Going Big, Having Fun

Zach and I have spent the last few days enjoying the fruits of the recent warmer weather. A significant amount of snow has melted off the larger formations and many awesome lines are coming into condition. On Friday we climbed the RR classic Ixtlan, a nice 600 foot line up a varnished buttress at the mouth of Black Velvet Canyon. Ixtlan is known for its variety of movement and we enoyed everything it threw our way from techy face climbing to gut wrenching off widthing. It was also a good opportunity to scope some of the other options in the canyon and by the end of the day I knew what I was psyched for. 

The Black Velvet Wall is certainly one of RR's proudest, large formations. The well known classic Epinepherine resides there as well as a host of other more obscure, but excellant climbs. One such route is Texas Hold 'Em, a 1000 foot 5.11c that climbs half of the formation on a steep, varnished face. It is a direct, no nonsense line that to me, has a major asthetic appeal. At the end of TH'E, one can either rappel or join the old school classic Lonestar, a seldom done 5.11 that the guidebook labels "a major undertaking", and follow it another 1000 feet to the top of the formation. After talking with a few of Zach's freinds, we found out the link may not have ever been done. They also made sure we knew that we were biting off a big chunk. I couldn't help but be drawn by this major line of weakness through unlikely terrain on a major face and that evening we were throwing gear together for an attempt the next day. 

The following morning sees us firing up the initial pitches. They are moderate, but sandy. The low angle movement is a good warm up for the steep varnished wall above. As we go higher the rock becomes bullet proof. It seems to offer just enough features to make wild sequences possible. The overabundance of holds usually experianced at RR's is not found here. These pitches have a pure, asthetic appeal and the climbing is superb. Steep cracks, flares, boulder problems, and slab sequences carry us through the technical cruxes. We climb one pitch up Lone Star where we take a small break to look at the topo and eat a bar. The topo shows eight more pitches to the top. I know the light will go soon, but we've got head lamps and we're sure of our abilities on this terrain. We punch up a large dihedral. I try to be methodical and precise rather than hurried. Belay exchanges are a snap of the fingers. I finish leading a wet 5.10 pitch, sling a scrub oak and bring Zach up and over. He moves through the belay without grabbing any gear, and quickly runs out 70 feet of 5.6 around a corner to a belay. I click on my headlamp, try to ignore a windy rain that is falling, and follow in the dark. After crossing the arete I look up at the final pitch, a boltless, 20o foot 5.9 R slab. I can't see much in the dark, but the stone is clearly wet, the streaks glistnining in the light of my headlamp. Facing this pitch in these conditions has been a fear of mine all day. Sure enough, here I am wih nothing to do but take us to the top. I don't waste much time before starting the pitch. Over about 45 minutes I stretch the rope out over the featured face, finding itermitent gear. Even the lights of a major metropolis at my back can not tame the intensity. I feel as out there as ever in those moments. 

All in all, the Texas Hold 'Em/Lone Star link up provided just what I was looking for. A long adventerous route that required a belief in our selves and a desire to succeed. There are plenty of these lines in Red Rocks and I hope to climb many of them in the future. 

You Don't Always Get What You Want

Lucho stares blankly into the computer screen. NOAA's crystal weather ball has given a piercing, painful vision. Black skies, snow, 10 more days of foul weather...but how could it be? A few days earlier we crammed fingers into greasy locks on the Nabisco Wall, stood on El Cap's glassy smears, and grunted up a few of those pure Yosemite slots. 

Yosemite in winter felt more like spring, but day four blew us out. Windy, angry weather spit all forms of precipitation and we left to gather ourselves and some more equipment for the longer routes we hoped to try. One rest day turned to into a few to many, but our commitment to climbing in Yosemite remained steadfast.

Now, sitting here in San Francisco, Lucho and I have a call to make. Watch rain fall on the pavement, imagining the Valley getting pounded with snow, or head for dry rock. It finally seems like a no brainer-Vegas, here we come. 

Since Zion is getting pounded with weather also, Lucho and I head for Red Rocks hoping to sample some of the fine, long free climbs the canyons offer. An hour into the drive I call Zach, a good friend living in Vegas. He knows the routes I'm after and I don't like what I sense in his voice. He claims snow, and a quite a bit of it at that, has all long routes out of the question. When we arrive his report is clearly confirmed and we adjust plans again.

