A Sting in the Tail

-and Finally a Beached Whale-

When a route is called "The Wasp", you might optimistically think that the FA party had a funny encounter with some annoying bugs. Or maybe that it's an obscure acronym.

But really, the most likely reason, and I'm sure the true explanation for the gorgeous route in RMNP, is that the route sports a sting in it's tail.

That is to say, the very last move of the route is "non-trivial".

Cody going ground-up on the Wasp (5.13-). Photos by Ben Walburn.

A few weeks back, my friends Zack, Cody, Ben and I headed up to Rocky Mountain National Park's "Rock of Ages" crag. ROA is a sub-alpine gem of fine grained granite, some of the best stone on the Front Range. The two-tiered crag sports a steep 200' lower wall, with classics like Day's of Heaven (5.10d). The upper tier is a 100' tall chunk of perfect orange and white granite, accented by green and black streaks. Smack in the center of the upper wall lurks the Wasp.

After warming up on Days of Heaven, we all took turns trying the Wasp. After I pussed out and decided to toprope it, our friend Cody manned up, pulled the rope, and went for the lead. The Wasp is one of those treasured rarities, especially here in Colorado: a natural line, entirely protectable by gear, that features difficult and aesthetic face climbing. And thankfully, no one bolted it!

We all were blown away by the continuous, quality climbing, which at first seemed impossible, but slowly became imaginable.

So yesterday, we assembled another crew and headed back up to the Park. Again splitter blue skies gave us piles of stoke, and the pleasant approach hike got our blood flowing. Matt, Josh, Joel, Wade, and I all humped a mountain of gear and rope up to the crag with only one goal in mind (Well, in my mind at least).

I worked out the moves and gear placements on top-rope, making my ascent a "headpoint". This isn't really necessary on this route, since it provides very solid gear, but for me it seemed like a reasonable strategy since this route was at my absolute limit in terms of difficultly, and since the crag was two and half hours (by car and foot) away from my house, being efficient was necessary. Still, on-sighting the route, or even just working it ground-up, is a much better style and I have huge respect for folks that have success with that strategy.

Riding the Wasp. Photo by Wade David.

So, mid-day yesterday, I tied in for my first lead attempt. It went surprisingly well, and I managed to stave off the pump by climbing slowly, milking the rests, and only placing gear from stances. Three-quarters up the route, there's a great rest with a two-handed jug and two well-placed foot chips. I hung out at this stance for over ten minutes, prompting jeers from my friends below. Finally, well rested, I powered into the crux sequence, hitting the crimps and sidepulls in series, nailing the thin footholds, and moving quickly. One big move gains a good hold at the lip of the wall, and I relax for a second. The route is not over, but ends with a frustratingly blank mantle to gain the top of the crag. An hour earlier, describing the route to Joel, I had described this mantle as "non-trivial" but added "but you're not gonna fall off it..."

Staring the mantle, I pasted a high right foot, switching my hands from pulling to pushing and began to lever myself up. My center of gravity was maybe one inch away from being safely atop the crag, and in my mind I let out a silent cry of joy: "I've done it!". Then, in an instant, my body-tension relaxed, my crappy right foot gave way, and I was airborne. Flipping upside-down midair, I sailed about forty feet down the cliff. Finally, the rope came tight on my high piece (a piton, the only fixed piece on the route), and I was hanging inverted, letting loose a crowd of caustic curses at my failure.

After pulling up and finishing (the mantle felt easy that time!), I sullenly lowered back to the ground. My friends were quick with encouraging words: "You looked really solid through that crux!" "You sent it 99.98%", but I was bumming. The weather had started to threaten, who knows if I'd get another attempt in today, who knows when I'd wrangle up a partner to come back here. Doubt, insecurity, disappointment.

An hour later, I've sat in my puffy jacket, watched as Joel top-roped the route, and re-assembled my rack. One more shot for the day. As I lead up the bottom portion, the moves feel familiar, but the pump is building a bit faster than last time. A powerful crux comes at half-height, and I barely scrape it out. Resting again for a long time at the three-quarter height jug, I keep shifting my feet on the small edges so as not to terminally pump my calves.

