Uber-follies: No Picnic (5.5), Shit or Go Blind (5.8), Fancy Idiot (5.6) & More!

My partner Liz and I were in the Gunks on a Tuesday, and the place was practically deserted. Flipping through the guidebook, Liz made an observation.

"There sure are a lot of starred climbs in the Uberfall area that we never do."

It was true. I usually speed through the Uberfall as fast as I can to get away from the crowds. But Dick Williams gives stars to a whole bunch of climbs right at the start of the Trapps, and some of these never seem to be occupied, even on crowded weekends.

I've had mixed experiences with the routes I have tried in this part of the cliff.

I hated Handy Andy (5.7), to name one example. This climb sits right where the carriage road makes the turn that puts you at the left edge of the long wall that is the Trapps. I led Handy Andy a couple years ago, at the end of a long climbing day. I'd wanted to do it because it looked improbable. From the road, the face climbing past two old pins looked totally smooth and blank. When I actually climbed it, I thought the holds were thin, for sure, but the real problem was the pro. You're stuck with the old pins and nothing else for several moves, which isn't exactly ideal. What's worse, since you start the route by climbing in sideways, I always felt like I was about to hit the deck. The routine was: make an unprotected move, clip a pin, then make another move sideways and feel like you're in groundfall range. Rinse and repeat.

I got my hands up to the first real horizontal above the pins and threw a cam in, then scampered up to the next stance. And then on the lower-angled bit to the top I felt like there wasn't any good pro and that I was once again entering ground-fall range. I told myself I was never leading that climb again, although in retrospect it doesn't seem so bad. I could see myself getting psyched up to do it at the end of another long climbing day.

I have a similar distaste for Laurel (5.7), one of the Gunks' most popular routes. Laurel was once rated 5.6, but the start has gotten so polished over the years that the first few moves seem significantly harder than that. The current 5.7 rating is Dick Williams' concession that the bottom part of the climb has changed, but in my opinion he didn't go far enough. It is probably much harder than 5.7, if only for one or two moves. I have successfully climbed the route on toprope a couple times. I can't say I found it particularly memorable or worth the trouble.

One day last year I decided, for some reason, to lead it for the first time. I made the first move up to the slick but sizable foothold. Then I tried to put some pro in the pin scar over my head, so the next slippery move would be protected. I wormed a C3 into the pin scar, but I wasn't happy with it. I thought the placement was marginal, but it seemed this was all I was going to get.

I could see the good hold, not too far out of reach. I just needed to make one step up and grab it, and the rest of the climb would be a cruise.

Of course, I blew the move and fell.

The marginal cam held for half a second, then popped, hitting me in the helmet. Then my ass hit the ground.

Yes, that's right, I decked from three feet up on Laurel.

I started to get to my feet when a stranger appeared out of nowhere, saying "Whoa! Whoa! Don't move, let me check you out!"

I started to reassure this guy that I was fine, but then I decided he was right. Who knows, I figured, maybe I broke my spine during the stupidest lead fall in the history of the world. I shouldn't compound the humiliation of the moment by arrogantly jumping to my feet and ensuring my total paralysis.

So I waited as the stranger waved his hands over me and otherwise determined that I was intact. After this inspection he told me my gear was the problem. He said I'd blocked a necessary handhold by placing a bad cam in the pin scar, and that a micronut would've worked there. I'm sure he was right, but I didn't try it out. I decided instead that I was NEVER climbing stupid Laurel again.

Not all the climbs in the Uberfall are stinkers. Some are three-star classics, worthy of all the accolades. I love many of these climbs, including Horseman (best 5.5 in the Gunks), Apoplexy (my new favorite!), Retribution (which I will some day lead), Bunny (great 5.4 or one-move 5.6), and others.

And some of the less heralded, one-star climbs in the Uberfall area are quite nice, like Black Fly (5.5), Nice Crack Climb (5.7), and Nice 5.9 Climb, all of which sit just right of Handy Andy. Black Fly was one of my first leads, several years ago. It has nice casual climbing up to the right-angling crux crack, which takes great pro. It is a wonderful easy lead. Nice Crack Climb next door has a short 5.7 crux, and then more casual climbing up to the same slanting crack. And Nice 5.9 Climb has two good cruxes, the first of which I found a little tricky on toprope last year. I couldn't make the stand-up move at the overlap; it took me several tries, but finally I got my weight over it just right and it seemed preposterously easy.

So the other Tuesday we decided to try a few more one-star Uberfall climbs. We started our day with No Picnic (5.5) and Shit or Go Blind (5.8), which are tucked away just left of the Gerdie Block.

