Not So Mellow in Yellow

(Photo: Andy following pitch one of Matinee (5.10d).)

So psyched! Rock climbing-- in December!

Andy and I were headed to the Gunks. He was planning to take it easy. He was in the middle of a self-imposed break from hard climbing. He wanted to rest for a couple of weeks before resuming his let's-climb-every-day training schedule.

Even though we were going to be climbing by pretty much anyone's definition, Andy figured that following me around on some trad climbs in the Gunks would nevertheless qualify as "taking a break." My hardest trad projects are still easy, in Andy's sport-climbing world.

As for me, I had no plans to take it easy. This was likely to be my last climbing day of 2017. I couldn't afford to take a break, whatever that meant. I had too much left to do!

As I'm sure you recall, dear reader, I still had a number of climbs to send as part of my little 5.10 completion project. I was oh so close to sending, on lead, every star-worthy 5.10 in the Trapps, and with a little luck I figured I could knock off the four remaining climbs on my list in a single day.

But I also wanted to send a 5.11. It had been a long long time since I'd sent a 5.11 in the Gunks.

In 2016 I’d managed to do several of them. I’d hoped to work through several more of them in 2017. But here we were in December, and I hadn’t accomplished a single 5.11 trad send all year.

It wasn't for lack of trying. As 2017 got under way, I was feeling really good. Not long after the season began I decided to attempt the top pitch of Enduro Man (5.11c), and I almost sent it! It would have been my proudest on-sight ever, but I got lost on the route after the two cruxes and I had to hang. It was so close.

Still, I was thrilled with how it went. I had every intention of going back to send it in short order. But then I was briefly sidelined by a neck injury. After some physical therapy and some rest, my condition improved, but by the time I really got back in the swing of things it was already June. My spring had gone up in smoke, and I never quite got that early-season confidence back again.

(Photo: That's me, attempting pitch three of Enduro Man (5.11c) for the second time. photo by Andy.)

On a hot day in July, I decided to try Enduro Man again. I knew the oppressive heat was an issue, but I wanted to give it a go anyway. You probably won’t be surprised to learn that it didn’t go that well. I can’t say whether the heat or my own decreased fitness was to blame. But this time, at the first set of overhangs, I couldn’t immediately find my way through. As I ventured up and down, looking for whatever it was I’d done the first time, all of the holds felt so greasy and slippery. Nothing seemed to work. It wasn’t too long before I had to hang. And then I decided I just wasn’t feeling it, and I climbed back down to the High E ledge, aborting the lead.

(Photo: Adrian at the crux of Harvest Moon (5.11a) on top rope.)

On another steamy, muggy day in June, I tried Harvest Moon (5.11a) for the first time, on top rope with a group of friends. I loved the route. I had to work to figure out the crux near the top, but I felt like I could come back and lead it without too much difficulty. I still intend to do it, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.

As the year went on, my focus turned to a few other 5.11 routes. The main target of my attentions was Ent Line (direct 5.11b). I led this climb on three separate occasions in September and October, trying for the send, without success.

And then there was the big one:

The Yellow Wall (5.11c)

(Photo: Rob coming up the 5.8 first pitch of The Yellow Wall (5.11c).)

"It's no fun to be yellow." -- Holden Caulfield.

I started 2017 determined to try this climb before the year was over. But it didn't happen in the early season, when I was really feeling strong. And by the fall, as the year started to slip away without ever cooling off, I wondered if I would ever get up the nerve to do it. When it finally started to feel like autumn outside, I decided I had to take my shot. On one late October day, with Rob, the time finally seemed right.

The Yellow Wall is considered by many to be the very best climb in the Gunks. It has an intimidating aura, sitting as it does in the middle of the most imposing wall in the Trapps. As you stand at the base of the route, looking up, numerous impossibly large overhangs fan out above you, reaching far into the distance behind your head as you crane your neck towards the sky.

The route's daunting atmosphere is heightened by its recent tragic history. In 2014, a young woman named Heidi Duartes Wahl was killed when she fell from about twenty feet up on The Yellow Wall. She was soloing the easier initial portion of the route, placing no gear, in an attempt to do the entire route in a single pitch to the top. This is a common tactic employed by strong climbers on The Yellow Wall to avoid drag, and apparently Heidi had been on the route before and knew what the route required. I’m sure she felt there was no chance that she would fall during this early section of the climb, but obviously something went wrong up there and it had horrific consequences.

