My First 5.12: Uphill All the Way

(Photo: At the final crux on Uphill All the Way (5.12a).)

I know, I know.

It has been a while-- over two years!-- since I published a blog post.

It's not that I stopped climbing. Far from it.

But for whatever reason, my blogging dwindled and then faded away. 

Seems like people don't blog so much any more. But that makes no difference to me. I was never much of a trend follower, much less a trend setter. I have no big platform, nothing to sell. I am ignorant of fashion. I started this blog because I wanted to express myself. I post because I enjoy it.

But over time I have blogged a lot less about every single thing I did, and blogged more selectively, about what seemed like significant events. And I guess over time the truly significant climbing events have become a bit less frequent for me? 

When last we spoke, I talked about how I was hoping to send my first 5.12, before my 50th birthday. I've never been obsessed with numbers, but I have tried to make progress, however glacial, over the years. And finally breaking the 5.12 barrier after well over a decade of climbing seemed like a nice goal. I could have found an "easy" sport 5.12 for this particular milestone, but for me that would not have seemed legit. I am a trad guy, and my first twelve had to be a trad climb, preferably in my home crag the Gunks. 

I thought this achievement would be a great subject for my next blog post.

Only problem was, it didn't happen! I did turn 50-- there was no putting THAT off-- but the 5.12 never came. 

Until now.

At the start of the 2021 season, I finally sent Uphill All the Way (5.12a). I'm over 50, but not by so much. 

I'll take it. 

It was a somewhat circuitous journey. Allow me, please, if you will, to share with you my own "road to 5.12." This is not meant to be a guide for others. If you'd like an actual roadmap as to how to climb 5.12 I think you can skip the rest of this post and follow this advice: try hangboarding. It seems to work.

The first step, for me, was to follow around a great climber like Fredy, who showed me several of the prime 5.12 candidates in the Gunks. He introduced me, as a matter of fact, to Uphill All the Way, in late 2018 (which I discussed in my last post). 

(Photo: Fredy heading up the initial crack in November, 2018.)

As soon as I saw the climb, I knew that this was the one: the 5.12 climb that really fired my imagination, even though it might not have been the most sensible choice for my first 5.12. 

Why might it not have been the best choice?

Because it is hard! It is intricate and complicated, with four distinctly difficult sections.

When I first did the climb with Fredy, I was unable to do two of these four sections. 

But I loved how this short climb was packed with varied and interesting movement. It seemed to build on itself, getting harder and harder with each bouldery sequence. The climbing challenges were not the usual big roofs or blank sections between horizontals we so often see in the Gunks. In a way, the climbing seemed more typical of granite, with delicate foot placements on ripples in the rock and even some vertical crack climbing. And the gear was good, good enough that after our first visit I thought I might be able to attack Uphill All the Way on lead, and feel pretty safe doing so.

So after following Fredy up it just once, I considered it my new project. 

(Photo: Fredy took this shot of me on my first attempt at the climb in November, 2018.)

I went ahead and tried to lead it, with Josh, in May of 2019. It didn't go well. Despite my conviction that the gear was good, I found myself struggling to commit to the moves on the initial vertical crack, the EASIEST section of the route. I took a hang before making it to the rest jug at the top of the starting crack, and then felt too defeated even to try the next bit. I lowered off of the fixed nut and we walked away.

(Photo: Toh took this photo of me trying (and failing) to lead Uphill All the Way in May of 2019.)

This was a setback. Mentally, I wasn't ready yet.

But I wasn't done with the climb. In pretty short order, I had the chance to climb Uphill All the Way again with Fredy. He had narrowly missed on-sighting the climb at the end of 2018, making it all the way to the final move before falling off, and naturally he wanted the redpoint. 

Funny thing: when Fredy wasn't juiced with on-sight energy, he found the climb much more mysterious. When he and I tried the climb for the second time together, in May of 2019, Fredy did not send, and in fact had a lot more trouble with the climb than he had the first time. He had to put some real work into figuring out the moves. He took several whippers at the top, off of the final, crux moves up and around an overhanging corner. Then he lowered, took a break, and offered me the lead. I top-roped up to his high point and led on from there, taking several lobbers off of the crux move. I got no closer to being able to do the move, but I did get more comfortable with the idea of blowing it and taking the whip.

(Photo: Fredy sending in June, 2019.)

Fredy and I went back again in June, 2019, and by this time Fredy had it in the bag. He got the send like it was nothing, and I got another chance to work at the climb on TR and to make some progress. This time I got my beta a bit more worked out, though things were still far from smooth for me. 

At this point, it might be helpful to get into the weeds a bit and describe the challenges of Uphill All the Way, in detail. This is what you came for, right?

As I mentioned above, there are four sections:

1. Moving up the initial vertical crack. Funky moves, thin feet. This section is probably 5.10. At the top of the crack you reach a big jug, and an optional step up left to a rest. 

2. Stepping back down to the crack and making tenuous moves to the right, following a right-facing flake, with poor hands and very thin feet, to another good hold and gear. This is crux number 1. 

3. Moving straight up into the slanted, overhanging corner, to an undercling hold. This move requires balance and strength. This is crux number 2, and it is harder than crux number 1. After you get established in the undercling, there is an easy move up to a horizontal that takes your gear for the final sequence.

4. The true, final crux: moving up and left around the overhanging corner and onto the face. You have to make a big move to poor crimps for the hands, and then a challenging reach to the left as you rotate your body around the corner using bad feet on the arete. 

After working on the route with Fredy, I had the first two sections pretty well worked out. I came up with this nice step-through beta that usually works for the second section. And as for section three, I knew I could do it, though I still needed to work on it. Sometimes I fell and sometimes I nailed it.

But the final crux was still very hard for me. Up until this point I had managed to do the move successfully just once, on TR, and had fallen there many times. I found the move to be very low percentage. I couldn't reliably keep my foot on the arete and I couldn't use the handhold all the way around to the left with any consistency. 

Still, I wanted to try again. This was my 5.12, and I intended to work on it, or so I thought. 

For the rest of 2019, I kept putting myself in position to try Uphill All the Way on lead again. I made sure I was in the Trapps every time I visited the Gunks, and would pick other climbs for warm-ups that were nearby. I would even walk up to the route and put my stuff down, with the intention of climbing it. But then, over and over again, I chickened out. I decided I wasn't feeling it and walked away without trying it. I told myself that this must be part of the process of breaking into 5.12. First you have to work up the courage to try. And I needed more time.

I got a lot more time to sit around and work up my courage when COVID happened. 

I'm hesitant to talk much about COVID and its effect on my climbing. I don't want to sound like I think I am some kind of victim of COVID. I am one of the lucky ones. I have a job and a place to live. No one in my family got very sick or died from the disease. Of course it touched my life, as it touched everyone's. But I have nothing to complain about. I'm grateful to have gotten through the last year with my existence, and my family's existence, more or less unchanged.

