Gunks Routes: P-38 (5.10b)

(Photo:  Past the low crux overhang and into the awkward corner of P-38 (5.10b).)

Gail and I recently got out for a little weekday fun in the Gunks.

We saw little reason to stray too far from the Uberfall. There were lots of people around, to be sure, but nothing approaching the weekend crowds.

The spring weather was delightful and my only big goal for the day was to hit at least one 5.10 from my list. After spending a few pleasant hours in the Frog's Head area we decided it was time. We headed over to P-38 (5.10b). Gail had followed it before but it was years ago. I had never tried it so it was to be an onsight attempt for me.

Sitting as it does within spitting distance of the outhouse known as the "Über Pooper," P-38 is for most climbers a familiar sight. The slanting crack that defines the climb is obvious from the road below.

I wanted to do it because of that crack. I expected it would provide good gear. About the climbing, I guess I knew very little. I thought, not unreasonably, that I was in for a crack climb. But it turned out that there isn't any crack climbing on P-38, which is cool because I'm no good at that anyway!

I was hoping that maybe, just this once, I'd onsight one of these 5.10's. I have not had much luck with getting them clean. Over and over again I've had to work the cruxes a bit, or on some occasions I've even had to back off.

The first hard move on P-38 comes right off the deck, as you attempt to surmount a little overhang that is just over your head as you stand below the climb. There is pro here, and I actually placed two pieces as I stepped up and down, several times, working out the opening move. Eventually, after several reconnaissance missions, checking the gear and making plans, I executed my little sequence and made it up over the little roof.

Success! Maybe I was on my way to victory.

I was surprised by the next few moves. I thought the climb would be sustained and awkward. And it is sort of awkward, but after the opening moves it is really pretty easy up to the crux. There are jugs outside the crack and you can actually wedge your leg into the crack as you move up, providing opportunities to place gear, rest and shake out.

Soon enough I arrived at the crux sequence. You'll know it when you arrive there. There is a delicate step left to a little dish for your toe, and then a couple of thin moves up to a tantalizing ledge, so close but yet so far.

I placed what I thought was a bomber purple Camalot and then made the step left. As I tried to move up I thought about placing more gear but the climbing was pumpy and insecure. I just wanted to move-- the rest stance was in sight-- and so I did, without dealing with any more placements. I moved up once, feeling like I was barely in balance, just holding on. I thought that if I could make one additional move, a high-step to a polished pebble, I would be through the crux.

I was just a move away, but as I tried to get my toe on the pebble I lost the grip and took a fall. It happened suddenly and caught me a little bit off guard. I meant to yell "falling!" But instead in the moment said "take!"

Of course it happened so fast that Gail couldn't take; she just caught me as I took what turned out to be a pretty good whipper. The Camalot held just fine and the fall was totally clean. It is steep there and the gear is a little to the right so there isn't much risk of the rope catching your leg. It is about the best fall you could hope for.

Still I was a little taken aback by how far I fell and as I went back up, onsight already blown, I decided to place more gear before trying the crux again. I ended up getting a higher cam from the rest stance and then, after moving left again, I placed a great red Alien from the delicate position after you step up into the crux sequence. I ended up hanging a couple of times as I placed the additional gear and then, as I got set to try the final crux move again, I took a couple more falls as I rushed it trying to get back to the crux move and then failed at the crux when I tried to repeat the same sequence I used the first time.

Hanging there, I told myself to focus. I had come closer to success on my first try than I had on my subsequent fumbling efforts. I needed to execute my beta to get to the final move, and then try something new. I visualized exactly what I planned to do and then tried to be precise and patient.

And this time it went like butter. I danced up to the final move. Then I switched feet and stepped through up to the polished pebble, and it flowed. It actually felt easy, and I found myself at the rest stance, wishing I'd thought to try the move this way the first time. I came so close to the onsight! One little pebble away from victory.

I seem to find myself saying this every time, but now that I've worked it out I think I can go back and get the redpoint. I remember the whole sequence and I think so long as I'm careful I can climb it without a problem. The only question is whether I will be able to do it while placing the extra gear mid-crux. This gear isn't strictly necessary but I'd like to have it. If I decide to place it the crux will be a little bit harder.

Once the crux is over, P-38 eases off considerably. There is an easy traverse left and then a few 5.8 moves over a bulge to the finish. Some describe this section of the pitch as run out, but I did not find it to be so. I placed a couple of Tricams along the traverse and a nut in a flake right below the sloper holds that take you over the final bulge.

Once up on the finishing ledge, I was surprised to find the traditional belay tree long gone. There is no tree, just a rotting stump, which is obviously not a suitable anchor. I arranged a belay with gear placed between the huge boulders on the ledge, but you could also go to the top and belay from a living tree. The walk-off down the Uberfall is very close if you choose to go all the way to the top. If you belay on the ledge as I did you can use the Radcliffe descent which is right there behind the climb. This was my first time down Radcliffe and it is a little more exposed at a couple of spots than the Uberfall descent.

P-38 is a really good little climb. I will go back to send it. It has two stiff cruxes, one at the opening move and then a harder, more technical crux above. It has some unusual moves for the Gunks, good gear, and it could hardly be more accessible. I am bummed out that I didn't figure it out the first time, but I shall return!

Gunks Routes: Moonlight (5.6), Yesterday and Today

Moonlight (5.6) was the location of my first and only climbing epic.

When I think back on that time (which wasn't really so long ago), it is hard to relate to the person I was then. So much has changed. Now I know my way around the Gunks. I know of many landmarks that can help me find just about any route with confidence. I can find the way down from the top almost anywhere. I try to think in advance about potential problems I might encounter along the way. I have some idea of how to deal with emergencies. It is difficult to imagine fumbling around as blindly as I did back then, taking an entire afternoon to do two pitches! Looking back now, I shudder at the memory of all of the mistakes I made.

But climbing by its nature generates these sorts of stories. Part of learning to climb is taking the risk that you will get in over your head. Book instruction will only take you so far. The systems require practice and familiarity before they can become automatic. There is no way to tell whether you are ready except by doing it.

Anyway, is it really so bad to get lost and generally make a mess of things? Isn't making a mess of things the essence of adventure? And adventure is the point, isn't it? So long as the adventure doesn't get anyone hurt...

This particular adventure happened in 2008. I'd been climbing for a couple of years, but had only recently taken on the responsibilities of leading. I was out with my partner Liz, who had a similar level of experience and was not yet leading trad. We'd been outside climbing together just once before. The Gunks was our home area but neither of us knew our way around the cliffs very well.

I had decided to push the grades a bit. I'd led several 5.5's and had quickly grown bored. I had then boldly embarked upon leading my way through the legendary 5.6's at the Gunks. I think by this point I had done three of them. They'd all seemed pretty easy.

I felt like I was on my way to greatness.

