Back in the day, I mostly bouldered and climbed indoors, but Steve gave it up after injuring himself and lacking a reliable partner, so did I.  Anyway, I met Justin and we started surfing and climbing together, and then our wives mysteriously became pregnant within 3 weeks of each other.  Now we’re both doing the stay-at-home dad thing, so suffice to say, we have a lot in common.

Zane and Wyatt @ 5 months

With both wives out of town with our little ones, we had planned to do a surf trip to Baja.  I thought it would be a crime if he didn’t get a chance to surf San Miguel or K58 before leaving San Diego.  Unfortunately, the weather turned foul and we were looking at blown-out conditions.  So, we decided to make a trip out to Joshua Tree instead.  Justin secured a campsite at Jumbo Rocks on Friday afternoon and I met him there in the evening, arriving at 11 pm.  It was snowing lightly and the wind was howling.  As I pulled into the campsite, I saw that my REI Hobitat had just about broken free from its stakes and was lurching about like a demon-possessed fun house.  This would turn out to be one of the worst nights of sleep, ever.  The stakes kept pulling out of the soft sand and I ended up guying the fly out to my truck with climbing rope.  Even then, the tent lunged back and forth and flapped like a maniac all night.  Based on the way I felt the next morning, I’d be surprised if I slept more than an hour in total.  It felt like someone was smacking me in the face with a broom all night.  I saw a bunch of broken and mangled tents the next day, on our drive out of the campground.

My tent appears peaceful in this photo. It was not.

It might have been the lack of sleep, or possibly a piece of sand in my eye, but my vision was somewhat blurry the next day.  We woke up and ate a quick breakfast, and then decided to climb Mike’s Books (5.7+) on Justin’s recommendation.  This is one of his favorites in Hidden Valley, and it did not disappoint.  There are three ways to start the climb, and I attempted the “direct” version that is supposed to be 5.8.  It felt like a 5.impossible in my sleep-deprived, blurry-eyed state, so I turned my attention to variation #2, which involved some easy slab climbing and a traverse over to the crack.  What looked perfectly doable from the ground turned out to be a rather exposed and frightening proposition; a precarious stance about 12 feet off the ground, no pro, and some balanced friction moves around a sloping, no-holds corner.  I was certain that I’d slip off and break both my ankles, and that wasn’t the way I wanted to start our trip.  I downclimbed, cursed, and turned my attention to variation #3.  A few committing stem moves and up I went.  I was finally in the first “book” and I placed a solid purple camalot.  The rest of the climb felt much easier, and I was able to practice my hand jam technique.

I should note; we climbed on Justin’s rack the entire trip, which is somewhat sparse when compared to the big wall mess that I have grown accustomed to carrying.  He discouraged me from climbing with any more than necessary, and it made me a little nervous.  When I got to the top of the first pitch, I had a #3 camalot and a few small TCU’s, along with an assortment of nuts.  Looking around, I didn’t see any obvious anchor opportunities with such small gear.  I placed the #3 in a big crack, and then equalized the cam with a platter-size horn that I had tied off with a sling.  The horn looked bomber to me, but Justin commented that he didn’t like the fact that my anchor consisted of only 2 pieces (3 being the preferred minimum, unless your belay stance happens to include a mature pine).  We looked around and he pointed out some thin cracks that I could have used, which were 20 feet back from the top of the climb, but certainly within reach.  I had plenty of rope, and in retrospect, I could have done some creative rope work to build a more redundant anchor.  It was a good lesson, and one of the reasons why it’s important to climb with someone who actually knows what he’s doing.

We rapped down from Mike’s Books and then drove out to the Wonderland of Rocks area, where Justin led Life’s a Bitch and Then You Marry One (5.7).  If you’re wondering who it was that picked the route, no comment!  Actually, it’s one of the climbs listed in the “60 Favorite Trad Climbs” book, so it was on our tick-list.  I’m guessing that whoever put up the first ascent must have had some relationship issues.

At the base of Life's a Bitch and Then You Marry One (5.7)

Justin racking up

The climb protected well and Justin tackled it without difficulty.  Building the anchor was a little tricky, though.  The route topped out on some rather blank rock, and the rap bolts were 12 feet off to the right.  Justin built a four-piece directional using some small nuts and a tri-cam in a thin, awkward-looking crack, and then belayed me while anchored and hanging from the bolts.  An ingenious solution and I’m not sure I would have thought of it.  Another lesson learned.

We rapped down and then scrambled over to another climb nearby, a route our guidebook called Keystone Crack.  Mountain Project lists it as an unnamed 5.6, so I’m not sure if it was the real Keystone Crack, but I led it, whatever it is.  In fact, I’ll go ahead and name it Get Your Head Together and Climb Already, Crack.  I had some issues with the start, which always seems to happen when the initial moves are unprotected and committing.  I got about 8 feet off the ground, traversed up and right, and was faced with a committing move to a ledge, which looked like it would be the first opportunity to place some gear.  I couldn’t commit, and I kept climbing up and back down, feeling it out.  The traverse was sapping my confidence, because I could see myself popping off the little sidepulls that were holding me to the wall.  I was getting really annoyed with myself, and I finally walked over to the right and just started climbing directly up the face, to avoid the traverse.  The moves were harder, but it didn’t freak me out as much.  The rest of the climb went well, and we finished up and called it a day.

Gripped at the base of Keystone Crack

We stopped in town for some supplies, which included a blanket of questionable origin.  It was much colder than expected, and Justin’s sleeping bag wasn’t cutting it.  We got a fire going and proceeded to swap stories, and judging by the number of empty bottles I collected the next morning, we must have had a good time.

Thrift store pickup

Jumbo Rocks Campground

Sunset at Jumbo Rocks

The next morning, we hiked out to the Isles in the Sky formation, which we had scoped out the day before.  Justin had his eye on a nasty-looking crack  called Dolphin (5.7+).  The late Art Morimitsu had the following to say about this route: “Friends don’t let friends climb Dolphin.” 