(Beta Photo: No Picnic (5.5))

Dick says that No Picnic has some sandy holds. I thought it was actually quite clean. Maybe a touch of grittiness at the crux overhang, but nothing worth complaining about. The climbing is nice and reasonable. Up an easy slab without much pro to the obvious left-facing corner, where good pro appears. At the top of the corner move right to a spot beneath a crack that runs through the overhang. Crank up over the overhang and say to yourself: this is 5.5? Then easy face climbing, pretty much straight up, staying left of and avoiding another overhang, brings you to the belay tree, which as of this writing has a burly steel cable around it with rap rings.

No Picnic is a pleasant warm-up climb. Good rock, quality climbing, and fine protection except for the first few moves.

(Beta Photo: Shit or Go Blind (5.8))

Shit or Go Blind offers more nice clean climbing, with two good little cruxes, both soft for 5.8 in my opinion.

The climb starts a bit low-angled, without much pro for the opening moves, just like its neighbor No Picnic. There's great protection for the rest of the way. Once past the opening face, you climb into a shallow open book and up to an overhang. The first crux comes as you traverse left through an overhanging section, and then up and over the roof, about five feet to the right of where No Picnic goes over it. I remember a pin in this part of the climb, but Dick says the second roof has the pin. Even if I'm wrong about the pin, I remember placing at least two cams in this section; I felt very well protected. And the holds are great, it's just a little pumpy.

Pretty straightforward climbing leads to a second roof, which is again surmounted using great holds and a strong move up, with good pro and apparently a pin that I've forgotten. Trend left above the roof to join No Picnic just below the belay tree.

Nothing spectacular to see here. But Shit or Go Blind is another perfectly pleasant climb; not a waste of time at all. Good moves, good rock, convenient and easy to approach and descend from.

(Photo: Looking down through the bushes from the top of pitch two of Fancy Idiot)

Later in the day we were looking for a climb to do on the way back to the parking lot. Looking over Dick's guide we considered a couple Uberfall one-stars. At first I was thinking about Eyebrow (5.6). But as I surveyed the cliff, searching for the line, I couldn't tell where it went through the upper roofs.

Then my attention turned to Fancy Idiot (5.6), which starts just left of Bunny. I could see where both pitches went. I spied the pins on pitch one, and I could see the second pitch's obvious corner. Seemed like a reasonable enough choice.

"I didn't know there was a climb here next to Bunny," Liz said. I guess I never really did either.

So we racked up and did it. And I'll cut to the chase here and say I basically think Fancy Idiot is a waste of time. I'm not sorry I did it once, but I'll probably never do it again.

The most worthwhile parts of pitch one occur in the first 25 feet or so. Up the face left of Bunny, the climb ascends a shallow right-facing corner that is crescent-shaped (fixed pin). Getting established in this corner was surprisingly challenging for me; it requires a couple interesting moves.

After the crescent-shaped crack a huge ledge is reached. Here look for another pin above and a little to the left-- I also found a crack for pro off to the right, which was easy to make use of with my double ropes. One more thin face move takes you up past the pin to easier moves and another ledge.

Once atop this second ledge, the worthwhile climbing is over, but the pitch continues. I elected to keep going up a little right (passing a disturbingly small tree with slings around it) and then left, traversing towards another, larger tree growing at a severe angle out of a precariously stacked pile of blocks. I kept moving towards this second tree because I believed it to be the belay tree at the base of the pitch two corner mentioned in Dick's guide. But the closer I got to this tree the less I wanted to have anything to do with it. It looked like even stepping on the blocks around the tree might send the whole pile down into the gully to the right of the Gerdie Block. So I stopped at the base of the big left-facing corner, built a gear belay in some suspect flakes, and brought Liz up.

Once she got to the top of the pitch, we debated what to do next. We could traverse to the right and join Bunny to its belay tree. Or we could traverse left and walk across to the top of the Gerdie Block, and then rappel or scramble down the other side. Or we could do pitch two of Fancy Idiot, to the top of the cliff. This 5.4 pitch looked simple enough, if a little dirty and overgrown. I figured I could lead it in about five minutes. So we decided to keep climbing. What the heck, why not?

I will say this in favor of pitch two of Fancy Idiot: it is surprising how much of an adventure experience you can find right on top of the Gerdie Block and just to the left of Bunny, Retribution and Nosedive. Surrounded by these immensely popular climbs, you suddenly find yourself fighting through bushes, lichen, and dirty ledges to the top of the cliff. I felt like we were the first pair to traipse through this territory in quite a while.

The climbing was actually more interesting than I expected. The face to the left of the big corner is pretty blank, and blocks and flakes in the corner are often necessary tools for advancement. The problem with these blocks and flakes, however, is that many of them are loose.