With no multi pitch options available we focus on the numerous short, classic free climbs of Nevada's deserts. Before long, tiger striped limestone and roof cracks of the most wild sort have our inspiration burning and minds scheming. For now we are stacking up the projects, eeking out a few sends, and, although you don't always get what you want, climbing on some very beautiful rock. 

El Cap Recap

The following is a trip report from a May 2008 ascent of the Salathe:

The pink shadows of a rising sun creep down the granite fortresses that surround us. Morning in Yosemite Valley is so powerful. I jump from the car in front of Lower Cathedral and gorge myself on a view that has escaped my eyes for too long. El Cap roars from the meadows, a colossal wave of tiger striped gold. The feelings that surge through me are different, yet no less potent than those I felt six years earlier when I caught my first glimpse. One reaction remains the same and I feel it to my toes; it is very big and I am very small.

Kj, Paul, and myself are at the base of the Salathe before we know it. Although I haven't climbed a pitch of Yosemite granite for a few years, we are committed to beginning our climb that very day. Kj and Paul have never sailed these seas before and we are hungry for success. We climb the Freeblast that first day, our second climb ever together, and try to adjust our minds and bodies to what lies ahead. I enjoy the climbing, knowing that after today we will face the reality of crushing loads and a huge rack. We rap from Mammoth Terraces in the bright afternoon sun and start the crux which is existing in the Valley.

That night I lie awake, anxious about the day ahead. I am the only one of our team who has climbed El Cap. In fact, I've climbed a fair amount of walls in Yosemite, but never in such a heavy style. I came into wall climbing during the glory days of speed climbing. I can climb quickly, short fix, and tie a clove hitch. These are the very basic skills that have granted me passage in the past, but this will be different. I try to remember my systems from the few times I have hauled a bag. It's not that complicated, but yet, I know we will struggle.

The next day is spent gathering what we need for the wall. Food, ropes, water, rack, clothes, sleeping gear...it doesn't sound like much, but it all adds up. Late that afternoon we struggle to the base and begin to jumar frazzled fixed lines. Hauling the first ropelength is a typical nightmare of tangles and clusters. I try to stay psyched. I know this is a crux. Full loads hauled on a slab. It is the definition of pain.

We finally pull the pigs onto Heart Ledge and settle into a nice bivy, definetely the most comfortable of the route for us (we had no ledge and were forced to sleep in less than ideal spots due to crowding on the route). Our spirits rise with the elevation gained. I am so glad to be done with that portion of our adventure.

A stunning sun rise, a cup of coffee and we are off and running, er, well, shuffling. The first day is especially difficult for me. I try to lead quickly and haul like the Incredible Hulk so we can make our goal of El Cap Tower. I make a rookie mistake, forgetting to eat and hydrate like I should. I feel downright sick most of the day and am very relieved when we reach the Alcove as darkness falls. Another party occupys the classic ledge one pitch above, but they can have it. I'm fried. No matter what, El Cap will have it's way with you at some point or the other if you choose to throw yourself in its granite pan.

Clouds swirl about in the morning. The change of weather is a bit suprising really, but we pack our things and start the day. It doesn't take long for the sun to push it's way to the front of the sky and Kj and I soak in rays while Paul leads the second pitch of the day. We make good time to the block, actually catching up to the party in front of us. We decide to bivy at the block, but not after I use our ropes to fix a few pitches. Those four hundred feet of climbing are some of the best on the route for me. I feel the freedom of not having to haul the bags and surge up the enduro corner, free climbing quite a ways up the 5.11 pitch in my approach shoes. Hand jams in golden granite 2000 feet off the deck has me writhing in pleasure.

After an uncomfortable bivy, we set off to finish the climb. Before long I am fixing the ropes after leading the headwall. Long Ledge is quite crowded, and I am forced to construct an akward, but solid anchor. I notice the lines lay over the edge of the ledge, but conciously recognize how smooth the granite is at that point. The boys start jugging as I catch my breath. A few minutes later I take a look at the free line that Kj is jugging and notice a definete core shot that has developed. Holy crap! I recognize that the core is still intact. I know the rope is fine, that it will not break, but that doesn't stop me from exceeding my own strength and holding the rope off the ledge while Kj finishes ascending.

