Spring Break 2011

Just got back from an awesome spring break trip to Moab. After packing the car and starting to drive out of town to go to Red Rocks we found that our favorite coffee shop wasn't open, we had a small freak out and decided to stay in Flagstaff and cook dinner. The result of more in depth discussion that evening resulted in us deciding only to go to the Moab area for spring break and save some money. The first day of our drive put us in Moab around lunch time and afforded us time to climb at Potash road for the rest of the day.

We then continued on to Castle Valley a place I'd been once before, and consider one of the most amazing places I've been. This small town of around 370 was once a booming mining and farming town. Their website says

"Fremont and Ute people were in the area of Castle Valley long before white settlers arrived in the region. Arrowheads and shards have been found throughout the Valley, particularly around the unique "stone pile" located on the grounds of the old ranch house. Some claim this was a meeting place.

Up until the 1920's, the focus of the Castle Valley farming community was towards Castleton, then a small mining and sheepherding boomtown, and the post office/general store in Richardson, an outpost in Professor Valley. With the decline of Castleton and the disappearance of Richardson, Castle Valley's isolation led to the selling and consolidating of land into large ranching parcels. The "old ranch house" near the large cottonwood tree was the homestead of what eventually became the McCormick Ranch.

A monument located above Castle Valley to the southwest marks the spot of the 1881 Pinhook battle, in which eight posse members, two Moab cattlemen, and possibly as many as two dozen Native Americans lost their lives in a confrontation over land and misinformation.

When Castleton and Miner's Basin were "real towns" in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Castle Valley was a farming area. Brothers Mat and John Martin owned large spreads in the Valley, and Mat's son, born in 1886, was probably the first non-Native American child born here. The Martins' sister was married to Tom Parriott, who was a road worker and mail carrier and gave his name to Parriott Mesa."
The campground was nothing less than stunning and afforded us an amazing view of the climb we'd be doing the next morning.

We did the N. Chimney route on Castleton which was amazing. Good rock, adventure, and an incredible summit. The approach to Castleton is probably one of my all time favorite hikes.

Climbs for the new year

Every year I post up climbs that I would like to do in the new year, and every year I actually complete very few of those. It's good to be optimistic, but this year I'm going to be a little more reasonable in what climbs I chose.

Davidsons Dihedral, Paradise Forks, 5.11+
The Prosecuter, Sedona, AZ, 5.11
Oak Creek Spire, Sedona, AZ 5.9
Prusik Peak, Washington, 5.9
Chimney Rock, Cooper Hiser, 5.9
Three Turkeys, Paradise Forks, 5.11c
Make a trip to Granite Mountain!!!
Make a trip to Joshua Tree
Big guy and big boy at Indian Creek, 5.11 ow's
Jubilant Song, Red Rocks, 5.8
Ixtlan, Red Rocks, 5.11c
Inti-Watana to Res Arete, Red Rocks, 5.10

The Mace

Got on a really fun climb in Sedona this past weekend. I'd heard a lot of different stories about the rock quality down there and wasn't sure what to believe. It turned out to be pretty decent, a little sandy, but mostly solid. The Mace is on the NA classics list put out by the Los Alamos Mountaineers http://lamountaineers.org/NAC/browserf/climbs/mace/beta.htm , and I've yet to do a climb on that list that hasn't been spectacular. This was no exception.

Jason and I left Flagstaff at the leisurly time of 10:30am and drove down the winding, gorgeous highway to Sedona. I'd never been on this stretch of 89a, and theres loads of climbing in between Flagstaff and Sedona also. I'm pretty stoked for driving 30 minutes out of Flag this winter to escape to desert climbing. The trailhead was super easy to find and marked with a huge sign. The approach took about 20 minutes at an average hiking pace with great views abound.

