(Photo: That's me on Turdland Direct (5.10d). Photo by Mike.)

For over a month, I've been contending with a climbing injury.

It all started in mid-April, in Berkeley, California. We were on a family trip.

I was at the Berkeley Ironworks climbing gym. I completed a boulder problem and as I dropped to the floor I realized that something didn't feel right at the back of my neck. It felt like I'd pulled something. It got worse as the day went on. The pain was constant, throbbing. I couldn't turn my head. That night, I had trouble finding a comfortable position in which to sleep.

I figured it must be some kind of strain. 

I came up with a foolproof plan: if I ignored the injury intensely enough, it would surely go away.

The pain got a little better over the next few days, so naturally while I was still in Berkeley I decided to go back to the climbing gym again.

You might think this was a dumb thing to do, but in my defense I should add that it was raining.

So there were no other options. 

In any event, I aggravated the injury at the gym. The pain got worse.

Now I got kind of worried. I decided I should take a week off from climbing. I hoped that with some rest, the injury might get better.

We returned home to New York and I sat around. The pain did get better. Not totally better, but somewhat better. After five or six days I decided I couldn't tolerate the sedentary lifestyle for another minute and I started climbing again.

I went to the gym and everything seemed okay. Things were stable. I tried to ease back into climbing. I went back outside, climbing at the Gunks a few times. It seemed like I was all right. On one day, with Andy, I went to the Nears and we tried to knock a bunch of climbs off of my list of star-worthy 5.10's that I hadn't yet sent on lead. (More on that later.)

On another day, with Gail, Andy and his friend Chris, I went back again to the Nears and we threw ourselves at the popular top-ropes To Be or Not To Be (5.12a) and Slammin' the Salmon (5.12b). I didn't get the send on either one but I felt fine and worked out all the moves on To Be or Not To Be. I hope to send it soon, if the summer weather can hold off for a bit. (Andy got it clean and started talking about leading it.) I led Birdcage (5.10b), one of my favorite tens, and I felt good.


(Photo: Andy on To Be or Not To Be (5.12a), belayed by Chris.)

Maybe I was on the mend? Over the next couple of weeks, I almost forgot about the whole thing.

And then one Thursday night at the gym I aggravated it again. It was as bad as before-- probably worse.

It took effort just to stand up straight. The next day I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window and realized that I was walking around the city with my head tilted significantly to one side.

This isn't good, I thought. What was I going to do? I had a climbing trip planned for Memorial Day weekend with my pal Adrian. We were going to the Needles in California. This trip has been a dream of mine for years. The tickets are non-refundable. I need to be able to climb.

The weekend right after I aggravated the injury, I had a day planned in the Gunks with Olivier. I decided to go ahead with it despite how I was feeling. I reckoned I could take some time off again afterwards. 

My neck was still throbbing that morning. As I got out of my car to greet Olivier, I convinced myself that I had straightened my posture, but Olivier wasn't fooled. He noticed my Quasimodo-like countenance immediately.

Luckily for me, the weather was bad, so I didn't have to test my limits. It rained in the morning and drizzled on and off several times during the day. We were able to climb but the conditions were such that we didn't do anything hard.


(Photo: Olivier leading a wet Strictly From Nowhere (5.7). He later led Apoplexy (5.9) in a full-on downpour!)

We had a good time, but late in the afternoon as I led the 5.4 second pitch of Pas De Deux, my neck really complained. I was hurting even on this easy climb. I started to lose the will to continue. 


(Photo: I'm leading the 5.4 pitch 2 of Pas De Deux. Photo by Olivier. I think this was actually my very first time on this nice pitch.)

There was still time left in our Gunks day but my motivation had deserted me. Olivier proposed we throw a top rope over Retribution and Nosedive (both 5.10b), and I agreed. Why not? 

Did it even matter any more? Was this how it all would end?

I walked glumly through the Uberfall. There were lots of people there, occupying most of the climbs, in spite of the bad weather. As luck would have it, Bunny (5.4) was open, and so was Retribution. We plopped our stuff down in front of both climbs to claim the territory. We could run up Bunny to set up the harder climb.

But as we stood there, staring up at the wall, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I felt like that would be giving up.

So instead I downed three Ibuprofen tablets and led Retribution. 

It went fine. I've led this climb at least half a dozen times. I wasn't worried about it. 

I led up to the roof and placed the improbable-but-bomber .75 green Camalot at the crux. Working my feet up, I milked the undercling hold-- you know the one-- with my left hand as I snaked my right hand up above the roof to the gorgeous fingerlocks that I knew were waiting there. 

It was all very casual.


(Photo: Olivier following my lead of Retribution (5.10b).)

As I walked my toes up to where I could stem the corner and place another piece, I felt good, in spite of it all. I glanced down between my legs and noticed a young guy beneath me on the carriage road, staring up at me with something resembling amazement and wonder. I could have been him, a few years ago.

"You don't know the half of it, kid," I wanted to say. "You just want to lead 5.10. But take it from me: you haven't lived until you've led 5.10... with whiplash."

"Don't ever get old," I failed to add. "Aging sucks."

A few days later I decided I needed to see a doctor. This was not a decision I made lightly, since any visit to a medical professional carried with it the risk that I would be told I should stop climbing. 

The doctor sent me for an x-ray and wrote me a prescription for physical therapy. When the x-ray results appeared in my inbox I saw the words "moderate to severe discogenic degenerative changes," which struck me as a somewhat serious diagnosis. But when I spoke to the doctor he suggested that this was par for the course. He described it as the human condition. 

It is what unites us. Underneath our skin, we're all going through our own moderate to severe discogenic degenerative changes.

He told me that with treatment I should get better, but that it will likely flare up again from time to time. 

I asked him if I needed to stop climbing and he said I could climb as long as it doesn't hurt while I'm climbing. I took this as all the permission I needed, although my experience over the past month has taught me that I can't predict in advance whether a particular move will end up hurting my neck or not. If I could only figure out which kinds of moves will aggravate the injury then I could just avoid those moves and be fine. 

Even better: wouldn't it be great if only one STYLE of climbing aggravated the injury? And if that style were slab climbing? Then I would have a permanent out. 

"I can't go slab climbing. My doctor said so. (Plus I'm not good at it.)"

"Also off-widths. They are bad for my health. (And I have no idea how to climb them.)"

I've had two sessions with the PT. They have been highly educational. I've learned that I am a terrible sloucher and that my whole neck/shoulder area is locked up, stiff as a fresh batch of hot caramel that has suddenly seized from over-agitation. During our sessions the PT works on my muscles with great enthusiasm and the therapy is so painful that I feel completely healed when it is over. It is only later that I regain perspective and recognize that I'm not healed. My neck still hurts. It just doesn't hurt nearly as much as it does while the "therapy" is going on. 

My plan is still to go to the Needles. I'm doing my rehab exercises and going to PT. 

I am also going to the Gunks this weekend. But after that I think I will lay off the gym climbing for the remainder of the week before I fly to California. That way I'll have five solid days of rest before I climb again.

But enough of all this old-man whining. I'm not looking for your pity. I'm sure you've dealt with injuries yourself. It is part of the climbing life. It happens to practically everyone at one time or another. This too will pass. I hope.

I want to update you on my 2017 project, which I'm sure you recall. It is to send every star-worthy 5.10 pitch in the Gunks. Over the course of several different days in the past couple of months, I have made some progress.

I have tackled a few new tens in the Trapps:

Turdland Direct (5.10d)

I climbed Turdland once before, but at that time I avoided both of the "direct" 5.10 cruxes, keeping the route at 5.9. This was back in 2014, when the route featured some truly frightening, ancient protection bolts. Even assuming the bolts were good, I still found the 5.9 moves up and left (avoiding the first 5.10 bulge) to be pretty heads-up, with a healthy runout.