On this October afternoon, Liz and I were planning on doing the most impressive 5.6 in the Gunks: High Exposure. But as one might predict, we arrived at the base to find two climbers on the route and a party of three getting ready to go next. It was the usual High Exposure traffic jam. We sat there for a while eating a snack, watching the parties ahead of us make very little progress, and eventually decided it wasn't worth waiting any more.

I had read somewhere about another good nearby 5.6 called Moonlight. I suggested to Liz that we give that one a try.

We walked over to the base. The climb starts up an obvious left-facing corner, but because of our lack of familiarity with the cliff we were unsure about whether we were in the right place. Luckily for us, there was a nice man walking by who confirmed we'd found our desired climb.

Now, I'm sure there was nothing out of the ordinary about this man. But I remember him as a sort of wise-old-man-of-the-mountain kind of guy.

In reality he was probably dressed very much as I was, but in my memory he looks just like the famous photos of French alpinist Gaston Rebuffat, wearing a sweater and crusty, weathered boots and carrying a mountaineer's coil of rope over his shoulder.

This man must have pegged us for beginners immediately. He gave us some much-needed guidance.

He told us about the start of Moonlight, advising us that coming in from the slab on the left to the big corner was good climbing but hard to protect, and suggesting we could come to the corner from the right instead if we wanted an easier way.

He also asked us if we knew how we were going to get down after the climb. (Good question!) Of course we hadn't thought about it at all. Our previous climbs had all ended at fixed tree anchors or bolts. The man told us about a fixed cable with rappel rings at the top of the nearby route No Glow. This rappel station is not in the guidebook. You need double ropes to use it. Liz and I happened to be climbing with doubles so we could use this descent route.

The stranger also tried to help us prepare to find Moonlight's second pitch. The guidebook tells you to move forty feet to the right after you finish pitch one. Mr. Mountain Man told us to look up for an obvious ramp above the GT Ledge which dead-ends into a corner with a roof. He said if we could spot the ramp we'd know we were in the right place to begin pitch two.

Armed with all of this information I led pitch one without incident. I elected to start the route up the slab to the left of the big corner. The climbing looked reasonable and, even though the stranger was correct about the early moves being unprotected, I made it to the corner just fine and did the enjoyable first pitch to the GT Ledge without any problems that I can remember.

After I brought Liz up to the ledge I set about trying to find pitch two. And this is where our problems began.

For the life of me I couldn't find the ramp the man had told us about. Everywhere I looked I saw roofs above us, but I couldn't identify the corner of which he had spoken. I kept walking back and forth, looking up, but I had no idea where the second pitch of Moonlight was supposed to start. Finally I picked a spot that seemed to be about forty feet to the right of where we'd finished pitch one. There was chalk on the wall so I figured this must be the place. Naively and with optimism, I led onward.

Within a few moments of starting the pitch I realized I had made a mistake. I was maybe fifteen feet off the ledge and I'd placed a piece off below me to the right, but I couldn't see any more gear coming up. And although there were holds, they were very small, and the wall was steepening dramatically.

What was I doing here? Was this Moonlight or was it something else, something much harder? I began to get a very bad feeling.

Looking up, I could see a party of three above us to the right, on a traversing climb across a white billboard-like face. Their route looked spectacular. I decided to seek their assistance. I called up to them and asked them if they knew whether I was on Moonlight.

One of them was kind enough to call back. "No!" he said. "We are on CCK! Moonlight is around the corner to your left! You may be able to get to it from where you are, though...."

So it was confirmed: I was partway up the wrong pitch with no pro in sight. Not a good situation.

I had a decision to make. Should I try to traverse around the corner to the correct route, as the climbers above me suggested? Or should I climb down and start over from the ledge? Was climbing down even an option?? I had not thought to make sure I could reverse every move. I looked down and envisioned the downclimb. It didn't look so bad. I believed I could make it back to the ledge, and thankfully I did so without a problem. I later realized upon reading the guidebook that instead of Moonlight I had mistakenly started up a difficult, dangerous route called Crack'n Up (5.11d PG-R)!

Once I was back on the GT Ledge, I took a look around the corner to the left and instantly saw the ramp to the corner and roof that the Mountain Man had described to us. It now seemed so obvious. I don't know how I missed it the first time around.

And so I finally started up the correct second pitch of Moonlight. The climbing up the ramp went fine, but when the ramp dead-ended into the corner I was stopped in my tracks by the escape path to the left. It was scary. I had to move out the left side of the corner and reach blindly around onto the face of the cliff. I had never confronted a situation like this before.

And I couldn't find any decent pro. There was a super-rusty old pin driven downward into the rock off to the right, quite a distance away from the moves. I clipped the pin and looked around desperately for other options. I wormed a nut into a strange little pocket a few feet left of the piton but I knew this nut wasn't any good. I couldn't find any other placements. Nor could I improve the one I had.

I don't know how long I stood there fretting over the situation. I had uncertain moves ahead and really iffy protection that was too far away. The idea of bailing never entered my mind. I thought I had no choice but to carry on.

Eventually I decided this wasn't going to get any easier. I went for it.

I moved left, committing to the sequence. This was probably the first time that I really experienced commitment like this, in the climbing sense. I remember good handholds but smeary feet on a steep wall, and then a hopeful reach around the corner. I prayed I'd find holds over there, and of course I did. Then I pulled myself around to a stance on the face, shaking like a leaf. I had made the moves but it wasn't over. I still couldn't spot any pro. I tried to remain calm. The stance was solid. I stood there for a moment, taking in the air over there. Then I moved up and at last found some decent gear.

Whew! That was easily, without a doubt, the most exciting thing I'd ever done in my life.

I still had half the pitch to climb, but the rest of it was a blur. I had taken so long finding the correct route and contemplating the crux that the whole valley was becoming engulfed in shadow. I didn't know what time it was but I feared it would soon be dark. I wasn't sure we could find our way down if we got benighted. So I rushed through the rest of the pitch. I noticed that the climbing was good, up a nice crack, but I couldn't afford to dwell on it. I reached the top of the cliff and put Liz on belay in a hurry.

I hoped the drama was over on Moonlight but unfortunately we weren't out of the woods yet. Liz still had to climb the pitch. At first things were fine. I couldn't see her but as I pulled in rope I could tell things were moving along, until she reached that move around the corner. Then everything came to an abrupt halt. There was no movement for what seemed like a very long time.

Finally I heard her calling up to me for advice on how to get around the corner.

Then she moved-- and she fell.

There was silence as the ropes came tight. I yelled out to her to make sure she was unhurt. She called back that she was okay, thank goodness.

Once I knew she was unharmed my mind could turn to another worry. Could she get back on? It was all air under the crux. Was she dangling in the air with no means of getting back on the rock? Or might she be stuck below the route and unable to get back to where she needed to be?

What would I do? I was woefully unprepared for this possibility, but now it might be a reality. I tried to put a plan together in my mind. I could lower her back to the GT Ledge, then rap back to her from the nearest tree, leaving some slings behind. Then we'd just have to find the nearest rap station on the GT Ledge. It would likely be dark by the time we figured it all out but we'd be together and safe. No big deal, right?