Still, my climbing was negatively affected, just as I imagine yours was. The gyms were closed. Like a lot of people, perhaps, I personally went through a cycle in which I exercised like mad to stay sane for the first few months, and then got kind of depressed and stopped exercising entirely for a few months after that. The Gunks opened back up in June (I ran up there on the first day), and an outdoor gym in NYC opened up a few months after that. When I got back to climbing outside, I felt kind of normal, surprisingly. But I could tell that I'd lost something. I didn't have the endurance I took for granted before the pandemic. I definitely wasn't at my best. It would have been truly shocking if I felt any differently.

Nevertheless, somehow I fell back into working on Uphill All the Way in the fall of 2020. One day in September, Will and I were playing around on the 5.10d Ventre de Boeuf direct start, which is right next to Uphill All the Way, and I decided it might be fun to throw a top rope over Uphill again, for old times' sake.

(Photo: Will on Uphill All the Way.)

And what happened was kind of a breakthrough for me. I experimented a bit and worked out beta for the final crux that was much better for me than what I'd been doing. I used a different, higher foothold. It was hard for me to get the foot up so high-- I felt like I was putting my toe in my ear-- but once I did, the move around the corner was really solid. If I successfully got the foot up there, the climb was over.

This was exciting. It meant that I could do every move on the climb. I just had to put it all together. From that point on, I was inspired again. I started tackling the climb head-on, going at it on lead. We returned five more times in 2020. Will patiently belayed me over and over again. It was very nice of him. If he got tired of going to the Trapps every weekend, he kept it to himself. Over these several attempts, I got tantalizingly close to the send, falling off at the last move a couple of times. But I couldn't quite get it done. 

I think, more than anything else, the problem was that I felt weak. I would reach the final crux very tired; I couldn't seem to contrive much of a rest before the hardest moves. And I wasn't able to try the climb more than once in a session. I would be spent after one burn. It was clear to me that the COVID layoff was hurting my chances.

As the fall season ended, I resolved to get fitter. I wasn't sure that I was capable of feeling the way I used to feel. Maybe, at 51, I would have to work really hard just to stay the same. Maybe I'd never get stronger again?

In late December, I did something that was truly radical: I hired a climbing coach. 

I had always been uninterested in "training." Mostly this was because I really enjoyed climbing in the gym, and didn't want to turn it into work. I was afraid I would get burnt out and see climbing as a chore instead of a joyful, fun time. I also feared that I would hurt myself. It seemed like people who trained were always dealing with injured pulleys and the like. 

But as 2020 ended, I knew I wanted to do something to change my personal climbing trajectory. And then, completely at random, I saw an Instagram post from someone I didn't know, saying they had achieved good results working with a coach named Alice Hafer. I'd never heard of her. There was a link to Alice's own Instagram page, and when I clicked on it, I saw that she offered free consultations. Despite my longstanding lack of interest in training, I thought I had nothing to lose and, totally on a whim, I signed up for a meeting.  

I did no research. I considered no other coaches.

When I talked to Alice, I really liked her, and her fees seemed very reasonable, so I decided to give training with her a shot. And I don't really want to dwell on this too much or turn this post into an extended plug for Alice (she doesn't need my help anyway), but I can say without reservation that my time climbing with Alice has been amazing! She's worked wonders for me. She is really great and if she has space for any more clients you should hire her. 

Alice gave me a fitness test, analyzed my goals and tailored a plan specifically for me. I was worried that working with a coach would be boring, but she gave me all sorts of fun climbing exercises (which I never would have come up with myself), and listened to me when I said that sometimes I'd like to "just climb." Some of the things she's had me doing (like hangboarding) are things I could have developed a strategy for on my own, if I had the patience. But my eyes glaze over when I read these endless blogs and books on training and it has been so helpful for me to have someone to tell me what to do! 

It also helped that I buckled down and put in the effort. I did pretty much everything in the plan Alice gave me. It wasn't that hard to keep up with it, since I was mostly working from home and had no social obligations. There was nothing else to do much of the time but to work out. And it was very lucky, from a climbing perspective, that the governor never closed the gyms again, even though over the winter the state blew past every COVID benchmark that had been set for gym closures. 

Probably the most important aspect of working with Alice, for me, was the realization that my reluctance to "train" was based on irrational fears. I was afraid that if I trained I'd come to see climbing as a tiresome chore. I was afraid that if I trained I'd get hurt. But these fears were unfounded. 

While I was doing all of this training, I kept wondering how I'd fare once the outdoor season rolled around. I knew I was feeling pretty good, much better than before, indoors, but would it translate to routes in the real world? 

I found out pretty quickly once we got into March, and the temperature got high enough for some Gunks climbing. On my first day out I felt a little bit tentative, but as the day went on I cruised a few of my favorite 5.10s. They felt very easy. 

Then on my second day out, on March 13, I went to the Gunks with Richard. We'd been climbing together in the gym before the pandemic, and I knew him to be a strong boulderer who wanted to dabble a bit in the trad game. He was curious about the twelves I'd been talking about so I knew it was time to put up or shut up. We needed to head to Uphill All the Way and see how it went. 

(Photo: Richard on Uphill All the Way. He sent it on his second try on TR, which is very impressive!)

I didn't think I would send it right away, and I didn't. After four or five months away from the climb, I had to reacquaint myself with the moves. I assumed this would be a work session. As I expected, I fell a couple of times on my first trip up. But at the same time I could tell I felt better than before. My crimp strength was better. My flexibility was better. My endurance was better. I didn't feel at all tired. I thought that maybe I could send the climb if I went at it again.

So we rested a bit and I tried again. And then on my second attempt I took a random fall early, in the first cruxy bit! Oops. This was unexpected. I lowered off of the fixed nut and rested. 

And then on try number three it went very well indeed. See for yourself:

You can hear my shock at how it turned out in the video. Even though intellectually I knew I was close to sending this climb, I realize now that somewhere, deep down, I believed that maybe it would never happen. There was a barrier erected in my mind that I had to knock down. 

And now that barrier is gone! I've since sent a second Gunks 5.12, which maybe I'll talk about in another post, and I'm getting close on a third one. 

Looking back over the experience, I feel like I've learned so much from Uphill All the Way. I've learned about trusting my feet on things that aren't even footholds, more like small textures or changes in the angle of the rock. I've learned that sometimes the best way to do a difficult move is as slowly as possible, shifting my balance and keeping my whole body in tension to stay on the rock. And I've learned to experiment and to try new ideas, even if they seem like impossibilities at first. 

