The Desert

I had been wanting to go climbing in the desert for a long time.

I flew from Fairbanks at the end of October and collected the Subee in Squamish. I spent very little time there before hitting the road south. I stayed with a high school friend, Dave, in Portland and continued on to see a college friend and a high school friend, Andy and Will, respectively, in Reno. I was able to convince Andy that he really ought to come to Vegas with me, to visit a mutual friend there.

Driving south from Reno to Las Vegas.

Andy at the helm.

The hood flew open when I was about 20 miles into the 4000 mile trip. I'm still not sure if all of the cracks in the windshield were there before, if that earned me a few of them. Fortunately, I was able to simply shut the hood and continue on my way.

The two days Andy and I spent in Vegas before Neale arrived were tremendously fun, but, god willing, there are no pictures. Andy and I stayed with an old friend of ours, Coire, that neither of us had seen in 8 years. He's a clown in the Cirque de Soleil show in Vegas (really) and is, predictably, the funnest guy in the world. It was just like old times - though both Andy and Coire's wives are about equally pregnant. The world continues to grow up around me.

Then Neale arrived, and the sending began.

Red Rocks

Jubilant Song

Jubilant Song, a six or so pitch 5.8 that isn't really that good. Its not that bad, but nothing memorable about it.

Our first day was a bit of a wash. We went to do Birdland, but it was crowded, then Solar Slab, and it was crowded. So we cragged at the Brass Wall for the rest of the day. The next day we opted for Jubilant Song, because the book says it isn't crowded. It wasn't.

On the top.

I think there is a day missing here.

Rainbow Buttress

The following day Neale and I, two perfectly respectable guys if I've ever known respectable, got convinced to climb with Conrad and Chris, two friends from Vancouver. Lets just say that Chris and Conrad are cut from a different cloth than ultra-polite, likable, Neale and I.

It was also my birthday. It was a beautiful day, a beautiful spot, and we climbed a super-fun route, the Rainbow Buttress. Its worth climbing just to hike up in there and then hike back down.

A cool old tree on top. Stunning place.

I hate to do this, but these photos are Neale's. What can I say? he got some good ones.

It had snowed a few days prior.

All this pretty, and so close to The Stain (actually, this derisive name is from Chris. Him, being an uncouth lout, does not appreciate Vegas' finer points quite like I do.)

Chris and Conrad carried up a giant, individually-wrapped pickle, called the Hot Mama, that they had bought at a gas station. They were saving it as their summit pickle. Here they play "gay chicken" for the camera.

But, fuck it, you can't argue with cool.

L-R, Billy Westbay, John Long, Jim Bridwell and Seth Adams

There are two British guys in this photo at the top of Black Orpheus - see 'em? They're really small.....

Walking off.

Four Bighorn Sheep that we saw at the top.

Still life with Gmoser. (yes, that Gmoser)

Power Failure

The next day we went to do Unimpeachable Groping but it was crowded with French Canadians (I recognized them as Canucks by their accent - not bad for an absolute non-Francophone, eh?)

As it turned out, it was really, really good. Short, though - three pitches.

Prince of Darkness

We went to do Epinephrine. But there were some really threatening clouds to the north. Rain, the works. But the weather never came quite as far as us - we just felt a little moisture in the air. But it was enough to cause us to climb Prince of Darkness, instead.

Red Rocks from the road into Black Velvet Canyon during the wee hours.

The people climbing Dream of Wild Turkeys were fun, though I'm not sure the good will was shared.

Well, they were nice people, but rapists.

Neale led the whole climb. At first, I thought it was a classic climb of top quality. But then....

I had just had it. Endless, endless edges, and extremely uncomfortable belays.

This, too, is Neale's photo.

Chrimson Chrysalis

I wasn't really interested in climbing this route. I hear you can see the crowds from outer space. The lines are actually longer than the Great Wall of China. I mean, how good could the goddamn thing really be???

As it turns out - pretty damn good.

I don't know why I hate to say this so much, but I do - for us it was the highlight of Red Rocks. A totally stellar climb. Our experience was aided, no doubt, by the fact that we won the race to the base of the climb, and didn't get caught in the crowds.

Sent that shit.

Rapping down, still above the masses.

At the base, surrounded by the detritus of climbing.

The hordes still above us.

Tunnel Vision

Neale had really wanted to climb Chrimson Chrysalis. Insisted on it. I knew I was never going to hear the end of him talking about it until we did. So it was my turn to insist. I've always wanted to do Tunnel Vision. It was pretty neat.