The bolts have since been replaced, which gave me a lot of comfort as I returned to the route this spring with Sudha and Mike. I found the direct route to be better protected than the 5.9 version.


(Photo: Mike on Turdland Direct (5.10d).)

Turdland Direct, as it exists now, is nothing but a good time, with great face climbing past two cruxes. I managed to blow the upper crux on my first attempt, sadly, slipping off as I tried to latch on to the good hold. I got the move immediately when I went back up the second time. I have to go back again to get the send and take it off of my 5.10 to-do list.

Never Say Never (5.10c)

While I was in the Turdland area with Sudha and Mike, I also led Never Never Land (5.10a) for the third time in just the past year. This is a route I once swore I would never lead! While we had the rope up I decided to tick off Never Say Never (5.10c), which is given two stars in the guidebook but only as a top-rope since there is practically no gear on the pitch.


(Photo: Sudha on Never Never Land (5.10a).)

Never Say Never is a decent face climb, with a brief, balance move crux. I sneaked through it without falling off, achieving the top rope send. I don't know if I will ever bother to do it again.

Tweak or Freak (5.10a)

I did this climb on a different day, with Andy. Traditionally it has a first pitch to the right of Oblique Twique (5.8) but you get more quality climbing out of it if you start on Oblique Twique and then head up into the roof from the ledge. So that's how I did it, in one pitch to the top of the Shit Creek pedestal.


(Photo: I'm at the roof on Tweak or Freak (5.10a). Photo by Andy.)

This is a fun roof! It is a little bit awkward getting up to the overhang and then it takes a couple of good moves to get over it. When I did it, there was a fixed nut hanging from the roof, which lessened the commitment level.

I found this route to be worthwhile. It is surrounded by classics and thus I never even considered this climb until I started my little 5.10 completion project. But now that I am aware it exists, I would do it again.

On a different day with Andy (already mentioned above), I went to the Nears and tried to knock a whole bunch of my tens off of the to-do list.

Tulip Mussel Garden (5.10d)

This route wasn't new to me. I'd tried it once several years back and needed to return for the redpoint. It wasn't too hard to knock it off as our first climb of the day. It has pleasant 5.9 climbing up to a well-protected 5.10d crux through a short headwall. This is one of the least committing 5.10d's in the Gunks. It has just the one hard sequence with bomber gear at your waist.


(Photo: Andy heading up Tulip Mussel Garden (5.10d).)

Elder Cleavage Direct (5.10b) and Boob Job (5.10b)

Somehow over the years I have missed out on Elder Cleavage, a three-star classic. It is a great climb, with many challenges.

The pitch one crux comes right off the ground, with a boulder problem up to a good hold, and then a stand-up move with no gear to get to a small stance beneath a shallow overhang.

Andy and I looked over the start cautiously. It appeared to be hard, and there was no way to be sure how the stand-up move would go without trying it. Eventually I decided to go for it. It went well enough. I negotiated these initial moves and then nervously placed a good Alien at the overhang.

I was rattled by the tough start and it affected me later in the pitch. I completed the next set of moves up a shallow slot, feeling shaky, and then continued into the vertical arching crack that is the second crux section. After a tricky move to get established in the crack, I placed some gear under pressure and moved up to where the crack arched left. 

The next move was thin and when I didn't immediately find the way my nerves got the better of me. I threw in a piece and took a hang to get my head together.

After recharging, I found that the next move ended the difficulties. 

I was upset that I didn't get the clean send but wow, this is a great, demanding lead. It just doesn't let up.


(Photo: Andy coming up pitch one of Elder Cleavage Direct (5.10b).)

Andy quickly led the throwaway 5.4 pitch two, and I got set to lead the third pitch up to the obvious roof in a left-facing corner.

This went well. I think it is one of the best 5.10 roofs in the Gunks. It features really fun moves into an undercling crack in the roof, and then to the right and up the corner to escape. The gear is ample. It is wild and exciting.

There is another obscure roof pitch twenty feet left of the final pitch of Elder Cleavage, called Boob Job (5.10b). It gets a star in the guidebook so it too was on my list. 

It is easy to see where you need to go from the big ledge. There is an obvious V-notch in the underside of the ceiling above. You climb more or less straight up to the notch, over easy territory. 

Moving into the notch is committing. Once you are up in it, there is good gear. I placed something in front of my face and also reached out to the right as far as I could and put in a small Alien. And then it was on. A pumpy traverse out the right side of the V-notch, with a big reach in the middle, got me to the exit. Searching for purchase above the roof, I found very sandy holds. At this point, I knew that if I fell I was headed for a swing. I thought it would be a clean fall but I did not want to take the ride. Gripping like crazy, I got my feet up and, panting with relief, scrambled to the top.

Boob Job isn't as classic as Elder Cleavage but it is certainly exciting! I think you are cheating yourself if you go up there for Elder Cleavage and don't stick around for Boob Job as well.

There is a dead or dying tree with a cable rap station at the topout for Boob Job, but Andy and I didn't like the looks of it so we walked off. 

Hang Ten (5.10a)

After we walked all the way back around to our stuff we kept on trooping down the cliff to Hang Ten (5.10a), which I expected to go easily and quickly. The climb goes over a roof about twenty feet above the ground. No big deal, I thought.

(Photo: I'm leading Hang Ten (5.10a). Photo by Andy.)

But I was mentally fried at this point. I got good gear at the roof but as I pulled over I missed an obvious hold and, mystified, I had to take a hang. Then on the second try I found the hold and felt very stupid.

The run-out 5.6 slab after the roof on Hang Ten is quite nice. Hang Ten is a pretty decent little climb.

Whatever (5.10a)

We finished things up with Whatever (5.10a), which Andy led. This is a 50-foot 5.7 face climb with a brief 5.10 slab at the very end of the pitch. There is fiddly gear a little bit below your feet as you make the hard moves, which makes it a bit scary.


(Photo: Andy trying to get solid pro for the crux of Whatever (5.10a).)

It isn't much to write home about. I would never return to it except that I have to lead it in order to take it off my list! So I will go back to Whatever.

I ended the day a little bit frustrated with my on-sight rate. I have several routes that I must do again, though I think they will all be easy to knock off now that I've done them once.


(Photo: That's me, just three weeks ago, in between flare-ups, on To Be or Not To Be (5.12a). Photo by Gail.)

As I write this post, with a bag of frozen vegetables perched upon my shoulder, I can only hope that I'll have good news to report from the Needles, and opportunities for more progress on my Gunks list soon afterward. 

It may be that after my trip I'll have to dial it significantly back and focus on getting healthy for the fall. If this has to happen, it won't be too big a loss. We've hardly had a spring but it's practically over already. It will soon be hot and muggy. If I have to take it easy through the yucky months, then so be it.

But I hope not. I hope the neck will feel better soon and I'll just be going for it like always. I'll let you know how it works out.

(Photo: View of the Magician (on the left) and the Djin Needle (on the right), from the top of the Charlatan.)

Why the Needles?

Several years ago I came across some photos of the area (On Denis O'Connor's website) and I was immediately smitten. Ever since then, I've been dying to pay a visit.

It is a beautiful place, located in Sequoia National Forest at an elevation of over 7000 feet. The otherworldly, pointy rock formations seem to leap out of the surrounding hills, offering sweeping faces of flawless granite, broken only by perfect vertical cracks. The stone seems to glow with patches of fluorescent-green lichen. The surrounding landscape is filled with majestic green trees. Way off at the horizon, snow-capped Sierra peaks provide a backdrop.


(Photo: View of the summit of the Warlock, from atop the Witch.)