Heidi was very much in my mind as I stood beneath The Yellow Wall with Rob, even though I knew that I wouldn’t be at risk of an accident like hers. I wasn’t planning to solo the 5.8 pitch. Instead I intended to place lots of gear-- as much as I could!-- and to stop at the traditional first pitch belay.

(Photo: I'm leading pitch one of The Yellow Wall. Photo by Rob.)

Still, as I racked up and took my first tentative steps up the blocky start to the route, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened to Heidi. I felt jittery and I found the climbing to be strange. I knew I had to go up a right-facing corner until I could transition around left onto the face. There was good gear available in the corner, and I was happy to have it, since the moves were awkward and I had a hard time figuring out exactly where to turn the corner. I couldn't imagine soloing this pitch.

Eventually I got onto the slab and cruised up to the obvious horizontal crack where the pitch traditionally ends. As Rob came up to join me I kept staring at the gargantuan crux roof, looming above.

I continued to feel nervous as I began pitch two. I hoped to find a placement pretty quickly to protect the belay, but I couldn't come up with anything until I completed several steep moves to a fixed piton. At some distance above me I could see my next protection, a hunk of metal that everyone calls the "Thank God Bolt." I successfully navigated the territory to this bolt, clipped it, and resumed breathing. Then I had to make a thin traverse to the right under the big roof to a second bolt. As I moved to the right, I couldn't stop shaking, even though I was perfectly safe-- I'd just clipped a bolt! I hadn't expected the protection to be quite so sparse during the early going on this pitch, and I found it unsettling.

I still had to confront the actual hard climbing, all of which was still to come. Once I clipped the second bolt and made a big move up to the overhang, I threw in the first piece from my rack on this pitch: a perfect blue Camalot in the roof.

Now I was in steep territory at the lip of the roof. It was go time. I worked hard to find the way over the ceiling. I went up and down several times, surveying the large number of potential holds that might possibly provide the way upward. Eventually I got tired and had to either hang on the rope or commit to something. I didn't want to hang; I wanted to commit. I locked my heel in the roof and reached up to some crimpy ripples above the initial tier. Rocking upward over my heel, I attempted to find a good hold above, but I was unsuccessful and soon found myself falling.

There was no risk of hitting anything, but since my heel was securely locked in the roof my leg got twisted as I fell away from the roof. I could tell immediately that my knee was mildly tweaked.

I was still eager to solve this roof, and I went back up, several times. I didn't commit again with quite the same abandon, but I tried numerous approaches, going left and going right. I'm sorry to say that nothing worked for me.

Eventually I gave up and we bailed.

(Photo: Rob coming up to join me at the point from which we bailed off of The Yellow Wall.)

I was bummed to find myself shut down by The Yellow Wall. I had expected that I would probably fall, but I thought I would eventually work out the sequence, as I had on similar climbs like Carbs and Caffeine (5.11a), No Man's Land (5.11b), and Enduro Man (5.11c). Once I was back on the ground, limping away from The Yellow Wall, I felt like I'd taken a beating. I'd been spooked by the climb's special atmosphere and I'd been unable to unlock its mysteries.

The very next week I found myself standing on top of Bonnie's Roof, with a bird's eye view as another climber got the send on The Yellow Wall. I didn't see what he did at the crux, but I watched him finish the climb. He was ecstatic as he topped out and I was insanely jealous.

I have to go back.

* * * 

As I headed up to the Gunks with Andy in December I knew The Yellow Wall wasn't going to make it onto our agenda. It was going to be cold, barely above forty degrees. I didn't want to leave Andy shivering at the first pitch belay while I attacked the big overhang. And let's face it, I didn't feel up to it.

Instead I figured that we could knock off the four remaining climbs on my list of star-worthy tens that I hadn't sent in the Trapps. Since one of these tens (Ent Line) was actually a 5.11b if you do the direct variation, I could also potentially get a 5.11 send to cap off my season.

Nurse's Aid (Pitch two, 5.10a)

We started our day at the Arrow Wall. I quickly ran up pitch one of Cold Turkeys (5.8) to set us up for pitch two of Nurse's Aid (5.10a).

(Photo: Andy at the crux of pitch two of Nurse's Aid (5.10a).)