And in the time since March, I've just been floating on air. This spring has been a magical Gunks season for me, one like I've never had. I didn't expect to send 5.12 trad on my second day of the season. And now I'm just hoping to keep riding the wave, stay uninjured, and keep sending more twelves. I feel so grateful to be healthy and climbing well. It feels so good not just to work at new levels of difficulty, but to cruise up climbs that used to feel hard. The big thing missing for me now is travel, which I hope we will all be able to enjoy again soon enough. There are so many climbing destinations I want to visit and revisit. Time will tell.

I hope that you, too, are having the kind of fun that I'm having out there. Be safe and climb on, folks. Stay tuned for more reports, coming soon?

Moving the Goalposts in the Gunks

(Photo: That's me on Enduro Man's Longest Hangout (5.11c), pitch 3. Photo by Gus.)

"So what about you?" Gus asked. "Don't you have any projects?"

It took me a second to process that he was talking to me.

We were walking on the carriage road, on our way in to the Trapps from the parking lot. I'd been with Gus, Kevin and Fredy for two hours in the car, listening to lots of chit-chat about their plans to get on such venerable testpieces as The Sting (5.11d), Supper's Ready (5.12a), and Uphill All the Way (5.12a).

(Photo: Gus on Directissima Direct (5.10b).)

I didn't know any of these guys very well. I'd seen them around the gym. I considered them to be strong sport climbers who occasionally dabbled in trad. I'd somehow lucked into going to the Gunks with them, but I didn't think of them as my peers. I thought of them as climbers who were better than me.

While they'd been discussing their goals for the day, I'd been mute, taking it all in.

Gus' question caught me off guard. I didn't know the answer.

It was mid-October. High season. I ought to have goals, I thought. Did I have any current projects? What were they?

"I'm just hoping I can keep up with you guys," I replied.

I knew this was a pathetic answer.

How did I get here? Where had my year gone?

*  *  *

In the spring I'd picked up where I left off last year, trying to lead cleanly every last 5.10 in the Gunks that gets at least a star in the guidebook. I also planned to keep working my way through the popular 5.11's.

I didn't have any tens left to do in the Trapps, so I focused on the Nears. Over the course of a few different days, I knocked off some of my 5.10 targets, but I got a little bit bored with my 5.10 project pretty fast.

(Photo: Will following me up Fat Stick Direct (5.10b).)

Meanwhile, I sent just one Gunks 5.11 in the spring: Harvest Moon (5.11a). I worked it out over two visits to cliff. The crux bulge (near the finish) is tricky. The climb follows a striking vertical crack, but-- in typical Gunks fashion--  it doesn't really climb like one. You'd love to just jam it, hand over hand, but the crack size doesn't make it easy, and the angles are all wrong. I definitely did some jamming on Harvest Moon, but just a little, and it was weird, awkward jamming.

(Photo: I'm getting ready to commit to the crack on Harvest Moon (5.11a). Photo by Connie.)

On my first visit, with Connie, I figured it out well enough that I was able to fire it off on my second visit to the climb with Michael. At the crux bulge I nearly blew it when my foot popped but I clamped down like crazy and managed to stay on the rock. It wasn't pretty but I got to the top and was happy to call it done.

(Photo: Connie sending Harvest Moon (5.11a) on TR.)

Until late in the year that was where my 2018 achievements ended. It got hot in a hurry this spring and when I made it to the Gunks this summer I didn't do much but play around on old favorites.

And then September came along and I got to climb with Fredy.

I had seen him around the gym for several years and he seemed like a very strong guy. I assumed he was a sport climber because I never saw him in the Gunks. Then on one fateful day in the gym he asked me if I could climb with him in the Gunks that weekend, and although I was a bit taken aback (you want to climb with me?),  I said sure, why not. It turned out that Fredy had a baby on the way and was changing his focus from sport to trad as a way to stay closer to NYC. Our first time climbing together was going to be only his third trip ever to the Gunks.

(Photo: Fredy on our first outdoor climb together, Feast of Fools (5.10b).)

On our way up to the Gunks that first day, it somehow came up that Fredy wanted to hop on a 5.12a in the Trapps called Supper's Ready, and when I said I was happy to flail away at it too, a partnership was born.

Fredy had not yet been to the Gunks with anyone willing to do twelves with him-- his partners so far hadn't wanted to work that hard, and maybe they were concerned about Fredy biting off more of a trad challenge than he could chew. But after our first conversation I had no such reservations. It was quickly apparent to me that Fredy knew what he was doing. Fredy had sent sport climbs up to 5.13b, a grade that I couldn't even imagine. And he wasn't just a sport weenie-- he had alpine experience in his native Chile. If he thought he was ready to lead 5.12 trad, I wasn't going to try to stop him.

And I was excited to learn from him. I knew I might not be able to do the moves on some of the climbs Fredy would want to do, but maybe climbing hard stuff with him would push me to a new level.

It came at a good time for me, too. I turned 49 years old in June of 2018 and it has occurred to me that I'd like to send a trad 5.12 on lead before I turn 50. I think this is a reasonable goal, if I actually try to do it! I need to find the right climb and make it into a project, breaking it into digestible chunks. If I make a wise choice, and devote enough time to the climb, I should be able to work it all out and eventually send it.

It sounds reasonable on paper, anyway.

I've made some efforts on my own to find the perfect 5.12 for me. I've fooled around on a few of the obvious candidates, on top rope. Some of these routes have had moves I could do but are dangerous leads, so they don't fit the bill for my project. Some other twelves I've attempted have had good protection but are too hard-- or maybe I just haven't discovered the right beta.

Prior to meeting Fredy, my top candidate for my first twelve lead was probably Brave New World (5.12a/b), out in Lost City. It is a beautiful climb, with lots of cool moves on a steep face, but the only real 5.12 part is the first bouldery sequence off the ground. The rest of the climb is probably some variety of 5.11, with good gear. My big problem with Brave New World is that I haven't unlocked the hard opening sequence yet. I worked on it a bit with Will this fall, and I made progress, getting halfway through the boulder problem. If I can figure out how to step up from there to the good hold-- just one more move-- then I know I can do the whole climb. So this climb remains a contender.

(Photo: This is Will on the upper half of Brave New World (5.12a/b). Not a great photo but it's the best I've got!)

During that first day in September that I spent with Fredy, we got to know each other over a few warm-ups and then Fredy took a shot at Supper's Ready. The climb wanders up a moderate face just left of Hans' Puss and then kicks back through what is probably the biggest, most outrageous roof in the Gunks. There are five or six tiers and the crux moves involve huge reaches to jugs. Fredy went right at it without hesitation. He took some impressive falls attempting the on-sight on the climb, but his gear was good and he worked everything out, eventually reaching the fixed anchor. He was eager to return for the send on a different day.

(Photo: Fredy about to attempt the final big reach to the lip of the roof on Supper's Ready (5.12a).)