A couple on a neighboring route below.

Mt. Wilson. The Resolution Arete is still there, waiting for me and Neale to climb it.

Eagle Dance

We decided that we should move on from Red Rocks. For the last day it was between Epinephrine and Eagle Dance. Neale had done Epinephrine before, so I relented, though I had a feeling it was going to be a day of steep, monotonous edge climbing. I was right. So we hiked back up to the Rainbow Buttress, and climbed up the middle of this big wall.

Me on the first pitch. The photo is blurry and not that visually interesting, but its of me, so I'm putting it on my blog. This is why its MY blog, okay?

I was actually utterly baffled by this section. Either I missed something, or its the hardest goddamn 10a on the planet.

The bolts nearest the camera are for aid. Its quite steep.

A small ledge, the first comfortable belay in a long time, was one pitch from the top. The route was a bit ho-hum, but the position of this little ledge was quite nice.

We got comfy for a while (my feet were killing).

The final pitch.

On top.

Neale attempts a lotus position for the camera.

Unsuccessfully.

The same tree that's at the top of Rainbow Buttress and with Mt. Wilson behind.

The beautiful walk down Oak Creek Canyon.

Zion
The Headache

This climb was spectacular. The second pitch was as good as any I've done, anywhere.

The top of the third pitch. This spot was the only awkward climbing on the route, and awkward it was.

Monkeyfinger

Neale whimpered a bit on this pitch. Above was the crux corner, which I aided.

The next pitch, quite hard at 11b. Neale fell. I stepped in an aider.

Lots of strenuous thin-hands climbing. We went to two pitches from the top, as we heard the last two pitches were sandy and not that good.

Bail, Rain and Rest

We wasted a bunch of time trying to find the "Unknown 5.9" to the left of the Northwest Butt on Angel's Landing, failed to find it, climbed some shitty, off-route pitches, and then hiked Angel's Landing instead.

Its too bad that rock climbing always happens in such dreary places.

A Different Walk

This is the next day. We had planned to do Prodigal Son, but it rained, so we hiked again in the late afternoon. I forget the name of this canyon.

The campground.

Then We Left. And Drove Through Bryce.

Which is also pretty.

And we kept driving.

Yoo-tah is a pretty, pretty place.

Moab
The Priest - Honeymoon Chimney

We got to Moab and then found some towers, where we continued sending that shit.

The super-fun second pitch of Honeymoon Chimney on the Priest. The first pitch was a little harder.

These photos are deliberately out of order. This is the top of the first pitch, me trying to get into the chimney. These 5 feet of climbing probably took me 15 minutes.

Neale comes to grips with the third pitch bolt ladder, which he freed at 11a.

Stepping across...

After a lot of really good climbing in Zion and Vegas, we stumbled across really, really good climbing in Moab. Climbing towers is really, really fun. Sister Superior is the first tower, I don't know the name of the mesa after that.

Neale shows us how its done.

And again. I think he just won on The Price Is Right.

Reading the really cool summit log book.

Rapping.

More Sister Superior. If this blog entry were a 10th grade English class, you would be expected to recognize this as foreshadowing.

Castleton Tower.

Sister Superior - Jah Man

Me leading the first pitch. Getting in was a little awkward, but after that it was fun and cruiser.

Me following the second pitch. It was 10+, and I got really pumped. Then I volunteered to lead the next pitch, also 10+. I normally pass on leading hard, but I thought that I should give it a go, since its pure crack climbing - my strength, if I have any. However, it was thin hands. I got what was ostensibly the crux with one hang, but I was so pumped for the easier thin hands crack above that I - well, I didn't *almost* send. I swear, my forearms were turgid with pressure.

jah, man.

JAHMOTHERFUCKINGMAN!!!!!

Walking home.

This dirt makes a cool crunching sound when you jump around on it.
(just kidding)

While this sunset occurred Neale stepped out to take pictures while I waited for my phone to turn on. Neale saw this and said "I'm such and artist and you're such a douchebag." I laughed for five minutes. Then I stepped away from the car and took these SWEET pictures.

The Titan - Finger of Fate

She's a fickle bitch, that finger of fate.

If you've never heard anything about the Fisher Towers - they have an outsize legend in climbing. They're made of mud, and first ascenting here must be a filthy and terrifying affair. Its the land of hardmen in knickers with hard soled boots and enough pitons to make the British Navy wonder what they were doing with all that steel. Finger of Fate, being the area classic, has received enough traffic that most of the placements were fairly clean and somewhat civilized.