I waited to see if she could get back on the route, hoping I wouldn't have to execute this plan B.

We were in luck. She got back on, made the moves and completed the pitch.

By the time Liz made it to the top the sun had set and light was rapidly draining from the sky. I sent her to go look for the fixed rap station above No Glow while I collected the ropes and gear. If we couldn't find the rappel station before dark we would be forced to make our own station, leaving gear behind. I did not relish the thought of picking a random point from which to rappel off the cliff in the dark. The other option, walking off, was perhaps even less attractive. It would take a long time. It was perhaps a three mile journey from the top of Moonlight to the walk-off and back again. And who knew what it would be like trying to stay on the cliff-top trail after dark?

Again we got lucky. Liz found the rap station in about thirty seconds. We did two double-rope raps to the ground, during which time I realized just how close we had come to being lost in the dark. By the time we reached the base it was so dark that I could no longer tell which of my ropes was blue and which was pink.

I had never been to the cliffs at night and I was surprised at just how dark it was, so close to civilization. Of course I had no headlamp or flashlight. Liz had a headlamp but the battery was almost dead. Even with the dim light of this headlamp it took us at least twenty minutes to negotiate the talus field back to the carriage road.

I walked away from Moonlight in a daze, both humbled and emboldened by the experience. There had been challenges, for sure, many of which I had never anticipated. But we'd come through them safely and kept our heads. And the climb had been thrilling, like nothing I'd ever felt before. I figured that if we absorbed the lessons of this hard day we could build on the experience and grow as climbers. I resolved to read the route lines in the guidebook a little more carefully in the future and to study lowering and hauling systems.

Of course the main lesson I really should have learned is that it is important to understand your limits, to know when you've got no business trying something, and when you should back off. This lesson I had to learn later, the hard way, by breaking my ankle in 2009 on Insuhlation (5.9).

Fast forward to the present, a beautiful Sunday in May, 2013.

David and I had enjoyed a good day, knocking off a bunch of fun climbs in the No Glow area. It was getting late and I proposed we warm down with something easy. Earlier in the afternoon I had watched from the top of Keep On Struttin' as a leader came around that corner on Moonlight and from above it looked like a lot of fun. I thought about the climb for the first time in a long time. I suggested to Dave that we do it and as he was feeling tired he suggested I lead both pitches.

Standing at the base, I wondered if climbing Moonlight again after all these years would spoil its magical aura. I knew that now it would be easy for me. The climbing would be straightforward and there would be no epics. The thing that made it most exciting five years ago-- my lack of experience-- would be absent this time around. But maybe the climbing would be good enough to offer some of the same excitement I felt in 2008.

I decided to come into pitch one from the left, as I did five years ago, just to see if I still felt like it was no big deal. The climbing begins with a few very easy slab moves, and you can place a piece a few feet above the ground. But then you step up and right to the corner and there isn't any way to protect the moves across. There are obvious holds for the hands and feet so a fall is unlikely but still I would imagine that if 5.6 is your lead limit these moves might feel kind of hairy. I was surprised at how awkward it felt to get established in the corner. Next time I might try coming in from the right.

Once I attained the big corner I found that the rest of pitch one of Moonlight is well-protected and fun. The climbing up the corner was pretty casual and felt very secure.

Starting up the ramp on pitch two, I found the protection here to be surprisingly sparse. But the climbing before the crux is much easier than 5.6. It is like a big diagonal staircase.

Soon enough I reached the spot that had filled me with such awe and terror back in 2008, at the corner beneath the roof. I had to search to find that crucial piton. It is further to the right than I remembered, really rather far from the move around onto the face. And boy is it rusty. This is one junky old pin.

After I clipped the pin I had to search again to find the odd little pocket that provides the other protection opportunity for the crux. It is several feet left of the pin and a little lower. This time around I got something good, a Tricam placement that I believe would hold in a fall. I am pretty sure it was the pink Tricam. This might be one of those rare situations in which a Tricam is the only thing that works.

So unlike in 2008, this time I felt like I could confront the crux with some decent gear, albeit gear that I wished were a bit closer to the action.

And this time around I found the moves far less mysterious. If you stay low, actually moving down from the piton and the Tricam pocket, you'll see a perfect sequence of little footholds right at the lip, going around the corner to the face of the cliff. The moves are not terribly steep, nor are they smeary or blind. The position and exposure are incredible, though.

I think I must have gone too high in 2008. Or maybe in my panic I just bungled the whole thing back then. My 2013 experience of Moonlight was so different from my memories of the route, but still I found it pretty darn thrilling for a 5.6.

And this time I was able to take time to enjoy the latter parts of the pitch, up the crack in beautiful white Arrow-like rock, which leads to a final corner and the top. Really good climbing. Dick gives Moonlight only one star in his guidebook but I think it is a candidate for three. It has awesome, varied climbing from the bottom of the cliff to the top, and one heck of an exciting crux.

Climbing Moonlight the first time around was one of my formative climbing experiences. I got lost, made mistakes, and got my first real taste of the adrenaline rush one can get from executing a challenging crux sequence at some distance from the protective gear. At the time I was chastened, somewhat, by what a fiasco the afternoon turned into, but I also felt vindicated by our eventual success.

Climbing Moonlight the second time brought into stark relief that I really should have felt much more chastened and much less vindicated! I didn't climb or protect the route terribly well in 2008, and I was poorly equipped to handle any of the near-emergencies we so narrowly avoided.

The real question, as I push myself on harder routes today, is whether I have any better sense of my limits now than I did then. I sure like to think so. I certainly make the effort not to get in too deep, and I am not afraid to back off. I climb with much more experienced people who I hope would let me know if I were doing something unreasonable or stupid. But one must remain ever vigilant against complacency in climbing. A creeping boldness, which I have seen in myself on occasion, could quickly morph into foolishness.

All we can do is try our best, right?

Gunks Routes: Silhouette (5.7+) & Moby Dick (5.8), plus Keep on Struttin' (5.9)

(Photo: David almost to the GT Ledge on Silhouette (5.7+).)

Last Sunday I met up with David to climb in the Gunks. The weather was gorgeous and I was feeling pretty good. I wanted to hit one of the 5.10's on my list, and for some reason I was focused on Feast of Fools.

I also wanted to do some other climbs in that same area. I hadn't done much in this little section of the cliff. Apart from Hans' Puss (5.7 and a great route all the way to the top), I had not done any of the climbs on the buttress that sits to the right of the Arrow wall. I was interested not just in Feast of Fools, but also the two hard 5.9+ routes on this buttress: Proctoscope and Proctor Silex. I was also intrigued by Silhouette (5.7+), a climb to which Dick Williams grants two stars in his guidebook but which he also warns is not for the beginning 5.7 leader. I was even interested in an obscure 5.8 on the far-right edge of the buttress called Man's Quest for Flight.