The approach to Isles in the Sky, Dolphin in view (the dihedral crack in shadow)

The guidebook mentioned some 4th class scrambling to get to the base of the climb, but we arrived to find 50+ feet of solid 5th class.  It’s possible there’s another way up, since we didn’t spend a ton of time looking for an alternative.  We just ditched our packs, roped up, and Justin led a quick pitch that deposited us safely at the base of the route.  Everything in Joshua Tree seems sandbagged to me.  5.7+ means 5.9 and a 3rd class downclimb might as well be an epic free solo.

We roped up for the "easy" approach

At first glance, Dolphin doesn’t look terribly intimidating.  Sixty feet of straightforward hand crack splits the corner of a right-facing dihedral.  It looked like it would protect well.  Upon closer inspection, though, one notices that the crack slowly widens near the top, which would almost certainly be the crux.  It was also cold and windy, and the route wasn’t getting any sun.  Justin racked up with a couple of #4′s and his big #5 and #6, and got down to business.

Taping up

Dolphin (5.7+)

I won’t say that he struggled, but I could tell that the initial section was harder than Justin expected.  That left me wondering how I would do, since I have such limited crack climbing experience.   Justin was stuffing hand and foot jams and I was taking mental notes; at least I would be on top rope.  I could tell when he had reached the off-width section of the climb (really only the last 12 feet) because his upward progress came to a halt, and half his body was wedged firmly into the crack, as if the formation was trying to swallow him whole.  This is when the grunting and cursing began.  I couldn’t help but laugh, because it looked and sounded horrible.  He placed the #6, which would be his final piece of pro until the top.  Fifteen minutes later, he was still wedged in the same spot, having made some unsuccessful scouting trips into the nasty off-width above.  He would climb up a few feet, become disgusted with what he saw, and then ooze back down to his last piece.  There were a lot of guttural noises and scraping sounds.  Finally, he mustered his courage and just went for it.  It was ugly; the kind of thing young children shouldn’t be allowed to watch, but he made it to the top.

Justin places his last piece on the route, a #6 Camalot

It was my turn, and I did alright – at first.  I jammed up the crack and though it was insecure in places, I felt as if it was something that I could conceivably lead.  That is, until I got near the top.  The crack began to open up, and there weren’t many holds to be found.  I thrust the entire left side of my body into the gradually flaring crack and used a random combination of chicken-wing armbars, knee and foot cams, and who knows what else to make upward progress.  By the time I reached the top, I was huffing and puffing as if I had just sprinted a mile.  My left ankle was rubbed raw and bleeding, and my fingertips were totally numb from scraping at the cold rock.  It was a grueling affair, but fun, in a way.

The fun is just about to start. Photo by Shane Norquist.

At the top of Dolphin

Special thanks to Shane Norquist, who was climbing nearby and snapped these photos for us.  Justin and I rapped down to the base and we decided that we had gotten our climbing fix.  It was time for lunch at the Crossroads Cafe, and then back to San Diego.  I was stoked when I found a brand spankin’ new BD Hoodwire quickdraw on the hike back to the trailhead.

Johnny on an unidentified route at Red Rocks. Photo by Jonathan Buehler

Photo by Jonathan Buehler

I’ve been getting out as often as as I can, but it’s been a challenge with a young baby at home.  Thankfully, Jasmine understands that I need to blow some steam off from time to time, and she’s been agreeable to my occasional weekends away.  My parents have also been visiting on a regular basis, and that has been a major plus.  I don’t know what I would do without all the help.

Zane @ 7 months

Johnny suggested that we hit Riverside Quarry, an interesting sport crag about 90 minutes north of San Diego.  I had read some unfavorable reports about this place, but it was actually much nicer than I expected.  An abandoned granite quarry tucked away in the heart of Riverside, one doesn’t quite know what to expect.  It turned out to be a sport climber’s paradise; almost like a giant outdoor gym.  The main wall must be at least 1/4 mile long and 200 feet high in places.  Yeah, we saw some trash (piles of old tires, a broken car seat I considered bringing home as a joke).  But it was a quick approach and a huge number of climbs.

Hiking out to The Fun Factory. Photo by Ryan Slaybaugh

We arrived in the morning and Johnny suggested we do some warm-up climbs on the Fun Factory Wall, just around the corner from the main climbing area.  Most of the routes at the Quarry are 5.10+ or harder, but the Fun Factory is home to some of the easier climbs.  It turns out that our “warm-ups” consisted of some pumpy 5.10′s, leaving us feeling more than a little gassed.  I didn’t get a single climb clean, though I believe that Joey and Johnny may have.  I was leading up one of the 10b’s (chipped and manufactured holds on an otherwise blank face) when I looked over just as Joey took a nice little whipper.  I saw a cloud of chalk dust around his head and he let out a little woot as he fell.  I haven’t been able to push myself to the limit like Joey has been doing, and he’s much more comfortable falling (and climbs pretty hard, as a result).

The surroundings. Notice the two specks on the wall (climbers)

It became apparent that Ryan and I need to work on our fear of falling; it’s definitely holding us back.  Some might say that a fear of falling is healthy and natural, and I wouldn’t disagree.  But if one intends to progress at sport climbing, there is such a thing as being too afraid.  I know that I’m not pushing myself anywhere near my limit on these climbs, even in situations where a short fall would be relatively safe.  Oh, these mind games.

Johnny starts up Wonderstuff (5.10c)

If I’m not mistaken, I belayed Johnny on his very first lead climb up Mission Control at Mission Gorge, about a year ago.  Now he’s leading into the solid 10′s and he’s looking pretty comfortable doing it.  I was impressed.

Stemming it out on Wonderstuff

All of these photos are courtesy of Ryan, by the way.  I always debate whether I should bring my camera on these climbing trips, and I’m glad that he packed his along.

After Johnny was finished with Wonderstuff, Joey started up the same climb and nearly got the onsight, but he got stuck at the crux and had to rest a bit.  Ryan and I top roped it and we also had some trouble at the crux, but I felt it would go once I knew the moves.  I guess that is often the case, though.