I first did this pitch exactly one year ago with Connie. On that occasion I took a hang during the wild traverse. But then I quickly figured out a mantel move that got me through the crux. As I went back with Andy, a year later, I thought I had this pitch all sussed out and that it would feel easy.

Things went well enough as I negotiated past the very worrisome rock in the early part of the pitch. And when I got to the alcove before the real business I didn't hesitate at all as I placed my crux gear and then heel-hooked out the amazing horizontal crack, traversing over a sheer, two-hundred-foot drop to the ground.

I set up for the mantel move that I thought I remembered, but I suppose I didn't push with my hands forcefully enough as I tried to get into the mantel. I found myself slipping backward instead of moving upward. I tried to correct my position but it was too late. I was flying through space! Although I had to admit it was a fun (and totally clean) whipper, I was furious.

Climbing back up, I tried the mantel again, with a little more oomph, and it worked perfectly.

I was so mad.

I will have to repeat this pitch again in 2018.

Ent Line (5.11b)

After we were done with Nurse's Aid, I started to lead the way over to Ent Line, the next climb on my list. In all honesty, I wasn't all that psyched to do it. As we trooped over to the climb, I had a whole list of excuses running through my mind.

Maybe it was too cold out for this climb. Maybe I'd lost the mojo and it should wait until next year. Maybe, if Nurse's Aid was any indication, this wasn't my day.

I figured the climb would likely be occupied, which would give us just the out I needed. Surely, I thought, the area around Ent/Ants' Line would be crawling with people and we'd have to go do something else.

But when we got there we were all alone.

I knew I had no real excuse for not doing this climb. I had every move rehearsed, every placement memorized. I just needed to execute.

I decided to give it my best shot. I tried to convince myself that the stakes were low and that I didn't care whether I got the send or not. I grabbed all the gear I needed-- eight cams and one nut-- and I set off.

(Photo: That's me on Ent Line (5.11b). Photo by Andy.)

It went well! The tricky 5.10d crux, a thin step to the right, felt as smooth as silk. Settling in, I felt increasingly solid as I made the big move to a sidepull and then stepped up and left to the juggy hold right before the 5.11 crux roof. I made sure I correctly placed my bomber red Camalot in a vertical slot, and then I carefully reached up to the tiny crimps at the base of the overhang. This move is probably the real crux for me, but today it was no problem. Everything was working out just right, and as I reached to the better holds just above the lip I knew that this time, finally, I had this climb in the bag. I adjusted my feet and reached easily to the shelf above the roof.

Everything was going great, but I was getting pretty chilly. Unlike Nurse's Aid, this climb was in the shade. The rock was noticeably cold to the touch. I wasn't bothered by it right away, but by the time I got to the 5.11 crux my fingertips were on fire and I could barely feel the rock. As I tried to shake out and warm my fingers above the roof, I knew I still had one more hard move to do before it was really all over. I was determined not to make any mistakes. There was no way I was going to let myself blow it at this point. I carefully placed my last gear in the big pebbly horizontal, made it through the final tough sequence, and romped to the chains.

I was so happy to end the year with a send on Ent Line. I put a lot of work into it, more than I thought would be necessary. But it was very satisfying to see it pay off.

(Photo: Andy getting set up for the crux overhang on Ent Line (5.11b).)

Andy usually just shrugs at every Gunks climb we do, but this time, he let me know that he thought it was legit. As he reached the top he said "Good job; THAT was a nice lead."

Bragg-Hatch (5.10d)

Having cruised up Ent Line, I was hoping to get an easy redpoint on Bragg-Hatch. The climb is thin and devious but the hard moves come and go quickly.

On my first attempt back in October I'd fallen at the crux moves out of the initial corner and I'd welded a little nut in the fall. When Andy and I arrived at the base in December, I was pleased to see that my nut was still in place.

(Photo: I'm mid-crux on Bragg-Hatch (5.10d). Photo by Andy.)

Unfortunately, the fixed nut didn't make the climbing all that much easier! It was tense getting up to and past the nut, and I still needed to place gear from a very thin position afterwards. I realized as I tried to move up that I'd sketched through these moves on my second try in October without really working out the best sequence. I had no memory of what I'd done and all the holds felt bad.

I fell again.

