Thursday, June 17th, was spent at Roadside Crag. We started on the slab wall, working some 5.7s, .8s, and .9. Deck tried to lead the first .7, and after working through the beginning he became sketched out half way through and didn’t finish. Climbing a slab, even a 5.7, can become never racking, especially if it’s one of your first leads. A fall that results in grated skin all down your body is not an appealing outcome to a bad foot placement.
I hoped on to another 5.7, then 5.8 when some other climbers showed up. For the most part we had the cliff face to ourselves, save the couple around the corner climbing a .11. We got to talking to this group of climbers out from Columbus Ohio. Shared some jokes, talked about some woman who was blogging about a plastic Wal-Mart bag that has been snared in a tree outside her window for the last ten years (and how it would be ironic if it suffocating ended up involved in the woman’s suicide).
They talked about heading out to Military Wall to try Fuzzy Under-cling, a supposedly phenomenal .11. They then took off, we wished them the best, and I went on to climb a .9- slab. Chris and I decided to take a look at the popular A.W.O.L. around the bend, back near the approach. It’s a slightly overhanging crag with pockets and jugs so chalked up that telling which ones are worth a desperate grip becomes frustrating and just annoying. But after some time studying the formations it becomes clearer where the good holds are. We walked up to the route only to see other people already climbing on it. However, it was the same group that was up climbing near us before.
Again, we got to talking, and discussed the route. I asked if they would let us hop on their top rope. With a “go-ahead,” I cranked through the pumping route, not falling, and thinking that I could have led it, but not clean. On the ground our new friends gave us some pointers, that with over hangs it’s a time game.
“Once you’re on, the clock starts ticking, and you have to keep moving,” they told us. It was only then that I asked their names: Pat, Gabriel, Matt, and Charlie; all of them nice people, decent climbers, and good company. I got to talking to Pat about the route next of A.W.O.L. called Dragon Slayer; a .10d with a brief start to some mono’s then just a pumpy climb the rest of the way. I offered my rope if Pat led on his draws. He smiled and said he was in.
Up he went, brutally pawing his way up the wall, past all of the mono’s like they were nothing. About two bolts away from the anchors he took a hanging rest, then back on he finished and came down.
I hoped on just the same and motored through the mono’s falling only after I had worked through them. Because of rope-stretch, I had to do them again, but if once was hard, twice was nothing. At the top I again fell, and then finished it up quickly. Some of the other guys went, then Deck. He tried his best, but got to the monos and couldn’t get past them.
“I don’t have the finger strength,” he said. Deck is a solid climber, very leisure about it. That’s good. It is a sport for fun after all.
No, what I think a lot of the problems are when someone climbs are purely mental. Not say that’s Deck’s problem, because I believe him when he says that he lacked the finger strength. It’s just that I’ve seen many climbers flat out tell themselves that they can’t do the moves (guys and girls alike). Yet the strength is there, but when you can’t get the move the first time, you become discouraged at trying it again. Every new attempt, every new way of going about the problem that fails is one more demerit to your confidence. But by not being able to find the solution doesn’t mean you can get through the problem, it just means you haven’t seen the solution. The physical strength may be there, just not the mental sharpness to see the progressions of hand movements, where to put your feet, or how to adjust your body weight.
But knowing your physical limits is even harder sometimes. You could keep trying a problem knowing full well that you can’t complete it because of the lack of strength and seriously injure yourself. That’s when to call it quits. And that’s even less discouraging than just not being able to figure out the problem itself.
In the end the more you climb, the better you get physically and mentally.
The day was getting late. I gave Pat and Charlie my number. They said they may make a trip back to the Red next weekend and would give me a call if they did. It’s good to know I have potential partners.
We parted; Deck and I picked up some beer, tall-boy PBRs, and headed back to Miguel’s. I made food and then worked on some of my Whiskey. A lot of climbers apparently have a taste for Woodford Reserve Kentucky Bourbon. While eating dinner Pat and all of them came to Miguel’s for pizza before their ride home. I walked over to their table, uncorked my bottle of whiskey, and slammed it on the table.
