We learned our lessons in Red Rocks , we learned them in Zion; after so much learning nothing could go wrong for the rest of our trip, right?

So we started the third and last leg of our climbing trip and headed off towards Moab and Indian Creek. We’ve come all the way from Switzerland to climb on sandstone cracks; we couldn’t miss Indian Creek could we?
After an overnight stay in Posey Lake, in the Dixie National Forest, we start figuring out that there are more people around and that maybe we should have thought about where to pitch our tent for the coming nights before getting there.


But improvisation is our organization, remember? So we get into Moab the next day, it’s packed, all camping grounds are full, everyone seems to be there. It’s memorial day weekend, stupid!

But we finally find a spot in a campground, in the overflow space, which must be where they usually dispose of their chemical waste, at least that’s what the leftovers of what must previously have been a lawn looked like.


It doesn’t take long and our suspicion is partly confirmed. The neighbor starts spraying some noxious chemical on his plants wearing a protective mask, the wind blows it over to our side. His response to our voiced concerns: “I can’t smell anything and I’ve done it many times, don’t be paranoid……” Well, the positive aspect is that our tent now has an additional protective layer.

But our real goal is not to hang around with the crowds in Moab and complain, we’re heading off to Castleton the next day!


Luckily, Castleton is easy to recognize and easy to find. We’ve chosen the north chimney and that’s where it gets difficult: Which side is North???? After almost embarking on an obviously hopeless and way too challenging first ascent of some dreadful chimney in the shade (North = shade, easy), we decide that this can’t be it and take a walk around the tower.


And guess what? There’s another party of 4 starting on a climb and it’s the North chimney, bingo.
Their plan is to have one person leading and the other three following on two ropes. That seems to be a slightly messy and lengthy plan to us, so we propose to take one of them onto our rope, making everyone’s life easier.


So after four pitches of great climbing, no rocks dropped on any followers, plenty of good time at the belays we reach the top and we’re friends with Dan and his group.


They know the place and they know how to climb cracks, we have no idea of where to go and are in bad need of a ropegun. Sounds too good to be true, doesn’t it? So we team up and meet at the Superbowl camping in Indian Creek the next day, and we’re the only ones.


The first climb we try is Incredible Hand Crack. I watched the video of this one guy climbing it and teaching how to crack climb over and over again, so now I am absolutely sure: This has to be easy and relaxing and it can’t be that hard. And we’re coached by Dan and his brother Charlie, nothing can go wrong. Off I go!
Forget my usual technique of laybacking up this, it’s too long and pumpy to keep it up, and our American coaches tell us THAT’S NOT THE WAY YOU DO IT!!!!!!! Ok, change technique, left hand up, thumb down, right hand down, thumb up, wedge the feet and shuffle up. Sounds easy and the guy on the video made it look easy, let’s try. First problem: sort out which thumb goes up, which one goes down, what’s left what’s right, both thumbs are on the inside of my hands but when I turn them they’re both outside and now they need to go in the crack, but I have to stay outside and I need to shuffle not cross. But my feet must be wedged in the crack too and they should cross not shuffle and not get tangled in the rope and I need to relax and shuffle, thumbs in, other fingers out, feet up, elbows down, palms in cross the shuffles and thumb my feet, clip my elbows and cam the shoulders. Whatever, at a certain point I manage to work my way up the crack and I can even experience what a sloth must feel like when hanging from a tree and I understand why they don’t move, because they can’t! With all fours jammed in the crack I just don’t feel I can let go any of them without falling. So it takes some additional internal debating whether it’s better to hang there until erosion gets me back down or to sloooooooowly move just one of my extremities and get me out of this position. Anyway, I’m mighty proud when I get back down, a grin from side to side of my face. We move on to climb Generic Crack, I chickened out of leading that one, did it on toprope and it was probably a wise decision.


In Generic Crack pain in my feet reminds me that I still haven’t quite figured out how to crack climb properly. But we keep on trying and climb one right next to Generic Crack. Then we move on to where probably all climbers eventually want to go, when they’re in Indian Creek: Supercrack of the Desert, a legendary climb, first climbed on excentrics, hard to imagine when seeing those perfectly parallel laser sharp edges of the crack. I’m glad we have cams today, and that we have ropeguns too. Charlie and Dan both give us an impressive show of how this is climbed.

When it’s my turn to get going the first drops of rain start falling and I decide to toprope this one too and give it a try leading the next day.


After the rain stops we have a fantastic evening at the camping, with fire, food, drinks, stories, more stories, and then one Dan’s friends shows up (sorry can’t remember the name), unpacks his guitar and starts singing. This is better than we could ever have dreamed of and knowing that tomorrow is our last day makes us a bit sad.


So here comes the next day, and we have a clear plan: Climb Supercrack, drive to St. George, sleep, go to Las Vegas the day after and catch the plane home.
Stefano gets to go first on Supercrack and he reaches the ledge at the beginning of the actual crack in no time. Everyone cheers him up and apparently that already was the crux. The rest is crossing up the shuffle of the thumbs with the hands inside and the fingers down and the feet up and the shoulders straight, whatever. Unfortunately, Stefano slips out of a jam and comes flying down, the rope barely tightens, and he hits the ledge and doesn’t look happy, not at all, his heel hurts. WTF! On the last day and the last climb, but he’s tough and says it’s just a bruise, no more, he can bear it. His looks send out a different message.
So someone needs to get the gear down and I get my try on Supercrack. The difference between myself and Dan: he climbs it with 2 yellow and 2 blue cams. I take whatever we have between all of us, that’s about 4 yellow and 3 blue. I’m glad to have all that stuff.
So off I go once again. I’ve spent the greater part of the evening before looking at my hands and trying to figure out which thumb goes where and what the other fingers are supposed to do, so this time I get it right. Both thumbs up, cross hands and keep moving, ignore the pain from the feet and keep going. YES!! I start imagining that this can actually be really fun if I practiced some more. Too bad the limestone cracks we have back home have the effect of a meat grinder when you jam your hands in them and Indian Creek is so far away.
Anyway, we cheer and exchange high fives, the day is saved, sort of. The others are staying here for another two days and we manage to get down the talus to the parking lot and to our car. Stefano is still not happy, his foot still hurts. He has another 6 weeks here and wants to go climb a few 14’ers in the coming days.
Well, the drive to St. George was long, the scenery beautiful. I make my flight home the next day and Stefano drives on to Colorado, makes a few 14’ers, goes to see a doctor, is told that his calcaneus has a fissure, no wonder it hurts. But he’s tough and will enjoy every bit of his coming weeks.
We had a fantastic time, our first climbing trip to the Wild West is a full success, and a fissured calcaneus is not going to spoil it, what remains are all the good memories. The last night in Indian Creek sitting around a fire listening to guitar music and singing, meeting new friends, seeing new places, that’s what makes the difference. That’s what makes climbing special, and to me it’s not a sport, it’s a way of life, it’s a passion. It’s a common denominator for a group of people who share the same passion, strangers who will meet, be friends and share a time in their life they may never forget, even if we never meet again. I’ll never trade climbing for tennis, or minigolf, or pingpong, or pokemon go, even though my feet would probably hurt less….
Thanks Stefano for this fantastic trip, for never complaining about the music I played in the car and for making sure that we always had enough beer available.
By the way, we’re planning the next trip, it’s addictive after all.