Gunks Routes: Star Action (5.10b), Still Crazy After All These Years (5.10a/b) & Doubleissima (5.10b)

(Photo: Headed for the roof of Son of Easy O (5.8).)

Another September weekend in the Gunks.

Temperatures have been falling and autumn is in the air. I think sending season may be soon upon us.

I met up with Adrian this past Sunday in the Trapps. As I drove up I decided I had one goal: I needed to get the redpoint on Directississima aka Doubleissima (5.10b). Just last week I'd come close, but had taken a brief hang at the hardest move. I knew if I approached it smartly I could get the send this time.

Apart from that one climb I had no ambitions.

We walked in and found the ever-popular Son of Easy O (5.8) open so we did it. I took the lead and ran it to the top in one pitch. It is still one of the best 5.8's. The traditional first pitch has so many great face moves. The overhang on the second pitch is a fun, if short, challenge. I've never cut my feet loose and campused it like Ashima, but hey, every problem has multiple valid solutions.

When Adrian and I both reached the top we rapped down over City Lights and found that it had become very crowded. We started walking in the general direction of Doubleissima, looking for an open climb for Adrian to lead along the way.

But almost everything was occupied. We walked past the Drunkard's wall and into the Arch area, seeing nothing available that we wanted to try.

Just then, as I walked downhill past the start of Ribless, I lost my footing somehow. It is a little steep and loose right there next to the cliff. I guess I got careless, and I fell.

My little slip quickly turned into a cartwheeling header. I found myself flying. I tumbled over several loose stones and landed maybe ten feet lower then my starting point.

I couldn't believe my own clumsiness. Lying there in the dirt, I felt humiliated but okay. It had all gone by in a blur but I didn't think I'd caught an ankle.

I sat up and said "I think I'm all right."

Adrian pointed out that I was bleeding through my pants.

I pulled up my pant leg and saw a gash in my knee that was kind of deep. I had a couple of band aids in my bag but I didn't think they were going to help very much.

I inspected the knee and it did not seem that I'd broken it. But I could tell it was going to bruise and swell a bit. I must have knocked it pretty hard on the way down. It was tender and puffy. The good news was that I was able to weight the leg and walk.

"Do you want to see a doctor?" Adrian asked.

It sounded reasonable.

But if I did that, we were never going to get on Doubleissima!

Besides, Adrian had driven all the way down to the Gunks from Montreal to climb with me. It seemed rude to abandon him just because I got a little cut on my knee. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I decided I had to be a man about it and keep climbing. It was the selfless, generous thing to do.

You might disagree. You might think that continuing to climb was a short-sighted, stupid thing to do. But if you are of that opinion then I assure you, respectfully, that you are mistaken.

I put a band aid over the cut and wrapped some climbing tape around the knee, hoping the tape would stay in place and keep the bleeding at bay.

We resumed looking for a fun climb to do.

Before we knew it we were at the Mac Wall. I've been there a lot this year. But there were many climbs I needed to do there. I still needed to get the redpoint on Try Again (5.10b). And I'd considered Star Action (5.10b) before, but it was wet when I examined it in the spring. Today it was dry and it was open.

(Photo: A climber named Jill going for it on Try Again (5.10b).)

With all the wandering and tripping and falling and bandaging, we'd wasted substantial time already. Adrian wasn't too keen on leading Star Action, with its 5.10b roof. But we needed to climb something, so I decided to lead it.

As I got on the wall my knee seemed okay. Just as I got going on the route our friends Maryana and Beau happened to arrive. They offered moral support as I worked my way up the climb. The early going was comparatively easy, but I found the line to be pretty indistinct and the gear was kind of fiddly.

Once I reached the crux roof I had no confusion about where to go and there was good pro in a bomber horizontal. From this horizontal below the roof I could see a jug hold, way up there out of reach. The guidebook suggests a dyno to attain the jug but I could see some intermediate crimps. Maybe there was no need for a dyno. The guidebook also says that the move AFTER the big reach to the jug is the "mental crux" of the route, as you step left to an obvious corner.

I had two solid cams in the horizontal. It was steep but I could hang out there, shaking out each hand in turn. I kept reaching up to test the crimps, and I did not like them. I couldn't get myself to trust them. Up and down, up and down. Eventually I got tired and took a hang.

Then Beau shouted up to me that I should look to my left for a rest stance. I looked over and saw that I could have taken a real rest at an obvious little shelf just one move to the left! Tunnel vision and a refusal to commit got the best of me again.

(Photo: A climber on MF Direct (5.10a).)

Meanwhile my makeshift bandage was falling apart. The cut in my knee was still open and bleeding. I was getting some red blotches on the rock. This lead was turning into a mess. I needed to get on with it.

After I rested I finally went for it, using the crimps and reaching the jug, no dyno required. I think I could repeat this move any time. It is similar to, but in my opinion easier than, the roof move on Precarious Perch (5.9+).

But the next move-- the "mental crux" step left into a lieback-- is a real challenge. You have to transition from hanging off the jug to a tenuous lieback with no footholds. Your feet are just pasted to the wall, and they are above your last gear. It is a scary move. After I got the jug I tried to make the transition but once again I couldn't commit to it and climbed back down a step, taking a deliberate whipper so I could rest and reset. The fall was clean but I sailed down a ways, below the first crux roof.

Having now failed once at each of the cruxes, I finally got through it. It was a relief. Star Action is a gutsy lead, much more so than its neighbor Try Again. The gear for the crux sequence isn't that far away and the fall is clean, but you are definitely looking at a nice whip if you blow either of the two crux moves, and if you come off at the lieback it could be a weird fall.

(Photo: Happy to be past both cruxes on Star Action (5.10b).)

I don't know how soon I'll be going back for the send on Star Action. I know I can do it but that move into the lieback isn't a sure thing. I could easily fall there, and I'm not sure I want to.

Adrian did well with the first crux but then flew off at the lieback. He needed a little more work at that move before he completed the pitch. Watching the way he spun off of the rock, I was even less eager to get back up there on lead.

After I got down I wrapped my knee up again. I still felt I could continue to climb but I was starting to resemble a wounded soldier, with my ripped pants and blood stains all over. Physically I was feeling it too. The knee was stiffening and the effort I'd put in on Star Action had me feeling whipped.

(Photo: Adrian at the roof on Star Action (5.10b).)