Feeling inspired by the bold leaders, I decided to give Tangerine Dream (5.10d) a shot.  I’ve seen this climb listed as an 11a, but I’m not sure that’s fair, even though I would love to notch another 11 in my belt.  It didn’t feel quite that difficult.

Jason starts up Tangerine Dream

It was still plenty hard, though.  Getting to the 3rd bolt, about 20 feet off the ground, was easy enough.  I was  starting to feel like an ace climber when the holds suddenly shrank and the footing became insecure.  Oh, now I’m in for it.

Approaching the first crux

I’m not very comfortable with the thought of falling, so I tend to climb very conservatively.  I should say, when the going gets tough, I hang.  Except on Stichter Quits in Joshua Tree, where hanging was, to my dismay, not an option.  Anyway, I made it to a decent stance just below the first crux, and it must have taken me 15 minutes to suss out the moves.  I found an awkward right hand, a very reachy left, and I could see what appeared to be a decent crimper just out of reach and to the right.  Finally, after much muttering under my breath and calls to “TAKE!”, I decided to commit to the move and shoot for the right hand.  The hold turned out to be better than I expected, and I felt surprised when I stuck it.  I really thought I was going to take one.

Up and over the crux

Good holds with careful feet

My upward progress came in fits and starts, and I came to a screeching halt at nearly every bolt thereafter.  My arms were pumped and I took every opportunity I could to rest.  I was getting close to the anchor – or so I thought – when I realized that I had been looking at the wrong bolts.  That was quite a let down, to say the least.  The final crux came in the last 6 feet of the climb.  After making a very exposed clip from a strenuous undercling, I saw that the final few feet of the climb followed a thick flake that would need to be liebacked to the top.  I had serious doubts whether my arms would agree to such an endeavor, so I rested for a while as my friends below were baking in the sun.

Assessing the final 20 feet

Getting close to the anchor bolts, 80 feet off the deck

Suffice to say I made it to the anchor, but with no shortage of hangs, screams for tension, and curse words.  Looking back, it was actually a really fun climb and one that I feel confident I’d be able to red point, the next time I return.  None of the moves felt overly strenuous, and with strategic rest stances, I think it will go.  Perhaps the most unnerving part of the climb was the rap back down.  Due to the slightly overhanging position of the anchor bolts and the right-leaning nature of the route, I kept swinging out into space as I rapped down and cleaned the draws.  It was a little freaky as I would unclip a bolt and immediately swing out into space with nothing to grab onto.  It’s the kind of thing that should probably be fun – like zip lining – but I was just tired, thirsty, and ready to get back to the ground.

I made it down safe and we called it a day.

Stichter Quits (5.7). Notice two climbers on upper left

Honestly, I didn’t want to lead the route.  Don’t let the soft rating fool you; 5.7 slab climbing means an absence of holds and this climb had a whopping 4 bolts over 120 feet.  A fall in the wrong spot would be pretty disastrous, and you can bet that I was thinking about it.  I could tell that Joey was thinking the same, and I suggested rock-paper-scissors to see who would lead.  In my head, I was thinking that I had a 50% chance of getting out of this one.  As luck would have it, I found myself roping up a few seconds later, and at that point I just focused on the task at hand.  I had to climb this bastard, and falling wasn’t an option.

Getting to the first bolt went smoothly enough.  It’s funny how 20 feet of unprotected climbing feels so safe when you’re looking up at another 100′ horror show.  I don’t care what this climb is rated, it wasn’t any cakewalk.  The paucity of holds did not inspire confidence.  By the time I made it to the second bolt, I was close to 50 feet off the deck, and I let out a sigh of relief.  I remember looking down at Joey and giving him a grin.  “Damn… I’m really high already…”

The crux of the climb is normally after the first bolt, but I discovered my own personal crux somewhere past the third.  I wasn’t able to see the fourth bolt, and I’m pretty sure I was at least 15 feet off the third.  I was in no-man’s land, and the little divots and impressions that counted as holds vanished ahead of me.  I may have been off-route, or maybe my mind was playing tricks on me, but I was starting to get tired and my legs got a little shaky.  I settled into a precarious stance, relying on the friction between my toes and the rock to hold me in place, and I contemplated my next move.  Falling is not an option, I remember telling myself.  “Just relax and trust your feet” I remember Justin had said.  Oh crap, I’m going to slip off this thing and cartwheel into oblivion.

I started to get a bit of Elvis leg and I could tell that I had ten, maybe twenty seconds left before I seriously risked popping off the stance.  Maybe I should just jump off backwards, so that I would retake control of my destiny?  The thought of suddenly slipping off the rock scared the shit out of me.  No holds in sight, I remember telling myself “This is a 5.7 – just trust your feet” and up I went.  The next few moves were a mix of genuine fear and remarkable clarity.  I was very focused.  Without really knowing where to put my hands or feet, I just moved up the slab, putting complete trust in the movement.  I don’t know if I would call it a moment of zen, but it was close.  A minute later, I reached out and grabbed a bomber right hand, and I could see the anchor another 15 feet above me.  I was going to make it.

Jason at the anchor of Stichter Quits

It sure felt good sitting up there, anchored in and safe.  I was so stoked.  As I belayed Joey up, I began to contemplate the myriad scenarios that could have played out.  I felt proud and excited, but I also felt mad and stupid.  I really enjoy climbing, and I know this is an inherently risky activity, but I like to think that I practice a relatively safe version of the sport.  Looking down at the runout face I had just climbed, I realized that I’m getting myself into some serious situations, and that I had better be damn clear about the risks I’m willing to accept.  Dying is not an option.

Ok, so a little dramatic, I admit.  But this is the kind of stuff that runs through my head sometimes.  I wonder how many other climbers have these thoughts?  Lots, I bet, even if they don’t like to talk about it.

Joey at the top, I think he was glad it was over, too

A Joshua Tree “walk-off” can mean anything from a short 3rd class scramble to a 5.4 horror show.  In this case, we found ourselves perched near the top of a big dome of rock, where a little slip would mean certain death.  I belayed Joey until he reached a higher safe point, and then he found a solid stance and belayed me the rest of the way.