Andy encouraged me to do whatever I needed to do to work the climb and tick it off. So I took a little time to put together a better sequence through the crux. Then, once I had it figured out, I did the route again on TR to clean it. And then I started over again on lead from the ground for the send.

This time it went smoothly. I really like this pitch. I still wish it were longer. But the crux section has several great moves all in a row.

Matinee (5.10d)

(Photo: I'm on pitch one of Matinee (5.10d). Photo by Andy.)

"It's better in the matinee. The dark of the matinee is mine." -- Franz Ferdinand.

There was only one climb left on my list, and I was dreading it.

Matinee had turned into a bit of an epic for Connie and me a year ago. I tried to do it all in one pitch but I encountered horrible drag and we ended up getting benighted, along with some other mishaps.

This time around, with Andy, I knew we had enough daylight left in which to do the climb. And I planned to split it into the traditional two pitches, so as to avoid any rope drag disasters.

I wasn’t worried about the spot where I’d had to hang last year, at the pitch two crux. This crux comes at the very beginning of the second pitch. It is literally one hard move up a corner. There is ample gear and a clean fall if you blow it. I expected to redpoint this pitch without a problem. And if I fell, I intended to just start the pitch over again and keep trying until I could call it done.

My real worry was pitch one.

I’d on-sighted this pitch last year. It was one of my best climbing achievements. But the horizontal traverse under the big roof had felt desperate. The handholds weren't great and the footholds were tiny, polished indentations on a smooth, glassy face.

It was slabby and slick, the stuff of climbing nightmares.

(Photo: Andy in the midst of the crux on pitch one of Matinee (5.10d).)

I was afraid that my success on this pitch had been a fluke, and that if I went back again I might fall all over it. I’d negate my prior send and I’d be revealed as the fraud that I surely am.

But I had no choice. It was my mission to redpoint pitch two so we had to do pitch one, in order to get there.

I needn’t have been so concerned. It went great.

I loved pitch one. It didn’t feel desperate at all, this time around.

(Photo: I'm at the early crux of pitch two of Matinee (5.10d).)

And I really liked pitch two as well. After the hard stuff is over the pitch remains interesting and exposed, as you work your way up and left around a few roofs and corners. Last year I hadn't been able to take the time to appreciate this pitch, what with the rope drag, the impending darkness, the snow, and whatever else was going on.

This time, it was a joy.

As Andy came up to join me I felt so grateful to be in the Gunks, and to be fit and healthy enough to climb as often as I do.

(Photo: Andy making the final moves on pitch two of Matinee (5.10d).)

Even though 2017 didn't go exactly as I planned, I still feel like I made progress. I remain more than capable of falling on a 5.10, as Nurse's Aid demonstrated. But I send my fair share of them as well, sometimes on the first try. And I'm capable of working harder climbs into submission.

I may not have talent, but I am stubborn. It is probably my greatest asset. I'm obsessive and I keep trying.

Next year, after I send the second pitch of Nurse's Aid, I have to turn my attention to the Nears and take down all my remaining star-worthy tens over there. And I intend to go back to all of the elevens that I've failed on, and maybe I'll even find some twelves to fail on as well!

Enjoy the winter, people. Maybe I'll see you out there, ice climbing. Or maybe I'll just be biding my time, waiting for that balmy, 37-degree day in February on which I can run back to the Gunks. 

A Late-Season Matinee (5.10d) & More!

(Photo: Connie at the crux of pitch two of Nurse's Aid (5.10a).)

It was December in the Gunks.

Connie and I were on our way towards the West Trapps parking lot. We'd been climbing all day, thanks to temperatures above forty degrees. It was getting late in the afternoon and I had to get back to Manhattan for a dinner reservation. I figured we could knock off a quick climb like Retribution or Nosedive and then we'd hit the road.

But Connie had other ideas. She was pushing me to hop on Matinee (5.10d), one of the hardest tens in the Gunks.

This was all my fault.

Connie had been reading my blog, so she knew that Matinee was one of my must-dos for the year. I'd said so. And the year was just about over! If I didn't do it now, the route would have to wait for 2017.

I wasn't sure I was up for it. With the season winding down, my ambitions were fading. And besides, we probably didn't have enough time left in our day. It was going to be dark in less than an hour, and we needed to get going.

So we passed Matinee and walked into the Uberfall, only to find that we couldn't do Retribution or Nosedive. They were occupied by a big group.

I should have known they'd be unavailable.