We'd driven up to the Gunks with some other friends, Connie and Pascal. After Fredy got the rope up on Supper's Ready all three of us tried it, with similar results: lots of falling. But we all got up it, more or less. I left thinking that maybe this was a climb I could put together and lead, some day. It has good gear and two definite cruxes. I would have to refine my beta for each of the biggest reaches and really execute well if I were to have any hope of hanging on to the finish.

(Photo: Connie on Supper's Ready (5.12a).)

That same day Fredy and I also tried another 5.12a/b called Bullfrog. I know that people lead this climb but it appeared to me that it would be very challenging to place the gear in the climb's thin vertical seam, so I suggested we set it up from Balrog (5.10b) instead of leading it.

(Photo: Fredy on Bullfrog (5.12a/b).)

On top rope, Fredy worked the climb out with just a fall or two. I did well on the opening arch but didn't really figure out the crux move onto a slab near the top. I need to go back to work on this one some more, but I think this one too could be a 5.12 possibility for me, after some more top-rope work to get the beta for both the moves and the gear.

* * *

After our first day together, I felt like I was already getting a lot out my new partnership with Fredy.

But the autumn seemed to go by very quickly, with near-constant rain. On the rare weekend days without precipitation, I went to the Gunks with Fredy and tried more hard stuff.

Fredy invited Gus and Kevin along for our second day out, in mid-October. We were on our way in to the cliff that day when Gus asked me that question about whether I had any goals in mind.

I struggled to name any and then felt ashamed of my mumbled non-answer. After stewing over it for a few minutes, I made a decision: I was going to try Enduro Man, pitch 3 (5.11c).

It had been a year and a half since I'd first attempted the climb. I almost sent it on my first go. But I'd never gone back. I think a part of me was afraid that my near-success on that first attempt was a fluke and that I'd end up hanging all over it if I tried it again.

I decided it was high time I just went up there and threw the dice.

So I told Fredy I wanted to do it and he was psyched. He led quickly up the first pitch of Modern Times and then I went right at it.

To my surprise, I remembered the two cruxes reasonably well. The first crux involves steep moves up and left using several non-obvious sidepulls, until a bomber horizontal slot is reached. Then after you shake out and place gear, you go hard to the right for the second crux, traversing with some mediocre slopers and then stepping slightly down and into another great hold.

(Photo: That's me on Enduro Man (5.11c) pitch 3. Photo by Gus.)

I managed to get through both cruxes again without falling. And then, much to my chagrin, I made the exact same mistake that I made a year and a half earlier-- I kept going to the right (wrong!) and couldn't find the move to get up and out to finish the pitch. The route finding is really the third crux on this climb. The whole pitch is overhanging, and as soon as you get lost, you flame out. Or I do, anyway.

Once I took a hang I could see where to go-- just like on my first time on the route.

I was upset with myself but I took solace in the fact that I could definitely send this climb. I proved to myself that my first time on the route was not just a fluke. So I vowed to go back to get the send before the end of the year.

(Photo: Fredy reaching the top of Enduro Man, discussing his beta for the traverse while still climbing.)

That same day, Fredy and I went back to Supper's Ready and he put the thing down with authority. It was quite crowded at the Arrow wall (peak season) and everyone was watching. The whole cliff was abuzz after Fredy sent. I was honored just to be associated with this event, which seemed to provide so much entertainment for the masses.

(Photo: Fredy in the final crux as he sends Supper's Ready (5.12a).)

I wish I could say I did just as well as Fredy, or at least made some progress on Supper's Ready. But after getting super pumped on Enduro Man, I was worse on my second effort at Supper's Ready than I was on our first day on the route. I had a really hard time with the first crux and eventually gave up, and we spent the rest of our day on some easier stuff.

(Photo: That's me on Never Never Land (5.10a). Photo by Fredy.)

Two weeks later, in early November, Fredy and I were together in the Gunks again.

I went right back at Enduro Man for my second attempt of the season. From the very start I could tell that I wasn't feeling as strong as I did on my last effort. It was a high-gravity day, as they say. I struggled, grunting, through both cruxes, and the move up afterwards as well. I was still hanging in there, but barely. So far I was only making it because I knew the moves and the gear beta. Still, I had done all of the hard climbing and was at a good horizontal. Fredy was shouting up that he thought I'd made it. I threw a piece in and tried to regroup. But I knew I was toast-- I was going to have to hang. I just felt so pumped and couldn't get it back, even though it should have been all over!

So I called out "take" and took a rest. And then after I started moving again I saw that if I'd made just one more move to the right I could have gotten a much better resting position and maybe could have finished it. I felt frustrated, but again, I knew I'd made progress and could (definitely? probably?) get the send if I got the opportunity to come back for a third time in 2018.

(Photo: Fredy heading into the overhangs on Carbs and Caffeine (5.11a).)

We didn't try any twelves that day (thank God), but Fredy continued to add to his Gunks resume. He wanted to check out the Yellow Wall area so we went over there and Fredy proceeded to send Carbs and Caffeine (5.11a), No Man's Land (5.11b), and the Yellow Wall (5.11c), in succession, all on-sight, in a single afternoon.

(Photo: Fredy on The Yellow Wall (5.11c).)

What for me had been a two year project with multiple efforts at each climb (still incomplete as I have yet to send the Yellow Wall), Fredy knocked off easily in a day.

What can I say, the guy is good.

* * *

It was December 1. Would this be our last climbing day of 2018? Fredy and I were back once again. We'd hoped to go to the Gunks on each of the previous two weekends, but the cliffs were soaking wet.

At least it was dry today. But conditions were cold, in the high thirties. We'd hoped for sunshine, but a gloomy fog hung over the cliffs for the entire morning.

(Photo: I'm headed up Teeny Face (5.10a). Photo by Fredy.)

I started our day on Teeny Face (5.10a). I had a hard time committing to the crux moves with numb, burning fingers, but I got through it.

We moved over to Ridicullissima (5.10d). Fredy thought this would get me ready for my third try on Enduro Man. As Fredy led upward, disappearing into the fog, I wondered if I was really game for the send today. I felt fat and weak in the aftermath of Thanksgiving.

(Photo: Fredy on Ridicullissima (5.10d).)

When I started climbing up to join Fredy, Ridicullissima felt hard. I didn't fall but by the time I reached the crux my fingers and toes were numb again from the cold. I got through the roof, willing myself to hold on even though I couldn't really feel what I was holding on to. I was struggling, and this was 5.10d! Was I really about to lead 5.11c?

Up on the GT Ledge, I wasn't sure I was up for Enduro Man. I was freezing. We were surrounded by fog.

Maybe the season was really over. Wouldn't it be nice to rappel off, have some hot tea, and do some 5.8's?

Fredy wasn't having it.

He said if I didn't send, we would just pack up and go home.

He told me I knew exactly what to do.

He reminded me that I'd never actually fallen on Enduro Man. I'd just given up at various points.

(Photo: Fredy on the GT Ledge, psyched for Enduro Man.)