If the crappy rock quality were not an issue, I might actually say pitch two of Fancy Idiot is worth the trouble in spite of the bushwhacking nature of the pitch. As things are, however, I think it isn't worth it. Fancy Idiot doesn't deserve the single star that Dick gave it. Don't bother.

Gunks Routes: Pas De Deux (5.8) & Apoplexy (5.9)

Since returning from Vegas I'd had only one short day in the Gunks, with just four pitches, mostly easy stuff.

But the last climb of that short day, pitch one of Pas De Deux (5.8), really changed everything.

I felt so solid.

Pas De Deux is hard for 5.8; it is a little scary. As Dick Williams says, the climb features thoughtful and committing moves for the first 30 feet. The climb winds its way slightly right, and then slightly left, all rather close to the ground, until thin face moves lead to a vertical crack, which is then followed upwards to easier climbing between good horizontals. In the traverse left to the vertical crack, I worried for a moment that I was in too deep. I'd chosen the high foot traverse rather than the low hand traverse, and I was now perched in a tenuous position, with great footholds but tiny crimps for the hands. Matching my two hands on a minuscule pebble, I stretched left, reaching, reaching for the edge of the vertical crack that I hoped would put me at a good stance with more gear. It was balancy, precarious. My last piece was below my feet and to the right. But my footwork was good, my fingers worked the crimps, and with the move completed, I knew this climb was as good as in the bag.

As I exhaled and placed a cam, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time. I felt that fire in the belly, the hunger I didn't even know I'd been missing for more than a year.

I was finally ready to start pushing it a little more. The rock felt so good. I was fit, climbing well. It was time. Time to start moving forward and to challenge myself. Time to break back into 5.9 at the Gunks.

So for my next day out I started to get very excited about various possibilities. One climb in particular, Apoplexy, became the focus for me, the climb I just had to do. And this was strange since Apoplexy was a climb I'd never even considered leading before. I had always been scared off because I was a little worried about the pro. The climb has a reputation as being tricky to protect through the middle, at a fragile flake that many people consider untrustworthy.

But now I wasn't too concerned about the pro through the middle, because it isn't the crux. Dick's guide says this part of the route is 5.8. Not so bad. 5.8 face climbs have felt pretty good to me lately.

I also felt a boost in confidence because I'd been on this climb once before. It must have been at least three years ago: I threw a toprope over Apoplexy by leading up Dirty Chimney (5.0) to the ledge, then moving left to Pony Express (5.6-) and up to the chains that sit above and right of Apoplexy's crux. Looking back, I remember more about setting up that toprope than I do about climbing Apoplexy that day. I recall working my way up the chimney and then somehow getting kind of sketched out on the traverse over to Pony Express. I ended up hugging the huge tree that used to sit on the ledge. That tree is gone now; it fell down during a spring storm in 2010. It sure seemed sturdy three or four years ago when I was holding on to it for dear life.

All I remember about the climbing on Apoplexy back then is that it didn't seem so difficult on toprope. The face climbing was reasonable. The crux overhang seemed more straightforward than the one on the third pitch of Maria (5.6+). I knew that leading it in 2011 would feel completely different from toproping it in 2008, but I took some comfort from my prior experience: I was pretty sure I wouldn't be spit off the climb because I missed a secret hold or needed some special beta.

Another factor in Apoplexy's favor was that it is such a Gunks classic. Everyone walks right by it; it is surrounded by some of the most popular climbs in the Trapps. All the real Gunkies have climbed it over and over again. There are Gunks regulars who end every climbing day with a run up Apoplexy. Gunks blogger Dawn Alguard has probably climbed Apoplexy a thousand times. And here I had never led it, not once. This situation had to be rectified.

The plan was to go up to the Gunks on a Tuesday with Liz. The fact that we were heading up on a weekday sealed the deal for me. The Uberfall would be relatively empty. I wouldn't be climbing in front of a huge audience. I needed to do this.

When we arrived on Tuesday, we warmed up on a couple easy pitches and then headed over to the climb. I told Liz if it was occupied we'd just go do something else. No sense in waiting for a climb on a weekday. A small part of me would have been relieved if it had been occupied. As we approached the base of the Apoplexy I was filled with both excitement and dread. I knew this climb was well within my climbing abilities. But was my head really ready?

The climb was open. We flaked out the ropes and I headed up.

The early face climbing is pretty casual. I passed the first horizontal, clipping the totally unnecessary angle piton and placing another cam next to it. I got another great cam in the next horizontal and clipped the rope into it direct since it looked like the next pro was going to come at the infamous shaky flake about 30 feet off the ground.