Silhouette seemed like a nice way to begin the day, in spite of its PG-R rating. It sounded like the part with thin pro was right off the starting ledge. I wasn't too worried about handling the 5.7 climbing, provided I could find the route and not feel lost. I figured I could always back off if I didn't like the look of things.

It is easy to spot the starting ledge/pedestal for Silhouette from the ground. It is about 40 feet off the deck and the usual way to get there is to scramble in from the right, passing the start of Andrew and actually beginning the climb a fair distance off the ground. When we arrived, however, there was a party on Andrew. To avoid getting in their way we elected to climb directly up to the pedestal from the bottom, starting just slightly to its right. This climbing is easier than 5.7 and the pro is fine. Soon enough I found myself on the little ledge atop the pedestal contemplating the PG/R section of the climb.

There are a number of placement opportunities right at the top of the pedestal. I put a good cam in one of these slots and then began the real business of the pitch. The line isn't completely obvious but there are good holds-- just follow the path of least resistance, trending left off the little shelf at first, and then back right. After a few moves I found some gear and a piton, and shortly after this, as I placed another piece, I realized I must have cleared the supposed PG/R section. I guess that until you get some gear, you might hit the little ledge at the start if you fall. So I don't argue with the protection rating. But still, I don't think this climb is poorly protected by Gunks standards. There are many many more poorly protected PG climbs at the Gunks, see for example Moonlight (which we climbed later the same day). I thought the gear on Silhouette was fine.

And the climbing is great. The route wanders up the face to a roof and then you work your way to the edge of the roof on the right (where there is another pin) and pull over. The climbing up to this point is very nice but then the real fun begins, as the route follows a vertical crack system all the rest of the way to the GT Ledge. This is a good hand/fist crack. You could jam the whole thing (which I should have made myself do, for practice), but you don't need to as there are other holds. You can throw in a jam whenever you like, though, and in this section above the little roof pro is always available. The hardest moves on Silhouette are in this section, and it is G-rated all the way.

The way we did Silhouette, in one pitch to the GT Ledge and starting from the ground, it is a rope-stretcher. I was almost at the very end of Dave's 60 meter ropes by the time I made it to the GT Ledge. There was enough rope left for me to set up the belay on the ledge, but not much more.

Silhouette is a great route. It has interesting movement, good rock, and varied situations. Keep your head together for the first few moves and you'll be fine.

(Photo: Dave heading up Andrew (5.4) off the GT Ledge, on the way to the obvious V-notch of Moby Dick (5.8).)

Once we made it to the GT Ledge Dave decided to lead Moby Dick (5.8), a variation that starts up Andrew (5.4) but then veers left to an obvious V-notch when Andrew traverses right. There is another variation called Android (5.8) which starts further to the right and then crosses Andrew to arrive at Moby Dick's V-notch. It doesn't seem that either Android or Moby Dick is very popular, despite the fact that you can see Moby Dick's notch from the ground and it just begs to be climbed. I had never done it so I was happy to follow Dave up Moby Dick.

(Photo: In the V-notch of Moby Dick (5.8), placing pro.)

Dave made pretty quick work of it. It looked like an interesting traverse left and then a few good moves through the notch.

When I got up there I found it highly worthwhile. The move left to get under the notch is airy and then getting through the crux takes technique. The obvious comparison is V-3, a very popular 5.7 climb with a fun V-notch. Moby Dick's notch is harder and a bit longer. On V-3, as soon as you get your back into the notch you're basically done. Moby Dick, by contrast, is more of a stem problem with a few moves in succession. Good climbing and unusual, with good pro.

The only negative to Moby Dick is that it takes fifty feet of so-so 5.4 climbing to get to the good stuff. I suppose this is where the 5.8 Android start comes in to save the day. I'll have to try that some time. The guidebook description is confusing, but I bet when you get up there it all makes sense.

After we got back down to the ground I went to look at Feast of Fools but it was a nightmare over there. A large party had a top rope on Feast and another group was laying siege to Supper's Ready (5.12). It was all to be expected on a beautiful Sunday, but I was still disappointed. I consoled myself by knocking off a couple of 5.9's that I've been wanting to lead for a while: No Glow and Keep on Struttin'.

I was particularly happy about Keep on Struttin', a 5.9 that in my opinion has at least two little sections of 5.10 on it. I linked pitches two and three together into one lead. This combined pitch has to be one of the very best pitches in the Gunks. Both of the roof sections are solid 5.9 challenges but to me the cruxes come, first, at the thin moves below the first roof right off the GT Ledge, and second, at another face move off of a poor intermediate crimp right after you clip the bolt. Then after you make this hard move up to the good holds you have to move left through the pumpy roof. Here the main challenge is to place pro without flaming out. I think my solution is a good one. If you lean left from the stance above the bolt, placing a good cam as far to the left as you can reach, you can make the next few moves to the awesome horn without placing anything else. Then, with the horn in your grip, you can place one more piece and then gun it up over the overhang.

After the second roof, as you enter the traditional pitch three of Keep on Struttin', the character of the route changes completely, to a beautiful technical corner plus a few more interesting reaches around obstacles, all on that great white Arrow rock that you find on many of the upper pitches in this part of the Trapps. What a fantastic line!

After leading No Glow and Keep on Struttin' (and, I admit, flailing for a while trying to follow Dave up the bouldery start of Three Vultures (5.9)), I was feeling hot and tired, and my fingertips were sore. I decided to forget about 5.10 for the day and cool us down with Moonlight (5.6), which I hadn't done in nearly five years. It was a great finish to the day, but it merits its own post. Watch this space for my exciting account of Moonlight, yesterday and today!

Millbrook: Westward Ha! (5.7) & Cruise Control (5.9)

(Photo: Just above the final crux of Cruise Control (5.9). Photo by Christian Fracchia.)

Millbrook is a cliff with a fearsome reputation.

Unlike the other large cliffs at the Gunks, Millbrook has no easy access. A hike of at least three miles is required to approach the cliff. Once there, you have to rap in from above to get to the climbs. All of the climbs start from a narrow, sloping shelf popularly known as the "Death Ledge." Above this Death Ledge is a rotten band of rock; many of the climbing routes negotiate crumbly, loose territory for the first thirty to forty feet. And even if you survive the rotten band, you aren't out of the woods. The climbs at Millbrook are steep, difficult, and often poorly protected. 5.11 X is a common rating at Millbrook.

This is a serious cliff. You need to have a good idea of your limits before you go there. When you climb at Millbrook, you will likely be climbing alone. If something goes wrong, help is going to be hard to come by.

Does this sound like fun to you?