“You guys can’t head out for a three hour car drive without some whiskey in ya,” I told them, and passed around the bottle. They too we pleased with my choice of drink. We talked some more. They thanked me, and took off after they finished their pizza and Busch Light.
Another beer run was in order, and PBR was on the menu once again.
When we got back Jon was sitting at a picnic table and we sat and talked for hours, watching some kids play basketball. Jon told us about how he wasn’t sure he wanted to be here again, staying at Miguel’s.
It was the rowdy nature of some of the younger climbers that I think bothered him most. He seemed like an old fashioned kind of man. He worked for the State of Colorado fixing refrigeration and heating units in government buildings. He had a bad shoulder problem that gave him trouble in climbing. He was worried about getting it looked at then having to take time off of work to let it heal. Jon had no more sick days left because his wife also went through a surgery, and like a good husband he took time off to watch over her. The way he talked about his wife showed how much he loved her.
The kids’ basket ball bounced all around, bouncing wildly in all directions off of the gravel court.
“I’m just waiting to see that ball hit someone in the head,” Deck joked. We all had a good laugh. The picnic tables spilled out into the court, out from under the awning.
Shortly after that comment, the ball went flying into a woman’s wine and pizza. A few shouts of “look out” weren’t enough. And some lanky kid took the ball, awkwardly stood there and mumbled an apology. Yes. He just stood there with his head down. The woman smiled and forgave him, but Jon was distraught by the lack of responsibility taken.
“They shoulda bought her a beer,” he barked loud enough for the woman to hear. “Or a soda or sumthin’. Ain’t that Miguel’s kid, he coulda got her anything, but didn’t. Those damned kids, man. I’m sorry but that ain’t how my momma raised me.”
“Me neither,” Chris added.
“Yeah, I’m not staying here again, I’ll tell you what.”
Then he got up and went over to the woman and man sitting at the table, still sopping up the wasted alcohol. I didn’t catch what he said, but I suspect he offered her a drink, but she shookher head at whatever he offered.
Jon stewed for the rest of the night. After seeing the awkward interaction between perpetrator and victim, and hearing Jon’s displeasure at how it was handled, I’ll make more of an effort to handle similar situations better than that.
The next day we met up with Jon and Jason Gould at Phantasia wall, where I led the 5.9 Creature Feature. It’s a route that starts with a small climb to a ledge where there is a roof that extends out over the bottom cliff face. With a left hand on a small pocket under-cling, I reached around the lip of the roof, slapping for jugs. I then match my hands, clipped a bolt, and then heel hooked and hoisted myself up to a slab finish full of more jugs. It’s one of the better climbs I’ve done thus far.
We then went and had Jason run up our rope an overhanging 5.10d full of laybacks. We top-roped the route for a while, talking with the other climbers that showed up. Jon and Jason had to take off and head home. Jon offered his place to Deck and I if we were ever in the area, and would show us some of the climbing near him. We talked to the climbers warming up on the stuff we struggled at. Clearly they were better. Rob is an elderly man, maybe mid fifties, but I heard he was closer to 65. They were at that specific crag to work a 5.12 called Twinkie. I talked to Rob some, he was soloing in the area, and I told him my similar situation. I offered to climb with him, and he I. In fact, he invited me along to climb with him, Eric and Dasha; the latter two coming from Salt Lake City. I gladly accepted.
I let them climb on my pre placed draws on the 5.10d, provided that they clean it when they were done. They did, and Deck and I took some time, talking with them, resting and such. When they were done, we followed them to watch their attempts at climbing Twinkie. Rob was up. He worked his way up a balance required technical slab to a sheer overhang that could almost be called a ceiling. There were pockets littered with chalk, and permanently placed draws quick-linked to all the bolts. Rob grabbed jug after jug, grunting here and there. He clipped one draw, then the next, before his hand slapped a sloped hold and took a fall.
“Shit!” he yelled. He knew exactly what it was he was trying to avoid, but not knowing where. And to his poor luck, he found it.