Finally, I pull into the final crux, hitting every crimp, letting the finely edged rock bite into my worn-out finger tips. Again the toss to the final hold feels desperate, and again I set up for the mantle. I start to rock over, my right foot high on the same slanting, sloping, smarmy hold. My arms are past the point of uselessness, but I press with my whole body, and miraculously get my center-of-gravity over the top of the cliff before everything gives way and I flop onto my belly, the perfect beached whale.

Me Sending the Wasp!

Addendum:

I remembered that in my last post, I promised to report back on "Tague Yer Time". My friend Josh and I got back out there last week, and enjoyed warm (hot) weather while completing the upper half of the route. Spectacular! Recommended!

We again swung leads, and I continued my no-falls ascent all the way to the final 5.12 pitch (of five pitches 12a or harder), before falling on a steep thin finger crack. I lowered back down to the ledge and then sent the pitch.

Unfortunately, I have no photos from the trip, since my camera battery was safely tucked away in the wall charger at my house the whole time (doh!).

The Chris's topo (see previous post) is great, and contact me if you want any more beta!

Tague yer Dog

Just returned from a quick two day jaunt to the Black Canyon, Colorado's biggest and raddest climbing venue. I've only been out to the REAL big ditch a few times, but every time I'm inspired to go back as soon as possible.

On this trip, I was joined by friends Josh, Blake, and Rob. Monday morning, waking at a fantastic bivy spot just outside the park entrance, we fortified our constitutions with plenty of coffee, bacon, and eggs. A short drive to the canyon rim, and an even shorter walk, brought us to the brink.

The brink of the 2000' South Chasm View wall!

THE BLACK CANYON. Credit: NPS/Lisa Lynch

While Blake and Rob rapped in to go for a one day mission on "The Flakes", Josh and I packed a haulbag and dragged our pig down into the canyon. We rapped with the haulbag down to the plush "Two Boulder Bivy", and then continued down towards the river to the start of "Tague Yer Time"

Blake leading on P2 of "The Flakes" (shared with AstroDog) with Rob belaying.

A relatively new addition to the canyon, TYT is touted as one of the best routes in the Black, Colorado, or even the country! The FA party spent a fair amount of time cleaning and installing bolts where needed, and the work shows!

A topo of "Tague yer Time". Credit: Chris Kalous

Josh started up the 5.11 first pitch, casually onsighting the mixed bolt and gear lead. I took the second pitch, a stellar open corner, slightly under vertical. Though the crack itself was mostly sub-tips, both walls were highly textured, and enough pods appeared to provide adequate holds and pro. After onsighting through what I though must have been the crux, I just kept climbing, now determined not to fall. No obvious spot to stop and belay presented itself, and I continued up past many insecure mini-cruxes, becoming more and more desperate to end the pitch.

Finally reaching a stance, I consulted the topo and realized that I had climbed through pitches two and three, and halfway through pitch four, linking one 65m mega pitch. It was a super time-consuming lead, and I'd placed all but four pieces of the rack, which thankfully went in to build a belay.

Josh, in pants reminiscent of the 11th Hussars, makes a thin corner switch on p4.

A member of the British 11th Hussars, "The Cherry Pickers"

Josh took the next lead, with some classy stemming, corner switching, arete slapping goodness. Another tough pitch onsighted, and our send-train was officially rolling. A few more easy pitches brought us to a final 5.11 corner just below our bivy ledge, and I enjoyed the lead of the steep black dihedral with the growing desire for a cold can of Dale's Pale Ale.

We get to the ledge, and what do we find?! Four ice-cold cold-ones, just a-setting thar awaytin fer us!

(we had rapped it in, with a frozen two liter bottle to keep everything frosty)

Oh the advantages of top-down hauling! We had rapping in not only with beer, but way more food than we could possibly consume (and still have any chance of sending the next day). Knowing that we had to carry out whatever we didn't eat, we did manage to down the smoked salmon with pesto pasta, and loaded mashed potatoes, but didn't quite get to Bengali Lentils.

