The land that time forgot--Mudstrosity--the FA

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crunch

Social climber

Topic Author's Original Post - Sep 14, 2010 - 07:40pm PT

Frosty Weller talked me into trying Factory Butte. Bjornstad’s guidebook made Factory Butte sound like an adventure, and the damn thing towers over everything for miles around--the Mt. Everest of the San Raphael Swell.

The guidebook suggested lumber, for rappelling. So we brought some. Useless. As we hiked in, the air was so dry the 2x4s kept cracking and popping as the wood warped and split in the December sun. The approach is miles long.

At the start of the climb, we took off the packs, then began a “recon” that ended 1,800 feet higher on a flat, silent plateau, far above any and eveything else. The route follows a meandering gully, the largest on the whole formation, with occasional boulder-problem steps and chockstones. At one point we split. I took a left fork--easier boulder problem, but a big mistake. Higher, my gully petered out, and I gently made steps in the crusty surface. Once it had been stove in, the surface crumbled to fine dust, so retreat was soon no longer possible. Kicking the surface too hard would shatter the crust. I had to step gently but firmly on the crust, gingerly stand up, repeat. Removing my lower foot usually resulted in the step disintegrating. Uh oh. A slip would send me sliding hundreds of feet. So I blundered upward. Higher, before I rejoined Frosty’s correct (and far easier) gully, I had to swim up a strange “talus” arete, while boulders cascaded from out from under my legs and arms.

Near the top, a cliff band presented a 5.7 chimney, talc#m-powder back and footing to easier terrain on real rock. From that lofty summit, we spied a far-off spire nestled against a staccato line of collapsing cliffs. No sign of any one else, so we returned the way we approached. Next day we drove great circles looking for the spire we’d seen in the distance. We’d had enough, so left.

Enter Strappo. A couple years after the Factory Butte climb, Strappo bought himself a new truck, and persuaded me that we needed a desert
trip, to climb a New Tower.

So, off we went, and spent a day driving around half-forgotten roads and tracks winding around Salt Wash and Moroni Slopes. A maze of rough zigzags led over and through tilted layers of shale and sandstone, red, purple, gray, ridge after ridge. The truck would rumble up and up and up the easy side, as if approaching the edge of the world, then reach an unreal view out over a dessicated plain. We drove by some cows, who huddled in a sullen group. They stared, looking angry that they, of all the cows in the world, were the ones that had been dumped in this awful corner of this arid wasteland. The only vegetation we could see looked like shoots of barbed wire, poking out of the ground.

We camped a couple miles or so from the spire, by a capped wellhead site, strewn with old, rusty cans and random bits of wood that were polished by the incessant wind.

We homed in on the cliffs that afternoon, and finally found another roadbed that ended within easy hiking distance of the mini-Titan. So backtracked along this old road until we found where it intersected the one we had followed.

First, I tried leading a nearby, smaller tower. It looked easy. Several hours later, tail between my legs, I lowered from an RP equalized with a hammered steel stake. Hmmm. Back to the main tower.

Strappo get going.

We each led half the first pitch. This 180-foot nailing pitch involved everything from knifeblades to large cams--one of the best desert aid pitches I’ve ever done. The finish was up a tottering detached flake to a rotten slab of debris. Here, an urgent search revealed one single dinner-plate sized chunk of rock that would work for a bolt.

Next day I led up the debris, kicking steps upward to who knows what. A violent wind, and some raindrops frightened me enough that I placed a protection bolt before reaching better, steeper rock, where I established a solid belay.

We were both intimidated and scared of the weird rock. Things were not going well. Part 2 soon...

Toker Villain

Big Wall climber

Toquerville, Utah

Sep 14, 2010 - 07:42pm PT

You are a sick man crunch.

(Hey, I called you in Boulder)

donini

Trad climber

Ouray, Colorado

Sep 14, 2010 - 08:03pm PT

Those pictures of Strappo are priceless.

Scared Silly

Trad climber

Sep 14, 2010 - 08:28pm PT

The average person eats a bushel of dirt each year. The average desert climber eats one per tower. Yummy!!!

bergbryce

Mountain climber

Oakland

Sep 14, 2010 - 08:55pm PT

eff yes!

nutjob

Trad climber

Berkeley, CA

Sep 14, 2010 - 09:29pm PT

What an interesting survey of the different sub-species of climbers. So many ways to have "fun!"