I didn’t take many pictures after that.  We moved over to the NW side of Echo Cove and Joey eyed a 5.11b sport climb called Ground Up or Shut Up.  The finish looked pretty tough (blank face) but we saw a variation that angled up a big crack system.  It looked as if it would take gear, and Joey decided to go for a mix lead.  I was impressed, because we didn’t really know how it would protect.  It took a while , but after some shaky placements in a dubious crack, he made it to the top.  I decided to scramble to the top via the backside of the formation, and I reset the top rope to clean the route.  I was worried that if the upper placements should blow, it would allow a bunch of slack into the system and potentially lead to a ground fall.  While I was sitting at the top of the climb, a local popped up after having soloed a 5.10b and I politely asked him if he would hand me our anchor, which was hanging out of reach.  I was still nervous after my lead,  and my head wasn’t right for the rest of the day.  I had a difficult time top-roping the route that Joey had just led.

The Bong (5.4)

We were running out of time, and we decided to hit one more easy trad route before heading back to San Diego.  I had followed an easy climb called The Bong a while back, and I figured it would be a nice and mellow way to end an exciting day.  I don’t remember this route giving me any trouble in the past, but as I mentioned above, my head had become all screwy.  I got up to the crux, a little well-protected roof, and I just lost all my confidence.  I actually called down to Joey and asked him if he wanted to take it over.  I spent so much time futzing around with my placements, I was tiring myself out and I actually slipped off and took a tiny fall onto a purple C4.  It was probably good that I slipped, because I just sat there and hung off the piece for a while, which helped me build some confidence back.  I finished out the climb, which felt a hell of a lot harder than 5.4, and brought Joey up.  We were tired and ready to call it a day.  That’s when we were faced with our final challenge; a sketchy downclimb to get back to the ground.  This was no walk-off, it was a legit climb with 50+ feet of vertical drop.  I had done it before, and I don’t think it’s quite as bad as it initially looks, but Joey wanted no part of it.  He opted to leave one of his runners, which we slung around a giant boulder and rapped from.  I couldn’t have agreed more with the decision.  What a day.

Rapping off from the top of The Bong

The approach

I’m really starting to like El Cajon, the more I go.  It’s close to my house (30 minute drive) and though it’s a bit of a slog to get to the base of the cliff (1,800 feet of elevation gain over ~2 miles), it feels wild and secluded.  It’s an enormous wall as compared to Mission Gorge and the other climbing venues near metropolitan San Diego.  I also like the texture of the rock itself, which isn’t too slick or chossy at all.

Nearly there

At the start

Getting to the wall does take some time, but I’m happy to report that we found the proper start and saved ourselves the awful bushwhacking at the beginning.  The weather was good and I think it was cold enough to keep the rattlesnakes in their dens.  Hiking up through the tall grass, I’m always worried that I will stick my hand into a snake’s open mouth.

The last time we were here, it was sunny and hot and we underestimated how much water we’d need.  By the time we finished rapping down from the top of Leonids (5.9), we were seriously dehydrated.  This trip, I brought 3 liters of water and a big Gatorade, and hydration was not a problem.  I also enjoyed some M&M’s while we hung out at the top of pitch one.  There’s nothing like a mouthful of M&M’s to draw one’s attention away from the fact that your toe feels as if it is about to break off.  But that is a story for another day.

Ryan at the start of Bright Eyes (5.6)

Ryan and I have climbed together a fair amount, but this would be his first trad lead.  I was excited for him, because this route was one of my first trad climbs and I remember what it felt like to enter that chimney, not knowing what to expect.  I gave him some beta and off he went.  He told me that he intended to “sew it up”, a strategy that any new leader would be wise to follow.

Upward progress

Approaching the crux of the climb

In order to climb safely, the leader must place protection into the rock at frequent intervals.  Leaving the ground, the leader might carry 15 or 20 pieces of gear, along with all the associated slings and carabiners that are needed to attach the rope.  Figuring out when and where (and how) to place this gear is both art and science, and this is really what makes trad climbing so fun.  If you place too many pieces at the beginning of the climb, you could run out before you reach the end.  If you don’t place your pieces at smart intervals, you risk hitting something should you fall.

The belay

Any new leader is faced with a serious problem.  There is no way of really knowing if your placements are sound, unless you actually fall on them.  So you climb conservatively, well below your personal limit, and slowly gain experience placing gear.  But until you take that first whipper, how do you really know?  How can you trust that little chunk of aluminum is going to catch you, should you fall?  Even if you climb with a mentor who has vast experience, at some point, you have to cast off on your own and put the theory to the test.  And in doing so, you are taking a calculated risk.  But I suppose that this is one of the rewards of trad climbing.  High on the rock, you have to be pretty clear-headed about what you’re doing and why.  Nothing else matters.  There are moments of gripping terror, and then sweet relief when you sink that cam into a fat crack.

Bright Eyes (5.6)

Praying to the gods?

Sewing it up

Ryan led the first pitch slowly and methodically, and he did a much better job of protecting the climb than I did a few months ago.  I think I got a little nonchalant in the chimney section, opting to gun for the top rather than spend time looking for the best pro.  I made a mental note to be more conservative on future climbs, especially so early in my climbing career.

Belay station

El Capitan Reservoir

I led the second pitch, which felt pretty easy except for the very last section, which was a bit exposed.  Ryan commented that the top of pitch 2 felt just as hard as the chimney in pitch 1, but I disagreed.  Perhaps it was my broken toe, but I felt totally insecure as I was stemming up that thing.

Up high

Rapping down

And no, my toe isn’t really broken (at least I don’t think it is).  It just hurts like hell, and stemming is not my friend right now.  Time for more ibuprofen.

I asked Cy if he would be interested in a hike up Mt. Woodson, which isn’t far from my house.  We huffed and puffed our way up the steep road, and even old Newbie was having a hard time with the grade.  Pushing our matching Bob strollers, I’m sure we were quite the sight to behold.

