written shortly after November, 2003
The talus slope, beginning more than 200 feet below my
‘figure-eight’ and dotted with pine trees and jagged rocks of every
dimension, slowly coalesced into a thick, green carpet of forest as it
descended to the valley floor. A 10.5mm rope ran from my brake hand on
the right, looped through the belay device affixed to my harness and
descended out of sight beyond the granite shoulder of rock 20 feet
below. It had been minutes since a stir in the rope had signaled any
telling activity by my climbing partner, Peter. The job was his at that
moment, to alternately remove our ‘pro’ while making steady upward
progress against the inexorable tug of gravity which constantly
threatened to pull us from each chosen hold.
Already, the
initial thrill and excitement of a fun, multi-pitch climb had been
replaced with apprehension and a gnawing concern for our safety. A
steadily rising wind from the west had begun to accelerate the drain on
our moderate energy reserves, hampering dexterity and compounding the
difficulty of manipulating rope and gear. Our chosen route, “The
Trough”, to this point defied my expectation for a moderately easy
climb, and we were both becoming fatigued. “How much daylight have we
got left?”, I began thinking. Then, “How is it that I should come to
worry about sundown?”, I immediately responded to myself. What began as
an easy 3-4 hour round trip ‘jog’ was quickly becoming a marathon,
including the unwelcome specter of news reports and helicopter rescues
playing in our near future.
We’d departed the cabin in
Idyllwild, California, just past 8:30am that Saturday morning, having
decided to forego haste in deference to the crisp November chill that
had descended upon the mountain. A short drive put us within a quarter
mile of the approach trail, where we hoisted our gear and began our hike
up to the famed “Lunch Rock” staging spot at the base of Lily Rock (aka
Tahquitz), our first objective for the day. While generally fit for
our combined ‘four score and two' years, neither Peter nor I were
entirely prepared for the level of exertion required of this approach
trail, and all before our true climb of the day had even begun. Heavy
breathing and numerous rest stops portended an arduous routine to come.
There
were no other souls immediately evident at the bottom of the face,
until a colorful knapsack gave away the presence of two aid-climbers who
were just beginning their chosen route. Was this a bad sign, or did we
just pick the best day to be at this usually popular, crowded spot? By
now, the approach hike clearly suggested that the easiest route was in
order, hence the 5.3-4 rated Trough climb. We calculated a relatively
short, 4-5 pitch ascent, traveling light, with time for a late lunch
back at our gear stowage spot by around 1:00 or 1:30pm.
“Peter,”
I called, “How’s it going down there?” I was surprised to note how
crisp and unimpeded the transmission of sound was in the cool, open
mountain air. Peter’s response, in his distinct Australian accent, was a
loud and clear, “Been better.”
We’d begun climbing
together indoors once a week at a local climbing gym just nine weeks
earlier. While I had climbed indoors and out, on and off for years,
this day brought to seven Peter’s total climbing experiences anywhere;
his first on ‘real rock’. It had briefly occurred to me that a ‘real
rock’ climb might be too ambitions relative to his experience to date
(perhaps all too briefly). Such a notion was quickly dismissed,
however, given that I had climbed here before, his rock sense had
developed rapidly and ‘easy’ routes here were relatively abundant - no
accounting for route finding! As the lead climber, I was responsible
for the overall safety of our duo, which included route finding, pro
placement and adherence to all other accepted climbing standards. Taking
such responsibility very seriously, I determined to identify a range of
possible routes, all of which would be well-within our combined skill
level. It was with this attitude we both eagerly anticipated the day’s
climb.
(continued in parts 2 and 3)
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The Trough (part 2)
written shortly after November, 2003
Back at my securely anchored belay stance half-way up The Trough, I struggled with a growing feeling that we weren’t as adequately prepared for the conditions as we'd thought, and perhaps a 4-5 pitch climb on such an exposed face in November was a foolhardy endeavor. Just the pitch prior, while leading up a narrow hand-crack between two minimally featured granite slabs, I was caught in a moment of silent terror. A lead climber knows that for a given level of experience, the relative security of one’s position is measured by the difficulty of the route, the confidence in one’s last pro placement and the height climbed above it. Mind tricks abound. Allowing the smallest erosion of confidence in any of these factors can quickly turn a great climb terrifying. I spent a sobering, ego-jarring three minutes hanging directly from a hastily placed tri-cam while mustering the ‘stick-it’ attitude required to finish the pitch. Determined not to make headlines or cause the combustion of aviation fuel for my benefit, I soon found myself reflecting upon my life and recent events.
Four months earlier, just before his 71st birthday, my father had died unexpectedly in a fall while hiking on a familiar trail. I was now beginning to appreciate the buffering and numbing benefit of the innate coping mechanisms that allow us to function and face circumstances as needed under given conditions. I had weighed constantly the desire to move on and accept life as it is dealt to us, versus the easy release offered by giving up. Had my reckless behavior of late been a test of these two states? To be or not to be. Was that a stupid question?