Untitled from Scott Bennett on Vimeo.

A short, and mostly lame, video shot at the two Boulder Bivy (it turns right side up in a second)

Our evening entertainment was rounded out by watching a party on "Stoned Oven", just across the canyon. What a unique experience, to be bivying on a bigwall, and have a mirror image big wall not even a quarter mile away! They had gotten an early start, but the famously burly route was taking it's toll and we had fun speculating on their mindset. We could hear faint belay commands shouted back and forth, and it was hard not to imagine a tinge of desperation or frustration as the sun set and many pitches of hard climbing still loomed between them and the rim. We watched as headlamps lit up, and progress slowed. We exchanged drawn out coyote howls as the moon rose above the canyon rim. We evened out our de-lux bivy site with ropes and haul bag as they struggled through "The Womb Fight". I woke briefly in the middle of the night to see their lights just a pitch below the rim... that was some quality entertainment.

Unknown party on Stoned Oven, late in the day.

Our run of good luck ended the next morning, though. We had planned to climb the remaining six pitches of TYT, and even started up the first pitch off the bivy ledge (an intimidating 5.12 corner). But the splitter weather was gone, and snow flurries spun through the air and gave the canyon a muted, almost claustrophobic feel. It didn't take much to convince up to bail, and the thought of mandatory hard face climbing on wet rock was not appetizing.

Josh looking up at the 8th pitch of TYT.

We bailed back to the bivy ledge, and started up our escape route, "Astro Dog". Though still a serious route, I had done the Dog last fall, and was confident that we could finish rain or shine. Hours of enjoyable 5.10 and 5.11 cracks, and some less than enjoyable hauling, brought us to the canyon rim and back to the boring horizontal world.

I will be back, though, as soon as can be arranged, to finish "Tague yer Time", and will report back here!

Extendo-Rapping

I've made a ton of interesting rappels in the past few years, but when climbing with Blake Herrington, it's always possible to learn something new. Unfortunately, that something will often be an esoteric and useless fact, such as the losing Vice Presidential candidate in 1872, how to improvise dining utensils with climbing gear, or maybe cheapest place to get week-old bagels in his home town.

But last week in Utah, I learned something useful: how to make a 40m rappel with a single 70m rope.

The basic idea is that, instead of rapping on both ends of your rope, as normal, you fix one end with enough rope to reach the ground, and let the other end function as a pull cord. You can then extend the pull-end with anything handy: slings, cordalette, belts, quickdraws, cams, wires, even jackets, t-shirts, pants, whatever. Since the pull end is not load-bearing, anything at your disposal can function to extend your rappelling range.

I'm sure most of you are having no trouble picturing the setup, but for those that haven't tried something like this before, here's some steps:

In order to to determine the length of the rap, and even if you have to use the extendo-rap at all, have one member of the party (let's call him Scott) single-line rap first on the full length of the rope (70m). Once Scott's on the ground (or to the next station), he can go off rap, but should hold on to the end of the rope. The second, still at the higher station (let's call him Blake), should then pull up rope until it comes tight on Scott. Now Blake knows that he has exactly enough rope to reach Scott.

Using the method pictured below, Blake then fixes the rap line. As you can see in the photo, this method allows Blake to rap on the longer end, and use the shorter end as a pull-cord to retrieve the rope.

Blake then begins rapping down the longer line, making sure to hold on to the pull-end (you can clip it through a QD on the back of your harness). When Blake reaches the end of the pull-end, he begins to extend it with any available material (slings, pants, etc) until he reaches the ground. Once on the ground, pull the pants and you'll retrieve the rope!

IMPORTANT CAVEAT! This is a slick maneuver, but not one that you'd want to rely on for multi-pitch rappels in adventurous settings. There is a huge potential problem: if you use the extendo-rap to reach a hanging belay, and then have a snag pulling (the knot gets caught) you could potentially find yourself in a situation where your entire rope is out of reach, and all you have is a few meters of slings (or pants!) with which to work. So, I would only recommend using the extendo-rappel when making you're last rap to the ground, or if the pull is super-clean.