Beau and Maryana were just finishing Still Crazy After All These Years (5.10a/b), a squeezed-in climb to our left. I was intrigued by it. I'd never seen anyone do it. The line is not obvious from the ground and I'd always been deterred from trying it because I thought it was too close to climbers on the popular Something Interesting (5.7). But the way Beau did it, the climb was a totally independent line, moving to the right after an overhang and ending at the Higher Stannard (5.9-) bolts.

This was a route right up Adrian's alley, with thoughtful face moves rather than pumpy overhangs. After getting some specific protection beta from Beau, he decided to lead it.

(Photo: Adrian heading up Still Crazy After All These Years (5.10a/b). The climber above is on Something Interesting (5.7+).)

It was an impressive on-sight for Adrian. He seemed to get gear for all of the moves up the face and then, after hesitating for a moment and testing the possible holds, he cruised through the crux move smoothly.

When I followed the pitch I was even more impressed with Adrian's lead. The climb's style resembles Higher Stannard (a route I really enjoy), but Still Crazy is more difficult and the gear is less reliable. The protection comes at spaced horizontals that are often shallow and/or pebbly. I thought some of Adrian's gear was pretty iffy and not because of any failing on his part. The cracks just aren't that great for gear. And the climbing past the questionable gear is consistently thoughtful, in the 5.8-5.9 range at least.

The brief crux sequence is really nice, and the gear here is good, though it is at your feet when you do the move.

I was happy to get Still Crazy cleanly as the second, and though my injured right knee complained a bit at the high steps it seemed like I was still able to climb.

It was now or never.

I told Adrian I wanted to lead Doubleissima.

"Really?" he said. "Okay."

We trooped on down to the High E buttress to find a party slowly working their way up the climb. This was fine with me. I wanted a good long rest before I hit Doubleissima. I relaxed and tried to think through my plan, visualizing success.

(Photo: Between the two cruxes on Doubleissima (5.10b).)

When the party ahead of us cleared the cruxes, I headed up and I'm proud to say it went down perfectly. I fired through the steep bulge off the ledge without a problem. Moving to the right and up, I could feel the fatigue coming on, but I tried not to do anything sloppy as I approached the roof, and then I managed to shake out enough to power through the overhang. After that the angle eased and I was smiling all the way to the GT Ledge.

Score one for the good guys. I could limp home with my head held high. I'd sent a hard 5.10. And such a great climb.

(Photo: Adrian finishing up the crux pitch of Doubleissima (5.10b).)

Now I was satisfied, I didn't care what else we did. We rapped back down and looked for something fun for Adrian to lead.

We settled on the 5.8 first pitch of Erect Direction. We'd both done it before. It is a juggy good time.

(Photo: Adrian starting up Erect Direction (pitch one, 5.8).)

I ended our day by leading Moonlight (5.6) from the GT Ledge to the top. This is a high quality pitch, exciting and varied, with the exposed moves around the crux corner and then beautiful, slabby climbing up white rock to the top. It is nothing but fun, so long as you're prepared for the fact that the gear stinks until after the crux-- you might as well be soloing for much of the first half of the pitch.

(Photo: At the crux of pitch two of Moonlight (5.6).)

I'd been using my injured leg all day, keeping it loose, but after the two-hour car ride back to Brooklyn the leg was pretty stiff. The next morning I found it hard to walk without a limp. The swelling in the knee had increased, making it a challenge just to bend my leg. As I struggled to navigate the subway I wondered if the previous day's climbing had been nothing but a dream. Had we really climbed three 5.10's after I busted up my knee?

I was a little worried about the injury for a few days but it seems I'm on the mend now. The swelling is mostly gone and I am walking around pretty much normally again. I think I'll get back to climbing very soon, certainly in time for my trip to the Red River Gorge in October.

And the next time I go to the Gunks I might want to hop right back on Doubleissima. I think it is my new favorite climb. 

Doubling Down on Doubleissima (5.10b) & More!

(Photo: Climbers on High Exposure (5.6+), seen from where Doubleissima (5.10b) reaches the GT Ledge.)

My first trip to the Red River Gorge is just a few weeks away.

I've been trying to prepare. I'm working to get into better shape. I feel more motivated than I have in a while.

I've had a pretty good month on my bicycle, riding regularly.

I've been leading the overhanging 5.11 climbs in the gym (and occasionally sending). Maybe when I climb the overhanging 5.11 sport climbs in the Red, they won't feel too unfamiliar?

And I've changed my diet. For a little more than a week-- i.e., more than SEVEN DAYS-- I've been following a strictly vegan diet.

Yes, I said it: I'm a vegan.

The big "V."

The beast with no meat.

(Or dairy.)

It is a big change for me. I have always eaten animals and animal products. I do the cooking in our household and we are all rather enthusiastic carnivores. Chicken, beef, pork, fish, cheese, you name it-- we eat probably way too much animal protein. I also love to bake desserts, and the notion of saying goodbye to eggs and butter seems like crazy talk.

This isn't an ethical stand I'm taking. I'm not going vegan because I have a concern about the unjust subjugation of animals. I mean, don't get me wrong, I do of course care about the subjugation of animals. I care deeply about the subjugation of animals. Just not enough to stop me from eating and exploiting them.

Rather, my goal in all this is simple. I'm trying to reduce my caloric intake and decrease the amount of junk food on which I snack during the day. You see, as I decrease the number of things I can eat, it becomes easier not to eat a lot of crap. If I'm not allowed to eat anything, I won't eat at all. It's perfectly logical.

And it's working. Over the past few weeks I've lost a few pounds. I feel lighter and fitter.

A side benefit of the veganism is that it seems to drive my wife Robin utterly crazy. When she saw that I'd purchased soy milk she instantly knew what I was up to and went into a rage. "This is what you're doing now??" she said, incredulous.

I could only shrug.

Something about the vegan thing just pushes her buttons.

The other night I cooked steak for her and the kids, but I didn't eat any.

"So you're not having any of this??" she asked.

"You know I can't," I explained, patiently. "I'm a vegan."

"YOU ARE NOT A VEGAN!"

She did have a point there.

But actually I am a vegan, at least for a while. And I'm enjoying it, so far.

It hasn't been that much of a deprivation. I've been cooking new, delicious dishes that have been a pleasure to eat. I've made gazpacho and ratatouille and chana dal. I'm sure there are tons of other tasty, nutritious meals I'll make before I get hopelessly bored with the vegan lifestyle. I know I won't be vegan forever, and anyway I'm not sure it is the best diet in the long run. But in the short term I think it may be very good for me.

