Las Vegas on the Rocks 2016

(Photo: A leader named Brian at the 5.11a roof on Levitation 29 (5.11c).)

Vegas, baby!

I was excited to be back. 

I've been to Vegas on several occasions-- a few times for the climbing at Red Rocks, and a few times for (let's say) other miscellaneous pursuits.

My last visit was in 2011, and it was all about the rock climbing. Five years ago, I wasn't the polished, confident climber (!) that you, dear reader, have come to know and love. I was much greener back then, passionate to be sure, but unseasoned. During that trip to Red Rocks, with my longtime partner Adrian, I managed to get up a few of the area classics. I was tentative and had no idea what I could do. I was quaking in my boots climbing 5.8, and I was prone to bailing on my leads. I remember taking a hang because I couldn't commit to a single hand jam in 5.7 territory on Ragged Edges. 

But that was then. This year I was sure it was going to be entirely different. I had in mind many of the most legendary, heralded climbs in Red Rocks. For me the most important thing was that the climbs be long, multi-pitch outings up big walls, of the kind for which the area is famous. I wanted to do everything, although to me the most appealing choices seemed to be in the 5.10 range and beyond.

(Photo: Adrian's capture of Rainbow Mountain at sunrise, with moon.)

Adrian was to be my partner again for this 2016 Vegas adventure. He's been to Red Rocks on countless occasions over the last twenty years. He's done almost every great Red Rocks climb you can name. Nevertheless, he came to Vegas this year with a brief list of climbs that he had never tried.

We had four short November days with which to make memories.

Flying into Las Vegas for the first time in a long time, I was struck anew by the duality of this strange place. The beauty of Red Rocks, always visible in the distance, stands in stark contrast to the ugliness of the sprawling city. The genuine natural wonder of the desert surrounds the wholly artificial glitter of The Strip. The pure, noble attraction of the mountains is ever present, but is juxtaposed with the cheap, tawdry enticements of the town.

How many visitors to Las Vegas are even aware of the glorious landscape that sits just outside the city limits? For the most part, people don't come to Sin City for outdoorsy games. They come for the other Vegas. They value the ugliness, the artificial glamour, the cheap and tawdry entertainments. Do they ever lift their eyes from their poker chips for just a second to scan the horizon? Do they wonder what is out there?

(Photo: Red Rocks in the afternoon.)

I ought to hate Las Vegas. Sometimes, driving around the city, I would play a little mental game in which I would try to see if I could spot in Las Vegas the most depressing place in the world. Everywhere you look in the city, you'll find a candidate for the title. How about this nasty-looking tattoo parlor? Pretty sad. Or maybe that seedy strip club in a sketchy strip mall? Could be a winner. Perhaps one of the countless little local casinos, with worn carpets and blinking fluorescent lights, empty but for a couple of patrons wearing thousand-yard stares as they slowly drain their bank accounts into slot machines?

There is much to dislike, and much to be depressed about, but I have to admit that I like Vegas. I like that people come to the city to let loose, to let go. I like the groups of women strutting out for a good time, dressed in a trashy way that I imagine they'd never consider back at home. I like the families with little kids, racially and economically diverse, entranced at the ersatz wonders on every corner. I like the conventioneers, gathered for marijuana industry panels or obscure religious meetings, and I like the groups of teenagers brought together for baseball championships and chess tournaments.

In Vegas, you encounter a broader cross-section of America than you're likely to find anywhere else-- much broader than I ever see in my home town of New York City. Every time I step into an elevator in Vegas I feel like I'm about to be introduced to a new example, previously unknown to me, of What's Out There.

And we climbers are part of the freaky parade. I'm sure Adrian and I looked quite unusual to everyone else in our (cheap) hotel, trooping through the lobby as we did in the wee hours of the morning carrying our packs and ropes and gear. This was our main interaction with the normal Las Vegas; we'd speed through the lobby on our way out, and stumble back through after climbing all day and grabbing a quick dinner, ready to shower, crash, and do it all over again.

(Photo: The famous Las Vegas sign, with a shadowy stranger lurking beneath it.)

Our routine was to awaken at 5:00 in the morning. We'd get our crap together and hit the road, with only a stop at Starbucks for a coffee and a sandwich before heading out Charleston Avenue to Red Rocks. Our aim was always to be at the gate as close to the 6:00 a.m. opening time as possible, so we could make the most of the available daylight and have the best chance of being first to our chosen climbs. This worked well for us on the first two days, when we climbed routes that were accessed from the loop road. On days 3 and 4, we drove to Black Velvet Canyon, which is outside the loop, and found out that 6:00 isn't necessarily early enough to be first when there is no gate. But arriving second didn't end up hurting us much.

We did a lot of excellent climbing in our four days. There were many pitches of 5.10 face climbing, which the two of us handled pretty comfortably, generally speaking. I thought we did well as a climbing team, too, moving quickly enough on the approaches, handling the changeovers efficiently, and avoiding any true rope management disasters. We never got bogged down or spent too much time on a pitch. All in all we succeeded in what we set out to do, climbed some wonderful classics, and had a great time doing it.

Day 1: Unimpeachable Groping (7 pitches, 5.10b)

Our first route was Adrian's selection, chosen mostly because he'd never done it before. I hadn't put Unimpeachable Groping high on my list because it is essentially sport-bolted, with just a few optional gear placements here and there. I was more keen to do real trad climbs.

But I was willing. The guidebook describes the climb as having six pitches in a row of 5.10a & b face climbing. Adrian argued, convincingly, that this route would get us acclimated to the Red Rocks style.

In the morning we arrived in pretty good time and we were first at the base. It was chilly and shady in the gully below the climb, but it was nice and sunny up on the wall, which caused me to make a potentially serious mistake: I decided to leave my jacket on the ground. I figured that with high temperatures expected in the fifties and the sun on the rock, I'd be comfortable in a my shirt sleeves, just like in the Gunks.

Adrian led pitch number one, using the tree-climbing start recommended in the guidebook. It looked a little bit dicey off the deck, but once he reached over and placed an Alien to protect the move onto the face, it all seemed good and he made steady progress. As he climbed I took in the beautiful surroundings. It was good to be there, communing with nature.

(Photo: Adrian using the tree-climbing start on Unimpeachable Groping (5.10b).)

Soon we had company. Another pair of climbers arrived at the wall. They'd been partying a little too hard the night before. Right after they arrived, one of them started puking in the bushes!

My reverie was spoiled. I couldn't believe these dudes made the hour-plus hike.

After the guy finished purging his breakfast, he lit a cigarette and wouldn't shut up.

Standing there, shivering a bit, I couldn't wait to get going. Thankfully, Adrian finished the long pitch with dispatch and soon enough I got on the wall and escaped the barfing bros. They ultimately bailed after one pitch.

Once I got to climbing I quickly became comfortable on the sandstone. It sometimes felt a little bit slippery to me but I got used to the style and confident on my toes by the end of our first pitch. I liked the climbing on the route. It was all thin face climbing, but it wasn't a monotonous slog straight up the bolt line. There were interesting sequences weaving left and right past the bolts. Climbing into the sunlight on the wall, I felt warm and happy.

(Photo: Adrian's shot of me climbing into the light on Unimpeachable Groping (5.10b).)