And yet the cliff has very attractive qualities as well. For starters, it is the highest, whitest, most impressive cliff at the Gunks. You might not notice it so much from New Paltz but if you spend any time in the area to the south, in Gardiner, for example, you can't help but feel its presence. We've rented a house on Bruynswick Road, which parallels the ridge, and every time I've driven down to this house from the north, following the road past all the major cliffs, I've been struck by how Millbrook looms over the area in the most appealing and inviting way. It is a beautiful, solemn place.

And there are great climbs at Millbrook. Not just hard man test-pieces (of which there are many), but also great moderates (or so I've been told). The introductory Millbrook route, right at the center of the cliff (next to the rappel tree), is Westward Ha!, a climb some consider to be the best 5.7 in the Gunks. Just to the right of Westward Ha! is a classic 5.9 called Cruise Control. Another reputed classic 5.9, Realm of the Fifth Class Climber, is down at the southern end of the cliff. And there are more, a handful of 5.7 to 5.9 climbs that I hear are well-protected and well worth doing, along with several world-class 5.10's and 5.11's that have reasonable pro.

Above all, Millbrook offers solitude, mystery, and the unknown, things which are in short supply at the other major cliffs at the Gunks. Millbrook provides a chance to get away from the same crowded routes you did yesterday and to step into what feels like a real alpine adventure.

Until this past weekend I'd never been climbing at Millbrook. I've been really wanting to go lately, intrigued by Christian Fracchia's website The White Cliff, which has wonderfully detailed topo photos of the whole cliff, along with updated route information that is more precise than what you'll find in any of the official guidebooks. I contacted Chris when I started thinking about climbing at Millbrook, and he gave me great advice about potential routes to climb and how best to reach them.

This past Sunday seemed like a good day to go. Clear skies and cool temperatures made for perfect conditions for hiking out to the cliff. Gail was willing to troop out there with me. I hoped we could knock off the two most obvious candidates, Westward Ha! (5.7) and Cruise Control (5.9), and still have time to maybe hit another moderate like The High Traverse (5.8 with the variation finish) or Realm of the Fifth Class Climber (5.9), mentioned above.

(Photo: On the trail to Millbrook, with Skytop visible in the distance.)

Dick Williams suggests in his guidebook that the hike out to Millbrook will take about an hour. For us the trip was uneventful but it took longer than that. We were slowed a bit by a lot of wetness on the trail, which I guess was a remnant of some heavy rain that fell a few nights before. The hike is perfectly pleasant, and I bet it is quite beautiful in late May/early June when the mountain laurel is in bloom.

(Photo: The rap tree is dead, Fred! What do we do now?)

Once we dead-ended into the Millbrook Mountain Trail and followed it to the cliff's edge, we had no trouble winding our way down to find the traditional rappel tree atop Westward Ha! Unfortunately, however, this tree is 100 percent deceased, as in dead, i.e. finished. This was a shock to us because everyone apparently still uses the dead tree! I don't know how long it has been this way but man, it is over and has been for a while. The tree is a black hulk. We briefly considered using it anyway, since it is such a huge tree, and it is unlikely to fail under body weight for quite a while. But it gave me the willies. I did not feel good about the idea of using it.

Looking around, we saw other rappel options, so it was easy for us not to use the dead tree. We found two trees that were decent-sized and very much alive, about 30 or 40 feet left (south) of the Westward Ha! rappel. These trees are also maybe 20 or 30 feet higher than the dead tree, but I was confident my 60 meter rope would still reach the Death Ledge, since I knew the rap from the dead tree was only 150-160 feet to the ledge.

(Photo: Rapping over the steepness that is Millbrook.)

I leaned out over the lip from our improvised rappel station to check the rap; it appeared to be a sheer drop to the ledge. It did not seem that there were any obstacles and I was more or less certain that the rope would reach. I also felt entirely sure that we would have no trouble climbing a 5.7 route to get off of the cliff. We would not be trapped down there. Still, I felt very nervous. It took a leap of faith to back my ass off the cliff and descend into the unknown. But this whole adventure was my idea, so I had to be the first one to go. I set up my rappel and off I went.

(Photo: The obvious corner of Westward Ha! (5.7).)

Once we both got down without incident, it was very easy to find the prominent corner ascended by Westward Ha! (5.7). And although the Death Ledge wasn't huge, the shelf was flat and wide enough at this part of the cliff for us to move around without fear that we were about to slip off of it and tumble to the talus some 70 or 80 feet below. (Nevertheless we stayed anchored while on the ledge.)

(Photo: Getting started on Westward Ha! (5.7).)

I had read that you could take any of several independent little lines up the first forty feet of the route to reach the prominent corner system. I could see that the path on the left looked the easiest, ascending blocky flakes all the way to the corner. But I guessed that this collection of flakes also contained a bunch of loose crap, giving this part of the route its reputation for bad rock. So I decided to go to the right, up a line that appeared to have obvious holds and solid rock, leading to a leftward traverse to the big corner.

(Photo: Gail coming up the right-hand start to Westward Ha!, which has nice climbing, good rock, and pretty good pro.)

I thought this part of the route had decent climbing, though the final moves left to the ledge seemed a bit thin to me for 5.7 and required the use of a fragile crimper hold. If this crimp breaks off, I think this start will be much harder than 5.7 in the future. Once I reached the tree at the base of the big corner I decided to stop and belay Gail from there. The short first pitch would cut down on drag and allow us to do the whole rest of the climb in one pitch.  Gail agreed that the right hand start was a little stiff for 5.7.

(Photo: In the final moves up the pretty white face at the top of Westward Ha! (5.7).)

We found the rest of Westward Ha! to be superb. The corner is sustained, with one fine move after another. A crack goes up the back of the corner for most of the way, so pro is frequently available, and you can jam if you wish, although there are plenty of edges so it isn't necessary.

From the top of the corner you emerge at the crux of the route, thin moves up an attractive white face. Again the pro is there and the moves are great, and then before you know it you're at the top.

Westward Ha! is a very very nice 5.7. I would not call it the best 5.7 in the Gunks, because to me it lacks the mind-blowing standout moments that you'll find on the very best climbs, like, say, Thin Slabs Direct or CCK. Westward Ha! doesn't really have any one outstanding moment or section, though the whole thing is quite good. I enjoyed it immensely and thought it was well worth the walk.  And I would do it again the same way, with the short pitch at the bottom, followed by a longer pitch with all of the great climbing in it.

Back on top of the cliff, it was already late for lunch. We had a bite and then rapped back down to check out Cruise Control (5.9). Like Westward Ha!, this climb is easy to find. If you continue walking right (north) just a short distance from Westward Ha!, maybe thirty feet or so, stepping over a boulder that is resting against the cliff face, you will quickly come to a spot below a small, left-facing corner in orange rock that leads up to a groove/shallow open book. The open book then trends up and right to a roof. This is Cruise Control.