I should have told my climbing partner Nani about this new vegan lifestyle before we got together to climb last Sunday. Nani often brings tasty treats to share when we go climbing. I meant to mention it to her, but I forgot, and then I was forced to decline the ham and egg sandwich she brought me for breakfast.

That one hurt. I can still smell that tasty sandwich.

But you would have been proud of me. I got through it. I persevered. I spurned the sandwich. And I think Nani forgave me for not eating it.

Sunday was a beautiful day. The scheduled high was in the seventies. I hoped the Gunks wouldn't be too crowded since Saturday had been a disaster: hot, humid, and stormy.

I had a 5.10 on my mind. It was one of my past failures: Directississima aka Doubleissima (5.10b). I felt like I'd let too much time pass (two years!) since I tried it the first time. And I really needed to improve on my past performance. When I first tried it, I got my butt kicked. I struggled so much in the crux bulge that I got exhausted and I abandoned the climb without finishing it.

It was time to try again. I knew I could do better. And I thought the steep, pumpy nature of the climb would be good prep for the Red River Gorge.

But I wasn't about to warm up with such a hard route. I thought we could do some other stuff nearby and then if I felt good I could hit Doubleissima.

We walked down to the High E area and saw that everything was basically open. I hadn't been on Bonnie's Roof (one of my favorites) this year and it occurred to me that though I'd led the route a few times I'd never led Bonnie's Direct (5.9) from the ground to the top in a single pitch before. I thought it would be a nice way to start our day with a bang. And if the Direct finish felt pretty casual I'd be well set for Doubleissima.

(Photo: Just past the namesake pitch one ceiling on Bonnie's Roof (5.9).)

It went well. I tried to conserve gear by placing nuts instead of cams during the early going. It turned out to be easy: you can protect almost the whole climb with great sinker nuts! It was a good exercise and I think I probably had the most reliable gear I've ever had on the climb. I still threw in the schweeet blue # 3 Camalot at the first roof crux. But aside from that piece I used very few of my favorites and I arrived at the perch beneath the Direct finish with a full range of cams.

(Photo: Nani at the final overhang on Bonnie's Direct (5.9).)

I needn't have worried so much about the gear. Once you place a piece at the stance beneath the final roofs you need, at most, two more cams before the climb is done. And there are several different-sized cracks available for pro; you could pop in just about anything. 

The big move that starts the Direct is very exposed and exciting, then it's all jugs to the finish. Done as one pitch, Bonnie's Direct has to be one of the very best single-pitch climbs in the Gunks. Great fun.

Nani was looking to lead some sevens, which I was excited about. She has flirted on and off with trad leading and the last time we were together she led several pitches easier than 5.7. I suggested she try Sleepwalk (5.7), which is just to the left of Bonnie's. Nani followed me up Sleepwalk five years ago but I doubt she remembers. (Not everyone is as obsessed with these details as I am.) I thought it would be a good lead for her because the angle is low and there's always gear nearby. You can stop and think whenever you need to. I knew she could handle any 5.7 but I thought this one would be nice and comfortable for her.

(Photo: Nani heading up Sleepwalk (5.7).)

In my opinion it is on the easy side of 5.7 but there are a few technical sequences. It is clean and fun and it ends at a bolted anchor, which makes setting up the belay simple for the budding leader.

Nani led it without a hitch, of course. The climb is well beneath her abilities. When I joined her at the bolts I decided it might be nice to lead the 5.7- second pitch of Lichen 40 Winks. This was a new one for me. Dick Williams describes the pitch as having clean white rock and a good roof problem.

(Photo: Nani at the crux on the 5.7- pitch two of Lichen 40 Winks.)

And Dick is right. It is a nice little pitch, with enjoyable climbing and an interesting little roof. The quality climbing is pretty brief, though, and I thought the gear was a little bit spaced out. I wouldn't necessarily put a new 5.7 leader on this pitch. It has three or four nice moves and is certainly worth doing once.

(Photo: View down the cliff from the belay stance atop pitch two of Lichen 40 Winks. A climber is visible on the GT Ledge beneath the crux pitch of High Exposure (5.6+).)

After we rapped back down it was time for Doubleissima.

We walked over and found the route open and in the shade. It was gorgeous out. Conditions were never going to be better than this.

I had a plan. As I did on Bonnie's, I wanted to conserve gear through the traditional first pitch (which is 5.8 and only 40 feet long), and then I'd keep on going right into the second, which begins with a crux bulge right off of a ledge. I would climb up into the bulge and place good pro, then I'd climb back down and rest, so that I could then fire through the bulge and still have some gas left for the steep climbing up to the roof, which is the second crux.

(Photo: Nani on Doubleissima, after both cruxes.)

I tried really hard to execute my plan perfectly. After I walked up the initial 40 feet with no worries, I found that I could go up and down into the crux bulge and place as much gear as I liked. So that part worked out well. I ended up going up and down a couple of times. I got a good rest before I decided to go for it at the crux move.

But I still blew it, getting a little befuddled by a loose hold (with chalk all over it) in the middle of the crux. I adjusted, trying to avoid this hold, but I got tired, misread the sequence and then took a hang.

It went much better after that, however. I went back up and got over the bulge easily on the next try, without using the little loose hold. And I managed to climb the rest of the pitch cleanly. I milked whatever rests I could find on my way up to the roof and got through the second crux just fine. After the roof, the angle eased off a bit and I found it less difficult the rest of the way to the GT Ledge.

Man, what a climb! It just keeps coming at you, so steep and sustained. I was disappointed that I blew the send but it went so much better than my last attempt that I'm reasonably pleased about how it all worked out. I know I can do this climb now, it's just a matter of time. And I was very safe about it. People have tweaked their ankles when they've fallen at the bulge but I think if you take the trouble to place the obvious gear this won't happen to you. The cruxes on Doubleissima are very well protected.

(Photo: Some dude up on the GT Ledge above Doubleissima.)

We had several options about what to do once we reached the GT Ledge. Should we do High E? Maybe Modern Times? Ultimately I decided to lead the pitch directly above us: the final, 5.8 pitch of Lakatakissima. It was another new pitch for me. Dick gives it two stars, a high rating. It looked juggy and steep. The initial overhang, about 15 feet up, looked steep but fun. I figured it would ease off after that. Why not try it?

