Slab Daddy

A couple of years ago, one of my climbing partners told me about a route in Darrington on Squire Creek Wall that was 22 pitches (rope lengths) long.  At this point I was totally unaware that there was anything this big nearby.  My curiosity piqued, I started doing some research and purchased a state-of-the-art CD ROM guidebook and . . . there it was.  A black and white photo with a red line and 22 red dots marking the anchors.  The route was built in the typical Darrington style, ground up with some run out (no protection) and bolts only where the route could not be protected with cams and nuts.  Because Squire Creek Wall is located within a wilderness area, no power equipment is allowed, therefore every one of the 165 bolts on the route was drilled by hand with a hammer.  Rumor has it that it took David Whitelaw 5 years and many partners to complete the route.  This is roughly where the route goes.

After the initial look over the route description, I immediately had doubts about whether this was something that I could actually climb.  This was more than double the size of anything I had climbed up to this point.  Curiosity got the best of me and I tromped up to the base of the climb on a rainy day in June to have a look.  I figured that if we were going to try and climb this giant, it would be nice to not be lost on the way there.  To my disappointment, the climb was veiled in the rainclouds and would not come out to give me a peek.  My faithful friend Joe and I returned on the Fourth of July on a reconnaissance climb and took on the first 11 pitches to see if we had what it took, what the ledge was like, and if indeed the ledge had a water pool as reported.  Many climbers hate slab (less than vertical rock), but Joe and I had been cutting our teeth on the Cascades and our home crag Mt. Erie and actually enjoy it.  The first 11 pitches were wonderful, we got a good look at the ledge (which did have water), and then we rappelled off and headed home, still a very long day.  The next weekend the planets aligned: we were both off work and the weather report was awesome, so we started to get ready.  Hauling is not advisable on slab since your haul bag will inevitably scrape all the way up.  I sort of knew this but at the same time I absolutely hate climbing with a backpack.  So I went thrift store shopping looking for some old military duffle bags but ended up with a thinner material than I had hoped for.  We barely scraped through the climb (no pun intended) without losing anything out the holes.

We ended up taking a chemical water purification kit because it was much lighter than a traditional water filter.  It worked great, except that there were little black bugs in the water, and even though they were sterile, I could not bring myself to drink them.  A makeshift colander out of a handkerchief effectively removed them.

The 11th pitch bivy.

Spoons? No way--too heavy.  Good thing canned food is light! :)  Canned food is good, but so is Mountain House, woulda-coulda-shoulda, but didn't.

 

This awesome sunrise greeted us on our first ever big wall wake up.

 Not going to lie, the feet are not happy about the climbing 

shoes on day two, and I think my face pretty much sums it up.

Pitches 11 through 22 were harder and had more 5.10 climbing and more trad pitches, which take longer.  By pitch 16, we were beginning to be fatigued but both decided that now (1.5) days into the climb it was starting to look like the size of cliff we would normally take on.  I was particularly stressed about pitch 18, which had a long 4-6 inch crack.  Turns out I should have been stressed about pitch 19 which was partially aid on old button heads and scared us both pretty good.  I enjoyed the long crack and really enjoyed ditching the 4" cams on the next anchor to be retrieved on the way down.

The dreaded pitch 18

Joe cleaning pitch 5

 Joe cleaning Pitch 17

Pitch 14

 We made the summit by about 5:30 in the afternoon, which was later than we had hoped, but we were pretty much on a warpath for the summit after pitch 16.  We took some photos from the top and reveled in our achievement briefly, but then headed down.  I'm not sure what it is about rappelling that takes so long.  My mind tells me it should take about 10 minutes a pitch, but, in reality, it takes much longer.  We started rappelling at 6 pm and got back to ground at about 2 am which works out to 20 minutes a rapp.  A short story is perhaps in order here.  Joe and I had a fight on a ledge at about midnight over whether or not to scramble down a short exposed 4th class section in the dark or try to rig a 20 ft rappel.  Long story short it is a good idea to remember that on really long climbs people get tired and cranky and do not always think straight.  I was lucky and Joe, being the solid person that he is, forgave me for being a jerk, but not all relationships would have survived the squabble.  It has been a good reminder to me that my friendships are always more important than the summit or getting back to the car faster.    We got back to the car about 3 am and were eating Grand Slams at Denny's by 4.  It was at this point that I realized that I was not going to make it to work the next day and called in sick.  I told my boss that even if I dragged myself in late they wouldn't want me there, I would probably fall asleep standing up.  

Parting Shot

This is the back of White Horse viewed from the top of Slab Daddy.

I hope you've enjoyed this installment of The Edge of Insanity!

The Finer Points of Climbing From Canoes

Do you ever see a picture of a route and can't get it out of your head?  It plays over and over and beckons you to come and see if you have what it takes.  The first time I experienced this was a photo I saw of this route: Prime Cut 5.10a.

