Thursday, May 6, 2010

The Rainbow Wall

(Photos by Chris Brown. His blog (and entire website) is a must see: highexposures.com

Fast and light? In a day push? I've talked to several
friends who have done The Original Route on The Rainbow Wall in a day, car to car in 14 hours. One of Red Rocks proudest features reduced to a game of tag. Sure, we're physically able, but that's not the point. This isn't about ego. We were not trying to race up towards the summit of Rainbow Mountain, visible all the way from The Strip, and tick it off like the green route in the gym. Don’t get me wrong, we're not trying to minimize such an approach, if that’s your goal. Our team of three, Josh Finkelstein, Chris Brown, and myself, all project and sport climb. There's a time and a place for racing, but for us, this line didn't qualify. We sat back to take in the experience, to let it wash over us and clean the grime of city life from our skin. We were only out there for two days, but the entire time, we hoped it would never end.

Climbers are so regularly emboldened to push their limits because of gear and the results of freakish fitness schedules. Cams are so well engineered, ropes withstand unimaginable forces. Boulder has four incredible climbing gyms for my training pleasure! Boil that together, and you’ve got a potent motivational tea that allows climbers to push it. We see, in videos, blogs, and magazine pages, the glory of our heroes on walls farther and much more remote than the outskirts of Vegas. After enough climbing porn, we have the belief that we're capable, perhaps vicariously, of only slightly more modest feats. Josh, Chris and I picked The Rainbow Wall. We dared to even choose a style. We decided on a relaxed pace, a team of three. Two nights of bivying with our morning coffee made from snow, and the dazzling lights of a desert tumor blotting out the dark, only a few miles below.

We slept at the base of the route the night before climbing. We hiked in as the sun slid past the mountains, the heat of the day riding like a fog on the trail. As the daylight softened towards evening and the temperature incrementally dipped, we finished the final slabs and saw our new home, if even only a temporary one. A perfect, level ledge, four feet by six. Our heads touched the nadir of the central dihedral that leads defiantly, proudly, to a summit 1,200 feet away. A small ring of stones outlining our bedroom. A meek defense against the wind; an appropriate metaphor as man chops hopefully against the very air he breathes.

We spent the night watching stars wheel above our hanging, stone ceiling. It's a view we'd never enjoyed, were the ideal style a blitzkrieg. A ring-tail cat pondered the scent of our food, our nocturnal friend greeting his guests at only the proper moment. Dawn kissed us awake, and we lazily pulled warm sleeping bags over our heads, hoping for a few more minutes of dreamtime.

We climbed all day. The pace of our pitches was unhurried, methodical. Adventure whispered as wonder when we were unable to decide if we'd picked the wrong crack system. From a large ledge system 800 feet up the face, it grew quiet for a moment as we relaxed in our confusion, an island on this sea of sandstone. That adventure loudly returned as a fist; a large boulder falls from above and chops into one of our ropes like a hatchet. We survive, and then can only smile in return, thankful for the gifts. This beautiful wall was made even more unique for us; the moment's ultimately benign danger delivered us from our narcissistic comfort.

From the summit, we rappel back to the bivy ledge. The Spanish saying: "What's the value in rushing?" Indeed, and what luck! Anyone fancy another evening under The Dipper? We called in that second day of bivy permits, so let’s use it! A feast awaits; cashews and figs in a stuff sack with the packs. There’s more snow for coffee. We can walk home tomorrow. Let’s keep this dream alive, or should I say…let’s keep living the dream.

(NOTE: Readers are urged to clink the link that leads this entry. Chris Brown compiled video footage of the climb from a helmet cam on Josh's helmet, as well as video that Chris shot while following the route. He is also the talented photographer who took the shots I uploaded. The band playing is Pretty Lights, a local DJ/drummer combo that are hugely interesting. Great live show. Comments? I (as well as Chris) would love to get feedback on this story and his blog/video. Thanks for reading.)

Monday, May 3, 2010

The Clamor

Jesse told me to "get to bloggin'!" Well, it wasn't quite so harsh, but his feelings are well founded. I've ignored Abaluba lately, but I take solace in the idea that I've been working on a longer essay about my Red Rocks experience, as well as running around like a madman lately.

When I got back from Nevada, my workload had piled up and I had a ton of stuff to do. I suppose that'll happen when you leave for a week and don't really tell any of the people you work for/with. I figured that I'd deal with an emergency via Blackberry, and leave the rest for my return. Well, my return was hectic. I was run down after the initial weekend in Vegas, as a body will do after it gets no sleep and dances like a maniac for hours on end. Remember, though, that I spent the next few days hiking back to big routes, and then climbing all day. By the time I was back to CO, I had almost nothing left. I needed some rest.

Unfortunately, I didn't really get that required downtime. As I said, I was so buried at work that I'd get up early to head to the office. After the mind blowing climbs like The Rainbow Wall (mega post to come) I was ultra motivated to train, so after work, I'd head to Movement and work out until late, and then go to bed around midnight. For the week after Red Rocks, this was the program. And then my body shut down.

I started feeling bad on Friday evening, and felt like I was getting the flu. I remember thinking that it must be exhaustion, and my symptoms were mentally derived, but I still felt like hell. I woke up Saturday morning, but couldn't even eat. I just went back to sleep, and stayed prone all day. When I woke up at about 8 PM, I wolfed down some scrambled eggs and a few pieces of toast, caught a basketball game on TV, and then passed out again for another 8 hour nap. All told, I slept for about 36 hours. I woke up Sunday like nothing had happened, and then went climbing with my buddy Mike Patz.

Mike and I also just went out towards Unaweep Canyon and Indian Creek, hopeful that we'd find somewhere in the West that wasn't 40 degrees and raining. Between a power session bouldering on the Plethora boulder in Unaweep, just a quick 15 minutes south of Grand Junction, and then two days of that world class crack climbing in Indian Creek, I'm back to that contented exhaustion. The difference is that this week, I'm going to try to remember to get plenty of rest.

As a quick report, I tried to get back on Quarter of a Man while I was out in the Creek, and just like last time, I fell from the top of the route. It's pretty disappointing to climb 110 feet, have one final hard move, but to be so pumped that you can't even see straight....and then airborne. I took another big whip from the crux, and couldn't help but feel like this single pitch of rock climbing is about as full value and high quality as it gets. "Quarter" is a full 35 meter pitch that runs the gauntlet of those individually-easy-but-cumulatively-crushing sizes...off fingers and super tight hands. I feel like I can do it next try, but given that Rifle season is coming, that might not be until the autumn.

The Creek has been there for a few million years, so I feel pretty secure in my belief that it'll be there in 6 months. By the way, standing out there, looking onto the desert above Canyonlands, it's hard not to be moved nearly to tears. I would have loved to be an Indian, living out there a few thousand years ago, with just my tribe and nature for company. It's still a remarkably beautiful place, and I'm glad I can enjoy it, but the steady stream of cars and tourists (myself included) seem to sully the remote beauty, just a bit. A tough paradox. I love that place, but in so doing, I worry that I diminish it. I only hope that I can respect it's power and beauty when I'm there.

Followers