Then I stepped up to the flake. It makes for a great handhold. I found getting pro behind it to be kind of a challenge. I wanted a nut rather than a cam-- I didn't want to put any expanding forces on the flake in the event of a fall-- but it seemed to me that the micronut I worked into the space behind the flake might pull out sideways if it was tested. So I tried to get a little C3 behind the flake, but no dice. Then I thought about the little pod up and right of the flake. I'd read that a tricam could be worked into this pod, so I tried to place one, again without success.

The nut was going to have to do.

I started to step to the left, because Dick says it is a little easier that way. But I couldn't find anything easy over there. It seemed that if I went straight up from the flake instead it would be just one thin move and then I'd be able to reach the next good horizontal. So I started to step up, but as I did so I looked down at that nut behind the flake and I didn't like it. Maybe a smaller nut would seat more securely?

I downclimbed a step and dicked around with another nut behind the flake. Better? Possibly.

I had to get on with this early surprise crux before I lost my nerve. I made the thin step, grabbed the horizontal, and moved up. So far, so good. All according to plan.

Now came the real business. Up into a shallow right-facing corner, and then a committing layback move with good pro up and around left to a pumpy stance beneath the overhang. As I made the moves up to and under the overhang, I started to feel the strain in my forearms immediately.

I thought the horizontal below the little roof would take a good cam. I worked one in. I extended it with a sling. Then I had to shake out. I still needed to clip the rope to the little bugger. If I couldn't clip the cam it wouldn't do a thing for me. I grabbed the rope with my left hand and tried to make the clip, but I had to abort the clipping and grab back onto the hold. I shook out my right hand again, and got set to try once more to make the clip. The pump clock was ticking. This wasn't going to get any easier.

As I hung in there, looking at this cam I had yet to clip, my mind was racing. Was I going to be able to clip it? If I expended the energy to make the clip, would I be able to make the moves above the overhang? Should I have just climbed through without placing more gear? Was attempting this climb a mistake?

There is a well-known maxim in climbing that advises "when in doubt, run it out," which means that if you are faced with a cruxy sequence and aren't sure you have the strength to both place gear and make the moves, it is better to choose to make the moves. The thinking behind this rule, as I understand it, is that once the hard moves are behind you, you can rest or place gear, and you never have to take a fall. If instead you choose to stop and place gear before the cruxy moves, the likelihood that you will fall and test that gear (and perhaps be injured) increases greatly.

I have always had mixed feelings about this rule. It seems to me that if the leader "runs it out," the increased possibility of injury in a fall without gear might outweigh the increased likelihood of completing the moves. I find it very difficult to balance the risks and benefits of these two possibilities. To my mind it seems that the real question any climber in this situation should ask him or herself is: why am I in doubt in the first place? If you are forced to choose between placing gear and making the moves, you've made an error in judgment. You are climbing something that is above your leading abilities. And now both of your choices are less than ideal.

One of the things I admire about my partner Adrian is that he always, and I mean always, places great pro in the crux. To me it is a sign that he knows his limits and stays within them. He has the juice to place the necessary gear and still make the moves. He doesn't run it out, because he isn't in doubt. I aspire to be like this.

And yet on Tuesday I found myself hanging in there at the roof crux of Apoplexy, in more than a little doubt. I knew I had good gear just a few feet below me, but I wanted the gear at the roof. I couldn't stop thinking about what a fall from just above the roof would be like if I couldn't clip the gear. It would be just like the fall on Insuhlation that broke my ankle in October 2009, and I obviously did not want to go there again.

I told myself this had to stop. I knew I could make this clip. I knew I could make the moves. I didn't have to choose one or the other. I was solid and I was going to get this done. I was going to grab the rope and pull it up strong to the carabiner; no more failures. And then I was going to blast through the moves above the overhang to the stance.

I made the clip; I made the moves. I got to the stance and felt like a million bucks. I had done it; I was back in it to win it. It really hadn't been that hard, once I sacked up and went for it.

I decided to finish the route with the chimney above the crux rather than moving right to the chains, and I'm glad I did. The chimney is fun, even if it is much easier than the rest of the climb. (It's probably 5.5 or so.) Doing the chimney adds to the variety of the climb, and you get to top out, which is always such a great feeling. If you climb with double ropes, it is easy to rap off the Horseman tree just a few feet to the left. A single 60 meter rope juuust makes it as well, in my experience. Watch your ends.

After leading Apoplexy I had to wonder why it isn't a three-star climb. (Williams gives it two stars.) It has great face climbing for about 40 feet, then good steep moves up to the overhang, followed by a fun run up a chimney to the top. It is hard to imagine more sustained good climbing in a single pitch.