I enjoyed the pitch and I'd definitely do it again, but like Doubleissima this pitch is sustained and steep. It may appear it will get easier after the rooflet but there are a few more steep bulges yet to go. It doesn't really ease up until just before the top of the cliff. It is good, juggy climbing all the way, though. I haven't checked out the last pitch of Doubleissima, twelve feet to the left, but if you've come up the first two pitches of Doubleissima then you should consider finishing on Lakatakissima. It is a worthwhile continuation of the climbing up to the GT Ledge.

When we got back to the base of the cliff we took a break, having a snack while we watched two other leaders struggle with Doubleissima. It was suddenly very crowded at the base of High E.

We'd done seven guidebook pitches and it was already late afternoon. We had time for one more climb. I suggested to Nani that we could do Modern Times (5.8+). It was sitting there open and I hadn't been on it this year. (It is another favorite of mine.) I thought Nani would enjoy leading the mellow 5.7 pitch one. I wasn't sure if she'd enjoy the amazing, scary roof on pitch two but she'd never done it and I thought she should have the experience!

(Photo: Arriving at the GT Ledge after pitch one of Modern Times.)

Nani had fun leading the first pitch. It is a pretty unremarkable stretch of Gunks face climbing. But it is rather long (maybe 160 feet?), so the leader has to be careful to conserve gear for the little roof crux which comes almost at the end, just before the GT Ledge.

Leading pitch two, I had no worries. It was my third time leading Modern Times. Nevertheless, as I got up to the stance before the big move out into the roofs, I still felt the thrill of it all. There is great gear, and I already knew what to do, but the climb requires such a big move out off of the wall, with so much air beneath you, that I got a little bit scared despite my prior experience on the route.

(Photo: That's me waving from the belay stance above the crux overhangs of Modern Times (5.8+).)

But it all went fine and soon enough I was on the ledge above the crux, which I always think of as a great park bench in the sky. I love to sit there with my feet dangling in space, relaxing and taking in the view. I put Nani on belay and hoped she would send the route and, more importantly, enjoy its airy qualities as much as I do.

I couldn't see Nani as she followed the pitch. But I heard her expressing concern about the huge flake-- really just a stack of blocks-- that the pitch ascends to get to the roof. I remember being a little troubled by this stack myself the first time I was on the route. The blocks aren't attached to anything and they are just sitting there, leaning against the main wall of the cliff. But they are pretty big. I'd bet they aren't going anywhere. At least I want to think so.

Then Nani got to the roof. It didn't sound like she was enjoying herself. It sounded like a bit of a struggle. "No way this is 5.8!" she yelled.

Then: "This is too hard! I can't do this!"

Of course, I knew that she could do it; I've seen Nani do much harder climbs, both inside and outside. She does harder climbs than I can do.

But it is pretty universal, I think: your view of what you can do changes when you're under an enormous overhang and there's two hundred feet of air beneath your feet.

I thought she was about to fall. I knew she was capable of ascending the rope if she ended up hanging out in space. But I wanted to minimize the distance so I started pulling in the rope.

"Don't pull on me!" she screamed.

Oops, my bad, I thought. I decided just to wait.

I worried that she was going to be pissed off when this pitch was over. When I proposed Modern Times, I had hoped to offer a good kind of challenge-- a very exciting climb that I knew would be safe and fun. But maybe I'd let Nani down. You traverse through the roofs, and anyone following the pitch could be a bit freaked out at the prospect of a swinging fall into space. I wouldn't want to do anything in climbing that would spook my partner. Maybe I was pushing too much?

Nothing Nani said made me think she actually felt this way. These were my own insecurities expressing themselves.

But it turned out she'd found the rest stance in the middle of the crux. She was just taking a break and when I yanked on the rope I was pulling her off the stance. She never weighted the rope, and after she made the last few moves to the ledge she was happy, much to my relief! She gushed that Modern Times was the "best climb ever!"

I was so pleased to be there to congratulate her on the send. I felt like the siblings in the old Life commercial, relieved that she liked it.

I don't know if I agree about Modern Times being the best ever. There is a lot of mediocre climbing on it. But the crux is incredibly thrilling. With its spectacular position and committing moves, and all at a moderate 5.8+ grade, Modern Times is a prime example of what makes the Gunks such a special place.

I can't wait to go back to try Doubleissima again. I want the redpoint on it, badly. It is maybe a better candidate for best climb ever, to my mind. It is definitely one of the best tens in the Gunks.

Back to Boulder: First Flatiron Direct East Face (5.6) and Two Eldo Classics

(Photo: The First, Second and Third Flatirons (from right to left), looming above Boulder.)

Another summer vacation in Colorado meant another chance for me to do a little climbing.

My family spent a week in the (beautiful!) Salida area doing lots of fun stuff that did not include rock climbing. Horseback riding, zip lining, hiking (including our first fourteener, Mount Yale), stand-up paddle boarding, mountain biking... we had tons of outdoor fun, but all week I eagerly anticipated the two days of rock climbing I was planning to do with my old friend and partner Vass when my family returned to the greater Denver area.

Two years ago, while I was in Colorado on a similar vacation, Vass and I had a good day in Boulder Canyon and the next morning climbed the Yellow Spur (5.9) in Eldorado Canyon. I liked our day in Boulder Canyon well enough, but I loved our time in Eldo. I was taken in by the red sandstone with the bright green lichen, and by the majesty of the enormous Redgarden wall. And the climbing, while not exactly like the Gunks, was instantly comfortable for me. There is a certain Gunksy quality to the climbing at Eldo, both in the grades and the feel of the rock. The cracks aren't as relentlessly horizontal as they are in the Gunks (in fact, usually they are diagonal) but the techniques and the gear placements are similar.

The last time I was in Colorado I knew ahead of time that I wanted to tackle the Yellow Spur, one of the best 5.9 climbs in the state. This year I wasn't sure what I wanted to do. As my two days with Vass approached, I thought the weather forecast might preclude any climbing at all. Rain was predicted for several days in a row. I remembered topping out on the Yellow Spur two years ago with a storm coming in and I wasn't sure I wanted to put myself in that position again. But Vass wasn't worried. He assured me that rain in the forecast at this time of year usually meant afternoon showers. We could probably get plenty of climbing done in the mornings and then see how the afternoons shaped up.

