Tag Archives: joshua tree

Back on the Rocks

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One of the reasons I got actively involved in outdoor pursuits eight years ago was an interest in climbing. It was an online search for climbing lessons that led me to Karl’s Extreme Things Adventure Club. I know it sounds melodramatic, but that web search changed everything. Joining that club unlocked the gates of ignorance and doubt that were keeping me from chasing outdoor adventures. My life has been drastically different since. Oddly enough, it was another three years before I decided to get climbing training. That was almost exactly five years ago. I was progressing steadily and then I got distracted by canyoneering. I love canyoneering. It combines so many things I adore: remote places, water, heights, problem-solving, slides, jumps, rappels, etc. Unfortunately, running canyons all the time makes it difficult to also climb all of the time. I’ve given myself a goal—I want to climb all 31 pitches of the Nose on El Cap by 40. I have a lot to do before I am prepared for that. And so, this year I have decided to make sure I climb more frequently than I run canyons (the last couple of years those priorities have been swapped). The great news is that a lot of my canyoneering buddies are moving into climbing meaning finding good climbing partners has become much easier.

I’ve been hitting various crags fairly frequently so far and have gone on a few short climbing trips also. I returned to Joshua Tree in January with Mike and Moreno. We climbed a few routes including a repeat of the very first route I lead trad-style. It was a very different experience than the first time and a big confidence builder. The weekend went well despite Moreno’s ridiculous selfies. The image below is based-on-a-true-story.

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I also spent a couple of weekends at a great sport climbing area in the desert called New Jack City. Here I got to watch three separate friends lead their first single-pitch sport routes. It’s really cool to experience that.

The end of March saw the return of the Red Rock Rendezvous, a really enjoyable climbing festival in Nevada I’ve been attending for five years now. This is the place where I experienced my first multi-pitch route. I made sure to arrive early and stick around a couple of days after the festival. The festival was a good time as always, but the highlights were the 500 foot routes I climbed with friends the day before and after: Geronimo and Cat in the Hat. I lead every pitch on each. I felt very confident on Geronimo. Last year, I climbed the first pitch and had to bail afterwards because we started too late in the afternoon. It felt great to return this year and solidly lead the full route (even if I did manage to confuse the approach again and initially take us to the wrong rock). Cat in the Hat is rated the same as Geronimo, yet there were a few spots where I felt a little uncomfortable on lead. Psychologically I found it more difficult, but neither route is very hard technically. Cat in the Hat is just as busy as advertised: back-to-back climbing parties and the descent shares the same line as the ascent so there is a fair amount of dodging rappelers. Lots of featured rock with interesting cracks and a fun exposed traverse make it a good time.

One of the great things about climbing is all the awesome people you meet. I meet so many inspiring people on rocks and in primitive campgrounds. They may be filthy, stinky, and sleeping on the ground, but their zeal for life is unmatched.

JTree Januaries

jtree-jan001Last January, I visited Joshua Tree and lead my first trad routes. It was a harrowing experience—at least my first route was—despite the low grades. Throughout the year, I lead a few more routes including some multi-pitches on Tahquitz. It’s a new year, a new (exceptionally mild) winter, and the time had come to return to Joshua Tree.

I left the last trip jonesing to climb “The Eye” on Cyclops Rock. It’s rated in that low-grade zone where I feel comfortable and it looked really fun. It’s essentially a tall alcove that leads to a small tunnel near the summit of the rock around 100 feet above the ground.

I rolled into Joshua Tree Saturday morning with Travis and Moreno. We were lucky enough to find a campsite at HIdden Valley directly across the street from Cyclops Rock. The fates had spoken. We set up camp, Moreno packed eight days of food into his day-pack along with his video camera, Travis grabbed his GoPro mounted quadcopter, and we hiked over to the rock. I lead it without incident, belayed the guys up, and we got a little video during the prep. It was a good warm-up and ego boost. It was time to pick a new route. “Penelope’s Walk” just around the corner seemed like a good idea.