The climb also occupies an important position historically. Put up by Jim McCarthy in 1960, Apoplexy represents the state of the art of climbing at that time. Along with MF, another classic McCarthy 5.9 that was established the same year (and which McCarthy also gave a name similarly indicative of his perception of its difficulty), Apoplexy was a stepping stone to later, even greater achievements. The following season McCarthy would push through to a whole other level, ushering in the 5.10 era with new climbs like Tough Shift (5.10a) and his first free ascents of Retribution (5.10b) and Nosedive (5.10b).

You no longer have to be one of the best climbers of your generation to climb Apoplexy. But it remains a great stepping stone for climbers of all generations in the Gunks. I can only hope that for me, it is a stepping stone to a lot of other fun 5.9s, and perhaps beyond, this year.

Gunks Routes: Yellow Ridge (5.7)

(Photo: coming around to the stance beneath the off-width on the first pitch of Yellow Ridge.)

Often described as the best 5.7 in the Gunks, Yellow Ridge delivers a classic Fritz Weissner old-school sort of experience. An intimidating 5.7 off-width crack looms about 10 to 15 feet off the ground. The first belay traditionally follows directly above, and then the second pitch follows a path-of-least resistance 5.5 traverse up and left to a decent ledge. Then in the final pitch comes the glory: a thin traverse left to an arete and an improbable 5.6 haul through great jugs to the top.

The first decision confronting the climber is how to get to the off-width. Guidebooks have differed as to which approach is the original route; one can climb up to the off-width from the left, from the right, or directly up a nose from below. Dick Williams' latest guidebook suggests the approach from the right. This approach has the advantage of being the only start with good protection. When I led the pitch in March, this is the way I went, and I thought it was a bit strenuous for 5.7, but very secure and fun. The climb begins up a left-facing corner and then traverses under a low roof to the nose beneath the off-width. A good undercling crack provides great pro and hands for the traverse. The feet are quite smeary, however, and this part of the pitch really gets the pulse going, quite close to the ground. Then it's a fun maneuver rocking over the top of the nose to the stance beneath the off-width.

The off-width itself is kind of a letdown. I doubt even Fritz grunted up the thing. There are enough little edges around it that there is no need to use the wide crack to advance. I brought up a couple big cams just to see if they'd be useful, and it turned out they were totally unnecessary. I placed a gray #4 Camalot just above the piton at the base of the off-width. It wouldn't fit any higher. I suppose it had value in backing up the pin, but a #3 would have gone in almost as high. Then about half-way up the crack I placed the purple #5 Camalot, but right there a good horizontal also appears which takes a variety of different cam sizes. So leave the big gear in your bag, there's no point in bringing it for Yellow Ridge.

Traditionally there is a belay at the ledge above the off-width. I wasn't experiencing any drag, even though I placed gear both before and during the traverse beneath the roof at the start of the pitch, so I elected to continue through the easy 5.5 moves up and left to the final belay ledge. Here my partner Adrian took over for the 5.6 money pitch. I had been through this area before, but never from this direction. Instead I had previously done the final portion of Yellow Ridge by approaching it from the other side, through a link-up climb called Basking Ridge, which ascends the excellent 5.7 first pitch of Baskerville Terrace, then moves to the right and goes up a cool rising traverse around a corner to the right to join Yellow Ridge at the arete below the overhangs.

When I climbed Basking Ridge last year and came around the corner to join Yellow Ridge at the arete, I looked to the right and thought the Yellow Ridge traverse looked a little thin and intimidating. This year, Adrian made it look very easy, then moved up, clipping the pins that are the only pro for a while through the arete section. Then he started to move out of sight, but he paused beneath the overhangs. As I've mentioned before, Adrian is a recent transplant to the Gunks. He is used to climbing out in Squamish, where the cracks are vertical and the roofs don't tend to go at easy grades.

"Do you know where I'm supposed to go?" he asked. "There's nothing up there that looks like 5.6 to me."

"Straight up!" I said.

"Really?" I think I see a pin off to the left through this filthy gully..."

"NO! No! Straight up, man. You'll see, it's nothing but jugs and awesomeness."

"I trust you, but it doesn't look that way..."

"I've done it before, really, I'm quite sure about this."

"Okay, okay."

So Adrian headed upward, and after a short period of silence, he let out a great whoop, and yelled:

"5.6 in the Gunks!!"

And that's the magic, really, of a climb like Yellow Ridge, and of so much climbing in the Gunks. It looks like it's going to be absurdly hard, and it is actually quite steep, but the holds are so great it really is fair to call it a 5.6. Powering through these overhangs is a joy, a special kind of thrill you don't get anywhere else from such moderate climbing.