I led pitch two. It went well, and though there were some interesting moves there was nothing that felt desperate.

I took an unexpected fall. I was standing at the anchor at the end of the pitch, about to clip in. I can't tell you what happened. My foot must have popped. I was suddenly airborne. It was to be my only fall of the day. Furious, I quickly climbed back up and kept going, linking the second pitch into the short third pitch, which brought me to a ledge beneath a big roof. Adrian offered me the lead again on pitch four, knowing that I'd be eager to use my Gunks superpowers on the 5.10 roof just above us.

(Photo: Adrian's pic of me clearing the roof on pitch four of Unimpeachable Groping (5.10b).)

Soon the wall fell into the shade, and this is where the trouble began. It might have been fifty degrees at the base of the wall, but up a few hundred feet, with no sun and no shelter from the wind at the hanging belays, it felt much colder to me. As Adrian climbed and I waited, I started to shiver uncontrollably.

When Adrian arrived at the belay I expressed an interest in leading again, so I could get moving. Adrian-- that bastard!-- was comfy in his jacket and he agreed.

(Photo: Adrian, appropriately dressed, on one of the upper pitches on Unimpeachable Groping (5.10b). You can see a party behind us on the route.)

The rest of the climb went by in a blur. I moved quickly while leading to get warm and then shivered, teeth chattering, at the belays until Adrian joined me and I could start climbing again. I remember good, steep climbing, but not many details. As I led the final 5.10 pitch, I blew past the last rap anchor and realized later, as I reached a big ledge, that I'd inadvertently committed us to doing the final 5.8 pitch to the top of the tower.

This last pitch was very enjoyable, with some space between the bolts and airy positioning at the left edge of the face. I'm glad we did it, in retrospect. At the time I just wanted to get down and put my jacket on.

(Photo: I'm taking it to the top on Unimpeachable Groping. Photo by Adrian.)

During our descent over another route called Power Failure (5.10b), we had an encounter with the renowned rope-eating features at Red Rocks. One of our ropes got hopelessly stuck on a blocky ledge. It wasn't a crisis, but I had to climb back up to the ledge to free the rope. We'd been speedy, so we had plenty of time.

(Photo: Adrian rappelling over Power Failure (5.10b).)

I liked Unimpeachable Groping, much more than I expected to. It has pitch after pitch of consistent, high quality face climbing, and a fun roof problem. You really don't need any trad gear, although we brought a set of nuts and a few cams and placed them on occasion. I'd gladly go back and do the route again. And I'd like to do Power Failure, the route we rapped over. Looks very nice. You could easily do both routes in a single day when the days are longer.

The most significant thing about the climb, from my perspective, was that we'd now done many pitches of 5.10 and (apart from my one mystery fall) it had all been casual and fun. This was what I'd hoped for. I was going to have a great time climbing in Red Rocks.

Day 2: Eagle Dance (9 pitches, 5.10c)

Our second day was projected to be slightly warmer, but not by much. I wanted sunshine. Over dinner we looked through the guidebook for walls that stayed in the sun all day. I was surprised to see that there really aren't that many. One option stood out: the Eagle Wall, home to some mega classic lines.

This wall hadn't figured into my plans. The traditional approach takes two hours. I wasn't sure we'd have time to do a big route at this wall in November.

But I saw some useful beta on Mountain Project for a direct "Wily Climber's Approach" that takes only an hour and a half. After some rough calculations we decided that if we moved quickly we could get a route done in daylight. We might end up walking out in the dark, but that wouldn't be a big deal.

Adrian had done all of the most popular routes at this wall, and he wasn't exactly thrilled about hiking all the way up there again. But he knew that if we could knock off a climb like Eagle Dance (5.10c) or Levitation 29 (5.11c), it would be a big deal for me. He could see the pleading in my eyes. So he agreed.

(Photo: Adrian on the scrambly direct approach to the Eagle Wall.)

The "Wily" approach went well for us; I would recommend it. Because we hadn't done it before, it wasn't much faster than the traditional approach for us. It took us just under two hours to reach the base of the wall. But it was fun, and it avoided the endless boulder scrambling that is required by the traditional approach.

Although we'd entered the loop road just after 6:00 a.m., we weren't the first to arrive at the wall. There was a party just ahead of us, getting set up for Levitation 29 as we walked up. Our intended target, Eagle Dance, was sitting there open, so we were in luck.

(Photo: I'm standing not far from the end of the scrambling but still some distance from the Eagle Wall. You can see the bird-shaped streak of brown varnish which gives the wall its name. Photo by Adrian.)

Like many of the most popular climbs in Red Rocks, Eagle Dance was put up by Jorge and Joanne Urioste, whose routes tend to feature lots and lots of bolts. Eagle Dance is no exception, though it is definitely not a sport route like Unimpeachable Groping. Eagle Dance's first two pitches are protected entirely with trad gear.

(Photo: Adrian's shot of me leading pitch one (5.9) of Eagle Dance (5.10c).)

We fired off the first several pitches quickly. The opening pitch (supposedly 5.9 but probably not) went easily, as did the 5.7 pitch two. An unexpected hiccup: as I followed pitch two, I sensed that I'd dropped something. Looking down, I was horrified to see my wallet tumbling down the wall! The stitching in my pants pocket had blown out.

The wallet landed at the top of a 150-foot tower that is to the left of the start of Eagle Dance. It was about 40 feet below me. It had fallen into a thin crack. I could only hope that I'd be able to reach in and get the wallet out.

I had Adrian lower me to the tower and then I located the wallet. It wasn't very far into the crack but I couldn't quite wedge my arm in to retrieve it. With a little work, however, I was able to fish the wallet out with my nut tool. I was fortunate that the wallet fell when it did. It didn't go very far, I was able to get it back, and nothing fell out! It was a minor miracle, and only cost us about ten minutes. I quickly got back to climbing.

(Photo: I'm leading pitch three (5.10a) of Eagle Dance (5.10c).)

The middle pitches of Eagle Dance, all generously bolted, are among the best on the route. I led pitches three and four. Pitch three (5.10a) is incredibly sustained, with consistent great moves as it traverses right and then trends back left up a diagonal seam. And then pitch four goes straight up the beautiful face at 5.10c. I remember the hardest moves coming at the beginning of the pitch and then again near the end, at a shallow vertical slot. Adrian handled pitch five, with more bolted 5.10a face climbing.

(Photo: Adrian at the final bits of pitch four, one of the two 5.10c crux pitches on Eagle Dance. You can see the top of the tower where my wallet landed, now far below us.)

During pitch six the rock started to change, with the features getting more fragile. The climbing was good but I passed many loose flakes.

As Adrian tackled the straightforward but strenuous aid climbing on the pitch seven bolt ladder, I started to really relax. We were cruising, and we had only two more pitches to go. I had brought my jacket but I never needed it, since I was very comfortable in the sun. The climbing so far had been awesome. Our position high on the remote Eagle Wall provided beautiful views over Oak Creek Canyon. And we had a front row seat to the guys to our right (named Brian and Gerry) on Levitation 29. They were struggling at the 5.11 cruxes but they made steady progress up the wall. Looking around, I basked a bit in our success. This was the Red Rocks experience I'd always dreamed of.

(Photo: Adrian's shot of Brian on the crux pitch of Levitation 29 (5.11c).)