I've long been drawn to the Needles. But I've also been a little bit afraid. The area has a reputation as a hardman's crag, a destination for serious climbers. The remote location leaves you alone to manage your own affairs. Help is miles away. And the climbs are hard. The faces are steep and the climbing is sustained. The cracks go on and on, making for long pitches with move after move of the same difficulty throughout. There are only a few entry-level classics in the 5.8/5.9 range. Most of the climbs are harder, and the grades are super old-school.

The style of climbing is what you'd expect from granite: vertical cracks and slabs, i.e., not what I'm used to. I'm not confident on granite. I don't trust my toes the way I do when I climb on Gunks conglomerate. I need more practice on granite than I've been able to get.


(Photo: The upper portion of the West Face of the Witch, with the Warlock peeking over her shoulder. Taken from atop the Sorceror. If you click to enlarge, you can make out a climber (dressed in white) seconding the last pitch of Igor Unchained (5.9).)

This year I figured it was time to check out the Needles, whether I was ready to "crush it" there or not. I was sure that with the help of my longtime partner Adrian (who loves crack climbing), we could get up whatever we chose to climb, one way or another. Between the two of us we had the experience and the knowledge to deal with whatever challenges the Needles would throw our way.

If only we could get there! We planned our trip for Memorial Day weekend. As the date approached I kept seeing posts on Supertopo and elsewhere suggesting that the roads around the Needles would not yet be open. It had been a snowy winter and there were a lot of armchair rangers on the internet predicting a late start to the season.

Adrian and I almost called the whole thing off, but ultimately we decided to have faith. Even if we had to walk a few extra miles, we could still climb at the Needles. We'd just have to work a little bit harder for it.


(Photo: Adrian standing on the old staircase to the fire observation deck atop the Magician, which burned down several years ago.)

My plan was to fly in to LAX and then drive the three-and-a-half hours to Camp Nelson (where we'd rented a cabin) that same night. My flight was supposed to arrive at around 7:00 in the evening. Assuming an on-time arrival and a little bit of luck at the rental car counter, I hoped I could get to our cabin before 1:00 in the morning. Adrian was driving in from Vancouver at the same time. Once we both arrived, we would climb for the next four days.
My brilliant plan was thwarted from the get-go when my flight out of New York was delayed by six hours, for no reason that I could discern. No one at the airline seemed to feel the need to explain, even when I asked. I ended up arriving in Los Angeles just after midnight.

I decided to soldier on and to drive through the night to our cabin.

But first I needed to pick up my rental car, and the counter was a nightmare. There was a line winding around the inside of the rental office and then out the door. I ended up waiting there-- no exaggeration-- for TWO HOURS.

I finally hit the road at 2:40 a.m.

With no place to stay in Los Angeles, it seemed pointless to do anything but drive.

I made it about an hour outside of LAX before I decided I just couldn't keep going. I was exhausted. I pulled into a gas station and crashed in the back seat.

When I awoke about an hour later, I bought myself some terrible coffee and got back on the road. The day slowly dawned as I tore up the highway towards the Needles.

As the sky brightened, I got a gander at the surreal landscape through which I was driving.

California's long drought had clearly devastated this part of the state. The land was so brown, I felt as if I'd landed in Saudi Arabia. I even spotted some oil rigs!

But occasionally citrus farms would appear, in perfectly rectangular islands of irrigated wonder. These green oases seemed out of place. To all appearances, this was not an agricultural land of plenty. It was a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Soon enough I was through it, ascending a very windy road up a pretty river valley towards Sequoia National Forest.

I arrived in Camp Nelson at 7:00 a.m. I was fashionably late, but I'd made it.

I crawled right into bed and grabbed two more hours of sleep. Then Adrian made me breakfast and we headed for the Needles.

Day One: Igor Unchained (5.9)

We thought that the road to the Needles was still closed, which would necessitate a five mile hike just to get to the climbing. Since we were getting a late start, we decided to skip the Needles for the time being and instead spend our first day at Dome Rock, a nearby formation with much quicker access.

But as we drove towards Dome Rock, we passed the Needles road and found the gate wide open-- probably for the first time in 2017! This was a great surprise, and proof you should never trust the internet. We changed plans.

I turned onto the dirt road and found that for the most part it was in pretty good shape. We moseyed on down it just fine in our little Chevy Cruze. But about halfway down the road, we reached a big muddy rut that we decided we couldn't pass. A couple in front of us had just ripped a drip pan off of the bottom of their SUV trying to get by it. We didn't think it was worth the risk of doing the same to my rental car, so we parked and walked the mile and a half down to the end of the road, and then the two-mile trail to the Needles.

We had arrived. And it was beautiful.


(Photo: First view of the Magician as you approach the Needles from the trail.)

I didn't know where to start. As we worked our way around the huge slab known as the Magician, I tried to figure out how to approach the climbs I'd read about. Looking into the notches between the formations, I (mistakenly) thought I spotted some climbers on Spooky (5.9), one of the climbs on my list. So we went a little bit further and scrambled down to the start of Igor Unchained (5.9), a four-pitch climb on the formation called the Witch.

I volunteered for pitch one, an endless hand crack.

Not long after getting off the ground, I realized I was looking at 150 feet of placements for blue and gold Camalots and little else. But I was carrying just two of each.

I was also feeling nervous, which made me want to place gear constantly.


(Photo: That's me, leading pitch one of Igor Unchained (5.9). Photo by Adrian.)

At least the jams felt good. The rock was perfect and the climbing was great. I was just very slow. I kept leap-frogging pieces, trying to conserve gear. Eventually I started hanging to retrieve gear from lower down, and then I started hanging just to hang. This pitch was a slog. I'm not proud of my performance.

But by the end of it I started trusting my feet on the textured granite, and I hoped the rest of the climb would go better.

Adrian tackled pitch two, which started with a brief off-width crack and then some thin, slabby moves up a corner. He handled it well, attacking the off-width directly. When I followed I found some footholds on the side wall which enabled me to basically climb around the off-width. The thin face moves that followed were thought-provoking, to be sure, but Adrian found good gear in the corner so there were no worries. It was another great pitch and totally different from pitch one.


(Photo: Adrian's outfit eerily matches the rock/lichen as he gets past the offwidth on pitch two of Igor Unchained.)

I led pitches three and four in a long single pitch, and by this time I was getting much more comfortable. I loved the steep, juggy climbing at the start of the traditional pitch three, and then felt pretty good about negotiating the technical climbing to the finish up a finger crack. The climbing seemed to go on and on; I placed almost our entire rack on this double-length pitch.


(Photo: I'm in the steep early going on pitch three of Igor Unchained. Photo by Adrian.)

As I reached the top of Igor Unchained, I wondered if I'd ever experienced a better 5.9. Every pitch had been fantastic. The climb has a bit of everything: hands, fingers, slabby moves, and juggy steepness, with great gear throughout. And the scenery was gorgeous beyond belief.


(Photo: Adrian topping out on Igor Unchained.)

Adrian had complained a bit about feeling the altitude while we were doing the climb. I hadn't noticed it at all while we were climbing, but as soon as we got back on the trail it hit me hard. I suddenly felt very tired and I was not psyched about hiking the three and a half miles back to our car. It ended up being a bit of a struggle but I managed to trudge all the way back, feeling like I couldn't catch my breath whenever we had to go uphill.

I collapsed into bed right after we got back to the cabin.

Day Two: White Punks on Dope (5.8+)

This six-pitch climb is often described as the best multi-pitch moderate route in California. Like Igor Unchained, White Punks on Dope is a varied affair, with many challenges. I was most excited to lead the crux fourth pitch, which ascends a smooth corner with a finger crack at the back. The fifth pitch, a blank slab pitch with only four bolts, also appeared to be quite exciting-- but I figured that after the crux pitch I would hand the lead off to Adrian for that one.