Eventually he shamed me into giving it a try. I racked up, grimly. I told myself to have no expectations, just to be safe and keep climbing.

It went perfectly. Of course.

I placed my crux gear and then committed to the first hard bit right away. The moves felt easier than ever before and in an instant I was holding the bomber horizontal.

Then crux number two, the slopery traverse, felt casual. In the cold the holds felt so positive. And with one more move up, I was now at the spot where I'd given up the last time. But this time I had no intention of giving up. This time I wasn't so depleted. I couldn't believe how quickly I'd gotten there.

Fredy was shouting encouragement, saying I had it in the bag. I told him to shut up. I didn't want to jinx my send.

But I was just being superstitious. I knew I wasn't going to fall now. I just needed to execute a few more easy moves and it would all be over. I carefully picked my way to the top and let out a victory yell. I'd finally sent Enduro Man, pitch 3.

I felt great. I wasn't cold at all. I wouldn't have done it without Fredy's encouragement.

(Photo: The view from the top of the cliff on a foggy December 1.)

After we were done with Enduro Man, I didn't care what we did. Fredy decided he wanted to try Uphill All the Way (5.12a), also known as The Man Who Fell to Earth. This short pitch ascends a beautiful, technical crack, and then follows a weird, arching corner to a final crux move out of the corner and onto a slab.

Fredy wanted to lead it. I didn't know how hard it would be to place gear in the thin crack. It looked like it was going to be all nuts and I worried a bit about Fredy's lack of experience with passive gear. But he was game for it and promised to be careful, and I didn't want to do anything to hold him back. In our few visits to the Gunks I'd learned to trust in his abilities.

As it turned out, the first moves up the thin crack are actually pretty casual, and it is easy to place bomber gear before the tough moves begin.

(Photo: Fredy on Uphill All the Way (5.12a).)

Fredy didn't get the on-sight but it was an impressive performance nonetheless. He got up the initial crack and then made some difficult moves up the arching corner, fighting for good gear and every inch of progress. He ended up making it all the way to the final crux move on to the slab, but then he fell off. He worked it out after a couple of more tries, finishing the climb.

(Photo: Fredy at the final crux move on Uphill All the Way (5.12a).)

Following Fredy up this route, I discovered that this might become my top 5.12 contender, even though there remain a couple of moves that I didn't quite figure out. I had trouble in the middle of the pitch, with a hard move up as you start the slanting corner. I didn't quite master this move but I did succeed at an alternate sequence that involves stepping to the right and making a big throw to a jug. And then I also fell a bunch at the top move around and onto the slab, but I think I know what to do there now and I'll eventually get it right.

(Photo: That's me on Uphill All the Way (5.12a). Photo by Fredy.)

I liked the gear. Having top-roped it once, I'm pretty comfortable with the idea of working this climb on lead. I might fix a nut or two if I fall repeatedly at the hard bits, but that's okay.

* * *

I did lots of fun climbing in 2018. I had a great trip to Squamish with Adrian in the spring, and another productive trip to Whitehorse and Cathedral Ledges with Will in the fall, which I will eventually write about.

Closer to home, I didn't rack up too many achievements in the Gunks this year. For reasons that I can't really pin down, I coasted through most of 2018. But meeting up with Fredy in the fall definitely gave a boost to my ambitions. I'm very happy to have gotten exposed to some new and harder climbs, and to have capped off my year with Enduro Man, which at 5.11c is my hardest trad send to date.

Next year I intend to put a real emphasis on working a couple of my 5.12 targets into submission. So long as I have partners willing to patiently belay me for parts of every climbing day, I should be able to do it.

I don't know if that partner will be Fredy, since he and his wife just had that baby they were expecting! Maybe he'll settle into domestic bliss, scale it back, and forget about climbing for a while. And on the rare occasions that we get out I'll be dragging him up climbs for a change...

But I doubt it. More likely, he'll be hangboarding in the nursery. When I next see him he will probably be stronger than ever.

Dammit, Granite, I Love You! Four Days in Squamish

(Photo: Adrian's shot of me on the Angel Crack (5.10b).)

The month of May seems so long ago.

I've let the year get away from me!

I meant to write a post, oh-so-long ago, about my climbing trip to Squamish. But things have been busy busy busy. Spring has turned to summer and then to fall, and now-- I can hardly believe it-- I'm at risk of letting the year slip away without memorializing the four wonderful days I spent with Adrian in his backyard granite playground.

Well, my friends, the wait is over. I have been remiss, but I am here now to correct the oversight.

The original plan was to go to Yosemite in the Spring.

Adrian and I had been there once before, in 2014. We'd had a great time, and of course we'd barely scratched the surface of the climbing there. I was dying to go back. I hoped that I'd improved since 2014. I wanted to tackle some of the classics that were on my life list, like the old-school Steck-Salathe, historically rated a moderate 5.9 but universally feared for its wide sections and claustrophobic chimneys. I told Adrian that I'd volunteer to lead all of the weird and wide stuff, if he'd only agree to do the climb with me.

It seemed like a good plan. But Adrian had a bunch of things going on, chief among them moving his and Cathy's place of residence an hour up the Howe Sound from Vancouver to Squamish.

As we talked about Yosemite logistics and tried without much success to settle on some dates that we both could manage, Adrian eventually came up with a brilliant idea: I could just come to Squamish instead and stay with him in his new house, right after he and Cathy moved in.

(Photo: The Chief.)

Now, Squamish isn't Yosemite, but I'd loved it there as well when I visited the area back in 2013. And we'd hardly gotten to do any of the big, long routes up the Chief. We'd had rain for three of the four days I was there, and though Adrian and I still got to do a lot of climbing, the only big route we'd really gotten to try was the Squamish Butt Light (5.9). I was eager to get back out there and, with a little bit of weather luck, maybe this time we'd get some more multi-pitch good times.

So it was a go.

As the trip approached, the weather looked grim. A few days before my departure, I checked the forecast and saw a steady week full of storms. It seemed our Squamish plans would be dashed. Adrian and I talked about driving off somewhere else to do some sport climbing.

But then everything changed. Right before I flew out to Vancouver, Adrian told me that we were about to get a stretch of splitter weather. I decided to take his word for it. I was too superstitious to check the forecast myself.

It was raining that evening as I hopped into Adrian's vintage BMW and headed up the highway from the airport to his new home in Squamish. But Adrian's optimism was undimmed. He reported that the rain was due to end by morning, after which we would get to climbing. I tried to keep the faith.