I led the final two pitches, which ascend a shallow open book with smooth white walls on either side. These turned out to be the hardest pitches on the route. Pitch eight is rated at a modest 5.10a in the guidebook, but it is awkward and difficult right off the hanging belay. I got through this section with delicate wide stemming up the open book and then was proud of myself for hand-jamming, without hesitation, through a bulge to finish the pitch. Take that, Ragged Edges!

(Photo: Adrian doing the final jams on the 5.10a pitch eight of Eagle Dance (5.10c).)

Pitch nine upped the ante to 5.10c, and here I struggled, for the first time all day. At the start of the pitch I was unnerved when I gently touched a flake and it snapped right off in my hand. I desperately held on to the wall and the flake, worried about dropping it. Fortunately there was a little slot to my right where I could place some gear and, after a move or two, I shoved the broken flake in there as well.

(Photo: I'm holding the flake I broke off on pitch nine of Eagle Dance (5.10c). Photo by Adrian.)

The crux climbing then came pretty quickly as I got back into the shallow open book. The wall had few features, and they were all hollow; it seemed like anything I touched could easily break. Using tiny ripples on the wall, I tried stemming upward again, but I slipped and took a fall. Going back at it, I changed tactics, throwing a shoulder into the crease of the open book, and this time I got through the hardest climbing, placing a cam under pressure during a somewhat spacious stretch between bolts. This was great climbing, thin and challenging, and not the usual crimping and reaching. As I got higher I resumed stemming. The pitch remained delicate, requiring precise movements and balance, but as the angle eased I knew it was all over.

(Photo: Looking down pitch nine to Adrian from the final anchor on Eagle Dance (5.10c).)

It was 3:00. We had an hour and a half before sunset, which was plenty of time to rap off and negotiate the ledges back to the drainage. Barring a rope-snag disaster, we'd be well on our way back to the car by the time it got dark. On our second rap, the knot got briefly stuck, but after a moment of panic we got it loose. I held my breath during every subsequent pull of the rope, but we made it down without incident.

Walking out, I felt like we'd just finished one of my best-ever days of climbing. The route had been fantastic, with great moves, varied challenges, and stunning scenery. Adrian and I had worked together with efficiency, getting up and down with time to spare.

Though I didn't get a perfect on-sight of every last move, the day was still a validation of sorts for me. I know I am not a talented climber. I've been a mediocre weekend warrior for many years. But I've steadily plugged away at it, hoping one day to be able to travel to the great rock climbing destinations of the world to do routes like Eagle Dance. And now, here we were, going after it and getting it done. It was all I'd ever wanted.

Day 3: Bourbon Street (7 pitches, 5.8+)

Our second day had been pretty big and, being old men, both Adrian and I woke up on day three feeling a bit sore. Our plan was to head into Black Velvet Canyon and see what was available. We had many options in mind at Whiskey Peak, which is the closest formation to the parking lot. We also considered doing something at the Black Velvet Wall, which sits just beyond Whiskey Peak. There are tons of great routes at both of these locations. I'd never been in Black Velvet Canyon before, so it was all new for me. 

Adrian pushed for us to do Bourbon Street (5.8+), a full-length route up Whiskey Peak that he'd never climbed. I was fine with it, but I was also up for something harder if we felt the urge once we got moving, or if Bourbon Street was unavailable.

When we arrived, there were only a few cars in the lot, so we figured Bourbon Street would be open. We did the forty-five minute hike in to the base and found that we were the first to arrive. I think we were the only people on the route all day on this beautiful Saturday, though there were a couple of parties on Frogland (5.8), right next door.

The climb was in the shade for the whole day, and I brought my jacket. I sometimes needed it, even though the temperatures climbed into the sixties.

I had hogged all of the best pitches on Eagle Dance, so we set things up for Adrian to lead the money pitches on Bourbon Street: the crux second pitch, and the long face-climbing pitch five.

(Photo: I'm heading up the 5.7 pitch one of Bourbon Street (5.8+). Photo by Adrian.)

Starting up pitch one, I had a couple of uncertain moments. This pitch (which is just 5.7) follows a .75 Camalot-sized vertical crack in a corner for about 40 or 50 feet. I had two green .75 Camalots, but I stupidly left one in the crack early, and then found myself constantly sliding the other one up with me while I looked for other gear. The climbing was reasonable, but I didn't like the feeling of repeatedly moving the only piece of gear keeping me off the ground. Soon I reached a small overhang, where other gear appeared, and all was well from there. I really enjoyed the last bits of the pitch, using hand jams to get in and out of an alcove with a blue Camalot-sized vertical crack at the back.

(Photo: Adrian leading the crux crack section on pitch two of Bourbon Street (5.8+).)

Pitch two is definitely the business, and Adrian did well managing the finger-lock moves up a crack just to the right of Frogland's second-pitch corner.

I led pitches three and four. Pitch three (5.7) is the closest thing to a throwaway pitch on the route, but I still found it fun. It wanders up a few bushy corners and then follows a brown face with many features and thin gear to a stance beneath an obvious hanging horn/corner. Pitch four (5.7+) ascends the hanging horn/corner, which is juggy and no big deal. Then an easier ramp takes you to the base of a crack.

(Photo: Adrian following my lead of the 5.7 pitch three of Bourbon Street (5.8+).)

Adrian took the lead again for pitch five (5.6), a beautiful long pitch (150 feet) of face climbing up to a little shelf beneath a break in the final overhangs at the top of the mountain.

(Photo: Adrian is all smiles as he starts up the 5.6 pitch five of Bourbon Street (5.8+).)

I brought it home by combining the short pitches six (5.7) and seven (5.5) into one lead. I found I was able to avoid rope drag by not placing much gear and by double-extending a few of the pieces.

(Photo: I'm doing the exposed but easy moves up the 5.7 pitch 6 of Bourbon Street (5.8+). Photo by Adrian.)

Compared to our first two days, Bourbon Street was an easy romp. But I found it to be a very worthwhile climb, with much to recommend it. The first two pitches feature great climbing up vertical cracks. The rest of the climb is adventurous, with some route-finding challenges. I liked the hanging corner of pitch four, the nice face on pitch five, and the exposure of the short wall ascended by pitch six. It was gratifying to top out at a real summit, with good views over the canyon below. And finally, the descent was an easy half-hour scramble down the back side of Whiskey Peak. What's not to love?

(Photo: Looking down at Adrian from the middle of the last pitch of Bourbon Street (5.8+).)

I haven't done Frogland, Bourbon Street's more popular neighbor, so I can't compare the two. But I can say this in Bourbon Street's favor: there is not a single piece of fixed gear on the route. Frogland (another Urioste route) has bolts next to cracks. Bourbon Street has no bolts, period! And no fixed anchors. It is a true trad experience. I found it refreshing after two days of heavily bolted routes.

Day 4: Sour Mash (7 pitches, 5.10a)

When we finished Bourbon Street we could see several parties climbing on the Black Velvet Wall, just a little bit further into the canyon. It is a popular area and the sheer, steep wall looked very appealing to me. I wanted to come back on day four and hit one of these routes before we left Las Vegas.

(Photo: Black Velvet Peak seen from the summit of Whiskey Peak.)