As my left shoulder suffered the bite of November winds, I gazed north across the rocky valley below and felt the weight of this life, and a renewed desire to taste and enjoy everything possible from nature’s ever-changing buffet. Only in moments contemplating ones mortality can heady subjects be reduced to their basic, black/white components; but had I ever really considered my own life with such finality? I re-affirmed at that moment that this almost-40-year-old skin wasn’t nearly done with its’ corporeal journey.
“Still there?” I called a few minutes later. “Can you pull me up?” came the hesitant reply. Typically, almost any break in the monotony of a prolonged belay stance is welcome, but the dread of additional exertion required to compensate for partner fatigue was easily outweighed by my growing concern over the cold wind and the remaining light. How could it be getting towards 2:30pm already? I discovered a short time later that Peter had spent an exhausting and frustrating 10 minutes attempting the removal of a single hex nut I placed in an irregular crack approximately 50 feet below my belay position for that pitch. Compounded by the unexpected difficulty of the route, the effort was drastically sapping his already-taxed energy reserves. The nut would remain to be retrieved by another.
Relieved to be together again on the same ledge, there was little time to rest and reflect on our decisions this day. Now, it was only continue up or rappel back down? The specter of an embarrassing encounter with rescue services on descent (or worse, still on the rock!), along with the unnecessary worry of our spouses prodded us into action. As I had anticipated, the route was becoming less and less challenging as we drew nearer the top. Another long pitch with moderate pro placement was followed by a shorter one which required only 5 – several of these courtesy of climbers decades since gone from this spot. The top of The Trough route saw us just before 4:00pm – and delighted to have succeeded with plenty of available daylight. Our elation was short-lived when the location of the shorter, friction descent off the lower shoulder of the south side of Lily Rock eluded my detection. All routes down from this point appeared too smooth, too steep or too high to attempt without great risk. Having no wish to jeopardize our safety to any further degree, I fumbled in my oversized pant pocket for the photocopied pages of my climbing guide in hope of an answer. My relief at finding the required passage was replaced with consternation when it identified the alternate descent as being further up the rock! With little time to waste, however, we embarked on a ropeless, counter-intuitive ascent up another 200 feet of class 4 surfaces.
(continued in part 3)
Back at my securely anchored belay stance half-way up The Trough, I struggled with a growing feeling that we weren’t as adequately prepared for the conditions as we'd thought, and perhaps a 4-5 pitch climb on such an exposed face in November was a foolhardy endeavor. Just the pitch prior, while leading up a narrow hand-crack between two minimally featured granite slabs, I was caught in a moment of silent terror. A lead climber knows that for a given level of experience, the relative security of one’s position is measured by the difficulty of the route, the confidence in one’s last pro placement and the height climbed above it. Mind tricks abound. Allowing the smallest erosion of confidence in any of these factors can quickly turn a great climb terrifying. I spent a sobering, ego-jarring three minutes hanging directly from a hastily placed tri-cam while mustering the ‘stick-it’ attitude required to finish the pitch. Determined not to make headlines or cause the combustion of aviation fuel for my benefit, I soon found myself reflecting upon my life and recent events.
Four months earlier, just before his 71st birthday, my father had died unexpectedly in a fall while hiking on a familiar trail. I was now beginning to appreciate the buffering and numbing benefit of the innate coping mechanisms that allow us to function and face circumstances as needed under given conditions. I had weighed constantly the desire to move on and accept life as it is dealt to us, versus the easy release offered by giving up. Had my reckless behavior of late been a test of these two states? To be or not to be. Was that a stupid question?
As my left shoulder suffered the bite of November winds, I gazed north across the rocky valley below and felt the weight of this life, and a renewed desire to taste and enjoy everything possible from nature’s ever-changing buffet. Only in moments contemplating ones mortality can heady subjects be reduced to their basic, black/white components; but had I ever really considered my own life with such finality? I re-affirmed at that moment that this almost-40-year-old skin wasn’t nearly done with its’ corporeal journey.
“Still there?” I called a few minutes later. “Can you pull me up?” came the hesitant reply. Typically, almost any break in the monotony of a prolonged belay stance is welcome, but the dread of additional exertion required to compensate for partner fatigue was easily outweighed by my growing concern over the cold wind and the remaining light. How could it be getting towards 2:30pm already? I discovered a short time later that Peter had spent an exhausting and frustrating 10 minutes attempting the removal of a single hex nut I placed in an irregular crack approximately 50 feet below my belay position for that pitch. Compounded by the unexpected difficulty of the route, the effort was drastically sapping his already-taxed energy reserves. The nut would remain to be retrieved by another.
Relieved to be together again on the same ledge, there was little time to rest and reflect on our decisions this day. Now, it was only continue up or rappel back down? The specter of an embarrassing encounter with rescue services on descent (or worse, still on the rock!), along with the unnecessary worry of our spouses prodded us into action. As I had anticipated, the route was becoming less and less challenging as we drew nearer the top. Another long pitch with moderate pro placement was followed by a shorter one which required only 5 – several of these courtesy of climbers decades since gone from this spot. The top of The Trough route saw us just before 4:00pm – and delighted to have succeeded with plenty of available daylight. Our elation was short-lived when the location of the shorter, friction descent off the lower shoulder of the south side of Lily Rock eluded my detection. All routes down from this point appeared too smooth, too steep or too high to attempt without great risk. Having no wish to jeopardize our safety to any further degree, I fumbled in my oversized pant pocket for the photocopied pages of my climbing guide in hope of an answer. My relief at finding the required passage was replaced with consternation when it identified the alternate descent as being further up the rock! With little time to waste, however, we embarked on a ropeless, counter-intuitive ascent up another 200 feet of class 4 surfaces.