Apart from my general desire to do long routes, I had only one big goal for my trip to Squamish: I wanted to lead the Split Pillar pitch on the Grand Wall. Really I wanted to do the whole Grand Wall route-- it is a long route, as legendary as any climb in Squamish, with several memorable challenges along the way. I was willing to lead any and all of the pitches. But the Split Pillar pitch (rated 5.10b) became my particular focus because it is all about jamming, for over a hundred feet. The pitch follows a crack on the right side of the pillar, which gradually widens from thin hands, to perfect hands, to fists. I'd been working on my jamming skills, as best I could, in my local gym, and I felt like I'd recently made real progress. I thought that if I could send this pitch it would represent a big milestone for me. And I thought that I might be able to pull it off.

Unfortunately Adrian wasn't all that enthused about the Grand Wall. Of course, he'd been up there at various times during his two decades of Squamish experience. And he knew we would need to do some hard and/or runout slab climbing, plus some awkward aiding up a bolt ladder, to get to the base of the Split Pillar. In addition, after we finished with the Split Pillar there were still several hard pitches before we would get to the top of the wall. It was sure to be a very challenging day, maybe more challenging than we needed.

We decided to plan for the Grand Wall, but to push it off until the last day. And we figured we might just get up to the Split Pillar and then rap off afterwards, skipping the harder pitches that follow. Since this pitch was my main goal, I was fine with that.

Day One: Smoke Bluffs

On the morning of our first day, I woke up in Adrian and Cathy's new house, amazed to see the Chief in all its glory from Adrian's second-floor windows-- except that the Chief was partially obscured by clouds and the rain was still falling.

But it soon stopped, right on schedule. We had a leisurely breakfast and waited a few hours for everything to dry out.

And then we enjoyed four straight days of plentiful sunshine and moderate temperatures. We did tons of climbing and I got to lead almost all of the good pitches, since Adrian had done them all before.

Around noon on day one we headed over to the Smoke Bluffs (an area of small, single-pitch cliffs) to see if anything was dry enough to climb. It turned out that pretty much everything was dry. We did seven pitches that afternoon, hitting a bunch of climbs that were new for me as well as a couple of my favorites from my last visit.

(Photo: Out to Lunge (5.10b). Photo by Adrian.)

I was happy to find that I felt comfortable on the granite, pretty quickly. I remembered that Squamish granite has a wonderful, grippy texture-- in contrast to Yosemite granite, which feels much more slippery. But I also remembered that in 2013, despite the welcoming texture, it had taken me a while to trust my toes on rock that was unfamiliar to me.

Not this time. I felt confident right away and led a (soft?) 5.10 right off the bat. We started with Out to Lunge (5.10b), which begins with a crux high step right off the deck and then eases into a cruiser traverse up a diagonal crack to an anchor up and far left of the start.

(Photo: Mosquito, a classic 5.8 which we also did in 2013. Photo by Adrian.)

Next we hit a more technically challenging vertical climb called S-M's Delight (also 5.10b but harder). This one had a few thin, awkward moves in the middle. I felt fortunate to get the on-sight, clean.

(Photo: Adrian on S-M's Delight (5.10b).)

Adrian suggested we up the ante with Kangaroo Corner (5.11a), which he described as "everyone's first 5.11" at Squamish. It ascends a short but blank corner.

I set off, placing one nut and then clipping a fixed wire at what turned out to be the crux move, just a short distance off the ground.

(Photo: Adrian on Kangaroo Corner (5.11a).)

I slipped off attempting the next move up. I lowered and tried again, slipping off again at the same spot. But I thought I'd figured out the move. So I started one more time from the bottom and got it done, for my first clean 5.11 lead in Squamish.

(Photo: It's hard to pass up Penny Lane, a joyful 5.9. Photo by Adrian.)

Next we moved around to the Penny Lane area and I managed to get another on-sight on a 5.10d called (fittingly enough) Climb and Punishment. It is a fun route with some thin moves up a jagged flake and then a tough reach to a juggy shelf. The guidebook entry on this route mentions a piton, which is no longer there. The crux might be more difficult now than in the old days, because now you have to protect the crux with gear, and you have to place this gear in a crucial undercling hold without blocking the hold. I made it through the move, blindly placing a small cam at the overlap under pressure, and then working my feet up and reaching successfully for the good shelf. It was exciting.

(Photo: Adrian on Climb and Punishment (5.10d).)

We finished up our first day with Health Hazard (5.10a), a climb that felt a little bit spicy to me despite the two bolts that protect the climbing up the initial slab. I enjoyed the movement on this one but the runouts and hollow flakes make it unlikely I'll ever do it again.

(Photo: Health Hazard (5.10a). Photo by Adrian.)

As we ended our first day I felt like we were off to a great start. I couldn't wait to hit a big route in the morning. I was happy to find myself feeling right at home in Squamish, though I did find that the grading of the routes was often puzzling to me. Some 5.10's at Squamish felt like 5.8's to me, while other 5.10's seemed legitimately challenging. It was a pattern of inconsistency that I would continue to observe over the next few days.

Day Two: Angel's Crest (5.10b)

The day dawned bright and clear and we got a pretty early start, huffing and puffing our way uphill through the forest to the base of Angel's Crest. This adventurous route essentially follows a ridge line up the left edge of a big wall on the Chief, framing one side of a huge fissure called the North Gully. There are many sections of memorable climbing, interspersed with scrambling through the woods to the next obstacle. The route is popular so we expected crowds, even on a weekday. We got there in good time, finding ourselves alone at the toe of the ridge. We enjoyed the solitude for the moment, but we ended up encountering several other parties over the course of the day.

(Photo: Adrian in silhouette getting us started on Angel's Crest (5.10b).)

Adrian volunteered for pitch one, which involves thin 5.10b climbing past two bolts on a bulging face and then some unprotected easy slab, ending at the base of the beautiful Angel Crack.

Adrian made quick work of it but I thought the climbing off the deck was strange and harder than I expected. Although the awkward climbing was well-protected by the bolts, I was glad Adrian led the pitch instead of me.

(Photo: Striking a pose at the start of the Angel Crack. Photo by Adrian.)

I took the next pitch, the Angel Crack. Allegedly 5.10b, this pitch felt to me like a really nice 5.8, with beautiful moves throughout. The supposed crux at the top didn't seem like a big deal to me, but I found the pitch outstanding and very memorable, regardless of the grade.

(Photo: I've stepped down and left into the wet crux pitch of Angel's Crest (5.10b). Photo by Adrian.)

I took the lead again for the pitches 3 and 4 combined, starting with some supposed 5.10b face climbing past bolts, leading into easy climbing up a corner. This pitch is often wet, and, as usual, it was wet on the day we did it. But still I thought it was easy for 5.10 and it was over very quickly.

I kept right on leading for the pitches 5 and 6 combined, starting with some 5.10a moves up some steep flakes, leading to a technical, slabby, right-facing corner. I loved this pitch. It was one of my favorites. The steep flakes offered good juggy fun and I also enjoyed the corner, although I found myself wishing it continued on for a bit longer. Before I knew it I was basically hiking up the next easy pitch to a set of trees.