Baby Hike

Z-bug

Mac

Newbie took care of some business at the bottom of the hill, which meant that I wouldn’t have to lug a bag of crap the whole way.  Unfortunately, he dragged his leash through the poop before I could clean it up, and I inadvertently got feces on my hands.  This created a bit of a conundrum, since my hands now stunk of poo and I would need to handle and feed the poor Z-bug.  Oh well, what are you going to do?  I decided to rub my hands together furiously, in an effort to kill any bacteria with friction and heat.  I’m pretty sure it worked.

Newbie

The diving board

The precarious remains of a giant exfoliated boulder sits near the top of Mt. Woodson, and we decided to take some photos.  The rock is  frighteningly thin at its edge, and it makes for a wonderful photo.  If you stand on the edge and bounce up and down, you can actually feel the rock flex underneath you, and it feels like a diving board.  My New Dad’s Handbook didn’t mention anything about this type of activity being unsafe, so I’m sure it was fine.

Cy and Mac

Jason and Zanatos

The keen observer will notice that I am standing much closer to the edge than Cy.  Having stood on this rock before, I felt confident that it would support our weight.  Also, Cy is a bit of a weenie, if you must know.  Just kidding.  He’s more responsible than I am.

Adventure Baby

Z-bug was getting tired and hungry, so we packed the kids up and began our descent.  I decided to hold off on feeding Zane until I got a chance to clean off my poo hands, though he didn’t thank me or show any appreciation.  I thought that was rude of him.

Z-bug frown

View from the summit of Mt. Woodson

Cy and Mac

The approach - the Red Rocks Loop Road

Calico Hills

It had rained the day before, and I was worried that the rock (sandstone) would be too soft to climb.  There’s something unnerving about scaling a cliff that is essentially compacted sand.  As we drove into the park, we saw a bunch of other climbers (little dots on the wall) and this helped to alleviate my fears.  The rock must be safe, right?

Hiking in

It's much colder than it appears

It had been a few weeks since I last climbed, and I didn’t feel ready to jump on anything hard.  Hell, I never feel ready to jump on anything hard.  I have plenty of fun on easy climbs, after all.  We decided to open the weekend with a jaunt up a bolted 2-pitch route called Man’s Best Friend (5.7).  The short approach involved a scramble up a 3rd class gully and an exposed traverse across some slabby sandstone.  I started feeling nervous when one of the holds broke off in my hand as I negotiated a ledge.  This sandstone is interesting stuff…

Standing at the base of Man's Best Friend (5.7)

The route starts near my shadow in the picture above.  It follows a prominent crack to a hanging belay where the rock transitions from gold to red.  I imagine the colors must represent the layers of some ancient sand dunes, but I wasn’t contemplating the geology while I climbed.  I was mainly thinking don’t fall.  The climbing was actually very fun and secure, and I reached the belay without incident.  Tom followed and soon joined me at our uncomfortable perch, about halfway up the wall.

Starting up the crack

In case you’re wondering, I don’t make a habit of mugging for photos while my belayer releases the rope.  If you look close, I’m clipped into a bolt and hanging there on tether.  I politely asked Tom to take this picture with one hand, while keeping the other on the brake, just to be safe.

The start of Man's Best Friend

At the first anchor

View from the top

We eventually reached the top, where it was windy and freezing ass cold.  We enjoyed the view for a minute or two, and then began rigging the rappel to get back to the ground.  I rapped down to the first anchor and tied in, and Tom cleaned the top anchor and joined me a few minutes later.

Tom rapping down

Tom at the top

We reached the ground safely (two rappels) and relaxed at the base for a bit.  It was getting colder now, and we were tired from the long day of travel.  The loop road closes at 5 pm, and we decided to call it a day and head back to the city for food and drinks.

I wanted to climb Physical Graffiti (5.6) the next day; a long 2-pitch trad route that the guidebook gives 3 stars.  As it turns out, we ate two dinners (the first at 5 pm, the second at 10 pm) and then drank and gambled well into the night.  No, an early start was not in the cards.  We forced ourselves out of bed at 10 am the next day, and after a confusing attempt at ordering breakfast at Burger King, we were back in Red Rocks by mid day.  A late start, to be sure.

Rather than attempt a multi-pitch trad climb while hungover, we decided to head to the Panty Wall, a popular beginner’s area with numerous face climbs in the 5.7-9 range.  There were no fewer than 4 other parties on the wall, but we found an unoccupied route for ourselves and tied in.

Panty Wall

I felt like crap.  I was tired and dehydrated, and I was still ruminating over the money I’d lost playing blackjack at The Mirage.  Looking up at the route, I could see plenty of holds, but there appeared to be serious deck potential up until the 3rd bolt (about 25 feet high).  I shot Tom a look that said, “Watch me, buddy” and started up the climb.  I felt a sense of relief when I clipped that 3rd bolt.  I reached the top and lowered off, and then Tom climbed the route on top rope.  I climbed it a second time on top rope, and then we pulled the rope while leaving the 3rd bolt clipped.  Tom, with a little prodding, was ready to attempt his first lead climb.  Well, a quasi-lead, anyway.  I don’t think he wanted any part of those first 25 feet, and I don’t blame him.

A year ago, Tom was belaying me as I started up my first lead, and now our roles were reversed.  Good times.

Tom leading The Last Panty (5.7)

I was still feeling like crap, so we decided to call it a day.  I would have gladly top-roped some more climbs, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with the leads.  I could tell that Tom wanted to climb some more, but unless he was willing to take the sharp end, we were done.

Which way is the car?

