking in. This is a tough crowd but they will do everything they can to save your ass in a pinch.
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thudge
climber
CO
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Too long to read without photo's.
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climbski2
Mountain climber
Anchorage AK, Reno NV
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Not being able to communicate is common in climbing.
Apparently not being able to read is too.
Welcome to ST! Thanks for the story
and
wait for it
YER GUNNA DIE!
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McHale's Navy
Trad climber
From Panorama City, CA
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that was funny, especially the part about chounaird's crap in the cirque of the unclimbables
The crap belonged to Robbins in the story, not Chouinard.
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Ghost
climber
A long way from where I started
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thinking all the while I was doing my job on the end of the rope
Which you were. Just not the job he was thinking about.
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guyman
Social climber
Moorpark, CA.
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Good story
Welcome to the Taco
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donini
Trad climber
Ouray, Colorado
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Good story! There are lot's of good tales from bitd that need to be told sans pics. Unfortunately, the attention span is a bit short here. We need to recruit Tami to illustrate them.
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bajaandy
climber
Escondido, CA
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I'm not gonna lie... I opened this one up last Thursday night, got through the first paragraph and moved on to something else. Well, now it's Saturday morning and I've got my cup-o-joe and donut and god damnit THAT WAS A FUNNY READ. Well done. Welcome.
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Charlie D.
Trad climber
Western Slope, Tahoe Sierra
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Ha! Stories are so much better than video's, thanks for sharing.....loved it.
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i'm gumby dammit
Sport climber
da ow
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^^ I don't know... That could make for funny video as well.
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hobo_dan
Social climber
Minnesota
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So that's who defiled the sacred cairn of Nimesta on the intergallactic ledge!
You're gonna fit right in with this crowd.
Good story.
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speelyei
Trad climber
Kingman, Arizona
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Topic Author's Reply - Nov 9, 2013 - 11:52am PT
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Thanks all!
That was originally written as a post on a surf forum, some folks wanted to know what climbing was all about.
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phylp
Trad climber
Millbrae, CA
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Welcome to the Forum!
That was a very funny story.
But remind me never to go climbing with you.
;)
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Todd Eastman
climber
Bellingham, WA
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Perhaps a scratch-and-sniff version...
... Odorama!
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