What was my backup plan?

I didn't have one.

It looked like I would have to do Matinee. We walked back over to it.

I'd never been on the route. Connie had seconded it before. She mentioned in passing that the person she followed on her first visit to the route was trying to complete all of the star-worthy 5.10's in the Trapps. Matinee had been one of the last ones on his list.

As she said this, I realized that I'd basically done the same thing. I'd been working through the tens in the Trapps for years, and by now I figured I'd done almost all of them. Matinee was one of very few left on my personal hit list that I had yet to try. It was still sitting there, unclimbed by me, because of its stout reputation.

It occurred to me that Connie's remark could provide me with a new purpose: I could polish off the 5.10 grade. I could lead every star-worthy pitch of 5.10 in the Trapps-- and in the Nears too, why not? I would have to comb through the Williams books later to see what I'd missed. There couldn't be too many of them left.

I haven't worked through them in a systematic way. I just try to do new tens in the Gunks all the time.

The last couple of days I've had in the Gunks have been no exception. Though I didn't know it at the time, I was subconsciously working towards completing my new project.

The weekend before my day with Connie, for example, I was out with Gail and I ticked off a couple of tens from the list.

We did Dis-Mantel (5.10b), a short climb up a big block with two good roof cruxes.

This was a climb I'd tried in 2012, and on that occasion I'd been completely unable to do it. There is a very reachy move over the first roof. In 2012 I couldn't make the reach.

(Photo: Gail's shot of me at the second crux roof on Dis-Mantel (5.10b).)

And in 2016? It was still hard for me. I had to step up and down several times. I rearranged my feet, sucked my hip into the wall, and stretched with all of my might... and eventually barely reached the good hold over the roof.

(Photo: Gail at the first crux roof on Dis-Mantel (5.10b).)

The second, "5.8" crux on Dis-Mantel is also no gimme. It is a good climb. It is well worth doing.

Gail and I also did Co-Op Direct (5.10a), an unpopular line just to the left of Welcome to the Gunks (5.10b). The regular Co-Op wanders a lot and is rated 5.8. The direct variation goes straight up some steep flakes and through a shallow overhang instead of veering left and back right to avoid the hard stuff.

(Photo: Gail coming up Co-Op Direct (5.10a).)

I liked Co-Op Direct. It isn't spectacular but it has some good moves. I thought the 5.10a crux came at the steep flakes. There is gear at the beginning of the difficulties but by the time you reach the shallow roof you'd be in for a pretty good fall if you blew it. At the roof, it seemed natural to me to follow the holds just a foot or so to the left, where I was relieved to find good gear for the the final moves up.

The next weekend, with Connie, I attempted a few more of the last remaining pitches on my 5.10 tick list before we got around to climbing Matinee.

(Photo: Connie leading pitch two of Arrow (5.8).)

Connie had expressed an interest in doing Feast of Fools (5.10b). We warmed up on the nearby Arrow (5.8), and as Connie led pitch two of Arrow I got a good look at pitch two of Nurse's Aid (5.10a). Pitch one (5.10c) was one of my prouder on-sights in 2015, But I'd never gotten around to trying the second pitch.

(Photo: An unknown leader on pitch two of Nurse's Aid (5.10a). I took this photo in May of 2010 from the bolted anchor above Limelight (5.7).)

Pitch two is reputed to be a sandbag at 5.10a. It is also a great photo op, with a super-exposed swing out of an alcove to the side of a white block hanging in space. It looked very intimidating.

It was time to give it a try.

The early part of the pitch sucks. I found slimy wetness and loose rock. Just past a truly scary block things improved. After some nice layback moves up a vertical crack I landed in the alcove just before the crux. I took a big gulp before leaving the security of this little cave and swinging out to the crux horizontal. It helped that I was able to arrange bomber gear before making the moves. Nevertheless, once I got out there I really felt all that air beneath me!

(Photo: That's me in the thick of things on pitch two of Nurse's Aid (5.10a). This photo was taken by Mountain Project user cvanpak, from the GT Ledge.)

I wish I could say I got the on-sight cleanly, but I did not. I tried heel-hooking out the horizontal and then rocking up over my heel but I couldn't make it work and eventually I took a hang. When I went at it a second time I found another way to mantel up over the crack. Once I figured out the move it felt straightforward; the grade of 5.10a seemed fair enough.