It looked good to me. I had wondered earlier in the day if, when push came to shove, I would feel up to a 5.9 on Millbrook. Before we started Westward Ha!, I was so nervous, worrying about how the rock would feel, and about whether we were really equipped to deal with the climbing at this cliff. I did not want us to exceed our limits. But once we completed Westward Ha! these concerns melted away. The rock felt fine. The climbing was familiar. I knew I could handle leading a Gunks 5.9, and Cruise Control was supposed to be on the easy side of the grade. This was going to be no problem.

The first pitch was a great pleasure. The moves up the initial corner are nice, and the rock quality through the rotten band seemed fine to me. I can't remember any terrible looseness. Then the crux climbing comes at a technical sequence up the shallow open book. The left side of the book forms a beautiful layback flake with solid pro. By the time I was through this sequence I was already telling Gail how wonderful the pitch was, and I hadn't even reached the roof.

The overhang adds another cool dimension to the pitch. It is a solid 5.8+/5.9- affair, again with great gear. After you pull over it the pitch romps up easy territory to a pedestal where there are good cracks for a gear anchor. (You could also continue to the next shelf.)

(Photo: Pulling over the roof on pitch one of Cruise Control (5.9).)

As I prepared for pitch two, I thought the real business of the climb was over. The second pitch is 5.8, and I assumed the groove and roof on pitch one were the main attractions of the climb. I didn't expect much out of the second pitch.

Boy was I wrong. The second pitch of Cruise Control is amazing.

It starts up the obvious right-facing corner that rises above the belay ledge. But after 20 or 30 feet you need to traverse around the corner to the left and onto the face of the cliff. I placed a good nut while still in the corner but felt obligated to sling it really long to avoid the prospect of horrendous drag.

Peering around the corner, I could see good little footholds. But I was blind as to the hands, and the face above looked blank. Would there be any placements out there? Dick Williams rates this pitch as 5.8 G. That would seem to indicate that there must be pro out there, right?

Making the commitment and stepping out onto the face was spectacular. I found myself on a gorgeous white billboard beneath a small ceiling. The rock was solid and I could see the path up and left. The climbing here was easier than 5.8.

But there wasn't any pro. I spied a wide horizontal at the top of the billboard, at the overlap. I hoped my largest cam, a big blue Camalot, would fit. I moved up, easy does it, one exquisite move and then another. Staying focused. By the time I reached the overlap I was surely well into R-rated territory. A fall at that point would have been a long, sideways, swinging affair.

I tried to place the blue Camalot. It was tipped-out and biting into mud in the crack. Not good at all.

What to do? Maybe the blue cam would fit better if I moved it further to the left, off-line?

Looking around, I realized I'd fallen victim to tunnel vision. There was a vertical crack system just above me running upward, the continuation of the route. But in my fixation on the wide horizontal crack I hadn't even seen it.  I could get a great cam or nut right over my head. I threw a yellow Alien in the vertical crack and exhaled. 

Everything was going to be fine.

(Photo: Topping out on Cruise Control (5.9). Photo by Christian Fracchia.)

Just then, as I breathed a sigh of relief and looked upward, I saw a human head peek out from the top of the cliff.

"Chris, is that you?"

It was! I had told Fracchia I was headed out to Millbrook and he showed up (with his sheepdog) to see how I liked it and to snap a few photos.

While he got set up to shoot I climbed through the physical crux of the pitch, up the fun crack system through another overlap and on to the top. As I finished the climb Chris got the nice photos you see here.  Then we hung out and chatted while Gail climbed the pitch.  When she topped out she too was thrilled with the awesomeness of the second pitch of Cruise Control.

I think Cruise Control is one of the best moderate climbs in the Gunks. The first pitch is great, and the second is stupendous. If you are cool with the 5.9 climbing on pitch one then the runout on pitch two through easier territory shouldn't bother you too much. But I do think Dick's 5.8 G rating for the second pitch is misleading. It should be something like 5.8 G (5.6+ R).

When we finished Cruise Control it was already mid-afternoon and we figured that including time spent packing up and walking, it would be at least another hour and a half before we'd reach the car. We thought about trying to do one more pitch but decided to call it a day instead. This turned out to be the right call, as I was really drooping by the time we finished the hike back to civilization. After four pitches of climbing and three hours of hiking I was exhausted. Gail was still hiking strong.  I could barely keep up with her.  I need to toughen up, I think.

I was so satisfied with the climbing we did at Millbrook. Getting to the cliff may be inconvenient, but the isolation gives the place a special atmosphere and a solitude you just can't get at the other cliffs. On this beautiful Sunday, while the other cliffs were surely overrun with gumbies (and I mean no offense to all of you gumbies out there), Gail and I were the only people climbing at Millbrook all day.  

I hope it doesn't take me a year or more to go back. There are several other climbs I'm dying to try. Maybe I've got the Millbrook bug.

Single-Pitch Cragging in the Nears: Tulip Mussel Garden (5.10d), Easter Time Too (5.8) & More

(Photo: Climber on Birdland (5.8). Taken from base of Grease Gun Groove (5.6).)

I'm back, baby.

The elbow seems okay. I've been to the Gunks twice in April and, knock on wood, I've had no problems.

My first time climbing outside since November was with a new partner, David. We had not met in person but we were familiar with one another from Gunks.com. We were both looking to shake off the rust of the off-season, so our day was filled with moderate classics in the Trapps, many of which I have written about before. It was so great to be outside climbing, I felt like a puppy in the park. I put up Son of Easy O (5.8) in one pitch for my first climb of the year. Climbing in the Gunks doesn't get much better than that, and I felt good, handling the cruxy bits somewhat deliberately but with ease. I also knocked off the two-move wonder Maria Direct without too much trouble, so that was my first 5.9 of the year. We then hit the second and third pitches of Maria (5.6+), Classic (5.7 and with a new pin!), Drunkard's Delight (5.8-), and I ended the day by leading the first pitch of Bloody Mary into the second pitch of Morning After (both 5.7). This was a really great rope-stretcher pitch. Good variety and I think the link-up makes for one of the best 5.7's in the Gunks.

What a great day. I was tentative at first but as our day went on I felt more comfortable with the rock and the gear. By the end I was climbing reasonably well, moving faster and with less gear-fiddling. It was great to meet and swap leads with David. I hope to do some more climbing with him this year. He was talking up Millbrook and I have my fingers crossed that maybe he'll show me around out there.

This past Sunday I got out to the Gunks again, this time with Gail. We decided to head over to the Nears.

It was a spring weekend so of course it was crowded. The cliff already had parties on several of the classics closest to the parking lot; we found climbers on Disneyland, Te Dum, and Birdland. But we kept walking and found Grease Gun Groove (5.6) open so I suggested we get on it.

(Photo: Gail heading up Grease Gun Groove (5.6).)

Gail decided that she wanted to lead it and she did a nice job with it. Of course the climb is well within her abilities. This is a good 5.6 lead. There is plenty of gear and a lot of good climbing. It is fairly continuous. The hardest move is the first one, right off the deck, so if you are at all worried about leading it, just get on it and see if you can get started. If you can get on the wall, you should be fine for the rest of it!