When I followed the final pitch I thought the traverse to the arete was nice but no big deal. A couple of delicate face moves and it was over. Having done the whole climb I had to conclude that Yellow Ridge is not the best 5.7 in the Gunks. Aside from a few nice moves at the bottom, the climb is just okay until the wonderful, outstanding final overhangs. I think that Basking Ridge, on the other hand, is a legitimate contender for the "Best 5.7" crown. Starting with the technical, challenging thin corner of Baskerville Terrace, it then offers an airy, rising traverse to the Yellow Ridge arete that is more exciting than traversing in from the other direction. You also arrive on the arete a little lower than you do when you come in from Yellow Ridge, which adds a bit more exposure as you move up to the pins and then the final overhangs.

And I have another idea for what might be the very best, and most direct, link-up that leads to the last pitch of Yellow Ridge. It would start with the classic first pitch of Fat Stick (5.8), which I've never done, and then climb the second pitch of Fat Stick Direct (5.10(b)), which I've also never done. This would place you just to the right of the belay for the final pitch of Yellow Ridge, which you would then do instead of the R-rated third pitch of Fat Stick Direct. This link-up would produce an awesome moderate climb with a well-protected 5.10 roof crux in the middle. If I get the guts to break into 5.10 this year, I'll definitely give it a try and report back!

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!

Gunks Routes: Te Dum (5.7)

(Photo:  the opening moves on Te Dum)

It was still winter, technically, when I got my first Gunks opportunity of 2011.  But spring seemed to be in the air.  The temperature had suddenly spiked up into the sixties.  The internet hummed with reports of great early-season climbing.

I couldn't wait to get out there. 

I was feeling pretty good.  I was perhaps in better physical shape than ever before, and I'd been climbing well in the gym. 

But it got colder as the the weekend began, and by the time my climbing day, Sunday, dawned, it felt like winter all over again.  As I drove up to New Paltz with A and M, I watched as the thermometer on my dashboard reported the dropping temperature outside:  32, 31, 30...

It bottomed out at 28 degrees just before we hit Exit 18.

Whatever, I wasn't worried.  The high was projected to be around 48 and I figured with the sun shining on the cliffs it would feel warm enough once we got into it.  I suggested to my friends that we head to the Nears, where the classics are piled deep, one after another, at the northern end of the cliff, closest to the road.  I was thinking of a couple good warm-ups for us.  One was Alphonse, a 5.8 climb that's really a 5.6 for all but one move.  Another was Te Dum, a 5.7 that I remembered as having only one 5.7 move on it: an exposed but easy crux step around a corner about two-thirds of the way to the top.  I was eager to get started and I volunteered for the lead. 

As we walked to the start of Te Dum we passed Broken Sling, a notorious 5.8 with a bouldery start and a poorly-protected thin traverse above.  Like Pavlov's dog I started salivating at the thought of getting on that one.  Then beneath our chosen climb I stared straight up at the crux downward-facing off-width that finishes the first pitch of Inverted Layback (5.9).  Boy, I'd like to do that one soon, I thought.  But first I have to knock off this easy 5.7.

We racked up and I headed skyward.  

The climb starts just left of the back of an open book, at a wide vertical crack system that passes two ledges on the way to a third.  At the third ledge, where the vertical crack system widens, you traverse to the right wall of the open book and head up past a few flakes to the crux move around a second corner.  Once you make the thin move around the crux corner a few jugs usher you up to a small ledge where a tree used to have slings around it, forming an optional belay station. This tree has lost its largest branch and these days hardly seems suitable for belay duties; in any event the rest of the climb is 5.4 and short. A rising traverse takes you out from under the roof over your head and then it's a couple moves to the top. Best to do the whole thing in one pitch.

As I started the climb, worming up to the first little ledge, I realized I was actually feeling very rusty after our long, snowy winter.  I wasn't used to real rock anymore, and neither my fingers nor my toes felt secure on the stone.  Even though the sun was shining directly on the rock, it still felt cold to the touch, and it may have been irrational but I didn't feel confident that my grip on the holds was solid. 

At the second little ledge, I found myself standing to the left of the vertical crack and couldn't figure out how to step up.  I had two pieces right there-- in fact, I'd placed four pieces of pro in about 10 feet-- but I confess I was starting to panic.  I couldn't commit to the move.  My fingers were feeling numb.  I told myself this was just season-opening jitters and to go ahead and step up, but when (after what seemed an eternity) I finally did so I immediately slipped off the foothold and down to the ledge on the right side of the vertical crack, where I should have been standing in the first place.  Now that I was standing two feet to the right of where I'd been standing a moment before, the move was obvious-- I'd fallen into the proper position.  The rest of the climb went smoothly.  The rock even started to warm up and by the time I got to the crux I cruised through it, as I'd expected I would. 