Oh Benjamin Gratz Brown, what a different place the country might be if you'd been Vice President instead of that scoundrel Henry Wilson!

Castles in the Sand

Sometimes you see a feature, a line, a wall, a mountain that just captures your imagination. In an instant, it just goes from being pretty scenery, to being a concrete objective. You can no longer look at it without making a plan, visualizing the moves, reaching for your chalkbag.

The Castle Valley ridgeline is such a feature for me, so much so that you can see the photo on the header of this blog. A serpentine line of piled dirt and sand, the ridge is capped with five proud towers, jutting up the remains of a Chinese wall. It's an obvious and compelling objective, to traverse the length of the ridge, and to summit each tower along the way.

Last fall, with my frequent partner-in-sending, Blake, I made a jaunt out to Castle Valley to attempt the "Castle Valley Enchainment". Though normally adept at logistics, we punted on the first attempt, underestimating the difficulty of walking the ridgeline, planning on walking both out and back, and picking a late fall day that was both too short, too cold (in the morning), and too hot (in the afternoon). Having one gallon of cached water taken (by well meaning but unhelpful fellow climbers) didn't help either, and the day ended with both of us totally parched, trudging back to camp in the dark, having only sent three towers.

The initial failure, however, only increased my desire to return and try again. At first, I had thought it might be too easy, just a leisurely day of ridge walking and climbing, nothing challenging or memorable. But after being bouted royally, it was clear to me that this was a worthy goal.

So last week, with Blake in the passenger seat, and now a bike in the trunk, I sped over the Rocky Mountains, pointed west to the glorious red desert of Utah. We pulled into the mostly full Castleton camping area, and quickly threw down bivy gear and tried to get some good rest. Early the next morning, we took our time making coffee, frying breakfast burritos, and building up the psyche.

Blake maximizing the food-value of our "send-wiches" the night before the linkup

A full view of the ridge. From left to right: Convent, Sister Superior, The Priest and Rectory (overlapping in this shot), and Castleton.

A brisk uphill walk brought us to the first tower of the day: the Rectory. Though Castleton would be the logical first tower, the South-east facing route "Fine Jade" (5.11-) enticed us in the chilly morning. This route was not new to either of us, and we cruised up and down the three pitches of amazing crack climbing in about an hour. A short walk later, we were at the base of the "North Face of Castleton" (5.11-). Since I'd never been on it, Blake graciously offered me all the leads, and I savored the perfectly cut Wingate splitters, occasionally iced with Calcite edges. Again three pitches, this tower took maybe another hour, and we felt confident having established such a quick start.

Me leading on the North Face of Castleton, P1. Blake Herrington photo.

The Priest, also new to me, was definitely a highlight. We chose the classic route "Honeymoon Chimney" (5.11-). Put up by the all-star team of Layton Kor, Fred Beckey, and Harvey T Carter, this unique route is more of a vertical spelunking expedition than a tower route. After a first pitch of wide laybacking, you enter the chasm in the heart of the tower, and proceed to chimney up most to the way, protected from the infinite Castle Valley exposure by massive walls of sandstone. Finally, on the last pitch you emerge for an airy crux move onto an arete, and the romp around the tower for an easy summit pitch.

Blake, trying not to get stuck, on (in?) the first pitch of Honeymoon Chimneys

After the Priest, we had the first major ridge crossing, which had drained us last fall. This time, though, the day was mostly overcast, and we were protected from the brutal desert sun. Using some interesting fixed lines fixed to big chunks of rebar, we descended onto the knife-edged ridge and ran across towards Sister Superior.

The ridgeline, looking north from Castleton

Another favorite route, "Jah-man" (5.10) was not new to either of us. This didn't stop us, though, from enjoying two amazing pitches of chimneys, handcracks, and the obligatory sandy top-out. Finally, we had four towers down, but the crux remained.

The first part of the crux was simply getting to the final "tower", the Convent. I'm not sure of the true definition of tower, and the Convent might actually be a mesa. It is perhaps a quarter mile long, and caps the north end of the Castle Ridge. The narrow and eroding bridge of dirt that connects Sister Superior to the Convent proved tricky, but the real slog was traversing under the entire bulk of the mesa, side-hilling on loose gravel and ball-bearings, constantly having to out-run gravity and the forces of erosion.