Tom

Giant pocket

The womb

Or so I thought.  We made it back to the car by 3 pm, and I suddenly felt a sense of urgency.  I had packed all this trad gear out to Vegas and I hadn’t even used it!  We drove a couple miles down the road and parked at the base of an arcing crack called Fender Bender (5.6).  I was rushing things, because we had to be out of the park by 5 pm (or face a $120 fine).  I quickly racked my gear and began eyeballing the route.  It looked as if the first opportunity for protection would be about 12 feet off the ground, and then another 12-15 feet before the crack offered any solid pro.  Ahh, what to do?  Tom wasn’t exactly enthusiastic at this point, but I figured I could start up and scope it out, and always bail if need be.  And that’s exactly what I did.  I made it to the first piece of pro, a tiny pocket that would accept a small cam.  Looking up, then down, then out towards the horizon…  screw it.  This wasn’t smart climbing and it certainly wasn’t fun climbing.  I carefully downclimbed back to the base and we called it a day.

The start of Fender Bender (5.6)

On Saturday, four of us ventured out to the crag to climb the 3-pitch classic Leonids (5.9).  The 350 foot route is fun and sustained face climbing up a well-protected line that finishes above the Triton Tower, a large wedge-shaped rock that juts out from the face of El Cajon Mountain.

We passed a couple of hunters on the approach.  Four climbers crashing through the brush and a couple of old codgers in full camo, whispering to us, “Be careful… it’s deer season…”

After 1,800 feet of elevation gain, we reached the bottom of the climb.  We decided to climb in two parties, one right after the other.  Ryan and I would go first, followed by Joey and Joel.  I should note that these photos are all courtesy of Ryan, who brought along his point-n-shoot.

Searching for the start

Looking up at the wall, one sees lots and lots of bolts.  Everywhere.  I suppose that might turn some people off, but I don’t really mind at all.  When I see shiny bolts stretching as far as the eye can see, I’m thinking protection.  If we were in a pristine mountain environment I would probably think different, but this was East San Diego County, after all.

We spent some time searching for the start, and then I set off to lead pitch one.  The holds were small and the climbing was very sustained, and I called for tension so that I could rest at a couple of bolts.  I might have started with a desire to flash the route (to climb it clean without any hanging) but I gave that up after passing through the crux, which left me feeling unnerved and shaky.

Gearing up for the start

It took me about 25 minutes to reach the 2-bolt hanging belay, about 175 feet off the ground.  I used a couple of runners to build a redundant sliding-X anchor, and then brought Ryan up by belaying directly from the anchor using my Black Diamond Guide.  Shortly after Ryan set off, Joel led with his own rope and draws.  The system worked pretty well, and my only complaint was the uncomfortable hanging stance, which was absolute murder on our feet.  It would have been uncomfortable enough if we were swinging leads as a party of 2, but the fact that there were 4 of us made for longer transitions.

Ryan was feeling confident, and he decided to lead the second pitch.  He cast off, leaving me and Joel hanging at the anchor.  We spent the next 30 minutes complaining to each other how bad our feet hurt.  A bit later, Joey made it up to the belay and the three of us winced and shifted our weight around as we waited for Ryan to complete the pitch.  Ryan got stuck on the final move below the anchor, and at one point he yelled at us, “What are my options here?!”  With 160 feet of rope paid out, I had to inform him that his best option was to figure out a way up.  I knew he was scared and out of his comfort zone, but the other option involved downclimbing the route, which would be even worse.  Anyone who leads will eventually face a situation where they are gripped with fear, and learning to deal with that fear is an important part of climbing.  I won’t speculate what thoughts might have been running through Ryan’s head, but he found a way past the crux and he finished the pitch.  I am positive he is a better climber, having faced it.

Looking down from the top of the second pitch

Ryan brought me up the second pitch, with Joey behind on his first lead.  I would occasionally look down and smile – it sure felt good knowing that I was on top-rope.  I was able to enjoy the climbing and the view.  I arrived at the second belay and after some route-finding and discussion, set off on the third pitch, which was surprisingly exposed.  I’m not sure that the moves themselves were difficult, but this short pitch involved a traverse up a little ramp and around an exposed corner, and I didn’t like it one bit.

Ryan joined me soon after, and we started our rappels.  I descended to the top of the Triton Tower and we made 4 more very exposed raps back down to the ground.  I’ll be honest – I don’t enjoy rappelling at all.  You’re 100% dependent on your equipment and there are just so many opportunities for something to go wrong.  I’m paranoid about the rope getting stuck or tangled, and on one of the raps I found myself hanging from a 2-bolt anchor with one of the knotted ends caught on a flake about 30 feet away.  It was a windy day, and it might have been safer to forgo the knots and just be extra vigilant about the rope ends.  Ryan was able to clear the jam on his way down, but it was still unnerving.  We were descending the face of the tower which appeared to be 5.11+ climbing – it wouldn’t be fun trying to climb back up, in an emergency.  We made it down safely, and from start to finish, the climb took us exactly 5 hours.

Joey

Joel at the top

The second "comfortable" belay

By the end of the day, I was seriously dehydrated.  I had consumed 64 fluid ounces of Gatorade since we started, but my mouth felt like sandpaper.  We stopped for a brief rest in the shade and all I could do was stand there like a zombie.  I looked over at Joey, who was pouring water over his head to cool down.  What the?  I felt like Steve Martin’s character in The Three Amigos, when they’re dying from thirst and Dusty Bottoms is gargling with water and offers them lip balm.

We hiked back to our cars as fast as we could and then reconvened at the 7-11 in Lakeside, where I bought a quart of chocolate milk, a 32 ounce Gatorade, and a 44 ounce Big Gulp of Coke.  I knew it was a mistake, but I filled my stomach with so much liquid that I nearly vomited on the way home.  I spent the rest of the evening fighting off leg cramps and drinking more fluids.  Coke never tasted so good.

It wasn’t hard at all to convince my mom to spend a few days in San Diego.  Armed with backup, Jasmine gave me the go-ahead and I was giddy at the thought of an escape into the wilderness.  It would be a short trip, but time has become a precious commodity these days.

Jasmine and Zanatos @ 6 weeks

In case you’re wondering, the answer is yes.  I will be posting pictures of my little bug on these pages, every chance I get.  I don’t have the time or energy to run another photo blog (not yet, at least).

My friend Ryan shares an interest in photography and climbing, and we had been talking about climbing the East Ridge of Mt. Russell.  Early season snow put an end to that plan, so we decided on the Dusy Basin, as our fall back destination.