Adrian and I talked about the many classics available on the wall. He's done almost all of them. The two he's never tried-- Rock Warrior (5.10a) and Fiddler on the Roof (5.10d)-- are considered somewhat run out and scary. I was feeling pretty good and thought I could handle either of these. But Adrian wasn't enthused, and I didn't want to bite off more than I could chew. Eventually I proposed we just do something good; I didn't care which climb. I knew Adrian wasn't particularly fond of the two most popular routes here, Prince of Darkness (5.10b) and Dream of the Wild Turkeys (5.10a). So I suggested we do Sour Mash (5.10a). I'd heard Adrian describe this route as a favorite over the years. It has seven pitches, most of them easier than 5.10. Seemed like a nice, breezy way to end our trip, with no worries about finishing in time to head to the airport.

(Photo: Some rain clouds in the distance at first light.)

As we headed in, we were a bit concerned about the gloomy skies above us. There were threatening clouds here and there, and the forecast put the chance of rain at 30 to 40 percent by 11:00 a.m. Adrian had once had a scary experience on the Black Velvet Wall in which a sudden storm sent a stream of water down the wall, soaking everyone and sending Adrian nearly into hypothermia. So we brought a pack with our raincoats. I knew we could retreat from any pitch so I wasn't particularly worried.

I was much more upset to see that the parking lot was practically full as we pulled in at 6:00. I wasn't expecting this, since there were so few people in the canyon the day before, when the weather was better.

There was nothing to do but to hike in. If we were stuck behind too many parties on Sour Mash we could pick something else. We could even shift gears and do Rock Warrior, after all...

We found ourselves second in line for Sour Mash. The first party was just getting started as we arrived, and they looked pretty speedy, so we decided to just wait it out and start up behind them. It worked out fine, and after the initial waiting we weren't held up.

I led the first two traditional pitches in one. The first pitch is rated 5.8 in the guidebook, but the crux move is a committing step up with good hands and polished, tiny footholds. There is gear nearby but the territory below is ledgy so there is still some splat potential. After this move, the climbing eases up to the traditional belay ledge and then some very nice thin face climbing (5.9) past bolts takes you up to a second ledge where you belay at a small tree.

(Photo: I'm past the slightly sketchy 5.8 on pitch one of Sour Mash (5.10a), and heading into the 5.9 face climbing of pitch two. Photo by Adrian.)

As we ascended these first two pitches, the air felt moist and the occasional raindrop came down out of the sky. The rock was still dry and we persevered, hoping it would blow over or hold off. I quickly got started on pitch three, a brilliant 5.8 pitch out a roof and then to the right up a diagonal ramp, which eventually led to a steep, juggy section up to a ledge.

(Photo: Adrian's shot of me scoping out the roof on the 5.8 pitch two of Sour Mash (5.10a).)

I really enjoyed the climbing on this long pitch, but I couldn't understand why there were so many bolts. Sour Mash is yet another Urioste route. I expected bolts, but some of their choices baffle me. I was sure that I could have found placements on this pitch. The ramp was featured with cracks. But every time I thought about looking for a piece of gear, I found another bolt instead.

(Photo: Adrian following me up the 5.8 pitch three of Sour Mash (5.10a).)

As Adrian came up behind me, I looked at pitches four and five. They looked beautiful, and easy to combine. The short, 5.7 pitch four goes straight into the 5.9 pitch five. There are no bolts on these pitches, which follow a vertical crack system up a varnished, smooth, brown face.

The wind started to pick up as I began pitch four, and soon it was raining. I decided to hurry up to the ledge at the end of pitch four, where there is a rappel anchor. I hoped the rain would stop again or pass over. We were moving fast, and if we got a reprieve for even an hour we might be able to finish the climb!

But as I reached the anchor it became apparent that the rain had truly arrived. It began really coming down, mixed with a bit of light sleet. I could see the smooth wall above me becoming slick and wet. Even if the rain stopped now, I didn't want to climb the next pitch. I could see the party above us moving to retreat.

It was time to bail.

Of course, once we were off the wall, the skies cleared and it was sunny for the rest of the day. We weren't in a hurry to leave, so we sat there a while, watching some other climbers who'd decided to stay up on the wall. I was sorry we didn't get to finish the climb, but I thought we'd made the right decision. Our climb was positioned such that it got quite wet in the brief storm. And you aren't supposed to climb on the fragile sandstone right after the rock gets wet.

(Photo: Adrian took this shot of the Black Velvet Wall after we bailed. If you click on the photo to enlarge, you can easily make out climbers on Prince of Darkness (5.10a), Dream of the Wild Turkeys (5.10a), and the upper pitches of Epinephrine (5.9).)

Sour Mash seems like a terrific route. I really enjoyed the parts we did and it looked like the best bits were still to come. All quibbling about bolts aside, the Uriostes picked out a great line with this climb, following fun natural features up the wall.

(Photo: So long Red Rocks! Photo by Adrian.)

I left Red Rocks feeling like we'd had a very successful visit. We did about as much climbing as we could possibly do. I enjoyed every climb that we did, but for me the biggest highlight was obviously Eagle Dance. I had some other huge routes on my list, like Epinephrine (5.9) and Woman of Mountain Dreams (5.11a), that we didn't get around to doing. But in the end I don't think that November was the best time of year for these objectives, at least for us. I think it may be better to try these climbs in April or early May, when it isn't beastly hot yet but the days are longer.

After this trip, I now know that these sorts of routes are well within reach for Adrian and me, and this knowledge is so valuable to me. I've felt great all fall, and this little excursion to Vegas put a fitting cap on my season. I'll look forward to coming back and putting another dent in the lifetime of climbing that is available in Red Rocks.

Red Rocks 2011, Part 2

After our first two days in Red Rocks, I felt like the trip was going well. I was getting back into the swing of climbing, and having fun. I wasn't pushing my trad leading into much new territory, however. And I couldn't help but be a little disappointed at the hand we'd been dealt by the elements. Adrian and I had to abort climbing Solar Slab because of extreme wetness, and only got three pitches up Ginger Cracks because we were caught in a sudden snowstorm.

But things were looking up. The weather was forecast to be wonderful for our final two days. And I was determined to get to the top of something.

Day 3: Jubilant Song

On our third day we got up and moving pretty quickly because we really wanted to have no issues finishing Jubilant Song (5.8), our big objective for the day.

Jubilant Song is a well-regarded moderate classic, climbing all the way to the summit of Windy Peak in eight sustained pitches. Despite its stature among the many wonderful moderate climbs in Red Rocks, Jubilant Song has a reputation for being less crowded than many other climbs, for two main reasons. The climb sits in Windy Canyon, which is well outside the paved Red Rocks loop road. The canyon is approached by a confusing patchwork of dirt and gravel roads that are challenging for a compact rental car to navigate. And once you make it to the trailhead, it is a steep hour to hour-and-a-half hike to the base of the route.

I felt like our luck had changed for the better as we carefully eased down the gravel road in our rental car, searching for the trailhead while doing our best to avoid hitting large axle-bending stones. We were the first ones to arrive at the little parking lot, and the weather was perfect. The hike to the base was much easier to follow than I expected; in fact, the trail up and down from Jubilant Song was the best-marked trail we experienced on our whole trip. And although the hike was no joke, and quite steep in places, we made it to the base of the route in just over an hour. We were trucking, on a mission to get this one done.