“Penelope’s Walk” is 5.5ish with some slab-climbing, a bit of traversing, a little cave, and a short crack leading to the 80 foot summit. It looked fairly easy from the ground.  I was surprised to find out how psychologically taxing it would be. Early on I noticed the rock was poor. I’ve climbed on worse choss (crumbly rock), but it was bad enough to make me question the reliability of some of my foot placements and a couple of my pro placements. Regardless, things were going well until I reached the traverse. I spent a large amount of time at this spot—climbing, down-climbing, weighing my options, looking for alternate routes (it’s where I’m perched in the first photo of the gallery). My dilemma was committing to one move roughly half-way across the traverse. The rock was poor and I couldn’t find any reliable foot placements I could trust to execute this one move linking both ends of the traverse. A fall would cause a pendulum swing possibly into a lower ledge. Chancing a fall was not an option. Thankfully, there were several rest spots nearby where I could cling to the wall comfortably and consider other options. After many retreats, I finally found a way to get me past that questionable spot. I climbed into the cave and rested for a bit. An older man had walked up earlier, stopped to watch, and chat with Travis. Thankfully, he would relay the small bit of reassurance I needed to top out on this route. Next to the cave is a thin crack that works left, then turns 90 degrees directly to the summit. It bulges out a bit, and looks quite intimidating. It was hard to protect, my last good piece was below in the cave, and a fall would have been ugly. The man on the ground assured me that it looked worse than it was, that as soon as I felt like I needed a hold, it would be there. I stood at the seam, placed a marginal cam primarily to appease me psychologically and committed. Hesitation would likely lead to a fall. Hesitation was not an option. I have rarely climbed a crack so smoothly and calmly. Although the crux of the route, I felt like I was dancing through it. My only option was to climb it well, that motivation made it so. I topped out, relief and satisfaction washed over me.

Moreno followed and cleaned the route, pulling onto the summit as the Sun set. It had not been the quick, easy route I suspected. Not because the climbing was hard, but because it was just intimidating enough at the right spots to make me doubt myself. I did feel that I had progressed as a trad leader, although. The year before, “False Layback” (my first) had terrified me. “Penelope’s Walk” had made me uncomfortable and a bit frightened at parts. It even had me consider bailing a few times, but I was never truly scared and I was confident in my abilities when it counted.

The next day I lead “The Eye” again, Travis shot some copter footage of it, and we gave him his turn on “Penelope’s Walk” by top-rope. Then, we climbed in the van and headed back West.

 

Tradman Begins – The Trad Knight Rises

My First Trad Lead

It’s been nearly three years since I decided to start actively pursuing rock climbing. I’ve been building my skills and knowledge while acquiring experience in the various disciplines. I began with basic toproping and bouldering, then moved into leading moderate sport climbs. Last year I tried ice climbing and began following on multi-pitch trad routes. This has all been part of a process building to trad leading. I finally took that precipitous step this weekend and became a trad leader.

Most of you reading this aren’t climbers and may have no idea what I am talking about. Trad is “traditional” climbing. It’s what most of us think of when we picture rock climbing. Two people standing at the base of a route tie themselves together with a rope. The leader begins scaling the wall, the rope trailing beneath him. The follower stands at the base belaying him—feeding him rope and preparing to soften his fall if one occurs. Periodically the leader places gear (protection – pro for short) into cracks and features on the wall and clips the rope to it. The climbing and pro placement continues until the route is ascended. He builds an anchor, attaches himself and the rope to it, and belays the follower up the wall. The follower removes the pro placed by the leader as he climbs so they may reuse it (on a future climb or the next successive pitch). Leading trad takes more skill and knowledge than toproping and the potential for injury can be much greater. Knowing this, I had no intention to begin leading until positive I could handle the risk and responsibility. It also meant buying a lot of pricey gear to build a rack (a collection of the pro and assorted accessories used to trad climb). As of a few days ago, I had finally built that rack and felt confident I could successfully lead some low-grade routes.