No need to hog all the best pitches, right?

White Punks on Dope is on a large formation called Voodoo Dome, which is part of the Needles but is most easily accessed by driving away from the usual Needles road for about an hour around the Kern River Valley, approaching the rocks from the opposite side. The hike in to the dome is less than a mile but it is an uphill, sandy path and it took us almost an hour.

We tried to get an early start but when we arrived at the base we found another pair of climbers hanging out, just getting ready to start the climb. I was momentarily miffed that we'd been beaten to the base, but it soon became clear that these two would not slow us down. They were a married couple and the husband was obviously some kind of 5.12 climber just doing this climb as a sort of rest day. He moved quickly and had no intention of falling. He started out with no belay at all. When he got about fifty feet up the 5.7+ pitch one, he placed his first piece, and only then did he ask his wife to put him on a "loose belay," which meant that she put the rope through a Gri Gri and periodically pulled out about twenty feet of slack. Then she continued to organize her pack, with neither hand on the rope.

The wife described herself as the tourist of the pair but she was obviously quite comfortable following and seemed very capable in her own right. I was proud that we managed to catch up to these two a couple of times during the day but eventually they pulled away from us and we didn't see them again until we ran into them near the bottom of the descent trail.


(Photo: Adrian on pitch one of White Punks on Dope.)

Adrian took the lead for pitch one, another long (190 feet!) hand crack pitch. He handled it well, although for some reason he decided to be on belay and to place gear at intervals of fewer than fifty feet. (What a chicken!) Following the pitch, I felt good, casual. I would kill to have crack pitches like this in the Gunks. In the Needles, this was just another hand crack, going on and on for miles in solid granite. At the end of the pitch came a surprise, a few polished face moves right before the belay stance in an alcove.

I led pitch two, which starts with a funky boulder problem right off the belay to escape the alcove. It is steep and in-your-face for a minute and then it is over. I elected to keep going into the pitch three chimney as well. It was fun and easy, with only a few 5.7 moves. I didn't experience much of any rope drag combining the pitches this way, and though combination was long it wasn't as long as pitch one-- it was probably 175 feet or so.


(Photo: I'm looking back at Adrian after doing the bouldery start out of the alcove on pitch two of White Punks on Dope.)

Now it was time for the 5.8+ crux corner pitch. I had already put dibs on it so I took the lead again.

It went well, though my tense state throughout made it more tiring than was necessary. The thin crack in the corner provided good finger locks-- and I locked my digits in there as much as I could! There were not many footholds on the off-vertical left wall. I suspected that a more gallant climber than I would have simply walked up the smooth face. But this was not my style. Instead I did my best to contort my body to take maximum advantage of little indentations for my left foot and tried whenever I could to torque my right toe into the corner for a little extra security.

My strategy worked. By the time I reached a rest stance at the halfway mark I started to feel like this pitch was going to work out just fine. At some point the angle started to ease and my lone remaining anxiety became whether I would run out of finger-sized gear before the crack ended. This was another pitch into which I dumped practically our whole rack.


(Photo: Adrian's photo of me most of the way through the crux pitch of White Punks on Dope.)

I thought I was out of the woods when I moved to the left for what the guidebook describes simply as a "5.6 lieback off a wide crack" which "runs it out to the belay."

Imagine my surprise when I saw that this so-called 5.6 lieback involved walking up the slick, featureless granite with no pro (the crack is too wide) for about forty feet to a ledge. As I got started, I could see that this was pretty easy climbing. Still, I found it terrifying. Slipping out of the layback seemed possible. The chance was not that high, but it was definitely above zero. This wasn't like a 5.6 runout in juggy territory in the Gunks; it was far more insecure, at least in my mind. And the runout was really long. The offhand, blase guidebook description didn't begin to do it justice.

There was nothing to do but to carry on. I got through the runout by telling myself to "just keep going" with every step. I tried to put out of my mind the length of the potential fall I could take if I slipped. Forty feet, fifty feet, sixty feet.... I couldn't help but think about the potential cheese-grater fall down the face, and when I finally grabbed the belay ledge I announced to no one in particular that I'd just done the scariest thing I'd ever attempted.

But I'd done it! Now I could relax, as it was Adrian's turn to lead the run-out slab pitch. I'd planned things out perfectly so that I would not lead this pitch.

Imagine my surprise (again) when Adrian arrived at the belay, turned to me and asked "You wanna lead this next pitch? I hate slab."

My first thought was that some impostor (perhaps a pod person?) had replaced my Adrian. The Adrian I know has spent his whole career climbing at Squamish, where slab is on the menu for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

My second thought was that if Adrian wasn't feeling it today we were surely screwed. I had no slab experience!

My third thought was "I should lead this. It will be good for me."

Pure slab climbing scares me, for the obvious reasons. There are no handholds and the gear tends to be widely spaced. I could see that the slab pitch we were now confronting was typical of the genre: a full-length pitch of utterly blank, slippery granite with just four lonely bolts.

Turning to Adrian, I said "It's only 5.8, right? I should be fine."

"Right," he said.

I tried to will myself to believe it.

After placing a piece as high as I could above our anchor, I stepped to the right onto the blank face and ventured upward towards the first bolt, which seemed very far away.



(Photo: Adrian's photo of me leading the slab pitch on White Punks on Dope.)

It wasn't so bad. I tried to be precise and found ripples and edges to stand on. Moving slowly and with increasingly intense focus, I continued upward, taking it one small step at a time, until I eventually reached the first bolt, clipped it, and breathed a great sigh of relief.

Having established a rhythm, I repeated the process three more times. As the pitch continued it moved diagonally up and to the right, which meant that if I fell I would travel in a pendulum arc down and across the slab. As I'd done on the previous pitch, I tried to push the possibility of a fall out of my mind, but the potential negative outcomes relentlessly crept back into my head. 

Nevertheless everything went fine. I kept on moving and didn't shake too much. By the time I reached the fourth bolt the climbing got a bit easier, up a shallow feature with some real holds to the belay ledge.



(Photo: Adrian near the end of the slab pitch on White Punks on Dope.)

I arrived at the ledge exhilarated and mentally exhausted. If pitch four had been the scariest thing I'd ever attempted, then this would have to have been the second scariest. But I'd gotten through it and now I could really relax.

The final pitch, which Adrian led, ascended another beautiful finger crack. It was quite steep for a few moves, with good gear, but then the angle kicked back and it was easy going to the top of the dome. Since I was done leading I considered the pitch an afterthought, though it is good and worthy of consideration in its own right.



(Photo: Adrian leading the final pitch of White Punks on Dope.)

As we descended around the back of the dome I felt deeply satisfied. This had been a great day. White Punks on Dope was one of the best multi-pitch routes I'd ever done. The climbing wasn't hard, exactly, but it had been challenging for the mind-- for my mind, anyway. This was a real granite climbing experience. Our team had handled it well and I had taken on all of the hardest bits. It was something I could build upon.

Day Three: Dome Rock

Adrian and I headed to Dome Rock for our third day of climbing. This big dome isn't technically a part of the Needles, but it is close by and would be a worthy destination all by itself, even if the Needles did not exist. There are several high-quality full-length routes to the top of the dome (in four pitches or so) and a number of classic single-pitch crack and slab lines.

I had my eye on a multi-pitch route called the Anti-Jello Crack. This seemed like a good route with which to up the ante to the next level. So far we'd done some 5.8 and 5.9 pitches. The Anti-Jello Crack has a pitch of 5.9+ and then the next one is 5.10a. I wanted to lead at least one 5.10 before we left the Needles. This seemed like a good route with which to do it.

Adrian handled the short, pleasant 5.6 first pitch up a hand crack to the base of the obvious, slanting 5.9+ pitch two finger crack.