Pitch one was my lead, a generally easy 80 foot pitch with a 5.7 roof in the middle. It is a fun pitch and though the roof is easy I nearly took a lead fall. I placed great pro at the roof level, and then I grabbed a couple juggy holds to the right, thinking they were so good they had to be part of the climb. As I searched vainly for some more jugs above, my left foot suddenly cut loose and I was surprised to find myself swinging backwards, attached to the rock only with my hands. I held on, though, and once I got my feet back on I saw the obvious holds on the left wall with which the roof is easily surmounted.

(Photo: looking down from atop pitch one of Jubilant Song.)

Pitch two is a much more sustained pitch, also graded 5.7, but more involved than the first. There are some wide sections, but no real crack or off-width technique is required. Still, there are lots of interesting moves in this 150 foot pitch, and Adrian took his time about leading it. As I belayed him, a team of three climbers started up the route and their leader caught up to us. This Gunks-like proximity to other climbers was a first for us on this trip; on Solar Slab, there was a party well ahead of us, bizarrely soldiering on through the wetness, but we never came close to them, and on our second day we were the only party on Ginger Cracks. The trio behind us on Jubilant Song seemed like a very competent crew. We learned at some point that they were travelling around in a camper and climbing. In other words, they were LIVING THE DREAM. Also, they were a dude and two women living in a camper, which brought to mind all sorts of interesting situations. But I digress.

These guys were raring to start leading behind me as I followed pitch two, so I tried to be quick about getting up that pitch and also my next lead. They would catch up to us on each of the next couple pitches, but after pitch four we didn't see them again, so I hope they didn't regard us as much of a problem for their day. I noticed at least one other party coming up the trail to Jubilant Song at some point while we were on the route. If our experience is representative, then the days in which a climber can find him or herself alone in Windy Canyon may be a thing of the past.

Pitch three was my lead, a long 5.5 up a fun and easy chimney, and then up the face into a corner below a gigantic, dramatic roof. Perched at the belay, waiting for Adrian to come up, I was jealous that he'd get the next lead, which appeared to be a spectacular 5.7 traverse under the huge roof to a notch beneath a smaller, triangular ceiling. I hoped that he would do the traditional hanging belay at the notch and not continue as many people do these days, because I really wanted to lead pitch five, which begins with 5.8 moves over the triangular ceiling and up around a corner.

(Photo: Pitch four of Jubilant Song.)

Adrian led the traversing pitch without incident, protecting both of us well with frequent, good gear placements. As I'd hoped, he decided to stop and belay in the traditional place below the ceiling. As I waited for him to finish leading the pitch I felt like we were finally having the exact experience I'd dreamed of in Red Rocks. We were hundreds of feet up a beautiful wall, in a very dramatic location, doing fun, varied climbing in comfortable conditions. Just standing at the belay beneath this gorgeous roof was a thrill. And the climbing turned out to be great too. It was generally pretty casual. Handholds were abundant, and for the most part little edges for the feet appeared wherever they were needed along the traverse. The crux of the pitch came early, as the traverse began, when there was a gap between the footholds. Adrian solved this section with a single, wide step from one crease to another, while I chose to do one quick smear-step on the blank slab before hurrying to the better feet. After the crux, the climbing seemed to get progressively easier as the pitch went on and it wasn't long before I arrived at the hanging belay, with Adrian handing me the rack in a hurry and suggesting I get some good gear in as soon as possible to protect the anchor.

(Photo: more from pitch four of Jubilant Song.)

With the hasty changeover I never really got a chance to inspect the gear he used for the anchor, so I never saw for myself whether he had any real cause for concern. I recalled some comments on mountainproject.com suggesting that this belay really ought to be skipped, but the reasons cited by those commenters revolved around the awkwardness of the hanging position and the possibility of a lead fall directly on the anchor at the start of the next pitch, and not the quality of the gear for the anchor. Personally I found the hanging belay to be no more awkward than any other hanging belay, though of course it is not unreasonable to aim to avoid all such belays where it is practical to do so. And I found absolutely no reason to worry about falling directly on the anchor or the belayer. As I began the pitch, before I even made a move, I placed a solid purple .5 Camalot in the vertical crack running through the roof. And then as I grabbed the holds above the roof I stuffed a perfect blue #3 Camalot above the overhang. We now had enough gear to hang a piano, if for some reason we wished to hang a piano.

With such good gear, I had no worries about pulling the 5.8 roof that begins pitch five. It takes one big move but the holds are great. I actually thought the next move after pulling the roof was a little trickier, as I found myself in an awkward, balancy position above the roof. But with one step to the right I got a much more stable stance. And then it was a breeze up around a corner with a layback crack. Handren in his guidebook describes a tricky move with good pro in this part of the pitch, but if there was something tricky there I couldn't find it. In fact, I got so caught up in how well things were going that I blew right past the belay point for the pitch. Suddenly I realized I had climbed up a chimney I didn't remember reading about. I did not wish to downclimb the chimney, so I started to look around to get my bearings and saw that I was directly beneath the water streak with a bolt that is in the middle of pitch six. So I built a belay using the bolt and cracks in the slab beneath the bolt, and brought A up.

The last couple pitches were uneventful, with easier, pleasant climbing to the top. I confess that I took the 5.4 variation to avoid the 5.8 water streak with slabby climbing on pitch seven. I wasn't really that concerned about the climbing, as I found the 5.7 water streak on pitch six to be very straightforward. But in my experience when Handren says "limited protection" in his guidebook, he means that a pitch is seriously run out. And Richard Goldstone, in his somewhat famous Red Rocks pictorial on Supertopo, describes this pitch as a sandbag, perhaps really as hard as 5.10(a). So I figured why spoil a perfect day? I heeded the warnings and played it safe. Looking back, it seems like it was the right decision for us.

Day 4: among the crowds on Birdland, plus Cookie Monster

We had a few limitations on our final day in Red Rocks. We didn't want to tackle anything too long, or with too long an approach, since we had flights to catch in the evening. But we still had the whole day in which to climb, so we didn't have to limit ourselves to cragging or sport climbing.

Eventually Adrian sold me on doing Birdland. It wasn't on my original list because the hardest pitches are 5.7+, which I thought was a little too easy. And at 5 pitches it wasn't the kind of big objective I dreamed of when I thought of Red Rocks. But Adrian had done it before and he swore I'd love the climbing. I knew it to be a very popular, sunny climb, with an easy approach by Red Rocks standards. Maybe on a Monday the crowds wouldn't be too bad? I said okay.

There were easily a dozen cars in the Pine Creek Canyon lot when we arrived, but this was no surprise, given the numerous classics (Cat in the Hat, Dark Shadows, Crimson Chrysalis, and the Rainbow Wall, just to name a few) that are accessed from this lot. As we began to hike towards Birdland, we could see one other party almost to the base of the climb. I hoped they might get up a pitch or two before we even arrived. But when we got to the base, we found this group of three had not even finished getting ready to climb. I should have taken the initiative at this point and said to them, truthfully, that Adrian and I were already totally racked up and ready to fly up the route. I'm pretty sure if I'd asked them they would have let us jump on the route and go. They were totally nice guys, and didn't seem territorial at all. But stupidly I didn't do it, the moment passed, and as a result we were stuck behind them all the way up and down, which seriously hampered my enjoyment of the climb.