My Trad Rack

There are many places to climb traditionally. Two hours away from L.A is an enormous park full of great trad climbing—Joshua Tree. My friends Al-Insan and Steve were foolish enough to put their confidence in me and agreed to share a JTree weekend where they would aid me in attempting to lead trad (and brave a 24 degree night in a frigid tent). Saturday afternoon, Al-Insan and I found ourselves at the base of a route named False Lieback in a shady and cold grove next to Cap Rock. It seemed like a good choice. It is rated well below the grade I am comfortable climbing (although JTree grades tend to feel much harder than at other climbing areas). We tied in and up I went. The first several feet were easy. I placed a small nut in a tiny flaring crack, attached a quickdraw, and clipped the rope. My first piece of protection was set. I continued up, placed a second piece and found myself in a dilemma. When you are leading, every move matters. You don’t want to slip or commit to something you aren’t positive you can pull off. I had reached a corner that jutted out ahead of me. I would need to traverse over and around this bulge. A mistake would potentially pitch me down onto a boulder and make for a really bad day. When building my rack, I opted to wait on the large size 3 and 4 cams thinking there would be many routes I could climb that wouldn’t need them. Here I was staring at a flaring corner with a size 4 crack above it yet no size 4 cam to place in it. At least twenty minutes passed as I wrestled with committing to this move without that piece of protection (Meanwhile, Al-Insan patiently stood below in the growing cold as his fingers grew numb). I looked for every solution to climb around it and place pro elsewhere—to no avail. I knew it was a move I could do, but I also knew the consequences were bad if I flummoxed it. I considered bailing—quitting. I reached around the rock, stepped onto the face, and chanced it. I stepped up and there was no longer an escape. I was either going immediately up or immediately down.

I had thoughts of an experience I had after moving into sport climbing (lead climbing on walls with pre-placed protection—bolts drilled into the face) on a beachside crag called Point Dume. I once made the mistake to lead a  route on that rock when it was wet. I assumed only the base would be damp. I sadly learned that nearly the entire 90 foot face was dripping wet, so damp it would turn the chalk on my hands into milky riverlets. That wall was 90 feet tall with only 4 widely-spaced (somewhat suspect) bolts. It was a slow frightening ascent, but through persistence and precaution I reached the top that day safe and shaken. Now, I was in a similar predicament on a measly 5.4 climb (half the grade of the aforementioned wet climb when dry) called False Lieback.

With my hands wedged in the crack, I worked my feet around the corner, and moved into a body-sized ascent gully. I was focused and frightened, the crack still seemed too wide for any of my gear and I wasn’t in a position where I felt comfortable pausing to place pro anyway. A toe briefly slipped off a nub. Terror shot through my body. I needed to keep moving! Now! I fought to keep my cool, but also fought to make my way up that incline as quickly and efficiently as possible. Huffing and puffing like an asthmatic, I worked my hands up the crack and my feet up the face gunning for a promising feature I could see ahead. I grabbed a firm hold, slid a cam into a bomber crack, clipped in, and released a triumphant yell. One day school teachers will replay recordings of that yell when teaching students the definition of catharsis. I looked back and saw the previous piece of pro I had placed— 20 feet below me.

I continued on, worked past a less-intimidating bulge, placed a couple more pieces of pro, and stepped onto the summit. An immense sense of accomplishment and relief washed over me. I grinned like a moron and jubilantly waved hello to strangers also atop the rock. Years from now this ascent will likely seem comical and unimpressive. At that moment, it was a victory unlike any I’d had before. Small steps can be immense. As if on cue, Steve walked past and saw us. He had arrived just in time to share in the celebration and take photos. I built an anchor and belayed Al-Insan. I would lead two more less stressful routes on Sunday. Hopefully I will lead many more in the future. Yet, the words “False Lieback” will always hold a special place no others can in my stupid little sentimental heart.

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