(continued in part 3)
The Trough (part 3)
written shortly after November, 2003
The peak, and our salvation, took close to 20 minutes to reach, and not before a final challenge, far more mental than physical. Hadn’t we already endured enough of both? Was the crux not yet passed? The top of Lily Rock can be described as having two rounded towers or peaks, and as such, our route led us up the northern one. A four foot gap above 75 feet of thin air separated us from the southern descent we sought. The gap itself was not as daunting as the price of a miscalculation; the landing on the other side, at a 35-40 degree angle, required precise and deliberate aim. There was no choice and no time. With some hesitation I set my focus on a shallow foot placement on the opposite side and leaped. Stepping then several feet above this successful toehold, I made room for Peter, who remained in a crouched stance, contemplating his turn. Make or break in the true sense; while our minds were long-since given over to this reality, such final commitment could still be slow in coming. He jumped………
Less than a minute later we both crested the peak and could finally identify the ‘safe’ path from this point, down a steep talus slope towards the west. This moment called for a victory photo using the self-timer, as well as a change of shoes (and, fortunately, nothing else which required changing), while the quickly fading light dictated haste.
Nervous tension now gave way to elevated spirits, which continued to increase with each gravity-aided step. The day was rapidly closing in on us now, but at least there would be no headlines or explanations required for anyone but our wives. Our only means of contacting them, however, was still 15-20 minutes away where we’d stowed excess gear back at lunch rock.
In a brief, capping moment to our adventure, we came across the only two other climbers on the rock that day while descending around and past the southwest face. Our short exchange of late-day pleasantries brought hearty and sincere congratulations on our accomplishment from the duo (huh? but it was only the 5.3-4 rated Trough*!). While I still harbored some regrets at the course the day had taken and the unfair challenge forced on a new climber, this was unexpected and thoroughly appreciated.
The mobile phone signal available at lunch rock was strong, and Peter’s wife was soon on the other end of the line. Utterly unconcerned, the two had just returned from their own days’ adventure and were eager tell us all about the miles, the altitude, the blisters, and begin our evenings’ plans. A toast would soon be celebrated. And what a peaceful, thankful and welcome thing it would be.
* It was later apparent that I had inadvertently strayed off 'The Trough' route as early as the second pitch, leading about a pitch and a half of surface rated from 5.7 to 5.9.
The peak, and our salvation, took close to 20 minutes to reach, and not before a final challenge, far more mental than physical. Hadn’t we already endured enough of both? Was the crux not yet passed? The top of Lily Rock can be described as having two rounded towers or peaks, and as such, our route led us up the northern one. A four foot gap above 75 feet of thin air separated us from the southern descent we sought. The gap itself was not as daunting as the price of a miscalculation; the landing on the other side, at a 35-40 degree angle, required precise and deliberate aim. There was no choice and no time. With some hesitation I set my focus on a shallow foot placement on the opposite side and leaped. Stepping then several feet above this successful toehold, I made room for Peter, who remained in a crouched stance, contemplating his turn. Make or break in the true sense; while our minds were long-since given over to this reality, such final commitment could still be slow in coming. He jumped………
Less than a minute later we both crested the peak and could finally identify the ‘safe’ path from this point, down a steep talus slope towards the west. This moment called for a victory photo using the self-timer, as well as a change of shoes (and, fortunately, nothing else which required changing), while the quickly fading light dictated haste.
 |
| Peter and Sean atop Tahquitz peak, Nov 2003 |
Nervous tension now gave way to elevated spirits, which continued to increase with each gravity-aided step. The day was rapidly closing in on us now, but at least there would be no headlines or explanations required for anyone but our wives. Our only means of contacting them, however, was still 15-20 minutes away where we’d stowed excess gear back at lunch rock.
In a brief, capping moment to our adventure, we came across the only two other climbers on the rock that day while descending around and past the southwest face. Our short exchange of late-day pleasantries brought hearty and sincere congratulations on our accomplishment from the duo (huh? but it was only the 5.3-4 rated Trough*!). While I still harbored some regrets at the course the day had taken and the unfair challenge forced on a new climber, this was unexpected and thoroughly appreciated.
The mobile phone signal available at lunch rock was strong, and Peter’s wife was soon on the other end of the line. Utterly unconcerned, the two had just returned from their own days’ adventure and were eager tell us all about the miles, the altitude, the blisters, and begin our evenings’ plans. A toast would soon be celebrated. And what a peaceful, thankful and welcome thing it would be.
* It was later apparent that I had inadvertently strayed off 'The Trough' route as early as the second pitch, leading about a pitch and a half of surface rated from 5.7 to 5.9.
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