It called to me, and I had to answer the call.  Only one problem: it's on an island.  Not to be deterred, I borrowed a canoe, and Joe and I headed out on yet another fabulous adventure, the kind of experience that my dreams are made of.  Because of my zeal to climb Prime Cut, we loaded the canoe on my Toyota Corolla and drove over to Electric City in April.  Turns out, the weather was awesome, and there were no people.  We stayed in a little campground and paddled in and out of our campsite to the various granite walls that are a bit of an anomaly in a sea of rotten basalt.  It wasn't an hour before one of the bags went in the lake.  Luckily, I had stashed the camera in a Ziplock and managed to fish the bag out before it sank.  Because Banks Lake is a man-made reservoir, many of these cliffs continue below the water's surface to great depths.  If you drop any nuts or cams in the water, you can pretty much kiss them goodbye.  

The bottom of the climb turned out harder than we expected.

But, being the fine 5.10a climbers that we are, we prevailed!  I did enjoy checking off this sweet climb, but at the same time--it was over, and I wasn't sure what to do next.  

Check out this sweet anchor.  Got to love the thin flake that someone incorporated in the anchor, it inspired so much confidence that I was able to hang on the anchor to rappel down.

Mission completed, we began exploring other climbing areas with the canoe.  Many of the climbs, such as Bassomatic 5.9 and Half Bassed 5.8, can only be led by starting from a boat, and this is where our "sink or swim" boat-climbing course began.  One of the first things we learned is that the boat needs to be anchored.  Since Banks Lake is infinitely deep, this required a little head scratching, but we soon were able to get in some gear down low to keep the canoe in position.  The second thing we learned is that when the wind changes direction, before you know it, the canoe has spun round and you are no longer sitting near the rock--and a climber fall would inevitably capsize the boat and send everything in it straight for the underworld.  To avoid the drift, we anchored the canoe from a center point.  This worked well climbing on a wall that was flat, but when we moved to another wall that had a corner, it resulted in the canoe pivoting in the middle and the belayer ending up around the corner from the climber.  We began anchoring both ends of the canoe, which was a little more work but well worth it.  After our first bag-in-the-water episode, we realized the value of making sure everything in the canoe was tethered to something.  In the event of a capsize, you wouldn't actually lose anything.  Also, if you like or depend on chalk, it is not a bad idea to bring an extra and keep it in a plastic bag in the event that your chalk bag ends up like a bag of wet cement.  Speaking from experience.

Me Cleaning Half-Bassed

This was our first canoe anchor, a .75 Cam

Me Belaying Joe up Bassomatic 5.9

Super Joe

Me leading Bassomatic 5.9

 Roadside Rock viewed from Tent & Awning Rock

Parting Shot

Now it was time to load up the canoe and head back to rainy western Washington.  I am always sad when a great adventure comes to a close but usually very ready for my own bed!  As usual, we started planning the next great adventure before we even made it half way home.  I hope you enjoyed this installment of The Edge of Insanity and remember, "Life is better on the Edge." 

Scuzzy Boulders in the Middle of Nowhere

I have this unusual desire to climb short routes that inspire me.  It's not that I dislike long routes, it's just that, well, those little ones were there.  This has led to comments like, "That area is total crap,"  and "Why would you waste your time on that?"  The answer is this: the joy comes from the movement, and the problems were good.  It is very easy to get caught up in climbing harder, longer, more dangerous routes, but sooner or later, the sport itself will own you, and the joy will be gone.  I like to push people when climbing, but I have two mottos: "Live to climb another day," and "Feel free to keep trying until you're not having fun anymore (or it gets dark)."  Climbing has some really strange ethics that are held fast by different sects within the climbing community.  For instance: if you stopped to rest, it didn't count, or if your toe touched the ground, it didn't count.  If you clipped bolts anywhere on the route, it didn't count.  If you used a chipped hold, it didn't count.  If you aided any part of the route, it didn't count.  If you took any falls, it didn't count.  If you used chalk, it didn't count.  If you used pitons, it didn't count.  If it took two days, it didn't count.  If you smiled, it didn't count.  I suppose that everyone is entitled to their opinion, but are we still having fun?  Does it have to count?  If I have to choose between having it count at any cost and enjoying the experience, I choose fun.  Some photos of the short route "total crap" insanity:

Josh on Highway To Hell 5.10b

Dave on Poor Man's Pedicure 5.10c

Me on Tomb Grooming For Tut 5.9

I know for a fact that many people think I'm crazy because I scale rock walls for fun, but most of them have never tried it.  It is difficult to surmise what exactly possesses people to engage in the sport.  Many would probably say that it is rewarding to finally redpoint their project or that it's fun to flirt with gravity.  Although I agree with these sentiments they are not what motivates me to keep climbing.  My reasons go much deeper.  There is a part of my soul that gets satisfied by interfacing with the outdoors.  Rock climbing is particularly fabulous because it requires such an intense focus on many levels at the same time.  Just like a dance, climbing requires balance and sequence, give and take and a good partner.  I used to loath the process of rope handling and gear organizing and most other parts of climbing that lurk in the peripheral, they were just means to an end.  But as I got better at the remedial tasks, I realized that I had indeed fallen in love with the whole process.  Having repetitive or rote physical tasks interspersed throughout my life is somehow soothing to me.  Sound Crazy?  Well you are reading  The Edge of Insanity.