The first pitch was an easy but run out 5.7 some sandy rock, pulling over a limestone roof to a huge belay ledge with one huge eye bolt. The next pitch fun 5.9 crack climbing to easy offwidth finish to yet another huge belay ledge with an eye bolt. The 3rd pitch was a very memorable traverse with a couple hundred feet of exposure into an offwidth/squeeze chimney. The 4th pitch, supposedly the crux, had some easy chimneying to a few 5.9 ish face moves into another offwidth, awesome! Once on top of the first summit you walk across set a belay and do the infamous step across move. This is where you have to fully commit to leaning over a 4 foot gap with 300 feet of air, and then full body stem traverse to a decent hold. Pretty sweet. The summit sported a unique register in a big metal canister that looked like it belonged on a ship. A huge metal pipe bolted down with 5 fatty bolts, with a crazy screw on top.

The rappel was also fun a full 70m of freehanging between the two towers.

Perspectives on the climbing experience...

My friend Zach wrote a great short piece about how he feels when climbing. I thought about it for a while and decided to also write my own, a much needed distraction to homework that day. I'll put Zach's first, as he is a much better writer.

"Of all the reasons that life in the mountainous, empty country of the West is mocked by urbanites, the least convincing is that there is nothing to do. Oftentimes these city-dwelling naysayers can be found on sofa cushions basking in the glow of artificial light. I, for one, believe that there is an inherent advantage to sunlight.

From the belay at the base of the rock wall, both Zach and Jake looked up to see the long, winding crack they’d soon climb. It was beautiful all the way up, slim enough to accept fists here, fingers there, and never so wide that it became the less beautiful offwidth. It was a single pitch, a carefree line.

The morning was warm and windy. The branches of the pines that surrounded the belay swayed slowly, and at the top of the crack, where the anchor chains hung on the wall, they could see the small shrubs that grew in the notches and were fed by rainwater and dust whipping back and forth. They sat quietly in the grass chewing energy bars and learning the crack. When their hunger was sated, they organized gear and taped their hands.

The last act before the climb was always the final check—yanking on straps and tugging at rope, placing a faith in the nylon and steel so strong that it was a form of love.

“You good?”

“Yep. You?”

“Yeah.”

Jake led. He was a superior climber, both technically and mentally, and he always led. As he approached the wall, his focus narrowed to the rock in front of him. His thoughts disappeared. He slid his taped hands into the first great opening, felt the cool granite against his fingers, and made a fist. He could sense the mass and the strength of the rock. He gave it his trust, and his confidence was tempered. From here on he was an artist, lost in his art. He was fast and sure.

Zach looked up, tense. His hands gripped the rope, feeding line now, pulling it in now, and he felt the grease of sweat and chalk on his palms. He watched Jake placing gear and wedging fingers, always searching for any sign that a fall was coming. If he saw Jake pause, or fumble to place a cam, he braced himself, ready for the catch. His weight shifted back and forth on his feet. His arms were tense but gentle, like a dancer’s. And always, his eyes were on Jake, far above.

Toward the end of long days he felt a sharp pain in his neck, and would hang his head heavily in between climbs for relief.

In ten minutes, Jake approached the anchor, sixty-five feet above the floor. Zach stood, still tense, squinting his eyes against the deep blue sky above. He watched as Jake used a free hand to unclip gear from his harness and methodically build the rappel anchor. He began to imagine the climb for himself, how he would feel high above the ground, everything quiet but his breathing and the wind whipping across his face."

Here's mine along with a non related picture

I look upward searching the featurless rock for answers. My only focus on, where can I protect myself next, do I need to protect this section, and how can I get up the next ten feet of rock? I look down and see the rope blowing in the wind going to my last piece of protection almost 20 feet below. I take a cam off of my harness, remind myself to breath, and place it in the pefect contstriction in the rock. Quickly I attach a carabiner and clip my rope in. Each movement planned and precise as that of a dancer in show. The energy rushes into my body and an unusual lightness, as some climbers call a, “low gravity day,” takes over. I continue upward.

It is in these situations I feel the most alive. I imagine myself as an artist painting a masterpiece, or a composer pouring his/her heart into the music. All thought inward, focused on my breath, the rock, and not work, school, or other societal constraints. Before I know I’m at the top and am met with mixed emotion. It is not the top that I climb for, but the whole experience.