Mud running from out of the flutings on The Oracle.

As we stood on top of Sister Superior the previous day, I said to Neale, "what tomorrow?" Neale, without hesitation, responded "Titan." That's it, end of story. I was leery - there is more reputation surrounding the Fishers Towers than there are towers. We went back and forth for a long time. Neale has this tendency, which I alluded to earlier in regards to Chrimson Chrysalis, to pick a climb, usually an area classic, and obsess over it. Before climbing Chrimson Chrysalis, for example, he had suggested, after climbing Power Failure, that we start up it 3pm when it would be dark a little after 4. Neale's marketing pitch for the Titan was good, though - "wouldn't it be cool to stand on top of that?" Yeah. Yeah, it would.

But we went back and forth for hours. Once Neale fixates there is usually no talking him out of it. I have only my ace-in-the-hole, flat refusal. However, I'd used this a few times on this trip already and was getting weary of it ("no. no, and fuck you, no. Its 5.11+ and fuck that, no." in regards to Primrose Dihedrals, for example.)
"How about we climb the Kingfisher instead?" I suggested, keen to try something shorter, "that's mostly fixed." But then I paused. "Actually, its probably fixed with the original bolts. Nevermind."

The Finger of Fate - the classic route on the biggest of the Fisher Towers - is 9 pitches up to C2+. "I've never climbed 9 pitches of aid in one day," I said. "Tomorrow will be the first time," Neale countered. Well, it really would be cool to stand on top of that.

"Okay, if we can't do it in one day, do you want it bad enough to fix our ropes and come back?" "Sure," Neale said, thinking he was just placating me. "Fine." I relented. "Let's go send that shit." But I have a quirk, too - once I've committed to a route, I really hate to back off.

Neale leading the first pitch. After the first pitch he began to realize that he had made a terrible mistake. You see, Neale doesn't actually like aid climbing - which he'd forgotten. But there was no way I was going to let him off the hook.

No, unbelievably, this was not just sitting there. This was my lead, by the way.

All smiles.

The Fisher Towers. Crumbling stacks of mud, the lot of them.

The Titan's shadow.

Guess what? We only made it four pitches. So we fixed....

Neale was despondent. There were moments where my laughter was interrupted by genuine regret that he was so sad about the way things were shaking out, but I held his feet to the fire. "Its just such a waste of time" he lamented.

The Titan in the evening.

Neale leads out in the morning on the fifth pitch.

Neale before the 6th pitch.

This couple were denizens of the area, doing a new route on this mini-tower next to The Oracle. They were helpful and gave us lots of beta. They were also the ones that fixed all the anchors on The Titan, which was welcome.

It helps to be handsome.

The climbing got real neat for the last two pitches to the top.

Clip a bolt, climb up, step out of the aiders to do an easy, free mantle, repeat.

SUMMIT!!

The following pictures are from the top of the last pitch. As an aid climber, I'm generally a novice. But when it comes to following traverses, I cross the threshold into being a complete nincompoop. I had noticed, somewhat gratefully, throughout the climb, that I didn't have to jug any traverses. Until the very top. During the following sequence of photos I explained what the shrieking was about and Neale simply snapped photos while I talked.

The last two cams before the traverse were extendo'd, and I couldn't easily reach them. Knowing that we'd rap down right over them, I just left them in.

But when I got to the upper one, I got my jugs above it, but the rope ran from the bottom of the jug, through the cam, then down to my clove-hitch backup.

So the only way to free myself was to grab the sling, and pull myself in and unclip the rope

and then I just had to

let go....

and take the swing, rope running over the edge above. Everyone in the valley heard my opinion on the subject, I'm pretty sure.

The duck.

On the rappels. I had forgotten to eat for quite a few hours, and sometime during the descent my brain turned off. It started with having to clear a tangle in the ropes, but I rapped to a small ledge, which was too close, and the knot got stuck in the belay device and took forever to get out (rather than just hang from the backup to clear the tangle). I hadn't made that mistake since the first time, years ago. Next, we made a one-rope rappel to to start down the rappel gullies. After this I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to re-rig the ropes with both tied together. This was what tipped me off that my brain wasn't working, and Neale seemed concerned. I usually have a Gu in my camera case, and I figured that it must be for these situations. I ate it, and my brain function gradually returned.

Last photo from the Titan. After this, we were thoroughly worked.

Having dinner in the parking lot of the City Market during our rest day in Moab.