After taping the line, we settle into a long rest period. Long Ledge is a most spectacular hang and we soak it up, snacking and enjoying our incredible position. For the first time I concede mentally that we will make the top. We sure as hell aren't going down from here! This confidence doesn't ease the pain I feel in the off widths that gaurd the top, but we summit in time to watch the sun set. We revel in what we have accomplished as a team. I am truly proud of our effort. Although we all had definite strengths and weaknesses, the sum of our abilities was enough. I feel an especially overwhelming sense of gratitude seeing Kj on top. I knew how much he wanted this summit.

Personally, I gave my all on this wall. The hauling killed me. I am not a big guy, so hauling added a whole dimension of physical exertion that threatened to take hold of not only my muscles, but my brain. Although we did not over pack, I have never taken such a load up the Captain. No matter how you cut it, a team of three climbing for many days in the vertical environment will assure a full load. I'd like to say I'll never climb El Cap in this style again, but when you add up the laughs, triumphs, and disasters of an ascent of this sort, you realize that it was absolutely worth it...and that before long you'll be breaking your back again on the steely walls of El Capitan.

End Of An Era...

My concentration is broken by Ginnie Joe's friendly smile. I look up, the piece of duct tape I was working with still stuck to my fingers. "I thought you said that jacket would never head up another mountain?", she said jokingly. She's right. I did say that, but I also wasn't expecting Sol to call and suggest we leave that very evening for Colfax Peak (near Mt. Baker). We laughed as I continued to patch my tattered North Face. Never say never.

That jacket did suffer through a few more climbs. It was quite comical really. It had certainly lost more than half the down that was once present (probably more). The reality of a worked piece of equipment came into focus during a particularily cold open bivy on an intimidating solo effort. I never wore the jacket again after that long night.

Although it was in no way shameful to throw this jacket in the trash, it sat for weeks on my front porch. I just could not get rid of it. Everytime I picked it up, the memories flooded through my mind. I spent the majority of my life in this jacket over the last few years (there were other jackets before this one). Dirtbagging across the deserts of the west, climbing big walls and long free routes, resting between boulder problems, new routes and classic lines in the alpine, belaying a sport lead on a crisp day, sinking tools into ice, being sick halfway across the globe, passing a cold night on an airy perch...the list goes on.

Just the other day as I was packing to leave for Cali, I noticed the jacket on the porch. "Time to deal with this", I said to myself. I quickly snatched the jacket up and...I sat there staring at it for a minute. I felt like a heroin addict who swears he is about to throw the needle away. It is hard to part with those items that have at some level been a symbol of a certain way of life.

I had my moment with Old Red (my jacket) and stuffed it in the trash. As cheesy as it sounds, I immediatly felt like I had entered a new period in my life as a climber. The adventures that I had in the jacket have brought me to a point I have never been to before. I have always had an unbridaled enthusiasm for climbing and practiced all of its disciplines, but now, I know what climbs truly inspire me. I spend more focused time training for those objectives. I understand elements of the climbing game that had eluded me before. Of course, I still have so much to learn.

Knowing that Old Red was dead, I have found a new jacket, particularily for an expedition Max and I will take in a few months to try and establish the first free route up Alaska's Burkett Needle. I will be there in New Blue, launching into the next phase of my climbing life.

Figures On A Landscape

I'm currently enjoying a few rest days before my flight out to meet my good friend Lucho in San Fran. The weather is looking quite good for some Yosemite granite, but only time will tell. It is the middle of winter after all. Anyway, I came across a few photos that were taken of Max and I on Dragonscar, a route we climbed on Dragontail a few years ago. We were very surprised to receive the photos from a climber who had been on the Colchuck Glacier while we were climbing. Thanks for snapping the shots! They do well at summing up my love for climbing...free, lightweight movement in spectacular positions.

Get It While You Can...

Conditions in the Icicle Canyon have been absolutely stellar the last few days. Iced slabs, frozen turf, and hard snow has made for super fun climbing. Monday was spent introducing Jess to climbing ice. The day started on a sunny slab and ended in a very fun ice and mixed line on Icicle Buttress that we completed in 4 pitches. A nice first day on ice for someone who has yet to wear crampons!