I led pitch two and it was probably my best lead of the trip. It is a gorgeous pitch with sustained technical difficulty and great gear up the whole crack. I got it done cleanly but I probably made it harder for myself again, by milking the crack for footholds whenever I could, rather than simply trusting my feet on the slab. At the crux, just before the crack ended, the finger-locks shrank to virtually nothing and I had no choice but to smear my feet on the smooth face. I was unnerved but once I committed to the moves my feet stayed where I put them and I made it to a stance. 



(Photo: That's me leading the Anti-Jello Crack. Photo by Adrian.)

The pitch still wasn't over. After the crack ended I had to run it out through easier slabby territory to the bolted anchor. This climbing wasn't hard and I got through it just fine, but by this point all of the runout slab climbing had begun to take a toll on me. 

As Adrian followed the pitch I kept looking up at the corner ascended by the 5.10a third pitch. I couldn't see the crux-- it was around the corner. I had no idea what it would be like. 



(Photo: Adrian following the Anti-Jello Crack.)

I decided I wasn't up for the 5.10 pitch. My brain felt tired. Everything we'd been doing was so sustained. The 5.9+ we had just done was hard enough for my tastes! Adrian didn't want to lead the next pitch either so we descended.

We rounded out our day with a bunch of easier pitches. Adrian led the interesting first pitch of Arch Bitch-Up (5.8), which features a low traverse and then fun climbing up a corner. 



(Photo: Adrian making the thoughtful traverse on Arch Bitch-Up.)
Then we took the Tree Route (5.6) to the top of the dome (and the parking lot). This is a varied and beautiful route, with nice climbing throughout on cracks, flakes, and slabs. It is the only quality route in the whole area that is this easy.



(Photo: Adrian is all smiles as we cruise up the Tree Route with our packs on. The Needles are in the distance.)

I would advise caution, however, to any beginning leader out there who might want to hop on the Tree Route. Whenever it gets slabby-- particularly at the end of the first pitch and the beginning of the fourth-- the route has runouts. We weren't bothered by them, because the climbing was so casual.



(Photo: Adrian through the run out slab start to pitch four of the Tree Route.) 

After feeling stressed on Anti-Jello Crack, I was relieved to cruise through the rest of our third day. I hoped that maybe I'd feel refreshed on day four when we returned to the heart of the Needles.

Day Four: Spooky (5.9)

By this time the dirt road to the Needles had been smoothed out so we were able to drive all the way to its end. The two-mile hike seemed so much easier now that I'd adjusted to the altitude and gotten a few good nights' sleep.

Our first target was a two-pitch 5.9 called Spooky. After we finished with that I figured we might finally try a 5.10. There were a whole host of classics at that grade to choose from.

Despite the three days we'd spent in the Needles, we still didn't quite have our bearings and it took us a bit of wandering to find the top of the Charlatan, the formation from which we would rap to the base of Spooky. 

We wasted some more time searching for the rap bolts, which were hidden over an edge. When, after all of this, we were ready to descend, I peered over into the gap between the Charlatan and the Magician and felt a chill go through me. I could see how Spooky got its name. The wind was howling through the narrow canyon as Adrian lowered himself into the space between the formations.



(Photo: Adrian rapping in to the base of Spooky, with the Magician behind him.)

One of our ropes got stuck in a crack on the rappel, but with some work Adrian got it free. I rapped in without incident and we were finally ready to climb.

The route turned out to be great, and a pretty casual 5.9-- so long as you bring a big cam or two and aren't too upset about a little bit of offwidth.


(Photo: Adrian on pitch one of Spooky.)

Adrian led the first pitch, an excellent 5.8-ish handcrack in a corner.

Then it was my turn lead the crux 5.9 offwidth. It is only about twenty feet long, and then you reach a ledge and transition to face climbing.


(Photo: I'm testing the offwidth crack on Spooky. I'm still standing on the ledge but I've already placed a big cam over my head. Photo by Adrian.)

I wanted some real offwidth practice so I purposefully stuck my side into the crack and attempted it with offwidth technique, although I suspect many people lay it back the whole way. I fought with the crack (fun!) until I was about two thirds of the way up the thing, and then, upon finding a good edge inside of the crack, I said "screw it," stopped grovelling, and switched to laying back for the final bits. I had both a Number 4 and Number 5 Camalot with me and with a little bit of pushing the cams ahead of me I was basically on top rope for the whole excursion. You could get by with just one of these big cams; having two made me very comfy.


(Photo: I'm enjoying the weird knobs on the second half of Spooky.)

The rest of the pitch was wild and probably no harder than 5.8. The face above the off-width is covered in these crazy, fin-shaped, tufa-like knobs. From below it looks like there might be limited gear up there but actually there is plenty. Climbing the strange features on the face was great fun and I found it to be very different from everything else we'd done in the Needles.

After Adrian joined me up top we ate lunch, snapped some photos of climbers across the way on Igor Unchained, and watched with awe as some pilots in fighter jets did exercises up and down the canyon, corkscrewing their way past us with engines roaring.

We had time for another route, but at some point we both looked at one another and we knew we were finished. We were satisfied. We hung out atop the Charlatan for a while, soaking up the atmosphere one last time, before hiking out and getting ice cream sandwiches in Ponderosa.


I really loved the Needles. It was everything I hoped it would be. It is a wondrous, beautiful place, with outstanding climbing, and the remote location keeps the crowds at bay. In our four days there, Adrian and I got a great introduction to the area. We basically did all of the entry-level routes. I got some much-needed mileage on cracks and slabs, and I felt like I climbed reasonably well.

On our next visit, I'd like to work into the climbs at the next level.

Every time I go out west, I come back home saying the same thing. I need to get more practice climbing on granite. I have to make myself take the long drive to New Hampshire so that I can get the experience I want and need. If I can do it even a few times a year, I can go back to the Needles more confident the next time around and hit the 5.10 classics without hesitation.

I suspect it will be a few years before I can make it out to the Needles again. Until then, I'll go back to staring at photos of the place and daydreaming about these magical, glowing towers of rock, and the incredible climbs contained therein.

(Photo: That's me on The Fury (5.11c) at Bibliothek, Muir Valley.)

It is an annual tradition: the autumn climbing trip. 

Every fall, I break away from the family for a long weekend and I climb for a few days in a row.

This year I decided to join my friend Gail in the Red River Gorge. For several years, she has spent a chunk of October there. This year, she planned to be in the Red for an entire week. I couldn't imagine taking a whole week away, but Gail was happy to allow me to join in for just three or four days. I would have ready partners in Gail, her son Max, and also Nancy, a friend of Gail's with whom I have climbed in the Gunks on a few occasions. Nancy (like me) was planning to spend just a few days in the Red, so we were natural partners for the trip.

This was to be my second visit to the area. When I last visited the Red, in 2014, I didn't exactly fall in love with the place. At the time, I wasn't a sport climber. I had no real interest in becoming one. My longtime partner Adrian was there with me and, since he is a traddie like me, we spent two of our four days in the Red at trad crags climbing (wonderful) moderates. We didn't avoid clipping bolts entirely, of course, but in our short time in the Red we didn't get that strong a sense of what the area has to offer.

That was a long time ago. In the three years since I first visited the Red, I've become much more open-minded towards the sport-climbing lifestyle. A fun trip to the New River Gorge with my partner Andy in 2016 made me look at clipping bolts in a new light. I felt inspired by the sport routes in the New, and challenged in a way that made me realize that if I spent some more time sport climbing I might improve as an all-around climber. I started to think that if I returned to the Red now, I might get a lot more out of the experience.

So I conceived of my latest trip to the Red in 2017 as a pure sport-climbing mission. 