Vass suggested we could start with one of the Flatirons. These flat sandstone rock faces lean back on the hills just above Boulder. The major formations are numbered from the north to south. The Flatirons were the scene of much of the early development of rock climbing in Colorado, and today there are thousands of routes spread among the many formations. But most of the traffic is centered on the trade routes up the popular First and Third Flatirons, which are close to central Boulder. The main routes up these Flatirons feature run out low-angled slab climbing at a moderate grade. On any given day you can see beginners taking much of the day pitching out the classic routes on these Flatirons, while confident free soloists run past, finishing the same routes in an hour or less.

We weren't planning to go ropeless, but Vass figured we could quickly romp up the Direct East Face route (5.6) on the First Flatiron. This route covers over 1000 feet of climbing, and is traditionally done in around ten pitches, but Vass believed we could knock it off in a few hours if we simul-climbed the easiest pitches, meaning that we would climb together at the same time, at either end of the rope, with several pieces of gear between us. I had never simul-climbed before but I was willing to try it so long as I felt comfortable on the slab. Slab climbing is not wholly unfamiliar to me but my experience in it is limited. Vass has known me a long time, and he knew our route well. I trusted him to know what we could reasonably do. He explained that the first pitch has the hardest climbing on the route. If I could follow the first pitch easily then he figured we'd be fine to simul-climb.

When we met up on Monday, some dark clouds were rolling through the Boulder area, but it looked like it might clear up in short order. We hiked up to the First Flatiron to find another party already bailing off of our route. They'd done the first pitch but decided to come down when it rained for a few minutes.

This was not a great sign.

We hadn't detected any rain on the walk up. We decided to go ahead with the climb. It was getting much brighter out and Vass knew there was a bolted anchor at the top of the traditional pitch two. He would combine the first two traditional leads into one pitch and if the weather was poor we could always bail from there.

I watched Vass calmly lead this extremely run out pitch, using almost the entire length of our 60 meter rope. There are two protection bolts along the way but they don't provide a great deal of comfort. Despite these bolts there are many spots at which a fall would be a very bad idea. Vass got through it all with no worries, getting maybe three gear placements (besides the bolts) in nearly 200 feet of climbing. I was happy I could follow him cleanly without any trouble, though I wasn't sure I felt comfortable enough to lead through this same territory. The early going on this route has pure friction climbing, without much in the way of features for the hands or the feet. Though at first I felt jittery, as I settled into it I started to really enjoy it. The sandstone has a grippy texture and as I grew accustomed to the movement I started to feel more confident in my feet.

(Photo: Vass has just clipped the first bolt on pitch one of the Direct East Face of the First Flatiron (5.6).)

By the time I joined Vass at the belay all traces of rain were gone. It was now a sunny morning. I had to decide whether to lead the next pitch, another 200-foot rope stretcher with very little gear. Vass told me it was going to be easier than the last pitch. I'd felt fine on the rock so far, so I decided to go for it. It turned out to be great fun, and it was indeed easier, with more features to grab here and there. The climbing was mellow; Vass said it was 5.5 but that was meaningless to me when it came to slab. All I cared about was that it felt casual. I found four or five gear placements in nearly 200 feet. I tried to be very precise with my footwork and not to fret about the distance to the gear. By the time I finished leading this pitch I was feeling pretty comfortable with the Flatiron style.

(Photo: Vass following me on our long, sparsely protected pitch two.)

Now Vass proposed we simul-climb the next three pitches. Vass was definitely the stronger climber of the two of us in this environment, given his greater slab and Flatiron experience, and he was planning to go first. This violated the prime directive of simul-climbing, which holds that the stronger climber should go second. This rule exists to minimize the risk of the second falling and pulling the leader down off of the rock. But Vass was thinking that the climbing over the next few pitches would be very easy, with lots of features, and that a mistake in route finding would be the only way either of us was likely to fall. Since he basically knew the way already it made sense for him to go first.

(Photo: Vass heading up our middle simul section of the Direct East Face.)

I went with it and it worked out fine. For at least half the distance I had him on belay as usual but when the rope was nearly tight I dismantled the anchor, took Vass off belay, and started climbing behind him. As he predicted, everything was totally calm and easy.

I led the next two pitches to the summit ridge. The final pitch to the ridge was the best one on the route, in my opinion, with several pure slab moves around a ceiling/corner and into a notch with a crack at the back. This pitch has some committing moments but because it follows a corner and a crack it has much better gear than most of the route. I never felt that I was terribly run out on this pitch.

(Photo: I'm setting off on our pitch four, with a view over to the Third Flatiron. Still sunny!)

Now we were almost atop the First Flatiron, with a scramble up the ridge our only obstacle to the summit. (This last bit is traditionally done in three pitches.) We were in a great position, with expansive views over Boulder and, looking sideways, to the summit of the Third Flatiron. And now that we could see over the back of the formation we had a clear view of the Front Range in Rocky Mountain National Park, including Long's Peak.

But now we could also see some dark clouds about to roll in. Luckily, due to the peculiar geography of the Flatirons, even though we'd been climbing for 1000 feet we were only a single rappel away from reaching the ground behind the leaning cliff from pretty much anywhere on the summit ridge. We could leave gear and bail at any time if we really needed to.

(Photo: Vass racing up to the top as the clouds rapidly roll in.)

Our plan was to simul-climb quickly to the summit where there is a bolted rap anchor. Vass led off as the clouds came closer. Once I took him off belay and started climbing behind him it started to sprinkle. I tried not to worry and was very careful not to do anything stupid. Just then a shirtless free soloist came running past me. He politely asked permission to pass and when I granted it he hurried on, pausing only to utter an expletive about the rain. Soon he was out of sight, and as I resumed climbing, shaking my head, I could tell from the way the rope was being pulled in that Vass had reached the top and that I was now on a traditional belay. Feeling relieved, I finished scrambling to the top in a light rain. As I reached the summit the storm passed over, giving us an opportunity to take in the view from the top for a few minutes before we rapped off and walked back down to Boulder.

I loved the experience of climbing in the Flatirons and would gladly do it again. The unique formations of the area are a real treat, and by the end of the route I started to enjoy the slab mindset, though this kind of climbing only makes sense to me if it is several grades below your limit, making a fall extremely unlikely.

