Archive for August 1st, 2009

Mark belayed Eric as he slowly climbed the smooth headwall pitch. I ate some more food and drank a lot of water. I took some pictures, and danced around on our little ledge trying to stay warm and psyche myself up for what I was sure was the crux pitch, if not physically, than certainly mentally.

As I started out the long, super-exposed pitch I told myself that I could do it. I would be slow, careful, focused on the rock, and completely ignore the air and wind and space all around me. As I moved out onto the face, I found it wasn’t as blank as it looked. It was covered in ledges and crimp holds, and even though it was vertical to slightly overhanging, the holds were all you could ever want.

It was 200ft of the most beautiful climbing I have ever done. As I flowed up the headwall, I felt strong, graceful, and wildly free. I could feel the space around me, and it didn’t feel scary or intimidating at all. I know it sounds goofy, but it felt like I finally had room for my spirit to expand. Room to finally let out a full breath, to finally relax into the line between the rock and the air, and slowly, slowly dance my way up the long, high, amazingly beautiful wall.

Throughout this climb, Mark and I followed together. Eric had us each on a rope, and he belayed us at the same time using a Reverso on the anchor. I climbed about 15 feet ahead of Mark for the whole route. It meant that if I slowed down, he would have to slow down as well, and for some of the previous pitches, I had certainly been the throttle control.

But on this pitch, I grooved. And I left Mark on the rock far below me.

When I reached the belay I was ecstatic and thrilled. I bounced around grinning like an idiot and yelling “THAT WAS AWESOME!!” over and over again. It was the single best pitch of climbing I can ever remember, and I let Eric know it. In fact, I let the whole world know it.

“I didn’t cry!!” I exclaimed proudly.

“Well… that’s good.” Eric replyed, sounding somewhat confused.

Mark was jazzed when finished as well, and the big grin that formed while he climbed seemed to be etched on to his face. It didn’t leave for days.

We were sitting at the base of the seventh pitch here, below several huge roofs, on the edge of a shear headwall, well more than 1,000ft in the air. I kept expecting Eric to say “Well, you’ve finished the hardest part.” But he never did.

Eric led the seventh pitch as carefully and gracefully as any other, though he had a lot more gear in under those big roofs. And he did pause for several moments, working out the moves. Mark and I were feeling so good, we cheered him on, and felt sure that those roofs weren’t as difficult to climb as they looked.

I was invincible at this point, of course, and I cruised up the pitch assuming it would be much easier than the last. It wasn’t.

The roof was overhanging. The world spread out below me as I worked up the steep, steep face below the roof, and then pulled with all of the strength I had left over the edge of the rock. I was at 12,500ft of elevation. There was 1500ft of empty air below me, and thousands more down to the lakes and valleys below us. And this was the actual crux of the route.

But, I pulled through cleanly. Eric had set a belay right on top of the roof, so we hung out and waited for Mark to make the moves and pull over the edge. He grunted and swore as he did, still smiling though.

“That was way harder than you two made it look!” He blurt out when he reached the belay.

The last pitch was a short jaunt to the summit, with one little, easy route and a bit of scrambling.

And what a summit it was. The rockies rolled out before us, shining in the mid-day sun. We had climbed eight long pitches, and it wasn’t even noon yet. There is a true summit to Hallett Peak, but that was another half mile of hiking to the north, so we decided to skip it.

It was a beautiful day, and an amazing place to be enjoying it. Mark and I know that we don’t push ourselves very hard with our climbing. There seems to be plenty of low hanging fruit for us in Colorado. But on Saturday, we did something really great. Yes, it was guided, and yes, it wasn’t the hardest climb in the world by any means. But it felt good, we felt good, and it was a proud day for us.

We climbed the one on the left!!!!

For Mark’s birthday last year, I scheduled a day of hard alpine climbing guided by Colorado Mountain School (CMS). And last weekend, that day finally rolled around.

The plan for our day in the high mountains was to meet Eric Whewell, our guide for the day, at CMS in Estes Park at 4:00am on Saturday morning. We all piled into the car, and drove up to Rocky Mountain National Park. We arrived at the Bear Lake trailhead about 20 minutes later, and started our hike into the pitch darkness.

There was no moon for us, and the stars were obscured by misty clouds that covered the valley. It had rained for five days straight, and we trucked up the trail in the cold humid morning hoping that Saturday would be different.