I had one goal in mind: I wanted to send a 5.12. I had no idea whether this would be within my abilities. But it seemed to me that I might have a shot at it.

All of my friends from the gym spend their weekends sport climbing at Rumney. In the gym I hear them talk all the time about the 5.12's they are doing. I think of these people as my peers. If they can do it, I should be able to do it, I reckon. By the transitive property of climbing, I ought to be able to send 5.12 sport routes too. 

Even though it isn't the kind of thing I ever do. 

So what if I don't go to Rumney every weekend? So what if I've never sent a 5.12 outside?

I've never really tried.   

Maybe if I put some effort into it, I too could climb 5.12. And then I too could talk in the gym about the 5.12's I'm doing.

I hoped that in the Red I could find an appropriate (i.e., soft) 5.12, and maybe over the course of a day (or two?) I could get close to a send, after a few tries.

So I started poring over the RRG guidebooks looking for likely candidates. And I ran into a problem: I kept noticing fabulous-looking trad lines. Every sport crag at the Red seemed to have at least a few.

How could I pass by these wonderful climbs?

I couldn't. I am too much of a trad guy at heart.

I knew that Nancy had similar feelings. (She has taken several trips to the New in which she has only climbed trad!) So when Nancy and I talked about the upcoming trip, we decided without much debate that we were bringing the trad rack.

As our time in the Red approached, the forecast got more and more unfavorable. I was hoping for typical October weather: chilly mornings and sending temps throughout the day. I wouldn't have complained about a little rain, since in the Red there are crags that stay dry in light rain. But we were looking at more than a little light rain; it was going to come down hard, for several days in a row. And the temperatures were going to be hot, in the mid-eighties! It was hard to imagine worse conditions.

At least our first day was scheduled to be dry. Nancy and I tried to make the most of it. Gail and Max had already been in the Red for a day by the time we arrived, and they were staying for a whole week. They could afford to wait out the bad weather. Nancy and I, on the other hand, had no time to waste, so we headed out early on our first day to try to accomplish as much as we possibly could.

We went to the Roadside crag. It looked like a stellar destination to me, with great stuff for tradsters and bolt sniffers alike. 

Nancy and I warmed up at the 5.10 Wall, where several 5.10 sport climbs sit all in a row, one after another. We did two of them, enjoying ourselves, feeling good. 



(Photo: Nancy is leading A.W.O.L. (5.10a) at Roadside Crag.)

These climbs were nice enough, but the entire time we were there I couldn't stop staring at the nearby trad route Synchronicty (5.11a), a leaning, overhanging finger/hand crack that just begs to be climbed, right in the middle of the wall.

I couldn't wait to give Synchronicity a try. And once I hopped on it, it did not disappoint. The crux section of this climb comes right away. The climbing is both technical and very steep. It isn't too far to the jug at which things start to ease off, but it is tense the entire way up to that point. 

Unfortunately for me, I didn't get it clean. I got a little flummoxed after a few moves, at which point I threw in a panic piece and took a hang. Then I worked out the move and went straight to the jug. 



(Photo: Nancy following my lead of Synchronicity (5.11a) at Roadside Crag. She has almost reached the jug.)

Having done it once, I'm sure I could get the send on Synchronicity if I ever make it back to Roadside. I think Nancy sent it as the follower, if I recall correctly. Even though I didn't get the on-sight I was happy that I'd had no hesitation about jumping on a trad 5.11 at an unfamiliar area.

By now it was already pretty warm and I knew that if I wanted to try a 5.12 there was no time to waste. We were supposed to be sport climbing, weren't we? We turned our attention to Ro Shampo (5.12a), a very popular sport route, considered soft for its grade. I decided to attempt the lead.

Looking at Ro Shampo from the ground, it didn't look so bad. But once I got on the wall, it became clear very quickly that this route is radically overhanging. Most of the holds are jugs but it is a challenge just to hold on through the steepness, especially at the tricky crux, where you make a big move into a hueco at the mid-point of the climb.



(Photo: That's me, setting up for the crux on Ro Shampo (5.12a) at Roadside Crag.)

Once again, I failed to get the send. I couldn't decipher the crux right away and had to work at it, trying it from a couple of different angles, and taking a few hangs, before I made it through. As with Synchronicity, however, now that I've done the route, I think if I went back (especially on a cooler day!) I might have a fighting chance at the send if I stick the move on my first try. After the one move it is all about hanging on.



(Photo: Nancy on Ro Shampo (5.12a) at Roadside Crag.)

After Nancy went at Ro Shampo on TR we were both kind of pooped so Nancy led us up a beautiful, ultra-classic 5.7 hand crack called Roadside Attraction. The crack starts out at a very low angle, but after you jam up to the first ledge the crack continues, with more great jamming in much steeper territory. This impeccable pitch has gear available literally everywhere, but I would advise you to bring as many gold and blue Camalots as you own and to save some for the second half of the pitch. You will definitely find a place to use whatever you have.



(Photo: Nancy on Roadside Attraction (5.7) at Roadside Crag.)

The day was starting to slip away from us and I had one more big pitch in mind for us, a sport climb called The Return of Chris Snyder (5.11d). My frequent partner (and RRG expert) Andy had told me this was one of his favorites.

The pitch ascends a technical, shallow dihedral and then embarks up a steeply overhanging, honeycombed rock face. I've come to think of this type of face climbing as the trademark style of the Red (though of course the Red contains many different styles of climbing).



(Photo: I'm looking for holds in all the wrong places on The Return of Chris Snyder (5.11d) at Roadside Crag.)

There was a party already on Chris Snyder when we walked over to it, and we watched as the leader attempted (and failed) to get the redpoint. The climbing didn't look too bad to me. I thought that maybe I could get the send on this one, if I just moved quickly and held on. But then when I got my shot at it, I wasn't even close! I found out pretty quickly that I wasn't used to this style of climbing. The rock has wonderful holds, once you find them. But I was looking in the wrong places. Often features that appeared to be jugs were actually slopers, and while I was foolishly pawing at the sucker slopers, I was overlooking great sidepulls and underclings. And the climbing was so steep that every time I made the wrong choice I would find my arms flaming out fast. It was hard to find a way to rest and regroup.



(Photo: Nancy in the shallow dihedral before the big roof on The Return of Chris Snyder (5.11d) at Roadside Crag.)

I had to hang repeatedly on Chris Snyder. Nevertheless, I loved the climb. The early going up the dihedral is interesting and a bit tricky, and then, wow! It changes abruptly into a very different animal for the second half. I found it humbling, and tried to see it as a valuable learning experience.

Nancy and I had been going hard at it all day, and it was quite hot whenever we were in the sun, but we still had some time left and Nancy and I did not want to waste any part of what was likely to be our best day in the Red. We wandered over to the left side of the crag, hoping to warm down with an appealing trad climb in a corner called Andromeda Strain (5.9+).

We found it occupied, but as we looked around at this relatively sleepy portion of the cliff my eye was captured by a different climb called the Mantel Route (5.10c). This mixed climb gets five stars in the guidebook. It appeared to be challenging, with a low bolt followed by a long stretch of gear-protected climbing on a seemingly blank face. I was willing to give it a shot.

I was very happy we decided to do it! This wasn't the toughest climb we tried, nor did it end up being my hardest send in the Red, but I remain proud that I on-sighted this pitch. True to its name, this climb requires repeated, thin mantel moves. The climbing is technical and the gear is tricky, especially between the first and second bolts, where if you pass up any potential placements you could be at risk of a ground fall. 



(Photo: I'm past most of the difficulties on the Mantel Route (5.10c) at Roadside Crag.)