He was lowered. The goal was to do it without falling. At that point Chris and I took off for Left Flank back up the road. I wanted to lead To Defy the Laws of Tradition, a 5.10. We got there just after another group. They offered to let us have at it, but they were there first. So I egged Deck into leading a fairly vertical 5.8 arête. He struggled at the second clip, but then pulled through miraculously. Then we hit To Defy. I completed it with two or three hanging rests. Making sure I didn’t grip the chains again, and to stay on the rock. Deck followed, and successfully completed it after a few failed starts, and beta on a side-pull and under-cling match. I had him leave in the two draws at the anchors so I could try to do the route clean, if only on top-rope. I walked through it, which aggravated me that I didn’t flash it the first time. Maybe next time.
We got back to Miguel’s, and made some food, hung around, and talked about finding the reservoir that so many people had jumped in, or even checking out some arches in the area. Instead we ate some food, drank some beer, had some whiskey and played cards and talked with Rob, Eric and Dasha. It was a good night all around.
At some point I met another climber soloing in the area, Pat. I asked if he had a partner, he asked if I had a car. I confirmed that I did, he then said that he had a rope and draws and that I had a partner. All was well.
The next morning, Saturday, Chris took off for home. I made it a rest day. I hiked to Grey’s Arch. It was only a mile away from the trail head. There was no one around. I hiked for a while, listening to some music has I walked through the forest. Then the path descended to a set of stairs, then to another set. There were so many bush-whacked paths that I had no idea which to follow. I glimpsed something bright and red through the leaves. The sun bouncing off of something I couldn’t make out. Intrigued, I followed the path, taking out my ear plugs as I trotted on. After a few more steps I came onto the large alcove of sandstone that extended eighty feet into the air. Water was dripping off of a lip, and I took the opportunity to stand underneath it, soaking my greasy hair, and the rest of my body.
The water trickled down, caught in the sunlight like fireflies in the night, or falling stars. Looking to my right I saw Grey’s Arch. It was larger than I expected and wondrous in appearance. Just shy of being under the arch was a stump covered in loose change, a canteen, some candy, and other trinkets. There was a laminated tag that told about Jim Graff, who died in 1986 after trying to stop a burning log from falling off the arch. Graff “landed near this memorial, where he died 15 minutes later in his friends’ arms” it read.
I’m full of questions now. Why was there a burning log at the top of the arch, especially since there wasn’t supposed to be any fires in the Daniel Boone National Forest. Was he breaking the law? Was there a lightning storm? Why would he worry about a burning log if it was going to be raining? Was it raining? The memorial had Jim’s brother’s address, and a message from him welcoming any letters from those who read the memorial. I wrote down the address, thinking of sending a letter of sympathy, not inquiring into details of his brother’s death. I don’t know if I will write him.
I climbed on top of the Arch. Took a look around that the view. There wasn’t much, just some trees and a cliff across the gully. I climbed down and hiked out, stopping to soak again in the modest waterfall. I passed many people on my way out. I was thrilled that I had that place to myself for as long as I did.
Out, I headed to find the reservoir. I headed down Mountain View Parkway for ten minutes, found the construction site and the sign that read “Campton Water Treatment.” There was a large concrete wall that could be walked around. I parked my car, and walked around to the grassy area that dropped down into the water. I changed into a swimsuit, looked up at the over cast and drizzling sky and dove in. This is the way to spend a rest day. I then headed back to Miguel’s and took a shower. Then I read some, talking with a man named Warren. He took off and I went down to a gas station where I had dropped off an application the day before.
I got an interview. The manager called me brave for being out here alone. She was older and friendly. She said after she checked with my employers and interviewed some other people, she’d give me a call. I hoped to hell I’d get the job.
I went back to Miguel’s and began to read, talking to a girl named Leor and a guy named Neil. They took of climbing with Warren. Rob and some people arrived. There weren’t many people around in the afternoon.
I ended up talking with a random person, Dana, about books, then literary theory and analysis for a few hours. Rob joined in then the discussion changed to history. It was a good talk.
Food. Dinner. Sleep.
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