(Photo: Adrian leading pitch 7 of Angel's Crest.)

The pitches started to go by in a blur. Pitch 9 was another highlight: the Acrophobes, a set of Flatiron-like fins leaning back, a thousand feet off the ground. Climbing them is easy (5.5) but the exposure is spectacular and the position affords sweeping views down to the Howe Sound.

(Photo: The Acrophobes. You can see the party ahead of us on the Flatiron-like features.)

We'd been on the heels of one other party for much of the day but as we reached the Acrophobes the traffic increased, with another pair briefly joining Angel's Crest from an adjacent route called Borderline (5.10d). These folks had big things in mind. They soloed the Acrophobes right behind us, and then they scrambled over to finish their day on High Plains Drifter, a gorgeous, curving 5.11a crack climb. We were able to watch them sending High Plains Drifter from our position on Angel's Crest. I was impressed. The route looked so sustained and pure. I was inspired to come back and try it on another trip. It looked like my crack game would have to be very on point if I were going to attack that one.

Meanwhile, we could see that the end was approaching for us. Adrian took pitch 11, yet another memorable bit of climbing. After a steep vertical crack, the pitch ended with the Whaleback, an unprotected easy slab (shaped, obviously, like the back of a whale) with ridiculous exposure.

(Photo: A climber from another party took this photo of Adrian starting up pitch 11 of Angel's Crest.)

I led the final 5.10 pitch of the day, pitch 12, which went up some discontinuous vertical cracks, some of them a bit wide. There were some interesting moves. For the first time all day, I felt like I was actually climbing a 5.10. But then Adrian told me that it used to be considered 5.9 and was only upgraded to 5.10a in the most recent guidebook! But Adrian also added that the pitch is known as "the stinger in the tail," so I guess  I'm not the only one who finds it somewhat challenging. In any event, it was enjoyable and went fine.

We just had one more pitch to go, and it was my lead again. Pitch 13 wasn't technically hard, but it was thrilling, with an exposed step down and across a void to get into a 5.8 chimney, which I then took to the top of the Second Peak of the Chief.

(Photo: Adrian emerging from the final chimney on Angel's Crest.)

What a day! This was the kind of thing I'd always wanted to do in Squamish. A 13-pitch 5.10, and it felt casual. We finished it without any trouble by mid-afternoon. We'd have been a few hours quicker if there'd been no one else around, but as we got towards the top we found ourselves waiting to climb on several occasions.

It was my first time atop the Second Peak and I savored the views over the First Peak and down to the water. The walkoff was long, featuring what seemed like a million steps, but we felt like superheroes walking with our climbing gear amongst the gawking hikers.

Day Three: St. Vitus' Dance (5.9) to Squamish Buttress (5.10c)

I was psyched to do it all over again on day three. Another long route, please! The glorious weather continued unabated, so the only question was which route to do.

Adrian proposed the Ultimate Everything (5.10b), and I agreed although I had reservations. From what I'd read on the web, this route involved lots of scrambling and maybe wasn't actually the best, or ultimate, in anything. But Adrian swore I'd like it so I went along.

This ten-pitch route starts from the top of the Apron so we had to pick an approach route as well. Adrian proposed St. Vitus' Dance, a high-quality 5.9 route with some good jamming for me. I was sold.

After Adrian and I knocked off first two approach pitches of St. Vitus' Dance, I led the next two pitches, the heart of the route.

(Photo: I'm heading into the hand crack pitch of St. Vitus' Dance (5.9), with another party just ahead of us. Photo by Adrian.)

The first pitch of St. Vitus proper (our pitch three) is a glorious 5.8 hand/fist jam-crack pitch. Although the grade is moderate and the climb is sub-vertical, I felt like the time I'd spent practicing my jamming skills definitely paid dividends. I was more solid with the hand and the fist jams than ever before. The pitch felt just how 5.8 ought to feel. Before doing it I read numerous comments on Mountain Project suggesting the leader should bring an absurd number of duplicate cams to protect this pitch, but I was comfortable walking up a couple of hand-sized Camalots while leaving behind the occasional piece here and there. I thought a standard rack was perfectly sufficient.

(Photo: Adrian coming up the beautiful St. Vitus crack.)

The next pitch was maybe even better, with some nice 5.9 face climbing up to a brief wide slot.

(Photo: I'm doing the crux face climbing on St. Vitus' Dance (5.9). Photo by Adrian.)

Adrian led the next two pitches in one up to the top of the Apron. The final bits of real climbing came right at the beginning of the pitch, as the St. Vitus crack continued through a steep bulge. Again I saw my crack practice coming in handy as I was able to get a high jam right off the ledge, which effectively put the pitch in the bag for me (as the follower) after just one move.

(Photo: Adrian past the final challenging bits of St. Vitus' Dance.)

Now we were atop the Apron, but we still had to do a couple of pitches to get to our next objective.

(Photo: Getting started on Karen's Math (5.10a). Photo by Adrian.)

First was Karen's Math (5.10a). This was one of my favorite pitches of the trip. It is a full-value pitch. It starts with steep, overhanging jams, then offers beautiful technical climbing up a thin flake, then a hand traverse past a bolt with slabby feet, and finally a thin move up a crack. I got through all of it without a problem but I made the mistake of going up at the bolt for one too many moves. I contemplated the foot traverse for a minute but then decided I had to downclimb to the hand traverse. It was touch and go for a second as I made the step down but then it was smooth sailing to the end of the pitch.

The next pitch, Memorial Crack (5.9), was also special. It is an old-school 5.9, probably harder than many of the pitches we'd done that were described as 5.10. Nice climbing up twin cracks, involving some thin moves and insecure positions.

(Photo: Memorial Crack (5.9). Photo by Adrian.)

Now we arrived at a decision point. We had plenty of time left in our day but we'd already done eight guidebook pitches. The Ultimate Everything would add another ten. Alternatively, we could do another popular route called the Squamish Buttress (5.10c), which would involve only seven pitches, most of which were pretty easy, and some of which we could combine together.

We had done portions of the Squamish Buttress on my first visit to Squamish back in 2013, as part of an easier variation route called the Butt Light (5.9). But this time around we could change things up by starting with an alternate 5.10a first pitch. And of course we would do the crux 5.10c pitch near the top, which Adrian described as one of Squamish's most beautiful pitches, and which the Butt Light avoids.

It sounded good to me, and better than the Ultimate Everything. So we went for the Squamish Buttress.

I led the alternate start 5.10a pitch. It is an interesting pitch, moving awkwardly around a corner with bolts for protection, and then following more bolts up a slab to a crack that takes gear. I liked the moves but I felt a little bit uneasy moving past the first three bolts. It seemed to me that they were placed such that falling would be a bad idea.

(Photo: Adrian coming up the alternative 5.10a start to Squamish Buttress.)