Our goal for the day was the Culp-Bossier route (III, 5.9R) on Hallett’s Peak. This route is considered one of the best at this grade in the National Park, but is known for long run-outs and tricky route-finding. A perfect prospect for a guided climb.

The approach to the base of Hallett’s is around 2 miles long, another reason Mark and I chose this route. We’ve burned ourselves out on too many long approaches lately. As we walked up the Dream Lake trail in the dark morning, we could see distant lights on the lowest pitches of Hallett’s. It looked as if another group had perhaps slept at the base of the wall, and were beginning their climb just before dawn.

By the time we were nearing the base of the climb, it was just past 5:30, and we watched the sun rise over the park. It was beautiful, and I took a TON of pictures. We left a pack and a few extra items below a boulder at the base of the descent route, racked up in the early dawn, and munched on a little breakfast. Another pair of hikers passed us at this point, and declared their goal was the Culp-Bossier as well.

So, by the time we arrived at the base of Culp, we were third in line. We discussed our options. Wait, and climb slowly below two other groups on the Culp, or look for another route. Eric suggested Better than Love (III, 5.8R) just to the left of Culp, and our plans changed.

Mark and I were happily clueless about this climb as we started that chilly morning. I had never heard or read a thing about this route. We knew the Culp was long – eight pitches or more, and the Culp was hard, with perfectly vertical rock the whole way. Eric assured us that Better than Love was just as good, and not any harder, but that was the only information we had.

The first three pitches of the route followed a steep, sheer, lovely dihedral. It’s the kind of crack-stem climbing that I would normally love every inch of, and we had nearly 600ft of it. But on Saturday morning, the route was still in complete shade, and the rock was cold as ice. I lost feeling in my hands and feet quickly. Let me just point out the obvious here, sticky rubber on climbing shoes doesn’t work at all if you can’t feel your toes. My feet were like dead logs at the bottom of my legs as I climbed, I placed them by sight and hoped all of the holds held.

After 150ft of climbing on this pitch, we reached an early crux of the route. A long roof cuts off the dihedral, and we traversed to the right under it, and up the right side. There are no good hand or footholds below the roof, and, normally, I would feel comfortable jamming the crack under the roof and pasting my feet on the blank face. But, when you can’t feel your feet, and your hands hurt so badly, I think the grade of the move goes up quite a bit. We all pulled through cleanly, thankfully. For me, that was a small miracle that morning.

The first three belays were mostly hanging, and at the last one, the corner was so thin that Eric had me hanging next to him, and Mark hanging six feet or so below us. While we were reorganizing the rack at that airy belay, hanging off three pieces of trad gear above 500ft of air, Mark actually got a phone call.

Don’t ask me why he had his mobile phone, I still don’t know. We all laughed out loud as he answered the call and talked to my little brother TJ about the Lupe Fiasco concert in St. Louis that night. Eric said “You’ve got a signal up here? That’s good to know!”

The fourth and fifth pitches were loose scrambling over the top of the buttress, and then up the right side of a flake leaning against the long, shear headwall of the cliff. From a distance, and even directly below this wall, it looks blank. No cracks splitting the face, no flakes or features to hang off of. Simply clean, dead vertical, granite. Somewhere in here, we moved from the Better than Love route to the origional Love Route (III, 5.9).

I was exhausted looking up at the blank face of our sixth pitch. While we were now in the sun, the wind was howling around us and I was still very cold, and very tired. I was starting to think that I didn’t much like alpine climbing as I shivered at the belay.

Continued in the next post…

There are some moments in life that take your breath away. Times and places that are so beautiful, it physically hurts to breathe.

Last weekend, Mark and I had a guided climb up Hallett Peak in Rocky Mountain National Park. It was the longest, most beautiful, amazing route we have ever done. There will certainly be complex, in depth, information-packed blog posts to come, but this one isn’t about the climb.

We left the Bear Lake trailhead before 4:30a on Saturday morning, and we were climbing through steep, loose talus below the sheer face of Hallett as the sun began lifting through the clouds and mist below us. We watched the movement of the distant and beautiful star as we hiked past 11,500ft of altitude in the Rocky Mountains.

It was one of those moments.

Photos from the day are up in the gallery already, though.