While I was standing there belaying Gail I started looking over at the climb next door, Tulip Mussel Garden (5.10d). I had never had a single thought about this climb in my life but as I sized it up I got intrigued. It begins with an unprotected boulder problem but I thought I'd be fine there. And I could see the horizontal that protects the upper crux. It looked good, and from the ground it appeared that the crux was short. Why not try the route?

(Photo: Just past the opening boulder problem on Tulip Mussel Garden (5.10d).)

I wish I could say I sent it onsight but it didn't work out that way. It is a good little route, though, and a safe 5.10 lead. The opening challenge is just to get off the ground and reach the first shelf. So although there isn't any gear for the move, a fall here is just a foot or two back to the ground. I thought the start was no harder than Maria Direct, so I'd put it about 5.9. (Swain says 5.8+.) After you grab the shelf you still have to make a couple of moves to get gear but these moves are easier.

(Photo: Just past the crux on Tulip Mussel Garden (5.10d).)

After the initial moves the climbing is enjoyable up to the stance below the crux. I was a little disconcerted by a flake/feature up the middle of the route that is surprisingly hollow. The flake really rings when you knock on it, and there's no choice but to climb on it and use it for gear. I tried not to worry about it too much. It probably isn't going anywhere.

And then the crux is just as well-protected as Dick says. There is a bomber slot for a Number 2 Camalot, and a good stance from which to place it. The crux is a short sequence of moves. I felt like I'd diagnosed the start of it perfectly. I had good footwork. All my gym bouldering seemed to be paying off. But then I just couldn't get the final move to the big jug. I went up and down several times, and then fell and hung a few times.

I was about to give up, but Gail suggested I try it one more time. And then I finally figured it out. One little bump with the left hand was all I was missing.

If I weren't a little weak from my month off maybe I would have sent it first go.... In any case Gail on top rope made it look incredibly easy. I'm sure if I bother to go back I can get it next time. I would definitely recommend Tulip Mussel Garden as a great option for anyone looking for a safe 5.10 lead with a short crux.

(Photo: Gail in the opening dihedral of Boston Tree Party (5.8).)

After we were done with Tulip Mussel Garden we decided to head way down the cliff to the Easter Time Too (5.8) area. Neither Gail nor I had ever done any of the climbs in this area, and it appeared from the guidebook that Dick uncovered several nice one-pitch climbs in this general area. We found a party on Easter Time Too when we arrived so we started with the group of climbs just to its left. We ended up doing just about all of the climbs in this little crag-within-a-crag and enjoyed them all quite a bit. It is a very pleasant neighborhood in which to spend an afternoon.

From left to right, we did:

As The Cliff Turns (5.9): This climb doesn't look like much from the ground but it has two pretty neat 5.9 cruxes. Good climbing up an arching corner takes you to the first crux, an unusual high-step move up the face. Then the finishing overhang is another solid challenge. You have to unlock the surprising sequence to get up to the roof and then a few jams help get you to the finishing jugs. I really enjoyed this one, fun climbing and well-protected.

Day Tripper (5.8): The interesting thing here is the chimney above the starting corner. I wasn't sure I was psyched to lead this one but afterwards I was glad we did it. It does require you to get your body into the chimney, but then one move later you get out again. I thought it qualified as fun. Then you move up right to a typical Gunks roof escape and easy climbing up a groove to the anchor. This climb is fine, though I doubt I would give it two stars as Dick does. There is a 5.10 direct finish variation out the roof... It might be worth coming back to try that one but it looks awfully hard to me!

Boston Tree Party (5.8): This one is more challenging than Day Tripper, both mentally and physically. Dick says it is a little scary until you get pro in during the initial 5.7 climbing up the open book. I found two micronuts that I liked right off the deck (though the first one later popped out!) but it is a little hairy as you step up right to the end of the roof. There is a critical placement in a vertical seam partway up to the roof and if you were to fall there before getting the piece in, it would be an ugly swing back to the open book and perhaps the ground. Once you turn the corner, the route involves steep 5.8 face climbing with pro that I found adequate but spaced. The wall here could stand to clean up a little more. I pulled on a pebble that came off and hit me in the eye while I was leading, and Gail pulled off at least a couple more. Also if you stay to the right of Day Tripper as the angle eases, the interesting moves continue to the ledge but the face gets dirtier and a bit lichenous. Despite these imperfections I thought this was nevertheless a really fun pitch. I enjoyed the open book and the steep face climbing. Gail thought the whole thing was kind of spicy and hard for 5.8. I'd say in the final analysis that I think 5.8 is a fair grade but I would not send a new 5.8 leader up this one. You'd want to be pretty confident in the grade.

(Photo: In the early bits of Easter Time Too (5.8).)

Easter Time Too (5.8): 80 feet of pure joy. This vertical crack system is obviously the main attraction of the area. Beautiful climbing up a natural line, great holds, great gear anywhere you want it. I didn't want this to end. If this climb were closer to the Uberfall it might be the most popular route in the Gunks. I thought it was a three-star experience. If only it were a little longer.

Good Friday Climb (5.9): Another great pitch. Blissful 5.9 climbing up an unimpeachable face. I was debating whether to lead this or toprope it from the Easter Time chains, but I looked over at Good Friday while I was being lowered from Easter Time and it appeared to me that there would be just barely enough pro, so I went for it. In the end I felt okay about the gear, but be warned that if you lead Good Friday Climb, you want to be proficient with micronuts and tiny cams, and don't pass up any placements. The climbing is really nice, whether on top rope or on lead. I might like to go back and continue up the cliff on this one. Sounds from the guidebook like an exciting (though dirty) 5.9+ roof on the third pitch.

At the end of the day I felt pretty good! The eights and nines all felt casual to me. I was very comfortable on the rock. I never would have predicted that I would try to tackle a 5.10d on my second climbing day of the season. And did I get a little bold all of a sudden? The boulder problem at the base of Tulip Mussel Garden, the scary bit at the bottom of Boston Tree Party, the thin gear on Good Friday Climb-- none of it was much of an issue. I seem to be in about the same place where I was last summer, easily handling the 5.9's and struggling on the 5.10's. I hope for big things this year. Maybe soon I'll start actually sending the 5.10's instead of flailing on them.

Elbonics Continued

I took almost the entire month of March off from climbing. It seemed like a lifetime.

I rested.

It was so boring I wanted to die. What do people do in the evenings?

I read a book.

It was okay. I considered reading another but that seemed like an admission of defeat.

Anyway I eventually, finally, got more information about my injury. I went back to the doctor to discuss the results of my MRI.

He told me I had "avulsed" my "palmaris longus" off of the "flexor wad."

When I stared back at him blankly he explained that this meant I had ripped a tendon entirely out of my elbow.

It seemed like terrible news to me but the doctor didn't seem to think so. In fact he sounded amused. He said he was rather intrigued by my injury because you don't usually see injuries to this particular tendon.