I had to work on tuesday so an early start was in order, who could be willing???
Rise and shine!

Cole and I climbed a worthy path up Careno Crag as the snow started to blanket the Icicle.

Glad I got to play in the canyon the last few daysas I am flying to Cali on Sunday...it's time to hang up the tools and head south. Long, sunny (hopefully), free routes here I come!

Stuart Range Fun

Last year, I finally introduced myself to winter climbing in the Cascades. Guess what? I found it hard, unforgiving, and oh, so fun. I figured I slogged more than 80 miles that winter trying to get up something, anything in the mountains. I failed on every effort because of avalanche conditions and unconsolidated snow each time. Incredibly, this year has featured radically different conditions, and in the last few weeks I have stood on top of four peaks. Cole Allan and I spent January 13-16 at Colchuck Lake.

We found wonderful cramponing everywhere we went and climbed the North Buttress Coulior on Colchuck and a fun gully on Enchantment Peak that had difficulties up to WI3 and 5.7.

We also ran around the Enchantment Plateau in a virtual fairy land. Easy travel led us to the top of Little Annapurna where we soaked in more great views.

At each summit I looked towards Mt. Stuart and it's jaw dropping North Ridge clad in a winter coat of rock, snow, and ice. So far, conditions had been great...just what I was hoping for. The easy routes we had completed had given us a great idea of conditions in the region and allowed

us to study the main event in detail.

We left Colchuck Lake on the 16th of January and returned home to Peshastin to work and rest for a few days. During this time we decided we would indeed try the second winter ascent of the Complete North Ridge of Mt. Stuart. Colin Haley and Mark Bunker had succeeded on this much sought after objective a few years ago and I had been inspired to do the same ever since.

Cole and I formulated a game plan while we rested and decided on an all out light and fast style. One rope, a little food, a pocket rocket, one sleeping bag, one pad, tools, crampons, a rack, and some clothing was all we would take. Since I have intricate knowledge of the area and the ridge, I would lead the whole route with Cole following. We knew the weather was steady and that we were fit.

We hit the trail at 7:30 pm (I was working all day) on January 19 and made it to the bivy boulder at the base of the route by 3:00 am. Here we melted water, tried to sleep a bit, and prepared our minds. Soon the sky was ablaze with an incredible sun rise and we were off and running.

I led steep snow and neve to wear it ended in vertical rock. I set a belay, took off my boots, put my tools away, put my numb toes in a pair of beat up mythos and started charging up dry, cold rock. I led through several beautiful 5.7-5.9 pitches quickly. On the hardest pitches Cole (aka The Hass) jugged with both packs. The climbing became more mixed as we moved up the lower part of the North Ridge, but I kept the rock shoes on, even when climbing ice and snow. I pounded my gloved fists into the snow instead of getting the tools out, while connecting patches of icy rock. This full on monkey style had us at the notch at a reasonable hour that afternoon. We watched the sun sink in the west and cuddled together in our ghetto gear as long as we could stand it, which was quite a while actually. At 3am we left our bivy with tools in hand and boots on our feet. I led pitch after pitch of mixed fun, all of which was in great condition. I was leading across a snowfield towards the base of the Great Gendarme when the sun came up. The colors left us awe struck and we felt blessed to be where we were. Although the Gendarme pitches were a bit icier than the lower part of the route, I still donned the rock shoes. I made quick work of the pitches and The Hass jugged like an animal with both packs. Once on top of the gendarme we climbed more mixed ground to the summit. The route had taken us about 30 hours and had been one of the best in recent memory. Every foot of climbing had been classic, the positions unbeatable, and the views...oh, the views.

From the summit we descended quickly down the Sherpa Glacier Coulior and after a few hours were hiking out of the valley. We stopped every few feet to look back at the amazing ridge, but finally got on our way, arriving in Peshastin at 9 pm that evening.

The Complete North Ridge in winter has been a goal of mine for a few years and to succeed on my first try was a true blessing. Cole had a great attitude. We share a true love for climbing and refuse to to give up. This passion got us up the ridge. I can only wonder...what's next?