We drove to Horseshoe Meadows to acclimate on Thursday night.  At 10,000 feet, it serves as an excellent camp before a trip into the high country.  I brought along my old North Face Snowshoe, a sleeping bag rated to zero degrees.  I shivered my ass off all night!  That’s the last time I use that bag for anything other than slumber parties.  I had no idea that synthetics lose so much loft, but then again, that bag is over 10 years old.  Fortunately, I also brought my new REI Expedition, which is rated to a frigid -20 degrees.  Overkill, I know, but I never got a chance to use it last winter, and I figured that a bivy near 14,000 feet would be a good initiation.

We drove to Bishop the next morning, ate at Schat’s Bakery, and collected our permit.  The plan was to hike into the Dusy Basin, spend a night, and then climb Mt. Agassiz (13,891 feet) and bivy near the summit the second night.  This would give us the opportunity to photograph the Palisade Crest and Palisade Glacier at sunrise, a longtime goal of mine.  We could see some peaks from the trailhead, and though there was snow, we decided to leave our crampons and ice axes in the car.  A decision that we would come to regret the following day, when we were halfway up the mountain and unprepared for the conditions.

South Lake

Halfway there

The trail to the Dusy Basin passes through a charming valley and then climbs up and over Bishop Pass (11,972 feet).  As we gained altitude, the small patches of snow continued to grow until we were hiking almost exclusively over a packed-down trail of the white stuff.  After four miles, we reached the bottom of the pass and started our ascent.

Looking back down the valley

Looking up towards Bishop Pass

Early season snow

Jason at the top

Our camp, Upper Dusy Basin

After setting up camp and relaxing for a bit, Ryan and I headed off in different directions to scout the area for some nice photos.  It was still well before sunset, but I wanted to investigate the area and find a nice location to shoot the  sunrise.  Sadly, as often is the case in the Sierra Nevada, I watched as the clouds slowly evaporated away, leaving behind nothing but clear blue sky.  I did manage to make a few images before the clouds disappeared entirely, though.

Upper Dusy Basin

The Palisades

Afternoon light

It was getting chilly and I dashed back to camp to add some layers and grab my headlamp.  There didn’t seem to be much hope that the Palisades or surrounding peaks would light up, so I prepared my dinner and relaxed for a while.  Before it got completely dark, I moved my tripod to the edge of the little ledge we were camped on, and prepared the camera for a wide angle view of the entire Dusy Basin.  The moon would be bright, and I figured it would be worth capturing an image illuminated by nothing but the soft lunar glow.  Ryan prepared his camera for a star-trails shot using his intervalometer, which would turn out pretty neat.

Dusy Moonscape

The next morning, I shot some more photos and we loafed around camp until it warmed up a bit.  Sometime after 10 am, we packed up our gear and made our way back to Bishop Pass.  From there, we headed off trail and towards a very large boulder at the base of Mt. Agassiz.  There, we ditched some unnecessary gear (bear canister, tent, etc.) and then eyed the various routes up the west side of the mountain.

Ryan surveys the routes up Mt. Agassiz

Mt. Agassiz’s western flank is lined with alternating spiny ribs and wide, talus-filled gullies.   We chose the widest and most benign-looking gully, and then started towards it’s base.  We reached the large snowfield pictured above, and quickly discovered that it was easier to zig-zag our way up the snow rather than try and boulder hop.  Ryan has some mountaineering experience, and he showed me the correct way to French step and front-point safely up the slope.  He kicked steps and led the way, making it very easy to follow.  We didn’t have our axes or crampons, but trekking poles helped us keep our balance.  The angle of the slope felt intimidating at first, but I gained confidence as we moved higher on the mountain.  Looking down at our zig-zagging steps was exhilarating to this first-time mountaineer.  The footing felt secure, but I wondered what the consequences of a slip might be.  It looked as if an uncontrolled slide down a 1/4 mile of snow would be the result.  So, I tried my best not to slip.

Our route up Mt. Agassiz

Ryan in the lead

Kicking steps is hard work

Following is easier

Not that easier

After reaching the top of the snow slope, we began boulder hopping our way into the gully.  Easier said than done – our packs were heavy and the snow was thigh-deep in places.  We slowly made our way up the gully, which was starting to narrow and steepen.  I was feeling committed now, and my heart was racing due to the exertion, the altitude, and the exposure.  The middle of the gully was buried in deep snow and ice.  We climbed along the steeper edge, where it felt safer to scramble up broken talus.  I was paranoid about pulling a giant boulder onto myself, so I made an effort to climb in balance, testing any rocks that looked suspect.

An hour later, we had navigated our way to the upper part of the gully, where it turned north towards the summit plateau.  We were getting close.  Unfortunately, what started as 3rd class scrambling was starting to feel more like climbing.  I checked my watch and it showed 13,000 feet – we were only 800 feet from the summit.  Looking up, I could see that Ryan had come to a halt at an awkward, exposed area.  He eventually pulled himself up and over some boulders and scrambled out of view.  It was my turn, and I spent several minutes searching for a better option.  I was starting to feel more and more uncomfortable.  A big flake of rock jutted out in front of me, but it seemed awfully precarious.  It must have weighed two hundred pounds (or more) and it was wedged in place by two meager points of contact with the surrounding boulders.  It felt solid, but I couldn’t bring myself to place my entire bodyweight on this flake to pull myself up.  If that flake blew, it would come crushing down on me and then we’d both tumble down the gully in a big, ugly mess.

I shouted up to Ryan and we began discussing our options.  It wasn’t long ago that we were in a similar situation – on scary terrain and trying to decide whether to go up or down.  I don’t remember my exact words, but they were something like, “This is horrifying…”  We talked some more and he said something along the lines of, “Well, I don’t want to die.”  I stemmed out as far as I felt comfortable, found a frighteningly small hold for my right hand, and then reached for a big sloper with my left.  Relying on the friction between my hand and the rock, I pulled myself up and over this little crux and breathed a sigh of relief.  That was an exposed climbing move with a 40 lb. pack on my back, and the thought of having to downclimb this terrain made me felt sick.