My verdict on Te Dum two years later: despite my jittery beginning, it's still, to my mind, an easy 5.7. The opening bit, up to where you move right, is a simple matter for anyone who isn't climbing (like me) with blinders on. Then a very easy and well-protected traverse (use the crack at the back of the open book for pro) leads to a couple nice moves up to the crux. One deep breath and a committing step will take you around the second corner to jugs and the optional belay. Then it's an exposed, 5.4 romp to the trees. A nice pitch, with more climbing on it than I remembered.

So much for starting the year feeling strong.  I'd secretly hoped the Gunks 5.8s would feel ridiculously easy as the year began, but that's just not how it works, is it?  You have to pay your dues year after year, make a few mistakes, get yourself a little scared, ask yourself why you're even contemplating this stupid sport. And then it all becomes fun again. 

The rest of my day went much better.  After my shaky performance on Te Dum I handed the lead over to A for Disneyland (5.6) and Alphonse (5.8), and these climbs did a lot to shake the slippery feeling off my fingers and toes.  Then I took the lead for the first pitch of Yellow Ridge (5.7), which I'd never been on before, and felt absolutely fine about it.  And then we hit Farewell to Arms (5.8), which A led and which I thought packed a ton of climbing into the short first pitch.  This was not an easy 5.8, but I'll write more about that and our other climbs of the day in another post.

We ended our day with a rope up on To Be Or Not To Be (5.12), which none of the three of us could even begin to conquer. As we flailed away at it I couldn't take my eyes off of Birdland, just to the right, another 5.8 that has somehow eluded me these past couple years. I prefer roof climbs to face climbs, and Birdland is definitely in the face climb category, at least for its first pitch. But for some reason it just calls to me, and I'm going to jump on that sucker soon. Something about it just looks so appealing, and knocking it off my list early this year just seems like something I have to do. Assuming my jitters really are shaken off.

Loving the Alien

I should not have succumbed to temptation. I knew better. But the other week I couldn't help myself. I bought a used Alien.

CCH is out of business. They don't make Aliens anymore. Who knows, maybe the things aren't put together very well. But a stranger on the internet was selling his blue Alien and I just had to have it.

I have a sentimental attachment to Aliens. As I've previously reported, a little green Alien saved my life. (Now that's a sentence I never thought I'd write.) When I broke my ankle in a lead fall, that green guy was my top piece and the blessed thing didn't budge a millimeter. Afterwards, I didn't know if I should retire the cam because of the stress it had been under, or whether instead I should place it on every pitch going forward because I now had proof it was one of the good Aliens! I ended up sleeping with the cam next to my bed on the night table for a couple months, and then I happily went back to using it.

I don't have a full rack of Aliens, just the magic middle ones: the aforementioned green and my two favorite pieces, the yellow and the gray. These three cams seem to fit everywhere, and I don't care what you have to say about perhaps-better-manufactured Alien clones like Mastercams, nothing else feels right like these Aliens. It may be the camming angle, the soft metal, the trigger design, or a combination of all three. But there's no substitute. In the Gunks I'll place them on practically every pitch and there are spots I wouldn't want to be in without them: the funky start to Alley Oop (yellow goes in the shallow horizontal), or twenty feet up Morning After (gray goes in the flaring downward-facing pod), just to name a couple.

My climbing buddy Vass also has a bunch of Aliens, including the big ones, so I've used them a lot too, and they're great. But I don't find the big ones as uniquely useful as the ones in the middle range. I would love to have the bigger ones to carry as doubles to my Camalots. Shortly after CCH stopped production, when the cams had pretty much disappeared from the stores, I paid a visit to Tent & Trails in lower Manhattan just to see if they had any Aliens left in stock. As luck would have it they had three: a red (which I really wanted) and two big ones, I think a gold and a clear. In an inspired bit of bargaining, I offered to buy all three from the gear guy if he'd give me a small discount. And he agreed. But then I did something I thought was an act of strength at the time: I walked away without buying them. I told myself I didn't need any more cams, and it was true! But I've regretted this decision ever since. I dearly wish I'd at least bought the red one, which is the next size up from the precious gray one. Oh why didn't I buy those Aliens when I had the chance!

Neither Vass nor I own the blue one, but I do have a blue Alien story. Two summers ago when my family had a house in New Paltz for a week, I convinced my wife and kids that we should climb together one day in Peter's Kill, a single-pitch area in Minnewaska State Park where it is pretty easy to set up topropes. My wife doesn't climb at all, and my kids sometimes do a bit of bouldering with me at the gym, but they have almost no outdoor climbing experience. Obviously none of them is capable of belaying.