I want to be clear that I liked these folks and don't blame them for the situation. As Adrian repeatedly mentioned through the day: if you don't like crowds, don't climb Birdland. We could have gotten up a little earlier. There was no point now in doing anything but going with the flow. But I couldn't help but feel let down. During the many times we had to wait I kept dwelling on the climbing we were missing, and it killed me a little inside.

Luckily we were only the second party of the day. Within minutes of our arrival, three other groups showed up to do the climb! I knew this was a popular route, but the crowding we experienced there approached weekend Gunks madness. I can't remember ever seeing a situation like this in the Gunks on a Monday, even on High Exposure.

Once we finally got to climb Birdland, it was great fun. I thought the whole climb was basically an easy romp, perhaps because it involved mostly face climbing, which I always find easy for the grade at Red Rocks. The two standout moments for me were the two crux 5.7+ pitches, which Adrian was kind enough to let me lead. On the third pitch, a fun, delicate traverse (with a protection bolt) is followed by steep juggy climbing to the anchor. And then on the final pitch, a great finger crack through a smooth, varnished wall makes for a dramatic finish to the climb.

The real crux for us, however, was getting finished. Those nice guys ahead of us? They got their ropes all tangled atop pitch four. And then it happened AGAIN on pitch five, and I stood for a while at the base of the crux finger crack, waiting for what seemed an eon for them to get it all worked out so that at least one or two of them could rap off, making some room for me on the little triangular ledge that marks the end of the pitch.

When we finally got down from Birdland it was verging on 4:00. I was feeling frustrated with how long the climb had taken, and I also wished we'd chosen something a little more challenging. I suggested to Adrian that we run up something else before leaving. I wanted Dark Shadows but Adrian had done that one before, and didn't much care for it. Then I thought of Cookie Monster, a three-pitch 5.7 route on Mescalito that doesn't get much press. Handren gives it no stars, but the threesome we were stuck behind all day had mentioned that they'd really enjoyed climbing it. It was nearby and if we hurried, we could surely get it done. It probably wouldn't satisfy my desire for more challenging climbing, but doing it quickly would require real effort, and probably there would be no one else in our way. Adrian agreed and off we went.

Cookie Monster is just okay. The climb ascends a huge, imposing corner system that sits on one of the shady sides of the mountain. The first two pitches, which are graded 5.6 and 5.7, respectively, have almost no moves on them that justify their grades. For the most part the climbing on these pitches is ladder-like and not particularly interesting, and the huge huecos and shelves in the corner are generally dirty and sandy.

(Photo: Coming up pitch two of Cookie Monster.)

We rushed through the first two pitches in no time, and the feeling of moving efficiently, without other parties constantly nearby, did wonders to brighten my mood. Then I got to lead the 5.7 pitch three, which follows the corner to its top, and I found that the climbing changed character, steepening towards the top and offering good moves with overhanging, juggy climbing. As I came to the end of the pitch I decided it was one of the best pitches of the whole trip. And at the exit from the corner system came the payoff, as I emerged into the sunlight and onto a beautiful ledge with great views up Pine Creek Canyon.

(Photo: Pine Creek Canyon from the top of Cookie Monster.)

The descent from Cookie Monster is a little more complicated than Handren's guidebook might lead you to believe. The book makes it seem as though Cookie Monster plants you directly on the rappel line for Cat in the Hat, when this isn't really the case. As of the time of our trip, the ledge atop Cookie Monster has a boulder with a single ratty sling around it which one may use to rappel down to one of the Cat in the Hat raps. I didn't really like the looks of this option. Alternatively, you can downclimb about 15 feet to another ledge that has a bushy tree with slings around it; this is the tree atop pitch two of Cat in the Hat. The second option seemed more appealing to us. The downclimb isn't hard but you may want a belay for it. From here a single-rope rap will bring you to the top of pitch one of Cat in the Hat, and then a double-rope rap (150 feet) will get you to the ground.

As we topped out on Cookie Monster, it was getting a little late. We needed to hurry down so we could get out of Red Rocks and head for the airport. But we knew our descent might be held up by other people descending from Cat in the Hat, another one of Red Rocks' most popular routes. As if on cue, we saw two pairs rappelling while we set up our own raps. These were no ordinary pairs, however. They were two pairs of young women speaking French and simul-rappelling. Now, I can't quite articulate why this is the case, but nevertheless I must insist that there are few things quite as enticing as young, French-speaking women who are simul-rappelling. The combination of these unrelated characteristics works a strange kind of alchemy.

Unfortunately we didn't have much time to chat with these fine young women, and in an effort to get down quickly Adrian actually rappelled right past them in midair and started setting up our last rappel ahead of them. As I rappelled behind Adrian and reached the ledge I said something apologetic to the girls about our need to pass them, mentioning our flights.

"Yes, eet is really quite rude," one of them said with a hint of a smile.

"It is true, why do you not give to us something to make up for it?" said another.

I am a happily married man, but I couldn't resist playing along with this joke just a little bit. "Well, ladies," I said, "I am at your service. What can I do for you?"

At this point one of them walked up to me and started to reach with her hand in the direction of my chest. All of a sudden it seemed to me that this exchange might get uncomfortable. I didn't want her touching me; I almost couldn't believe that she would. And yet it seemed she was about to do just that.

Then I realized she wasn't reaching for me. She was reaching for my gear.

She put her fingers around a $60 C3 and said "How about you give to us thees one; I lost one of these climbing just the other day. Or how about this?"

She was now touching my $70 blue #3 Camalot.

I beat it out of there in a hurry.

As we walked out, away from the rocks for the final time, I wondered if we'd chosen the right objectives for our final day. Perhaps I could have led some 5.9's if I'd tried. But then I was reminded of how timid I'd felt on 5.6 and 5.7 just a couple days earlier, which made me realize how successful our trip had been. In four days of climbing we'd knocked off a few classics. But what I'd really gained was a good base for the season. I was no longer feeling so rusty, and my confidence was back. Returning to the Gunks yesterday, I walked up to Pas De Deux (5.8) and sent it, onsight. It's one of those climbs that I've been saving, never wanting to follow it because I didn't want to taint my eventual lead, but never leading it either because the thin climbing off the deck seemed too intimidating. Climbing it felt like an early-season milestone, and a promising sign of what's to come this year.

Red Rocks 2011, Part 1

(Photo: Most of the way through the runout on pitch three of Johnny Vegas.)

I was really looking forward to my trip to Red Rock Canyon this spring.

Visions of long, moderate trad routes occupied my mind for months. Grades were irrelevant; I just wanted to go high and far on the gorgeous sandstone.

Okay, I'm lying about the grades. I worked hard this winter to get in better shape and I wanted to feel like I was making progress. I'd sent my partner Adrian a list of possible routes in January, and it included routes that were harder than anything I'd ever climbed before. I figured I'd be comfortable leading 5.7 or 5.8, for sure, that would be a given. I expected Adrian could handle the odd 5.9 pitch, or maybe if I was feeling good I'd take them on as well. And maybe, just maybe, I could follow Adrian up a 5.10 pitch, and after (of course!) finding it surprisingly easy, I could perhaps get my first 5.10 trad lead under my belt...