After buidling an anchor and attaching myself to the rock it is time to focus on the other half of climbing. I pull the rope tight. It is attached to not only a climbing partner, but a friend. To me climbing is as much about commradere, as it is about climbing. A quote by famous French mountaineer Lionel Terray articulates it much more concisely than I will attempt to.

"On this proud and beautiful mountain we have lived hours of fraternal, warm and exalting nobility. Here for a few days we have ceased to be slaves and have really been men. It is hard to return to servitude."

My climbing history...

I saw a post on someones blog talking about their own climbing history. I thought this was an interesting concept, so I'm going to copy it. It all started back in 2003. My friend Graham and I grew tired of the gym very quickly. I found a deal on a used set of climbing gear (harness, shoes, chalk bag, ancient atc, more ancient set of cams) and Graham bought a rope. After looking on the internet we found the perfect outdoor climbs to start with. Two 5.5's at Vedauwoo. Surely 5.5 in the gym would be the same at Vedauwoo, ha.


The first climb E.O. layback didn't go as planned. While approach the climb, a classic Vedauwoo walkup, Graham took a nasty fall. For some reason we continued up. Since Graham had been climbing for about two months longer than me he was going to lead. After his fall it was up to me. I looked up saw the anchors, and was under the presumption that climbers just climbed up to the anchors unprotected to set up a top rope. So I did. Luckily I didn't die, and luckily there where big chain anchors at the top that I ran the rope through.

Second climb; hideway chimney, which proved to be a large step up from the prior. The guidebook said classic 5.5, 90 feet of chimneying to one of the scariest rappels at Vedauwoo. Great! We set out around 5p.m. after work. Since I had led the last climb it was Grahams turn. After a half hour spent trying to untangle the rope he started climbing. Notice in the picture we are still under the assumption the first climber has to solo to get to the anchors.


So Graham gets about halfway up into the crux and after much deliberation we decide I will try to complete the climb. He downclimbs and we switch spots. At this point it is getting dark.

The above is me climbing with a headlamp, yes we didn't know how to climb, but I did come prepared with a headlamp. I finished the climb, got to the top, and started looking for the "gym type" anchors. I didn't find any. After twenty minutes of yelling against the wind to Graham I finally found two bolts. I could think of nothing else to do so I untied, threaded the rope through the bolts, and tied back in. I told Graham I was ready to lower. Once again I'm lucky to be alive, and have learned from the experience.

After these experiences I get some basic advice from people who know what they are doing, and deem myself ready to show others after some equally sketchy lead/solos, I feel ready for a multipitch. At this point I at least know what a quickdraw is for (I once thought it was took hook into your harness and then the bolt and rest on in between soloing.) and I know that it is safer to be hooked in at all times. I also learned how to rappell.

I get a group of five or so people and we decide to do Vedauwoo's only multipitch sport route called "5 days one summer."


With the combined brains of a future economist, engineer, environmentalist, and english major we figure out roughly how it should work. I lead the first pitch clip into the bolts with some webbing, and belay the next person up. Then we throw the rope down to the next person and repeat. Pretty soon we have three people at a crappy hanging belay and it is time for me to lead the next pitch. I do so and luckily find some big fatty chains and a nice huge ledge at the top. I bring the others up. When I look back on it, we are doing it in seige style as if we are climbing a large mountain. Moving people from camp to camp. Eventually we get 4 people to the upper ledge! One was too scared to go up to the second ledge, I won't name names. Then it is for us to figure out how to get 4 people down a multipitch rappel. This goes smoothly, and everyone survives. Much is learned.

From here I decide to actually learn from more experienced people and take a NOLS mountaineering course.


The following year is spent learning how to crack climb. This costs me much skin, and having to work in the back at the pizza place I worked at because of how gnarly my arms looked.

I led many 5.5's, 5.6's, 5.7's, and 5.8's testing my gear seeing what worked and what didn't. It took me a long time to graduate to 5.9 and above. I'm glad I learned this way because I've also learned what to avoid, and how to get out of some shitty situations.