As we cruised up the next several unremarkable pitches towards the 5.10c crux, I started feeling pretty fatigued. Still, I was excited about the 10c pitch. I remembered looking at it five years earlier and wondering if I would one day be up for it. It sits in a dramatic position, near the top of the First Peak of the Chief. It is a pure, natural line, ascending a dead-vertical crack in a shallow corner. It just begs to be climbed.

(Photo: The crux pitch of Squamish Buttress (5.10c). Photo by Adrian.)

Once we got there, the pitch did not disappoint. A few interesting moves up little ledges brought me to a good stance below the business. And then, after a nice rest, it was on. From there to the top, there would be no rest stances, although it was possible to change positions from a layback in the corner to the occasional stem, with the right foot on the outside edge of the corner and the left foot in a crack on the face. For the hands, too, there were choices. You could jam the crack at the back of the corner with your fingers, or you could reach over to the crack outside the corner to the right.

Unlike many of the pitches I'd done in Squamish, this climb felt like a real 5.10. The corner steepened as I got higher, getting harder just before the end, but after a few tenuous final moves I found myself with a sinker hand jam at the top of the buttress and I knew I'd made it. This was my favorite pitch so far at Squamish, and I was thrilled to get the on-sight.

(Photo: Success! Photo by Adrian.)

I was also wiped out. As Adrian led the final 5.6 pitch to the top I was wishing we could paraglide down instead of doing the long walkoff again.

(Photo: Adrian taking us to the top on Squamish Buttress.)

I had no regrets. It had been another perfect day in Squamish, with fifteen guidebook pitches and many varied challenges. It all had gone off without a hitch. But it was our third day in a row and I was starting to feel it.

Day Four: Apron Strings (5.10b) and Diedre (5.8)

So tired.

This was supposed to be our Grand Wall day, a fitting finale to my trip.

Or if not the whole Grand Wall, I was determined to get up to the Split Pillar.

But here I was, hanging from the rope after taking a whip on our first pitch, the 5.10b Apron Strings.

(Photo: Hanging after taking a fall on Apron Strings (5.10b). Photo by Adrian.)

Was this climb harder than all the other tens we'd done? Or was I just exhausted after three full days of climbing?

The route was sustained, following a steep layback flake, with smeary feet. I'd struggled from the get-go, misjudging which cams I needed to save for higher up and using them down below. As I got higher, I had to make do with the gear I had left and I battled to get good placements.

Eventually I got a bad case of the leg shakes, and after fighting to get in a blue .3 Camalot I slipped off and took the ride. Going back up, I made a few more moves past the blue cam but then nearly whipped again before getting my next piece at the top of the flake. I had hoped there would be juggy holds at the top of the flake, but no. There was no stance to speak of and, barely holding on, I struggled again to get gear I was happy with.

Once I finally got in a piece I took a hang, and then I finished the pitch.

I arrived at the anchor mentally drained and drenched with sweat. This was not an auspicious start to our day.

I should be enjoying this, I thought. It's another beautiful day. I would kill for a pitch like this in the Gunks.

But I wasn't enjoying it. I was suffering. Was I really up for the Split Pillar today?

Adrian was tired too. He struggled to follow the pitch. His stomach was bothering him.

(Photo: Adrian reaching the top of pitch one of Apron Strings (5.10b).)

I decided to pull the plug.

"Why don't we go run up something easier," I suggested, "like maybe Diedre?"

"Wait a minute," Adrian said, surprised. "You've never done Diedre?"

"No, it was soaking wet last time."

That was all Adrian needed to hear. He was psyched. "Let's do it!"

Diedre (5.8) is what you might call the High Exposure of Squamish. It is an incredibly popular moderate climb. It is a slab climb but because it follows a corner it also provides relatively good gear, for a slab climb.

I had some worries about Diedre because I have very little slab experience and slabs give me the willies.

But in 2017 I'd led the poorly protected slab pitch on White Punks on Dope (5.8+), and it had gone well. So I figured I'd be fine on Diedre. With the generally soft grades at Squamish, Diedre was sure to feel easier, and with better gear too.

When we got to the base, we could see a party ahead of us, a couple of pitches up, but no one was cued up behind them. Perhaps because it was Mother's Day morning, there weren't too many climbers about. So we didn't have to wait to get on the climb.

I took the first pitch, a somewhat complicated 5.7 slab with some traversing and not much pro. It went fine.

(Photo: Adrian coming up the long, poorly protected 5.7 pitch one of Diedre.)

Adrian took the second pitch, a 5.6 slab traverse to the big corner, with pretty much no gear.

Then I led the next three pitches, climbing the endless slab and corner up the huge Apron. I enjoyed these pitches immensely.

(Photo: I'm leading one of the 5.8 pitches on Diedre. Photo by Adrian.)

The two 5.8 pitches were well-protected. Much of the time my feet were pasted on the slab but you could make use of the corner if you wanted to. There were also some fun flakes in the corner for handholds from time to time.

(Photo: Adrian reaching the end of pitch 3 or 4 on Diedre (5.8).)

As the angle eased the protection got worse, and I couldn't say that the 5.6 pitch felt much easier than the 5.8 pitches. I started to worry a bit as the gear got more sparse and I scared myself a little when one of my feet slipped on the slab. But I held on and continued leading without incident.

(Photo: Adrian leading our final pitch on Diedre (5.8). At least, I believe that's Adrian. We both wore red that day, sorry.)

I think Adrian could sense my weariness, so he volunteered to lead our final pitch. I was relieved. I was having a great time but I was mentally and physically exhausted. There wasn't much protection for the final, lower-angled slab section of the last pitch, and the 5.8 exit moves onto the ledge atop the Apron were wet. I was so happy to be on top rope as I grunted my way to the finish.

(Photo: Totally out of gas at the final move on Diedre (5.8). Photo by Adrian.)

There was of course plenty of time left in our day and many many routes still above us, but we were both done. It was Miller time.

(Photo: Hiking down Broadway Ledge. Photo by Adrian.)

All in all, I could not have been happier with my trip to Squamish. The weather was ideal, and the routes we did were all world class. I got a good sampling of the very best of the climbing that Squamish has to offer. And I felt like I climbed reasonably well too.

I wished I'd had the chance to do a little bit more pure crack climbing. And I regretted not putting the Grand Wall closer to the start of the trip. But Angel's Crest, St. Vitus' Dance, the Squamish Buttress, and Diedre were all amazing, so it is hard to say I would have had a better trip if I'd done the Grand Wall instead of one of these other climbs.

And besides, I have to save some goals for next time, right? I hope I don't wait another five years to visit Squamish again. I'm already getting my routes planned out. We'll hit the Grand Wall (5.11a) on day one, Borderline (5.10d) to High Plains Drifter (5.11a) on day two...

And then maybe a rest day. Rest days are nice.