Unfortunately our day was just about shot, even though it was early afternoon and we still had plenty of time left. We drove over to Eldo, hoping to run up the Bastille Crack (5.7). But another, bigger storm came in as we parked. We never got started. After waiting a while in vain for the rain to pass we drove back to Boulder to find that Boulder Canyon was actually dry-- it appeared not to have rained there at all. But after all the driving around and waiting we only managed to squeeze in one more mediocre pitch there before we had to call it quits.

The next day dawned cloudy and damp, with more thunderstorms predicted for the afternoon. Vass and I met up at Eldo anyway and found that despite it all everything looked dry. There were plenty of people out climbing at 9:30 a.m. on a Tuesday. The Wind Tower, a mecca of moderate routes, was full of climbers. And there were already two parties on the aforementioned Bastille Crack (5.7), which was no surprise since it is the most popular climbing route in Colorado (and perhaps the world). Its moderate difficulty and proximity to the parking lot make it the High Exposure of Eldo. There is almost always a crowd waiting to climb it.

There were countless other classic climbs in Eldo that I'd never tried so there was no reason to wait for anything. Even though it was looking brighter out we still had the threat of rain hanging over us, so we decided to head up to the huge Redgarden Wall to climb Rewritten, a six pitch 5.7 with a famous airy traverse pitch and a glorious, exposed finishing variation to the top of the cliff up a knife-edge ridge known as Rebuffat's Arete. We figured we could get this climb done without wasting too much time. We decided to up the ante just a little bit by skipping the first pitch of Rewritten and instead doing the popular alternative first pitch of its harder neighbor, The Great Zot (5.8).

By the time we hiked up to the base of the Great Zot it was warm and sunny out. We were in business.

I led up the Great Zot and really enjoyed the first pitch. The crux is puzzling, pulling over an awkward wide crack/pod. Steve Levin's guidebook advises you to jam out of it but Vass told me he'd laid it back. I suppose I chose to jam, but this was not exactly sustained Yosemite-style jamming. This was more like Gunks jamming, throwing a fist in for just long enough to get your feet up so you can grab higher face holds. I'd bet that there are multiple solutions to the problem and the gear is good, so I highly recommend it. At Vass' urging I continued up the easy and loose second pitch of Rewritten and made it in a single lead to the bolted anchor 200 feet up on what is known as the Red Ledge.

(Photo: Already high above the ground after a single long pitch on The Great Zot/Rewritten.)

Vass led the next pitch. It started out a little junky off of the rotten Red Ledge but ended with a fun 5.6 chimney. And then it was time for me to lead the famous traverse pitch, which heads straight left for about fifteen feet. There is a great handrail and wonderful gear, but the footholds are just tiny nubbins. I was drooling with excitement just looking at it. It is not unlike Thin Slabs Direct (5.7+) back in the Gunks, but it is shorter and not as steep.

(Photo: I'm just past the traverse and into the vertical crack on Rewritten (5.7).)

I enjoyed it tremendously, marveling all the way at the perfect tiny toe bumps that appeared just where I wanted them. After the thrill of the traverse, the pitch follows a fun crack system upward. I stopped to belay at a ledge with a dead tree which was at the base of Rebuffat's Arete, the final knife-edge feature to the top of the cliff.

(Photo: Vass reaching the end of the traverse pitch of Rewritten (5.7).)

As I waited for Vass to reach me at the dead tree ledge, I started to grow alarmed.

It was happening again. Rain clouds were headed our way.

Were we doomed to finish every long climb in the rain? This was our third one in a row! It had even happened to Vass and me a fourth time, back in the Gunks a few years back, when we got totally drenched by a sudden storm as we topped out on the last pitch of Lisa (5.6) in the Trapps. We seemed to be in the habit of getting soaked.

This time it appeared to me that we might be cutting it kind of close. This was an electrical storm, though the lightning still seemed to be miles away. We'd left our raincoats behind, at the base of the cliff, thinking we were in the clear.

It was Vass' turn to lead, but he'd led Rebuffat's Arete before and wanted me to have the opportunity. I was eager to lead it-- it looked awesome-- and I wanted to get a move on to get us out of the rain. So I took the gear and hurried onward.

It is a beautiful pitch, incredibly exposed with very good climbing up the thin arete, some 500 feet off the ground. Just as I got to the knife-point edge of the arete and started upward, the rain reached us. The thunder and lightning were still some ways off but everything started to get wet. I tried to motor on up and happily I found the arete to be easier than the advertised 5.7. Gear was plentiful too. I was tempted to run it out but then I started to have morbid (and unrealistic) thoughts of what would happen if I were struck by lightning without gear nearby. Shuddering, I resolved to place gear often, but quickly.

(Photo: A rushed shot of Vass working his way up Rebuffat's Arete in the rain.)

At the top of the amazing arete I was peeved to discover that there was another fifty feet of climbing still to go, up a wall behind the arete! I hustled up an easy crack, getting wetter. Flopping over the top edge of the cliff, I put Vass on belay and silently urged him to move quickly to the summit so we could get the hell out of there. As he climbed I listened to the anxious belay commands of others who, like us, were still working to get themselves quickly off the wall before the situation got serious. I tried to judge the distance to the center of the storm, watching the lightning flashes in the distance and counting the seconds until I heard the corresponding peals of thunder.

(Photo: Vass working to free a stuck nut just below the very top of Rewritten (5.7), 550 feet up, in the rain.)

Once we were both on top we got a brief reprieve. The rain slowed to a trickle as we briskly walked off of the north end of the Redgarden Wall. We'd made it, though we should probably have brought up our raincoats.

I don't mean to be too dramatic. We deliberately chose a route that we would feel comfortable climbing even if it were wet. We were lucky that it only rained lightly until we were basically finished, so we were never truly drenched. Just as we returned to our packs and got our rain gear it began coming down again in earnest, and by the time we got back to the car it was a steady downpour.

We drove into Boulder for burgers and beer at the Southern Sun Pub and Brewery. We figured we were done.

After our meal we went next door to Neptune Mountaineering and browsed for a bit. To our surprise, the weather suddenly seemed to clear up. The bacon cheeseburger and fries I'd ingested were still rolling around in my core and the pint of ale I'd thrown down had rendered me just a little bit light-headed. Vass was supposed to drop me in Denver in a couple of hours, but we still had some time to kill....

Could we climb a little more?