Lacking better equipment, we had reached the point where the risks outweighed the rewards.  We considered dumping our packs and continuing on to scout the route, but the real concern was getting back down, not up.  It’s almost always easier to go up than it is to descend.  If the weather turned sour, there was no way we would be able to downclimb this terrain in a snowstorm.  If we camped at the summit, the snow would likely ice over at night, making a morning retreat even more treacherous.  Hanging out at the summit until the following afternoon didn’t seem like an option, since we had to be home the following night.  It was a bittersweet decision, but we decided to turn around.

Later, Ryan mentioned that he was thinking about the newspaper headline during all this: Two Climbers Fall to their Deaths on Mt. Agassiz, Ice Axes and Crampons Left in Truck.

There's always next year

The descent

Walking down snow is easier than boulder hopping

Glissading down the final slope

We plunge-stepped our way quickly down the chute and back to the snow slope.  In retrospect, we should have stayed in the deep snow in the middle of the gully, rather than out on the exposed edge.  This would have certainly offered safe passage to the top.  Descending this slope in the morning would have been tricky, though, and there was no way of knowing how hard the snow would freeze at night.  In any case, I felt like we learned something about snow travel and how to read the terrain, and I walked away from the experience feeling as if we accomplished something.  And it was a heck of a lot of fun, too.

Instead of heading back down into the basin, we picked up our stashed gear and hiked up to a little knob above Bishop Pass.  From our campsite, we had outstanding views of Giraud Peak and the Black Divide to the west, and Hurd Peak to the north.  I wouldn’t get a chance to photograph the Palisade Crest from above, but some nice clouds appeared at sunset, and I came away with some keepers.

Sunset Over Hurd Peak

A small lake near Bishop Pass

I’ll close this post with my favorite picture from the trip.  On the hike out, as we approached the trailhead, we caught up to a small group of Asian hikers. 

“Hey Ryan, check it out.  Koreans.”

“How do you know they’re Korean??”

 ”Um, I can just tell.  It’s the way they’re walking, see how they hold they’re hands behind their backs like that?”  

They moved to the side of the trail and as we passed them by, I casually said kam-sam-nee-da which means thank you. They erupted in laughter and smiles.  At the trailhead, there was an even bigger group and I offered to take their picture.  From behind the camera, I said hana-dul-set (1-2-3) and then snapped the picture.  More smiles and laughter.  It was a ton of fun and I doubt they had any idea I had just used 90% of my Korean vocabulary in those two brief interactions.  Actually, I wonder if any of them suspected I was half Korean, or just some random white guy who knows a few Korean words.  We’ll never know.

My homies

The Last of the Bachelors

After some debate, Lakshan decided to celebrate the end of his bachelorhood with a surf trip to Pt. Mugu, just north of Malibu.  This is a story told in pictures, and possibly some odd quotes that won’t make a whole lot of sense unless you happen to be drunk.  Enjoy.

Stocking up on supplies

Band of Brothers and chair

As it turns out, the trailer came in very handy.  We stopped in Malibu for some groceries, and imagine my surprise when the guys returned with an office chair and a Roman column.  As the old saying goes, never pass up a free Roman column.

Camping essentials

Pillar of Truth

“The situation is that his guns are bigger than mine and he has more of them. We keep our heads down while his troops dig 30 yards of trench a day. When those trenches are 200 yards from the fort and within range, he’ll bring in his 15-inch mortars, lob explosive rounds over our walls, and pound us to dust.”

Rock, machete, tire iron, & pipe

Shoes with which we stomp

There is honor in this board

“Death and honor are thought to be the same, but today I have learned that sometimes they are not.”

Camp

Wave-riding apparatus

“I just dropped in to see how you boys was doing.”

Sycamore Cove, Pt. Mugu State Park

Steve showing off

Window of Truth

Campfire antics

“The whole world is set on fire.”

The morning after

Cy's special hash

“It was a war party. That means they’re going to be attacking up and down the frontier.”

Suiting up

Throwback boards

Mike and Mike

“There is a war on. How is it you are headed west?”

Hope there's surf

paddle out

“I saw nothing that would lead me to the conclusion that it was other than a raid by savages bent on thievery.”

Lopez

Lopez

“But he knew the consequences, and he stayed. Are those the actions of a criminal?”

Cy

Cy

Mike

“They’re going to hang you. Why didn’t you leave when you had the chance?”

Lopez

Steve on his giant bodyboard

Cy

The layback

“I ain’t your scout. And we sure ain’t no damn militia.”

California day

Pelicans

Lopez

Jason

Lakshan

“Haven’t you got anything better to do on the lake today, Major?”

Steve

Cy and Lopez

Jason

“You’ve complimented me with your persistence and patience, but the decision I’ve come to is this. I would rather make the gravest of mistakes than surrender my own judgment.”

PCH

Wild fennel

Steve makes a discovery

“No, you submit, do you hear? You be strong, you survive… You stay alive, no matter what occurs! I will find you. No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you.”

-Steve referring to his precious fennel seed

Drying off

“Death and honor are thought to be the same, but today I have learned that sometimes they are not.”

The honorable one

Lakshan

“When the Grey Hair is dead, Magua will eat his heart. Before he dies, Magua will put his children under the knife, so the Grey Hair will know his seed is wiped out forever.”

Jaime and Mike

guys

“Nathaniel’s word’s been good on thie frontier a long time before you got here.”

Bedroom view

Cy

“They do not live their lives “by your leave”! They hack it out of the wilderness with their own two hands, bearing their children along the way!”

Buttered spuds

Buttered donut

Weird face

“Great Spirit, Maker of All Life. A warrior goes to you swift and straight as an arrow shot into the sun. Welcome him and let him take his place at the council fire of my people. He is Uncas, my son. Tell them to be patient and ask death for speed; for they are all there but one – I, Chingachgook – Last of the Mohicans.”

Parting shot