I have to go back for the send on pitch two of Nurse's Aid. It will be easy for me the second time, I think, since I've worked it out.

(Photo: My shot of Mountain Project user cvanpak on Limelight (5.7), taken from the top of Nurse's Aid.)

After we finished with Nurse's Aid, Connie got her on-sight of pitch one of Feast of Fools (5.10b), motoring through it without a moment's doubt. I was happy for her. I'd led this first pitch a couple of times but, as with Nurse's Aid, I hadn't tried pitch two, another star-worthy pitch of 5.10a. Ever eager to knock off another new pitch of 5.10, I went ahead and led it.

(Photo: Connie on pitch one of Feast of Fools (5.10b).)

It went well, though it wasn't quite what I expected. The pitch ascends a left-facing corner. I assumed there would be some kind of weird crux move to get around the corner, sort of like MF (5.9) or Moxie (5.9). Instead it turned out to involve steep, burly climbing straight up the corner, using obvious jugs and crimps. It was a bit dirty after the crux. The gear was adequate.

Pitch two of Feast of Fools is worth doing once. It isn't nearly as good as pitch one.

But let's get back to Matinee.

It was already late. Time was of the essence. I decided to do the two pitches of Matinee in one lead. I knew there would be rope drag but I thought it probably wouldn't be too bad, since the first pitch is so short.

Setting off on pitch one, I quickly got up to the stance beneath the big roof and confronted the crux of the climb: a thin traverse left, under the ceiling, with tiny crimps and underclings for the hands and, for the toes, only some pathetic little smears on the smooth, steep wall.

I really wanted to get the send on this pitch so I resolved neither to hesitate nor to give up. I placed a nest of good gear from the stance and then it was on. 

Stepping out onto the slick face, I delicately moved from crimp to undercling, matching toe to toe as I floated to the left. I considered placing another piece of gear mid-crux but decided against it-- with just a few steps I was going to be through the hard part. Holding my breath, I matched hands on the undercling hold I was using and stretched out to the lip at the end of the overhang. Finding a positive edge, I held on tight as I swung the other hand to a jug on the wall. Just like that, I'd made it! Pitch one was in the bag.

I was very happy, and relieved. Pitch one of Matinee is tenuous and thin-- I'm not sure I can repeat exactly what I did. I could easily slip off of the same moves next time. I'm glad we tried it in cool weather.

I placed a couple of pieces for Connie at the end of the pitch one crux and then kept going instead of stepping left to the traditional belay. Moving up, I arrived at the pitch two crux, a tough layback move over a shallow rooflet in a left-facing corner. Again the gear was good. There was a fixed nut there and I placed another nest of pieces to back it up. But the move was mysterious. I couldn't figure out how to get my foot up so I could get up over the little roof.

I stepped up and down, trying everything I could think of. I was conscious of our time slipping away. Finally I decided I had to commit to something. I launched myself upwards, but it didn't work. I couldn't get established above the overlap. Giving up, I asked Connie to take and I took a hang.

Right after I weighted the rope I spotted a hold I hadn't tried. As soon as I got back on the wall, I used this hold and got through the move. 

I was glad to be done with the hard climbing but I was angry with myself for giving up and hanging. I could easily have stepped down again and not blown the on-sight of pitch two. Impatience and frustration got the better of me. It was disappointing.

All of this was soon forgotten as the real adventure of our day began. 

I had taken a while getting through both of the Matinee cruxes. I knew the sun was setting, and I wasn't finished climbing. Connie still had to follow me. I needed to get this climb done! 

I got up to the next big roof. The move to escape the overhang wasn't hard but I soon discovered that I'd used up all my slings below.  

I couldn't extend my gear the way I needed to and as I stepped around the corner and up above the roof the rope drag became horrific.

I made a few more moves but I knew I couldn't continue. It was untenable. I could see the tree at the end of the pitch, only about 20 feet above me, but there was still some traversing to be done and I could barely move the rope. I decided I had to build a belay and bring Connie up.

I should not have tried to combine the pitches. Or I should have been more careful about my slings.

Once she was on belay, Connie climbed quickly but there were issues. As light started to leave the sky, Connie struggled to remove one of my cams below the big initial roof. 

Time passed, with no movement.... She kept working at removing the cam. I shouted down that if it seemed hopeless she should just leave the piece. 