Really there was no question about the right course of action. After a quick "should we?" glance at each other, we ran back to Eldo (with a stop for coffee along the way) and I finally led the first pitch of the famous Bastille Crack.

(Photo: That's me placing bomber gear for the step across on pitch one of the Bastille Crack (5.7).)

It was fun. The crux for me (other than wiping all of the wet dirt off of my climbing shoes) was moving up on polished footholds to the big left-facing flake just 20 feet or so off the ground, with somewhat iffy gear underneath the flexing flake. Once I made this move up I found it easy to reach over and place a bomber cam in the left crack before committing to the step across. The rest of the pitch has giant holds, perfect foot jams, and bomber pro. 5.7 seems like a fair grade. It might be a touch soft for 5.7.

I didn't think this pitch was anything amazing but I didn't get to do the rest of the climb. If the whole thing is as good as the first pitch then it is certainly a worthwhile multi-pitch outing.

With our remaining time I quickly top-roped the Northcutt Start (5.10d), a nice line just to the left of the Bastille Crack. It has interesting moves (easier than 5.10) up a vertical crack in a corner and then a hard crux sequence up and around a bulge to the right to arrive at the Bastille Crack's bolted anchor. The crux sequence is crimpy, with poor footholds. I got flustered trying to figure out how to move up into the bulge and took a hang, blowing the top rope on-sight. Then I committed and just did it, and it wasn't so terribly hard. I could see leading it. The crux is protected by two fixed pitons, a welcome sight for any Gunkie like me.

Now it really was time to go. As if on cue, we heard the sound of thunder in the distance while we were packing up. As we drove out of Boulder I could see our old friend the rain coming into Eldo behind us once again.

I've still barely scratched the surface of the lifetime of climbing that is available in the Boulder area and on this particular trip I can't say I really challenged myself. But the slab and simul-climbing were new experiences for me, and I'm happy with how much we got done in our two days, given the weather situation. I'd love to come back and climb in Colorado again. I'd prefer to do it with a little less anxiety about thundershowers!

But maybe when it comes to Vass and me it is simply our destiny to finish our climbs in the rain.

The Secret Gunks Tricam Society: A Major Motion Picture (Soundtrack by Whitesnake)

(Photo: Looking up at the big dihedral ascended by Horseman (5.5). Adrian is barely visible at the outside corner after the traverse.)

The summer always seems to slip on by, doesn't it?

For the last few weeks both of our kids have been at sleepaway camp, leaving Robin and me free to do WHATEVER.

You might think this situation would lead to tons of rock climbing for me.

But for the second year in a row it hasn't worked out that way.

I'm not bitter about this. Robin and I did lots of fun things together. The only slight downside was that these things did not include rock climbing.

We did some outstanding hiking. We had several wonderful days in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. First, before we dropped our daughter Leah at camp, we climbed three peaks out of Franconia Notch. We ascended the Falling Waters trail and hiked the ridge connecting Mounts Little Haystack, Lincoln, and Lafayette, then descended the Greenleaf Trail and the Old Bridle Path back to the notch.

(Photo: As you approach the top of the Falling Waters Trail you get a complete view of Cannon Cliff across the notch.)

Though she is not a huge fan of hiking, Leah made it through this rugged nine mile trip like a real trooper. She didn't even give me too much grief when I dropped our camera in a river.

(Photo: Checking out the view with Leah atop Mt. Lafayette.)

After we dropped Leah at camp, Robin and I did three more days of hiking, exploring the Presidential Range from many different angles.

(Photo: Nearing the top of Mt. Adams on a hazy day, with the summits of Mts. JQ Adams and Madison visible behind Robin.)

(Photo: View north from Mt. Jackson towards Mts. Pierce, Eisenhower, Monroe, and Washington, though Washington's summit is obscured by a cloud.)

(Photo: View across the Great Gulf Wilderness to Mts. Jefferson, Adams, and Madison, taken while descending from Mt. Washington.)

We also spent a fun weekend with some friends in the Adirondacks, hiking up to the top of Mount Giant on Saturday and doing a little kayaking in the Saranac Lakes region on Sunday.

(Photo: View from the Giant trail of Chapel Pond Slab across the pass.)

(Photo: Robin and I paddling in sync for a brief shining moment. Photo by Karen Froehlich.)

With all of this physical activity, I was at some risk of improving my fitness while the children were away, but fear not: the rest of our free days were filled with a never-ending parade of restaurant meals and bottles of wine. By the time I finally got back to the Gunks last Sunday (after almost a month away), I felt chubby and out of shape.

Nevertheless, before our day of climbing I sent my partner Adrian a list of about fifteen 5.10 pitches I was eager to hit. Some of them were new for me but many were climbs I needed to redpoint after failing on my first (or even second) attempt.

At the top of my list was P-38 (5.10b), a climb that defeated me just a few weeks ago. I was tempted to go right to it when we arrived at the Trapps but we decided instead to warm up on Horseman (5.5).

Adrian led Horseman and to better manage drag he did not clip the fixed pin anchor when he traversed around the corner. Since there was no gear over to the left around the corner, I decided (just for a change of pace) to try the direct route when I followed, going straight up through the overhang and skipping the usual traverse. This has always looked harder than 5.5 to me, but looks can be deceiving. You don't really climb it as a roof but instead do a few casual moves on the left wall, and then very quickly you are back on the regular route. It was perfectly nice but I think the regular traverse is more fun.

With Horseman finished we marched over to P-38. This time I hoped I would remember my beta and get the send.

(Photo: Starting up my arch-nemesis, P-38 (5.10b).)

I was surprised to find myself puzzling through the first hard move over the low overhang, once again. I thought I knew what to do, but I still had to work it out. "Here I go again," I thought.

This brought to mind a song.

A Whitesnake song.

Here I go again, on my own, I sang.

Going down the only road I've ever known!

Then I decided to change it up a little bit:

Like a drifter I was born to climb the stone!

Though I'm nobody's poet I thought this variation wasn't half bad. Adrian then threw in his own contribution:

But I've made up my mind... I ain't climbing no more nines!

Hilarious. Or we thought so. Another one Adrian came up with:

But I know what it means... to climb upon this lonesome wall of seams!

All we needed was Tawny Kitaen.

(Photo: Trying to do well on P-38 (5.10b).)

Anyway, I fought through the first move successfully and then tried to do everything well. I placed good gear and made sure to milk the rest before the crux. Then I moved up and left into the business. I knew what to do; I just had to execute.