I was willing to indulge this idle chit-chat up to a point but all I really cared about was the bottom line. What did this mean?

"Oh it's good news!" The doctor said, at long last. "You don't need the palmaris longus. More than ten percent of people don't even have one! You'll be fine. Just treat it like a strain. Wait until the swelling goes down, and then you can go back to climbing."

What a relief.

The doctor sent me to physical therapy, and after my first session the therapist said he didn't see any reason why I couldn't return to the climbing gym. He said I should take it easy.

I promised I would take it nice and slow...

So I've been to Brooklyn Boulders four times in the past week. It is so good to be back. The elbow feels fine now. But I am trying to take it easy. And I am avoiding the crimpiest problems. I am relieved to find that I can still climb more or less the same as before, although I think I need to build my strength back up a little bit.

Tomorrow I am going back to the Gunks for the first time since November. I can't wait. I have many goals for the year, many 5.10 climbs I want to tackle. I have booked a trip to Squamish for early June, so I need to find a way to get in some practice climbing cracks and on granite. I also suddenly feel a strong desire to discover more of what Millbrook and Lost City have to offer.

So many goals, but for now I am just thrilled to be going climbing again.

I Got the Elbow Blues

(Photo:  Elbows.)

Just a week ago last Thursday, I was feeling like I'd settled into a reasonably good place from which to start the season.

There were a bunch of new problems on the "Highball Wall" at Brooklyn Boulders. I love seeing the new problems. I know we are just talking about the gym, and that it isn't a big deal. But I always get a little bit excited when I see a wall full of new routes. Judging from the ridiculous crowds that always surround the new problems, I'm not the only one who feels this way. True to past trends, the newly set wall was utterly mobbed last Thursday.

I jumped in, despite the crowds.

After speeding through many of the easier climbs I was feeling pretty good. I made quick work of a couple of the V5's and then with a little bit of concentrated effort I sent a V6. This was by no means a great accomplishment. Anyone can do it. But for me it was not a trivial thing. All winter long I've been trying to get myself into a new mindset in which I think of every V5 as a climb I will send (as opposed to a project for some other day) and every V6 as a climb I can do with some work (as opposed to a climb reserved for someone better than me).

As I finished the V6 and dropped to the floor I heard an onlooker say "that was awesome." It took a second for it to sink in that this person was talking about me! I wasn't accustomed to hearing such exclamations about me. And it's true, it was a little bit awesome. I'd never scoped out a V6 and put it all together so quickly before. A year or two ago I might have been that same onlooker, thinking the same thing, in effect saying "that looks so hard, it is surely out of my league."

But now with the new mindset I was approaching just about any climb as if I might be able to do it.

And maybe this approach was working.

Or maybe this was just an easy V6.

Afterwards I sat down and watched a very strong climber tackle a V9+. This problem involved a series of long reaches between awful slopers. He'd been working the route for a while and shortly after my victory on the V6 he finally sent the V9+. He was ecstatic about it, and with good reason. The climb looked terribly terribly hard, much too difficult for even my new hard-charging persona to consider attempting.

I listened as he talked to another super-strong climber.

"I must have been here for six hours yesterday," he said. "My tendons feel like they could explode at any moment."

The other climber gave him a concerned look. "Do you use ice?" he asked. "I ice my arms after every hard session."

I wondered if this made sense. I'd read conflicting advice about using ice. In any event I empathized with these super-climbers with the sore tendons, because I was growing more than a little bit worried about my own.

Over the last few months I'd gradually noticed that my elbows seemed to be sore a lot. There would be some pain on the inside (medial) edge of both elbows when I warmed up, and then the soreness would go away while I climbed, only to return later at random times. Sometimes the elbows would throb while I lay in bed at night, or while I sat at my desk at work. It was more of an occasional annoyance than an impediment to climbing. I was concerned, but not enough to do much of anything about it.

Until recently, that is. As the outdoor climbing season approached and the problem seemed to be getting worse, I looked to the Internet for answers. I soon found a nice piece by Dr. Julian Saunders, the sports doctor who writes for Rock & Ice Magazine. In the article he describes my recent symptoms pretty much exactly and says they suggest a condition called tendonosis, a degeneration of the tendon cell at the elbow.

Dr. Saunders prescribes some exercises with a barbell to strengthen the tendons. It seemed like a reasonable approach to me so I ordered a set of barbells. I hoped that if I followed Dr. Saunders' program the problem would gradually disappear over time. The best part of the doctor's advice, from my perspective, was that he said nothing at all about taking a break from climbing. The last thing I wanted to do was to stop climbing. The season was just about to begin.  I was already planning to go to the Gunks with Gail on March 10, when it was supposed to be 50 degrees in New Paltz.

While I was at it I decided to order a massage tool called The Stick.  I came across a testimonial to its effectiveness for sore elbows and decided it might also help.

But I didn't get a chance to start either of these new therapies.  Before my packages arrived I realized I had a new, more severe elbow problem.

I went back to Brooklyn Boulders on Sunday, just a few days after my little V6 triumph. As I warmed up I gradually realized my right elbow was sore in a new way. I really felt it when I pulled on holds and the pain wasn't going away as I warmed up. There was something wrong. Eventually I abandoned the session and went home.

Where did this new injury come from? I have no idea.

Once I was aware of the pain, I noticed I was feeling it all the time. It hurt to yank open the refrigerator, or to squeeze a water bottle. I detected noticeable swelling on my arm near the elbow right where the pain was. This was bad, worse than just tendonosis. I feared I must have torn something, somehow.

So I went to the doctor. I got a referral from my GP and luckily could get an appointment to see a specialist within the week. I met with him yesterday. He seems like a good guy, young and smart; understanding of the climbing mindset. I told him the whole story and he agreed with Dr. Saunders' diagnosis. He took an x-ray (which looked fine) and did his own examination. He made me an appointment to have an MRI done so we could get a better sense of the damage. He strongly suggested I stop climbing, at least for a few weeks while we sort out how bad the immediate trauma to my elbow is and start some physical therapy.

I am really bummed out.

And the MRI this morning didn't help matters. Have you ever had an MRI? This was my first. I imagine the procedure would be bad enough if you could lie on your back. Even in that relatively comfortable position, the experience of sliding into that narrow tube and remaining perfectly still as the machine screams like an invading alien army for half an hour would be enough to induce existential terror. Add to this nightmarish scenario a position on your stomach with the bad arm outstretched, the other one pinned to your side, both arms falling asleep... and you get the picture. Not fun.

I still hope to have a climbing season. Maybe in a few weeks I can get back to it, taking it easy. I haven't been climbing outside since November and I am as desperate as a man can be to get out there. But I want to be smart and give myself the best chance to heal. I have a climbing trip planned to Squamish in June and I really want to be able to go. I must take care of myself until then.

I will keep you posted.

Getting old is a drag.