This sort of climbing, with thin, delicate moves and gear placed under pressure, is one of my favorite things. I didn't expect to find this kind of experience at the Red, where most of the trad routes seem to follow vertical cracks with mindless pro. Not that there's anything wrong with mindless pro. I can appreciate mindless pro. But when I'm slotting a tiny nut, sideways, while holding on to a sloping dime edge with my other hand, that's my (twisted?) idea of heaven. If you feel the same way, you should check out the Mantel Route. If it isn't your cup of tea, well, I don't blame you. You should go climb all of the other routes.

As our first day in the Red came to a close, I wasn't feeling satisfied with how well I'd climbed, but I was very happy that we'd come. At Roadside Crag we'd found amazing and varied routes, both sport and trad. We'd climbed several classics that I will be excited to come back to try to redpoint. And though I didn't get the on-sight on the hardest routes we tried, I was pleased with my lead head. I'd attacked 5.11 trad and 5.12 sport without hesitation. This was a good sign, I thought.

With a little more acclimatization to the style, I felt like I could start racking up some good sends here.

Unfortunately I never got the chance. The rest of our trip sucked.

The rain arrived that evening and it came down pretty steadily for the next thirty-six hours or so.

We tried to go climbing anyway. As I kept telling myself, the Red is known for crags that stay dry in at least a little bit of rain.

On our second day, we headed to Bibliothek, a wall in Muir Valley. The guidebook said this was a good crag for a rainy day. Gail and Max came along too, joining Nancy and me.

It was my first time in Muir Valley, an area that Gail likens to Disneyland. I think she says this because Muir has a well-trimmed, landscaped air about it. And the climbs are labelled for you, with discreet tags at the bottom. Also they keep a stash of stick clips at the entrance so you don't even need to bring your own. As a climber, you feel pampered at Muir.

But the comparison to Disneyland only goes so far. I was very disappointed to learn that there is no Monorail at Muir Valley. We had to hike for half an hour in the rain to get to Bibliothek, only to find when we finally got there that practically all of the climbs were soaking wet.



(Photo: Gail at the tricky crux of 100 Years of Solitude (5.11a) at Bibliothek, Muir Valley, with Nancy belaying.)

We did what we could do. We all took a turn on 100 Years of Solitude (5.11a, not bad, tricky low crux), and I led a really nice overhanging, honeycombed route called The Fury (5.11c). It was similar in style to the upper half of Chris Snyder. On my first effort I still felt unaccustomed to this type of RRG climbing. I took a hang or two. But then I decided I might as well lead it again, since there was so little we could do in the rain. 



(Photo: The Fury (5.11c).)

When I tried The Fury for the second time, I felt like I was finally starting to get the hang of this sort of route. I sent it easily, without any problem. 

And then we trooped on out of there.

The Fury ended up being the best send I would accomplish at the Red. The weather was so bad I never tried anything harder. 

It continued raining overnight. By the morning of day three it started to look like things were clearing up. Nancy and I decided to drive out to the Chocolate Factory, with no illusions that the climbs would be dry. We were hoping that things might improve a little bit as the day progressed. And maybe we'd find a climb or two that was worth doing?

As we drove to the PMRP the rain started back up again.

We carried on anyway. We parked and hiked over to the Chocolate Factory, only to find that everything there was sopping wet. Nancy and I hiked back out, meeting Gail and Max in the parking lot. They convinced us to go have a look at the Motherlode, but before we even started down the trail we encountered some other climbers who told us it was just as bad as the Chocolate Factory.

So we got back in the car and drove a little bit further into the PMRP, heading to the Drive-By Crag. I'd been there in 2014 with Gail and Max, during a heavy storm. Having been at this crag in the rain, we knew that there were likely to be some climbs that were dry. 



(Photo: Nancy on Deeper is Better (5.10b), Drive-By Crag, PMRP, with Gail belaying.)

We ended up having a decent day, though the conditions were bad, as we expected them to be. The rain finally stopped but then it grew so hot and humid that it might as well have been raining. Many of the routes were climbable, but everything seemed covered in a layer of slime. We ended up spending most of our time on the same tens and elevens I'd done here in 2014.



(Photo: Max on Whip-Stocking (5.11a).)

All day long I kept looking at Primus Noctum (5.12a), a climb I'd stumbled into attempting three years ago. I wanted to give it another shot but it was clearly wet in its lower sections. I ended up not bothering.

Late in the day, I was feeling kind of depressed. It had been my idea to go to Drive-By, but I wished we'd gone somewhere else, to try something new. I was bored by the climbs we'd done before, but I wasn't psyched on trying anything hard, given how greasy everything was. There were other, more intrepid climbers than us at the crag, going at 5.13's even though they were wet. I admired these climbers and felt inadequate.

Just then it occurred to me that there was a whole wall at the right end of the Drive-By Crag that I hadn't seen. I suggested we go over there to have a look.

Checking out the slabby routes in this sector, I knew they would be wet, since they hadn't been sheltered from the rain. But I thought that if we picked one of the easier 5.10 routes, it might be a nice change of pace despite the lingering dampness.

I hopped on one of the 5.10's and immediately found myself desperately jamming a soaking-wet vertical crack. I didn't remember reading about this crack in the description. Once I got through this section, I was unnerved to find myself smearing on a damp, featureless slab. It was tough going! It wasn't long before I had to stop and hang.



(Photo: Wet jamming on a 5.10 (??) at Drive-By Crag, PMRP, with Gail and Max looking concerned.)

I tried again and made some progress, but the next moves didn't seem any easier. I'd expected wetness, but forget the wetness, this climb was just plain hard! Every move felt a bit desperate. Was this really a 5.10? 

Max looked up and noticed a bail link on one of the bolts up over my head. 

Uh-oh, I thought. This meant the hardest part was up there, still to come! 

Eventually we figured out that I was not on the 5.10 I thought I was on. I was actually on a climb called Giblets (5.11c). The guidebook says you should expect to be "bitching about no holds" on this route, and they're not kidding.

After much sweating, swearing and hanging I made it up to the bail link and lowered off. 

I think everyone was much relieved when I threw in the towel. But this is a route I would love to try again, when it is dry. I thought the movement was great. I even figured out the crux high-stepping move at the bail link but then I was unable to use the damp, tiny sloper holds that came afterwards, which is when I finally gave up. 

I'm sure everyone else in my party was horrified by Giblets but I was energized by it. Here was another interesting, challenging route I'd love to revisit in the Red. It is technical. Working on it would make me a better climber. For me it salvaged the day.

Nancy and I had just one more half-day to spend at the Red. It seemed like the rain was finally over but we were sure to find some wet rock, wherever we went. We decided to check out The Zoo, a crag with a pretty quick approach. We didn't have tons of time but I was hoping that maybe I could try either Scar Tissue or Hippocrite (both 5.12a) before we left.

Unfortunately the twelves were quite wet. Other routes were a bit drier.

We got started by doing two of the tens. Put My In The Zoo (5.10b) is a nice slabby route. The hardest moves, at the bottom, were wet, but both Nancy and I managed to get it done.


(Photo: Nancy on Put Me In the Zoo (5.10b).)

We also enjoyed One Brick Shy (5.10c), which begins with a steep roof pull off of a block at the base. After that the climbing eases off a bit but it is still fun.

By now I was getting much more accustomed to the overhanging routes at the Red. I put up Geezers Go Sport (5.11b) without a hiccup. It felt very casual. It made me sad, thinking of what I might have done at the Red if the weather hadn't been so unfavorable.


(Photo: I'm climbing Geezers Go Sport (5.11b).)

With our time running out I finished our trip with the next route to the left, Monkey in the Middle (5.11a). This was actually more difficult than its 5.11b neighbor because the holds leading up to the first bolt turned out to be slimy wet. I ended up skipping some soaked intermediate holds, doing a dyno to hit the jug next to the bolt. Fun! After that the route was dry and enjoyable. Nancy didn't like the looks of this one and we were out of time anyway, so I cleaned it on the lower and we headed to the airport.