Zander

Trad climber

Berkeley

Sep 14, 2010 - 09:42pm PT

Nice!

klk

Trad climber

cali

Sep 14, 2010 - 10:58pm PT

this is truly revolting, even by bay area standards.

strong werk.

johntp

Trad climber

socal

Sep 14, 2010 - 11:44pm PT

did anyone ever tell you you are devoid of common sense? mega respect for even getting on that stuff. cheers!

Mungeclimber

Trad climber

sorry, just posting out loud.

Sep 15, 2010 - 03:09am PT

Truly magnificent! Pure unknown. Adventure sought and found.

Part 2 please!!!

Wade Icey

Trad climber

www.alohashirtrescue.com

Sep 15, 2010 - 03:39am PT

heh.. you guys are dirty...cool...

duncan

climber

London, UK

Sep 15, 2010 - 05:20am PT

Good stuff Crusher. That looks chossy even by Devon standards.

Steve Grossman

Trad climber

Seattle, WA

Sep 15, 2010 - 08:44am PT

I think we need a new word...choss is too cheery! LOL

Some Scottish word for a poorly planned or executed (and hence impossibly crumbly) scone...

Cuckawalla

Trad climber

Grand Junction, CO

Sep 15, 2010 - 09:37am PT

Looking forward to your slideshow in Grand Junction! I am sure there will be much more of these adventures to be seen.
-Jesse

justthemaid

climber

Jim Henson's Basement

Sep 15, 2010 - 10:54am PT

I agree Steve. "Choss" is too solid a description for that stuff. We need a new term that is even chossier than normal choss.

Egads- Impressive! You people are drunk, incredibly brave, or incredibly desperate to climb something/anything vertical.

Nice report and great pics!

Jingy

climber

Somewhere out there

Sep 15, 2010 - 11:05am PT

They took their lives in their own hands...

They lived to tell about it......

Nice charge guys... But there is better(read "much safer") climbing to be had

crunch

Social climber

Topic Author's Reply - Sep 15, 2010 - 12:29pm PT

"But there is better(read "much safer") climbing to be had"

Hmmmm. Some time after this climb, Strappo and I went climbing at a local sport climbing area. Strappo was charging ahead, just reaching the tyrolean across the creek, when I heard a loud "thump" noise. He'd slipped and fallen 25 feet into the creek, landing on his heel. Skin was unbroken, but the bones were smashed badly. The foot was later to be peeled open like a sardine can so as to better insert lots of metal. Grim.

Piggybacked him partway back to the car, then he decided to crawl, so as not to risk falling and impacting his ankle again.

Yeah. Desert choss creates a healthy respect. My most recent injury was slipping on ice in my own back yard, last January. Resulting lower-back nerve damage still affects my foot. Far worse than anything the desert has ever inflicted. Insert Al Gore style "sigh" here...

Anyway, I digress.

Jeremy, you are more than worthy. You would enjoy this beast--the first pitch really is as good as anything I've done in the Fishers. Elegant crack system, and every time you step up on each and every piece, you wonder if you are about to be shut down ... not only shut down in the sense of finding no placement, and being forced to place a bolt, but shut down in the sense of not even being able to place a bolt, and having to backtrack, down-aid until you reach a piece you trust to lower from. But then you dig around, and something shows up! Aid climbing--tenuous, unlikely, constantly surprising--at its finest.

crunch

Social climber

Topic Author's Reply - Sep 15, 2010 - 12:49pm PT

Back to the Mustrosity, part 2:

Next day Strappo was transformed. He shifted gears. From his high point, he began placing crappy knifeblades, one after another (the kind that are frighteningly easy to clean), then reached a wide crack. Or it would be a wide crack, but was chock full of dusty dirt. He slowly made progress, hammering large pitons directly into the rubble, then, as it widened, he excavated and buried cams. While he hammered, he in turn was hammered by a hard wind that created a long plume, and had Strappo choking and spluttering.

Hours later, he knew he was near the top when his hammer pounded its way right through the crack and out the other side.

The summit was tiny, a motorcycle seat in the sky. Strappo told me that the top was vibrating as I cleaned pins, forty feet below. He had to dig a foot of dirt off the top so as to place an anchor.

Adventure!