Washer Woman - In Search of Suds
The next day was Neale's last day, and he wanted to do Washer Woman. I did too. So we drove towards Canyonlands National Park, camped in a completely deserted campground, and made the White Rim Road drive in the following morning.

Entering Canyonlands - this photo was a part of what I intended to be a panoramic shot, but it didn't really work.

Descending from the canyon rim.

That's our road out there in the distance.

Driving on the slickrock. The road isn't too bad, but in our old age I wouldn't want to push the Subee too much harder.

The road trip to and from Washer Woman was 30 miles but took 5 hours. The Subee STILL got 32mpg out of that tank of gas, in spite of all that driving at 5-10mph. She's a good girl.

Monster Tower and Washer Woman. Our route climbs from the opposite side of Washer Woman.

The first pitch of Washer Woman. My glass was somewhat half empty on this tower - I was a little bit bitter about how outrageously long the drive in was (3 hours - 15 miles in 1st and 2nd gear). I was grumbling that we should have done something closer and come in here with time to camp and climb other things. Then I didn't really like this first pitch much - it was hard and awkward climbing over what were basically chockstones in a gully.

The next pitch. See the way Neale is facing? Don't face that way, face the other way.

The next pitch was really good - but I was a bit angry about this, too. I gave the lead to Neale, because it was 5.10+, but it had to be the easiest 10+ on the planet. I totally could've added it to my 8a.nu scorecard! But the climbing was good enough that it softened my bad mood a little.

Monster Tower. Demands to be climbed, doesn't it?

On the summit - the shadows of Whatever is Next to Washer Woman (much smaller than its shadow makes it look), Washer Woman (with the arch), and Monster.

Canyonlands. The summit of Washer Woman was cool enough that my grumpiness had completely abated - which is saying something, given that the last two pitches to the summit were face climbing, and I don't really love face climbing. I don't mind fixed-pin climbing, though.

There was absolutely, positively, nobody around. And we couldn't help it.

We didn't take a heroic self portrait on the summit. I can't tell you how disappointed I am with myself.

The famous rappel over the arch.

After bumping back out of Washer Woman, which didn't seem as bad as on the way in, I drove Neale to catch the Greyhound (always a lousy experience) back to Vegas to catch his flight back home. Then, I was free. I spent the following morning hiking around in Arches National Park.

Delicate Arch.

I took this self-portrait to show the mark on my nose (which was still quite sore) from 4 days earlier on The Titan. I was trying to make a mystery move off of a ledge to get to a high bolt, and I placed a #4 camalot in a flaring slot to bump myself a couple of feet higher. I pulled on it to see if it was worth a damn. Then pulled harder. Then pulled harder still, and it blew with a fury as though Zeus himself had hurled the fucking thing into my nose. I was left me standing on the ledge, trying to reorient myself with tears streaming down my face and clear snot flowing out of my nose that, for one second, I thought might be fluids leaking out of my brain.

Landscape Arch. I swear I've seen photos of people standing on top of this, which would be neat, but I couldn't see an obvious way up. I think this was my favorite of the arches, though I didn't get a great photo.

Indian Arch, maybe? Can't remember anymore.

Double-O Arch, maybe? I forget the names.

Tucson
After leaving Moab I spent a few days hanging out in Durango with high school friends, Hannah and Blaque. I don't think I took a single picture while I was there (I often regret being so bad about taking pictures of social time). You guys should regret it too, because they're both really pretty.

So I drove on to my final destination - Tucson, where my dad lives and where my car would be stored. After just shy of 4,000 miles, I parked the car in my dad's garage, and then it wouldn't restart. I tried not to show my amusement at my dad's consternation over having my dead car in his garage. I still don't know exactly what was wrong, but after a new distributor cap, rotor, some new ignition wires, new plugs (how the car could have made it as far as it did, still getting admirable mileage, with plugs as filthy as they were is a bit surprising), a new ignition coil, and, finally, a new fuel filter, she roared back in a cloud of blue smoke to the land of the living.

The Catalina Mountains a casual stroll from my dad's house.

Mt. Lemmon is a short distance south on the same rock. I'm not sure how much development there's been on these rocks, but certainly not enough.

Saguaro Cactus, typical of the Sonoran Desert.

I'm not sure what that is, but it could be day-tripped from my dad's house without even getting in the car.

Cochise Stronghold

I met my friend Ryan, with whom I crushed Mt. Rainier three times in two days during this summer, for a day of cragging out at Cochise. We climbed Wasteland on Wasteland Dome, and had a nice time.