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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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