Finally she got it free and simultaneously swung out to the left. With the rope now out from under the roof, the drag situation was much improved, but Connie had to do some boinking to get back on the wall.

Once she resumed climbing she surmounted crux number two and came up to join me at my hanging belay.

(Photo: My phone captured this grainy shot of Connie as she climbed up to my hanging belay on Matinee (5.10d).)

I was in a hurry to get going with what little daylight remained, so I just flipped the rope stack over, grabbed a handful of cams and slings from Connie and took off again. Connie had wisely brought up her headlamp and I took it for the lead, but I didn't turn it on. I thought I could see well enough without it. As I climbed up to the tree I could barely make out what my toes were stepping on. But I tried to be careful and still placed a couple of pieces along the way. I made it to the ledge.

When I got to the tree I turned on the headlamp, inspected the fixed tat anchor and clipped in. Breathing a sigh of relief-- we were almost done!-- I pulled up the rope and then realized that in my haste to finish the climb, I had left my Reverso behind at the hanging belay with Connie. 

Oops. I was really making a mess of things.

I had no belay device.

It was now completely dark. 

And was I going crazy, or was it starting to snow??

It was definitely snowing. 

I hope I redeemed myself by adjusting to the situation. I put Connie on belay using the Munter hitch, which I hadn't used in years. It is a very good thing to know, for just this kind of situation. I would encourage you to learn it if you don't know it already.

I pointed the headlamp downward to illuminate the rock for Connie and she joined me in a few minutes. I was certain we were were just one rap from the ground, but we couldn't see very far in the dark. We triple-checked everything, tied knots in the ends and were mindful of the rope as we rapped on down.

Needless to say, I was late for dinner! 

I was glad we tackled Matinee, even if it did turn into kind of an epic. We faced a few surprises but kept our heads and were safe. I was proud to on-sight pitch one and kind of pissed off about not on-sighting pitch two. Now I have to go back for the complete send. It is a great climb. Best to do it in two pitches! 

When I got home I pored over the Williams books and compiled a list of every star-worthy pitch of 5.10 in the Trapps and the Nears that I have not sent on lead. Here is what I came up with. If I have been on a route before, I have indicated it in parentheses. In the Trapps, most of the climbs are routes I need to revisit for the red-point. There are only a few I haven't tried at all. In the Nears, by contrast, I still need to hit several three-star multi-pitch classics that I have never attempted.

Trapps:

Sonja (5.10a/b)

Stirrup Trouble (5.10b) (I've followed it once)

Matinee pitch two (5.10d) (I need the red-point)

Nemesis (5.10a)

Birdie Party pitch two roof (5.10b) (I've followed it once)
Interstice pitch two roof (5.10d)

Mother's Day Party pitch two roof (5.10a)

Reach of Faith (5.10c) (should be an adventure-- no one does this climb)

Turdland (5.10d) (I've led it the 5.9 way)

Nurse's Aid pitch two (5.10a) (I need the red-point)

Directissima Direct (pitch one 5.10b/c variation that skips the ramp and traverse)

Ent Line (5.10d or 5.11a) (I've top-roped it)

Space Invaders (5.10d) (I've followed it once)

Tweak or Freak (5.10a)

Bragg-Hatch (5.10d)

Creaky Joints and Trigger Points (5.10b)

Tennish Anyone? (5.10c) (I need the red-point)

Near Trapps:

Topeka (5.10a)

Outer Space Direct (5.10b)

Criss Cross Direct (5.10a)

Fat Stick Direct (5.10b)

Tulip Mussel Garden (5.10d) (I need the red-point)

Elder Cleavage Direct (5.10b)

Boob Job (5.10b)

Wooly Clam Taco (5.10c) (I've top-roped it)

Hang Ten (5.10a)

Whatever (5.10a)

Spinal Exam (5.10b/c)

I'm excited to get to work on this list! And to resume my attack on the 5.11 grade in the Gunks.

I hope your 2016 was as good as mine was, climbing-wise. Though I didn't see any major breakthroughs this year, I achieved a handful of 5.11 trad sends. I enjoyed successful climbing trips to Red Rocks and the New River Gorge. I also had a fun, casual day in Seneca Rocks about which I have yet to post.

If 2017 brings more of the same I'll be satisfied.

I wish everyone out there in the climbing world a happy and safe New Year!