Well, it didn't quite work out like that, although we did get some amazing long trad routes done. There were successes, and some missed opportunities. Overall I think it was a great way to start the season and build a foundation for climbing during the rest of the year.

Day one: getting comfortable in fits and starts

I had hoped to get in a few Gunks days in March as preparation for our trip, but the weather and other obligations made that very difficult. I ended up squeezing in just one day in the Gunks in March, and this day did not make me feel like jumping right into any 5.9 leads, much less 5.10. I felt extremely rusty on Gunks 5.7. I decided I was unprepared for the trip. Climbing on real rock felt foreign and insecure. And I was all fumbly with the gear.

Then in the days before our departure the forecast for our first day in Red Rocks turned ominous. Highs only in the low 50s. Rain likely by the afternoon. In Vegas! Rain likely?! Seriously. I couldn't believe it.

So Adrian and I talked it over in the airport and as we headed down the runway we decided to take it pretty easy on our first day and do something not too long on the Angel Food Wall, which gets sun in the morning. Maybe we could quickly run up something easy like Group Therapy, which has seven pitches but only one as hard as 5.7-- most are 5.5 or easier. Hopefully we'd shake off some rust, beat the rain and then reassess.

Our first day in Vegas dawned without a hint of the forecasted rain. It was chilly, and snow was clearly visible atop the highest formations in Red Rock Canyon. But the skies were blue, and as we started driving around the loop road towards our chosen destination Adrian said the kind of thing I love him for. He said: "wouldn't you rather do Solar Slab?"

Wouldn't I?? "Hell yes," I replied.

Now Solar Slab is also a climb full of easy pitches, none harder than 5.6. But it goes a long way up a huge face. First you have to pick a three or four-pitch route just to get up 500 feet or so to the ledge below Solar Slab. Then Solar Slab itself involves 7 pitches to the last rappel anchors. This wasn't at first blush the sort of commitment I wanted to enter into if rain was coming at midday. On the other hand, Solar Slab features bolted anchors all the way up the wall, allowing for easy retreat pretty much at any point should the weather turn sour. So climbing it didn't seem like an unsafe decision. It was just going to make for a long, unpleasant descent should we get caught in the rain while on the upper wall. Why not go for it?

We decided on Johnny Vegas, a four-pitch 5.7, as our approach route to the big ledge below Solar Slab. We racked up and I prepared to lead the first pitch, which is rated 5.6. I was getting psyched up to start when Adrian must have sensed my anxiety. "This is going to be super casual and fun," he said. And he was right. It didn't just feel easy, it felt easy for 5.6. It was to be my frequent experience at Red Rocks: if you're talking about face climbs the grades feel soft. The holds are juggy and ample. The only real worry is the rock quality. It often feels like you're going to rip the sandstone holds right off the wall with just your fingertips. "Pull down, not out," became a mantra I repeated constantly to myself over our four days in Red Rocks.

(Photo: Looking up at the short crux of pitch two of Johnny Vegas.)

The easy first pitch set my mind at ease. After Adrian led the second pitch, a simple 5.7 featuring a steep crux section that was over in about two moves, I confronted the runout 5.6 pitch three. The runout is actually not the 5.6 part of the pitch; the guidebook describes the unprotected face climbing as a straightforward 5.5 section. Standing there before it, I had absolutely no doubt I would climb it safely. The angle was low and the rock was heavily featured. Holds were obvious and everywhere. But the runout was real and as I contemplated the lead I looked over Adrian's shoulder and could see a nearby climb called The Friar, where a climber last year broke a hold while climbing the "easy" 5.6 runout section and fell, tragically, about 50 feet to her death.

There was a time in my life when I would have simply rejected a climb featuring a runout, R-rated section, regardless of how easy it was, on the theory that such runouts are "unsafe." Now, however, I realize that in traditional climbing the leader often places him or herself into such situations. You can't protect every move. If you tried you'd have to carry too much gear, and you'd never finish. Instead, you protect yourself most when you are closest to your limits, and by necessity you run out easier sections of climbs, at least to some degree. If you are honest with yourself when you climb, you have to acknowledge that if you climb harder than 5.5, you are probably climbing into 5.5 R territory with some regularity.

Still, this particular runout was longer than I ever would have chosen for myself and it took a momentary gut check before I went ahead and did it. And then it was all over and the whole internal debate seemed silly.

The day was going very well, and Adrian knocked off the easy 4th pitch, a scramble up to the big ledge beneath Solar Slab, in no time. As I reached the big ledge, I felt great. Johnny Vegas had been an awesome warm-up for our day and our trip. But then I looked up at Solar Slab and my high hopes for the day were instantly deflated. Solar Slab was a tunnel of runoff. Water was flowing in a stream down the wall, through the middle pitches of the route, and then to the right and directly over the slabby first pitch as well. The wind had also picked up and staring up at that wet wall gave me a deep chill. We thought about diverting to one of the other (harder) routes to the right of Solar Slab, but the first pitches seemed wet and to be honest neither of us really wanted to jump into the harder leads just yet. Reluctantly we bailed down the (wet) Solar Slab Gully.

(Photo: Looking down pitch one of Beulah's Book.)

We then moved on to Beulah's Book, and I really enjoyed leading the 5.7 pitch 1. The only part of the pitch that was arguably 5.7 was the opening bit up a corner with a crack in the back, and then the angle eased and the climb went up a pleasant face, then back to the widening crack and a bolted anchor. A very aesthetic and mellow pitch. For some reason there is one protection bolt in the middle of the face-climbing part of the pitch, just a foot above a perfect horizontal crack that takes great cams or tricams.

As I waited for Adrian to come up I stared into the intimidating chimney that begins the 5.9 pitch two of Beulah's Book. I hoped Adrian would decide to lead it, and not the easier (to all appearances) arete variation that avoids the wide chimney. I knew there was no way I was leading it. As it happened, Adrian checked it out and thought long and hard about heading up the chimney, and then decided to do the (bolted) arete instead, which turned out to be nice, but probably not as hard as 5.9.

Then we rapped off and left the area, and drove around the loop again to the Willow Springs pullout to do Ragged Edges before the day ended. I was interested in leading the 5.7 first pitch because a couple of years ago I had taken a hang before having the guts to do the final section of pitch, which actually requires a few moves of pure crack climbing. You need to throw a jam or two into the crack and torque your feet into it as well. Not my cup of tea as a Gunks climber, but I thought that I'd go right at it this time around. Well, wouldn't you know it, I got up there and did the same damn thing all over again. I had great pro in the crack, all I had to do was commit to the move... but I couldn't make myself do it and I asked Adrian to take. Just like the last time.

"You need to put your FOOT into the CRACK," Adrian said, not unreasonably.

"I know, I know, shut up, I know!" I said.

After hanging there a minute I went ahead and did it and it required exactly one jam before I could easily finish the pitch using sizable face holds. So frustrating.

While I was regressing, Adrian was interested in pushing a bit harder. So he led the 5.9 first pitch of Plan F, the climb just to the left of Ragged Edges. He had trouble figuring out the crux at the top and ended up cheating over to Ragged Edges to finish it. I was slightly consoled to get it on the first try on top rope. Then Adrian led up pitch two of Ragged Edges (5.8), which has great climbing but spaced pro. I hadn't been on that pitch before and it is quite worthwhile, but I'd consider that one a bit of a heady lead.