Consuming the send-wiches

The route, "The Value of Audacity" (5.11++) would be final challenge. By far the hardest and least traveled of the routes, VoA features a massive roof on its first pitch. We had fortunately tried this last fall, so we had some idea of what we were up against. Blake led up first, re-sussing the sequence out the tiny underclings and crimps. A huge toss with the left hand gains a jug at the lip, but the feet are all but useless on the overhanging sandy wall below. Blake tries valiantly for a while, and then lowers back to the belay and we trade rope ends.

Benefiting from his beta, and my added 6" of reach, I gain the jug. Once there, though, I spend five minute trying to find the correct knee-bar position that will allow me to reach up and around into that tantalizing hand-crack. Finally as the pump-clock is about to expire, I get a perfect right leg knee bar, pivot around the lip, lock in the hand jam, and pull around into a welcome rest.

The remainder of the route is cruiser cracks, and we top out in two more pitches just as the sun nears the Western horizon. One more challenge: getting down! The previous fall, we'd had two 60m ropes, which made for an easy descent off the route to the left. This time, we opted to go light and bring just one 70m cord, and try an unknown descent to the right. After finding a more-or-less stable boulder to sling, we rapped onto a recently established (and bad-ass looking!) route "The Middle Way", and used two single bolt anchors to make the ground.

Coiling the rope at sunset

An easy romp down gravel ridges brought us to the road, and the bike that we had stashed the previous evening. A fully-loaded game of rock-paper-scissors determined that I should face the 7 mile ride back to our car. It was definitely worth it, though, because we'd sent the Castle Valley!

A compilation of our five summit photos

My Red Canyon Home

It's great to be back in Gringolandia! With near precision, I made the the migration from south to north just nine days after the spring equinox, ensuring myself maximum daylight in both hemispheres.

Of course returning to Colorado means returning to my true home, Eldorado Canyon! Everyone here is stoked to be out enjoying the spring sun, and I am not lacking climbing-partners!

Colin making it happen on an evening free-solo of "The Bulge" 5.7

Clayton soaking in the Colorado sun, literally hours after landing at DIA and returning from his months in South America. Ruper, 5.8.

Blake leading the 2nd pitch of "Le Toit" (5.11a), with me belaying. Photo by Forest Woodward.

Forest following the "Rosy-Toit" pitch (5.10). In addition to being an amazing photographer, Forest is quickly becoming a bad-ass trad climber. Get after it buddy!

Ryan Thompson, a very talented adventure sport photographer, joined us for an afternoon in the canyon and got some cool shots of Apple Strudel, a thin bolted face climb.

All of Ryan's photos got cut-off by the inept blogger, so just click on them, they're worth it!


Blake sussing the intricate movement of Apple Strudel, 5.12a
Sending on the Strudel, and making some really weird faces...

Joel on the "Rosy-Toit" pitch (5.10)

The biggest day so far has been a rambling ascent of Redgarden wall via some rad pitches. My friend Joel and I climbed "Scary Canary" to "Le Rosy Toit" to "Love Minus Zero" (on in eldo would a six pitch climb have three different names...). The Canary, though not really Scary, was plenty hard. That's one I need to get back on to send! Love Minus Zero, on the other hand, gave us our fill of indistinct, lichen-ous, runout, and "exciting" climbing!

Post send beers on the bridge.

As much as I love my red canyon home, the desert is calling me! Many socked-in, weather-enforced rest days in South America were spent dreaming of perfect Utah sandstone, and I'm heading out now (literally as soon as I post this) to the wide open spaces of Castle Valley!

I'm not really this dumb...