But I couldn't make it. Despite the rest, I got pumped out. It was hot outside. The holds felt greasy. And I just felt weak. I started to high step but sensed I was about to slip. I had to hang. It took me a few more tries to get it done. Finally I did the move and it felt so much harder than before. Maybe this just wasn't going to be my day.

I felt very out of shape indeed.

Adrian managed to follow it cleanly, which he made sure to mention repeatedly.

Next we moved down to the Mac Wall. Adrian wanted to climb Higher Stannard (5.9-). He'd tried to get on it the day before but there was a slow party on it so he never got around to it. It is a favorite of mine so I was happy to follow him on it. I hoped it would give me a clue as to what I could lead next. I felt so pumped out after P-38 that I wasn't sure whether I should try to lead anything else that was challenging.

(Photo: Adrian near the start of Higher Stannard (5.9-).)

Adrian did a good job on it and I felt fine following it, to my relief. I cruised through the crux blank face and enjoyed the rest of the consistent, 5.8-ish face climbing.

(Photo: That's me following Higher Stannard (5.9-).)

Now I had a dilemma: what to do? Should I try to lead another ten? We talked a bit about Try Again (5.10b), a climb I first attempted this past April. We also talked about MF (5.9). This would theoretically be easier than Try Again, but is it really? I think MF has more sustained difficulties than Try Again. Adrian was shocked that I'd only done MF the one time, three years ago, in the rain. Adrian doesn't even live around here and he's done it several times.

I decided to do a test run on MF and see if I felt up to Try Again.

(Photo: In the early going on MF (5.9). Photo taken by Debra Beattie while climbing Something Interesting (5.7+).)

We only did the first pitch. I enjoyed it a great deal and while I wouldn't call it casual I felt it was well within my limits. The crux move around the corner takes real commitment, even though the gear is good. It requires unusual technique, and balance. This is a very high quality pitch with a hard move right off the ground, then the real crux at the corner, and another final hard bit over a bulge to the chains. 

(Photo: Adrian at the corner crux on MF (5.9).)

I felt good enough on MF to hop right on Try Again. Adrian was gracious enough to let me lead twice in a row.

Back in April I'd taken three tries to figure out the hard roof. I hoped that with the beta in my mind I would get through it on the first try this time. And I hoped I'd feel strong enough.

(Photo: Trying again on Try Again (5.10b).)

Well, I tried again to do everything right. I successfully negotiated the slightly sketchy 5.9 move off the ledge. Then I got up the two corners below the roof, clipped the pin, and managed to get into the rest position.

So far, so good, but as I tried the roof I was mystified. I couldn't get over it, and I couldn't remember how I did it the last time. I took a hang. Then I fell. I fell again and kept right on falling.

Here I go again, on my own.....

Finally I realized that I'd been missing a crucial hold, right there in front of my face. Once I spotted it, I used it and got over the roof, furious with myself and exhausted.

It just wasn't my day, I guess.

(Photo: Adrian on Try Again (5.10b).)

Adrian didn't do much better than I did on Try Again and by the time we were done with it he was feeling pretty wiped out and ready to quit. He had a long drive back to Montreal ahead of him. We decided to head back to the Uberfall area where maybe I'd lead something quick if it was open.

We found Apoplexy (5.9) available so I hopped on it.

There was a ranger behind us hanging out at his truck as we began the climb. Right before I started up, Rich Romano rode up on a mountain bike and started chatting with the ranger.

Now, I don't know Rich, though I have introduced myself to him once or twice. I see him around the Gunks all the time. It is no exaggeration to say that he is one of the boldest and most prolific route developers of his generation. He basically single-handedly developed the entire Millbrook cliff without the use of a single protection bolt. While filling in the lines at Millbrook he put up numerous R/X routes in the 5.10-5.12 range, several of which are so scary they have never seen a second ascent.

He is a giant among men.

I was conscious of him being there as I began the climb but I was able to put it out of my mind relatively quickly. I am comfortable on Apoplexy and didn't mind an audience.

Soon I passed the scary flake where it can be hard to find good gear. It can be hard, that is, unless you know about the secret pink Tricam placement. I will happily let you in on this intelligence if you like, inducting you, dear reader, into the Secret Gunks Tricam Society.

Here is the beta, free of charge:

There is a shallow pocket just up and right of the scary flake. It won't take a cam but if you pop a pink Tricam in just right, with the stinger facing down, it will catch on a little lip giving you a solid placement. Set it with a flick of the wrist and you are good to go. BOMBER!

I had heard for years about this secret placement but I gave up on it after trying once in vain to find it. Later, when I was climbing Apoplexy on another occasion with Gail, she suggested I look again and I was able to make it work. I wasn't sure how solid it was but when Gail followed the pitch she bounce-tested the piece and it held. So now when I climb Apoplexy I have no worries at the flake. I pop in the secret Tricam and I move on.

(Photo: Apoplexy (5.9), with the secret Tricam in place. I'm in the photo up at the top, almost done with the chimney finish.)

As I passed the flake the other day with Adrian, I wasn't listening to Romano or the ranger but Adrian later reported to me that Romano said something to the ranger about how difficult it is to protect Apoplexy through the middle. And the ranger then pointed up and said "I don't know about that. This guy found the secret Tricam placement!"

"This guy" was me.

When I heard this story I felt very proud. I only wished I'd heard it at the time. I could have basked in the glory of the secret Tricam placement and danced that much more lightly up the rock.

Despite this undeniable triumph, it was hard not to leave the Gunks thinking that I have a lot of work to do. I am out of shape and I need to get back in it if I want to make progress. I haven't been cycling and I've gained a few pounds.

Sending season is just around the corner. I don't have tons of time, but if I just get a little more fit in the next month I'm sure I can get back on track by the time the good weather hits. In addition, I have a big trip planned to the Red River Gorge in October and I want to be in good shape for the overhanging jug fest that the Red is known to be. I don't need to be hauling any spare tires up the steepness.

Perhaps I am hard on myself. Hot weather saps the energy and makes everything feel greasy. I should be happy that climbs like Apoplexy and MF-- routes that inspired fear in me a few years ago-- are my safety choices nowadays. If in years to come, as I get even more over-the-hill, I can still feel unfazed about attacking climbs like MF, I hope I remember to feel great about it.