Day Two: snow and thrutching in Las Vegas

(Photo: Approaching Ginger Cracks, which climbs the white pyramid in the center of the photo.)

As our second day began I thought we'd passed the danger zone with regard to the weather. Rain was not in the forecast and the temperature was supposed to rise at some point. We'd settled on Ginger Cracks, a seven pitch climb up an attractive white pyramidal feature on the east side of Rainbow Mountain. It is just around the corner from Crimson Chrysalis, one of the most popular routes at Red Rocks, but Ginger Cracks sees much less traffic than Crimson Chrysalis, perhaps in part because the crux pitch of Ginger Cracks is 5.9 and because the climb begins with an off-width crack.

(Photo: Looking up the second half of pitch one of Ginger Cracks.)

I thought this climb might get morning sun but it became clear as we approached that only a portion of the route got a little morning light before falling into shade. The rest of the climb was perpetually shaded and we even spotted snow on the lower ledges on the route. Whatever, the climb looked beautiful, following obvious natural features through the several pitches we could make out from the ground. And we'd hiked over an hour to get here. Might as well start up.

I was scheduled to lead the 5.7 pitch one, but I took one step up into the opening foot-wide off-width and decided I wanted no part of it. I wasn't sure how I was going to climb the thing and I felt like there was no good pro where I wanted it down low. I knew Adrian would happily take over. It is another of the many things I value about climbing with Adrian: he is always available to bail me out.

It turned out he wasn't too happy with this part of the climb either-- as he grunted up the off-width he placed a cam deep in the crack and then started swearing.

"Shit, this flake in here is totally loose!"

I had already decided any pro in there would be junk, which is why I'd handed over the lead to Adrian in the first place, so I wasn't surprised to hear this. Despite the pro situation he got through it, and as he approached the first ledge about forty feet up I suggested he build a belay and let me do the second half of the pitch, as we'd originally planned. When I followed Adrian up the off-width crack I found it really easy to cam my foot across the opening and move up. I felt foolish for not leading it, although the pro down low was still not to my liking. And I found leading the second half of the pitch was wonderful, heading up a great layback flake and then a chimney leading to a roof escape.

(Photo: Watching a storm roll across the canyon from atop pitch one of Ginger Cracks.)

Pitch two of Ginger Cracks is rated 5.8. As I waited for Adrian to follow me up pitch one I checked it out. It is a face climbing pitch, and it also features a roof problem. It didn't intimidate me at all. This was my type of climbing. I told Adrian I wanted to lead it, and he happily gave me the gear. But before I could go, we had to decide whether we could continue at all. A huge storm had rolled in while I was leading the second half of pitch one, and although the sky above us remained blue, it seemed like the middle of the canyon was getting hit with a bunch of precipitation. We stood there for what seemed an eternity, trying to figure out if it would come over our heads or pass us by. Eventually, since the sky remained blue above us, and because the next three pitches all ended at bolted stations, we decided to continue. We could always bail from the next station, so why not get in as much climbing as possible?

I led up pitch two, enjoying the face climbing, until the roof drew near and I realized this pitch might be more than I bargained for. I looked up and saw that before the roof was a bottomless, flaring chimney, with a layback crack at the back. I had to go up into the chimney before pulling the roof. Suddenly the pitch was pretty scary. But this time I wasn't going to bail. I had good pro right in front of my face, and I knew the crack in the back of the chimney would provide as many options for placements as I could ever desire. I just had to commit to moving into the chimney, place another piece, and then pull the roof and get out of there.

I stemmed across the chimney, my left foot on a crease, my right foot just pasted to the right wall. Placing a cam, I figured I could reach over the roof if I got my left foot up just a little. One careful step up and the pitch would be as good as over. The feet and the hands would be much more secure.

And it worked out, just as I hoped. I let out a whoop and finished the pitch. It was just another 5.8, but pitch two of Ginger Cracks was my favorite lead of our trip, and my first real feeling of progress this year.

Just as I was feeling more in my element, Adrian was starting to seem a little beaten down. The first pitch had taken something out of him, and the third pitch, also rated 5.7, turned out to involve a bit more wide crack technique. He thrutched a bit at the start, then ventured a little too far left and scared himself for a second as he worked his way back onto the proper route. When I joined him at the belay he said he wasn't sure he felt like leading the 5.9 pitch four, which was the crux pitch on the route.

Looking up at it, I was sure I could lead it. It was another face-climbing pitch, the first part of which was low-angled and well featured with holds. The crux steep section appeared short, and it had three protection bolts. Three bolts! It was as if there were three pitons, which always produce irrational confidence, but these were not the junky fifty-year-old pitons I was accustomed to clipping; these were bright shiny bolts! No problem. This was going to be easier than Sente, a 5.9 minus with bolts in the Gunks. I was raring to do it. Not only would it be a great pitch to build on as I got my year under way, but it would also be my first chance to do for Adrian what he usually does for me. I could bail him out for once, let him take it easy for a change. It was perfect.

Alas, it was not to be.

As I'd waited for Adrian to lead pitch three, I detected snow flurries coming down around me. When I arrived at the belay with Adrian, the storm worsened. Soon we were surrounded by clouds and the snow flurries were blowing everywhere. The temperature dropped and what had been just a cool day was suddenly very unpleasant.

(Photo: Suddenly engulfed in a storm on Ginger Cracks.)

We stood there at the belay for what seemed like a very long time freezing and debating what to do. The snow didn't seem to be sticking or making the rock wet. The next pitch ended at a set of bolts. We could do one more pitch. But it was windy and miserable, and at any moment it could turn yet again for the worse, to rain or wet snow or who knows what. Ultimately we decided to do the conservative thing and bail off.

Of course, as we trudged back to the car the sky cleared and it grew considerably warmer. We got back to the trailhead and I was shocked to discover it was already 4:00 in the afternoon. We had expended an awful lot of effort for just three pitches. What with us breaking up pitch one into two parts and all the waiting for the weather, we'd used up most of the day. But I wasn't sorry we'd attempted Ginger Cracks. It is a great climb with a variety of challenges on it. One day I'll go back, charge straight up the off-width, and handle the crux pitch besides. But for now mostly I'm left with an unlikely story about climbing in the snow in Las Vegas.

I knew Adrian was tired but I couldn't end the day after just three pitches. The sun was shining and it didn't seem the rock anywhere was wet so I insisted we go and do a couple pitches of sport climbing, just to get a little more out of our day. I looked at the book and there was a wall near the first pullout called the Dog Wall, which looked like it had a couple good, short 5.10s on it.

"Are you going to lead them?" Adrian asked.

"Sure," I said, and he agreed to the plan.

I led Cat Walk (5.10a), the easiest climb on the wall, and I had to take a hang at the last bolt. It was an obvious, gym-like climb with rather repetitive crimpy moves. But I had to admit I was tired, regardless of the small number of pitches we'd done. It was time to head back to the hotel and hope for better weather tomorrow. From the top of Cat Walk I rigged a toprope for It's a Bitch (5.10b), and after we both climbed that one (it was more of the same type of climbing) we called it a day.

Coming up in Part 2: beautiful weather, Jubilant Song, Birdland, and Cookie Monster. And no more bailing!