OK, read the below post about Cerro Pollone first, it's actually interesting.
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and then, if you still have time, a short plea for help: Is there any other blogging platform that's easier to use and less buggy/schizophrenic than blogger? I'm not really computer illiterate, but after spending nearly two hours uploading photos for that last post, I spent more than another hour trying to arrange the photos and text in some sort of consistent and logical manner. To no avail. The editing window would constantly make inexplicable changes, jumping my photos around, formatting them way off to the left or right, and clipping off all the text. It took all the patience I could find to just get all the pics and text into the post. The ugly result is below.

So anyways, I hate to complain about something that's free, but it seems so counter intuitive and buggy, I'd love it if I could use a simpler, or just more functional platform. The only catch, though, is that I'd like to keep the same web address. Probably impossible...

More Pollone Pics

Here are some more photos from our climb of Cerro Pollone a few weeks back:

Blake on the long approach, looking like he's ready for some 1980's vision of the future

Me leading somewhere on the 2000' West Pillar of Pollone. The climbing was truly perfect on the entire face, consisting of splitter white granite, many hand cracks, tons of corners and roofs, and a few dicey face traverses and flared cracks.
The most memorable pitch, though, might be one we didn't climb:
high on the face, visible from the approach, loomed a steep splitter off-width crack (too wide for hands, too small to full-body chimney). Our lone #4 camalot would provide no protection in this impressive fissure, and the climbing looking burly and sustained. I had already agreed that'd I'd lead it if it was the only way, so I spent a stressed night bivied just 100' below it. The next morning, though, I was able to lead left, around the arete, to a very climbable system of hand cracks that took us all the way to the summit!

Our bivy about 14 pitches up the West Pillar. The construction was completed on schedule and under budget by Blake and Scott, Alpine Contractors.

There will be snacks, there will!
A heap of good food for our second day on the route. Huge thanks to Larabar of Denver, Colorado for hooking us up with some tasty bars!

A series of photos from the long summit ridge. The entire climb was amazing, but the ridge traverse might have been the highlight. The views were of course incredible, and the climbing was, for the most part, pretty easy. From the summit of the West Pillar, we stayed roped up and led maybe 4-5 pitches across the knife edge ridge, encountering short bits of up and downclimbing on little towers, maybe up to 5.10. One more sustained vertical pitch (5.10) gained the summit proper, for which we had spectacular weather and high spirits.

Summit Alfajor!

The traverse from the Main summit to the East was a bit more difficult, physically and mentally. The lenticular cloud forming over Fitz Roy clearly indicated increasing winds, and it seemed like our multi-day window might be about to slam shut. Starting with a rap off the Main summit, we crossed the increasing crenelated ridge with a series of vertical pitches and raps. On one tower, an immense red and grey obstacle, the absolutely perfect granite that we'd been enjoying for the past two days degraded to some sort of grainy choss. I was on lead, and I tried a few different paths, but was turned back twice by poor protection and friable holds. Though the pressure of the impending weather was weighing on me, I also knew that a big lead fall and potential injury would be light-years worse than the slight delay of backing off and trying other paths. Finally, on my third attempt, I found a weakness that took decent pro, and quickly gained the choss tower's summit.

The orange choss tower

From there, the climbing was a bit easier, and we gained the east summit in a few more pitches. Just in time, the weather was coming in! There we found some rappel tat left by our friend Neil a month earlier (on the first ascent of the East Summit!), and gladly began the long descent. Many raps, many stuck ropes, much downclimbing, and one unpleasantly cold waterfall later, we were on the Fitz Norte glacier, with nothing left but the long slog back to basecamp and then town!

The crew at Piedras Negras base camp after our climb. From left, the team of Jose and Greg (Chilean and French), the brothers Joel and Neil Kauffman, then me and Blake.

Jose, Greg, Neil and Joel had all been on the Noth Pillar of Fitz Roy the previous day, and had been stymied attempting to summit by poor conditions. They all resolved to rap the route together, and suffered a series of rope incidents that left them with just one good rope by the end of the descent (each team started with two ropes).

Joel and Neil, no strangers to big mountian suffering, rated their all-night, wet, freezing, cluster-fucked rappel session as a 6.5 on a 1-10 scale of epicness (10 being your own death).

The Brothers K

Back in town, our friend and landlord Daniel threw us a victory Asado (roast). Que Rico!