I found someone to help us on Jannette Pazer's family climbing internet message board. Hensley lives in the New Paltz area and has a small child. On the day we got together she just wanted to get a couple of climbs in and didn't bring her baby. I forgot my guidebook, but Hensley already had an idea for an area in Peter's Kill she thought would be appropriate for us. I was expecting to walk around back and set up a toprope from above, but Hensley thought we might enjoy climbing on a detached feature affectionately known as the Scrotum Pole, which is separated from the main Peter's Kill wall by a gap. She told me I could avoid jumping the gap by leading up an easy 5.5-ish line on one side of the pole in order to set up the rope for the family, and when I scoped it out it appeared simple enough, so I agreed. I took Hensley's light rack with me for the pitch. I hadn't brought any cams or nuts, since I thought we were just going to be top-roping from bolted anchors.

So I set off on the pitch. I pulled a little overhang right off the ground, placed a piece or two, and continued upward. My wife was chatting amiably with Hensley and me. She had no idea that when I'm leading I usually find conversation unwelcome. I didn't say so, of course, because this was supposed to be a casual little day out to demonstrate how fun and safe climbing is. So instead of asking her to be quiet, I pretended I was happy to engage in some chit-chat while leading even though I was starting to find the protection opportunities on this particular climb a bit sparse. I did my best to play merrily along, but the spoken dialogue we had was accompanied by a very different inner dialogue going on in my head at the same time.

Wife: How are you doing up there, honey?

Me: Fine, fine! I think you'll like this pitch, the moves are nice!

I'm already in groundfall range, where's the fucking gear??

Wife: This is the first time I'm actually seeing you use those little doohickeys. I never understood how they worked before.

Me: The gear is small, but it's actually very strong.

Oh, there's a little horizontal crack. Does Hensley have anything on her rack that I can stick in there?? Please, please!

Wife: Now that I see how it works, it all seems much more reasonable to me.

Me: I'm so glad you're enjoying the show.

I can't believe I'm about to hit the deck in front of my whole family. I have to get something in that crack!

Wife: The kids want to scramble up that big rock over there.

Me: Have fun, and come right back! I'll have this rope up for you in a sec.

Oh thank god, this blue Alien fits. Thank you, blue Alien!! I love you, blue Alien! I'm not going to die today. I'm so relieved.

As it turned out, my daughter was scared by the initial moves on the route, my son refused even to try it, and my wife gave it a go but got freaked out when I lowered her too quickly for her liking. So my main goal, the conversion of my whole family to the climbing life, was thwarted. But my love of Aliens was further cemented.

I know there are wise people who have reluctantly stopped using their Aliens. There are good reasons to worry about using them, and I think I have a working understanding of what these reasons are. I just went back and re-read several incredibly long threads on several different websites in the hope that I could briefly summarize the potential problems with Aliens and justify to you why I keep using them. But the issues with the cams are too complicated for a brief summary, and my reasons for continuing to use them don't sound very persuasive when I actually try to articulate them.

I'll leave it at this: my Aliens are all post-recall, and I believe when my cams were made the company was making sure it no longer issued cams with the brazing problem that led to the recall of earlier units. As long as the brazing was done right, I'm comfortable climbing on the cams even if there are other problems that have been identified with them. I am aware that amateur testing has shown that my Aliens may not be as strong as their ratings would indicate, but I believe they are still strong enough for their intended use.

I could go into further detail about my reasons for this opinion, but I don't want you to think I am trying to convince you that Aliens are fine. I know my continued use of the cams is questionable, and that my rationale for leaving them on my rack involves leaps of faith that may be wholly unjustified. I don't encourage you to buy Aliens or use Aliens. I certainly don't propose that you should buy a used Alien from a stranger. That would be unbelievably stupid.

But my used blue Alien already arrived. It sure looks bomber...

And if you happen to be selling a red one...

I sure wish I could quit you, Aliens.



2012 Update:

Since I wrote this post, TWO companies have begun making Aliens again. Fixe bought the Alien name and machinery from CCH. And Totem started producing their own Alien clones, calling them Basic Cams.

I bought a full set of the Totem Basic cams as soon as they became available and I adore them, perhaps even more than my old Aliens, because I have total confidence in them. Unfortunately Totem is only making three sizes, the green, yellow, and a red cam that has been resized downwards to make it just a little bigger than the CCH gray Alien. Totem also makes two hybrid sizes, green/yellow and yellow/red, and since I bought these cams from Totem I have been LOVING them. These hybrids may now be my favorite cams. I thought they were specialty pieces that I wouldn't use much, but because they fit so well in pin scars and horizontals that aren't quite parallel I place them all the time.

The Fixe Aliens look and feel just like the old Aliens. I bought a new blue one just to check it out and I'm very happy with it. Knowing that Fixe's name is behind it gives me confidence that the cam is rock solid. Unfortunately Fixe is only producing a limited range as well, from blue to gray (with no hybrids). If they produce the tiny black one I will buy it in a heartbeat, and will also consider the big ones (larger than red) if they start making those as well.