Even though the weather was unkind to us, I still had a great time in the Red River Gorge. The climbing I was able to do was fabulous. I was thrilled to find a variety of climbing styles, often within one crag. I loved both the trad and the sport. It was also great to spend the time with good friends. Gail's rental cabin was a most agreeable place to stay, and she played hostess, planning all the meals and generally taking care of our group.

I didn't really get a chance to find out what I could do in the Red. But I will be excited to go back again and find out.

(Photo: Andy following pitch one of Matinee (5.10d).)

So psyched! We were going rock climbing in December.

Andy and I were headed to the Gunks. He was planning to take it easy. He was in the middle of a self-imposed break from hard climbing. He wanted to rest for a couple of weeks before resuming his let's-climb-every-day training schedule.

Andy figured that following me around on some trad climbs in the Gunks would be easy enough that it would still qualify as "taking a break." My hardest trad projects are still pretty easy, in Andy's sport-climbing world.

As for me, I had no plans to take it easy. This was likely to be my last climbing day of 2017. I couldn't afford to take a break, whatever that meant. I had too much left to do!

As I'm sure you recall, dear reader, I still had a number of climbs to send as part of my little 5.10 completion project. I was oh so close to sending, on lead, every star-worthy 5.10 in the Trapps, and with a little luck I figured I could knock off the four remaining climbs on my list in a single day.

But I also wanted to send a 5.11. It felt like it had been a long long time since I'd sent a 5.11 in the Gunks.

In 2016 I’d managed to do several of them. I’d hoped to work through several more of them in 2017. But here we were in December, and I hadn’t put together a single 5.11 trad send all year.

It wasn't for lack of trying. As 2017 got under way, I was feeling really good. Not long after the season began I decided to attempt the top pitch of Enduro Man (5.11c), and I almost sent it! It would have been my proudest on-sight ever, but I got lost on the route after the two cruxes and I had to hang. It was so close.

Still, I was thrilled with how it went. I had every intention of going back to send it in short order. But then I was briefly sidelined by a neck injury. After some physical therapy and some rest, my condition improved, but by the time I really got back in the swing of things it was already June. My spring had gone up in smoke, and I never quite got that early-season confidence back again.


(Photo: That's me, attempting pitch three of Enduro Man (5.11c) for the second time. photo by Andy.)

On a hot day in July, I decided to try Enduro Man again. I knew the oppressive heat was an issue, but I wanted to give it a go anyway. You probably won’t be surprised to learn that it didn’t go that well. I can’t say whether the heat or my own decreased fitness was to blame. But this time, at the first set of overhangs, I couldn’t immediately find my way through. As I ventured up and down, looking for whatever it was I’d done the first time, all of the holds felt so greasy and slippery. Nothing seemed to work. It wasn’t too long before I had to hang. And then I decided I just wasn’t feeling it, and I climbed back down to the High E ledge, aborting the lead.


(Photo: Adrian at the crux of Harvest Moon (5.11a) on top rope.)

On another steamy, muggy day in June, I tried Harvest Moon (5.11a) for the first time, on top rope with a group of friends. I loved the route. I had to work to figure out the crux near the top, but I felt like I could come back and lead it without too much difficulty. I still intend to do it, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet.

As the year went on, my focus turned to a few other 5.11 routes. The main target of my attentions was Ent Line (direct 5.11b). I led this climb on three separate occasions in September and October, trying for the send, without success.

And then there was the big one:

The Yellow Wall (5.11c)



(Photo: Rob coming up the 5.8 first pitch of The Yellow Wall (5.11c).)

"It's no fun to be yellow." -- Holden Caulfield.

I started 2017 determined to try this climb before the year was over. But I didn't make it happen in the early season, when I was really feeling strong. And by the fall, as the year started to slip away without ever cooling off, I wondered if I would ever get up the nerve to do it. When it finally started to feel like autumn outside, I decided I had to take my shot at it. On one late October day, with Rob, the time finally seemed right.

The Yellow Wall is considered by many to be the very best climb in the Gunks. It has an intimidating aura, sitting as it does in the middle of the most imposing wall in the Trapps. As you stand at the base of the route, looking up, numerous impossibly large overhangs fan out above you, reaching far into the distance behind your head as you crane your neck towards the sky.

The route's daunting atmosphere is heightened by its recent tragic history. In 2014, a young woman named Heidi Duartes Wahl was killed when she fell from about twenty feet up on The Yellow Wall. She was soloing the easier initial portion of the route, placing no gear, in an attempt to do the entire route in a single pitch to the top. This is a common tactic employed by strong climbers on The Yellow Wall to avoid drag, and apparently Heidi had been on the route before and knew what the route required. I’m sure she felt there was no chance that she would fall during this early section of the climb, but obviously something went wrong up there and it had horrific consequences.

Heidi was very much in my mind as I stood beneath The Yellow Wall with Rob, even though I knew that I wouldn’t be at risk of an accident like hers. I wasn’t planning to solo the 5.8 pitch. Instead I intended to place lots of gear-- as much as I could!-- and to stop at the traditional first pitch belay.


(Photo: I'm leading pitch one of The Yellow Wall. Photo by Rob.)

Still, as I racked up and took my first tentative steps up the blocky start to the route, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened to Heidi. I felt jittery and I found the climbing to be strange. I knew I had to go up a right-facing corner until I could transition around left onto the face. There was good gear available in the corner, and I was happy to have it, since the moves were awkward and I had a hard time figuring out exactly where to turn the corner. I couldn't imagine soloing this pitch.

Eventually I got onto the slab and cruised up to the obvious horizontal crack where the pitch traditionally ends. As Rob came up to join me I kept staring at the gargantuan crux roof, looming above.

I continued to feel nervous as I began pitch two. I hoped to find a placement pretty quickly to protect the belay, but I couldn't come up with anything until I completed several steep moves to a fixed piton. At some distance above me I could see my next protection, a hunk of metal that everyone calls the "Thank God Bolt." I successfully navigated the territory to this bolt, clipped it, and resumed breathing. Then I had to make a thin traverse to the right under the big roof to a second bolt. As I moved to the right, I couldn't stop shaking, even though I was perfectly safe-- I'd just clipped a bolt! I hadn't expected the protection to be quite so sparse during the early going on this pitch, and I found it unsettling.

I still had to confront the actual hard climbing, all of which was still to come. Once I clipped the second bolt and made a big move up to the overhang, I threw in the first piece from my rack on this pitch: a perfect blue Camalot in the roof.

Now I was in steep territory at the lip of the roof. It was go time. I worked hard to find the way over the ceiling. I went up and down several times, surveying the large number of potential holds that might possibly provide the way upward. Eventually I got tired and had to either hang on the rope or commit to something. I didn't want to hang; I wanted to commit. I locked my heel in the roof and reached up to some crimpy ripples above the initial tier. Rocking upward over my heel, I attempted to find a good hold above, but I was unsuccessful and soon found myself falling.

There was no risk of hitting anything, but since my heel was securely locked in the roof my leg got twisted as I fell away from the roof. I could tell immediately that my knee was mildly tweaked.

I was still eager to solve this roof, and I went back up, several times. I didn't commit again with quite the same abandon, but I tried numerous approaches, going left and going right. I'm sorry to say that nothing worked for me.

Eventually I gave up and we bailed.


(Photo: Rob coming up to join me at the point from which we bailed off of The Yellow Wall.)

I was bummed to find myself shut down by The Yellow Wall. I had expected that I would probably fall, but I thought I would eventually work out the sequence, as I had on similar climbs like Carbs and Caffeine (5.11a), No Man's Land (5.11b), and Enduro Man (5.11c). Once I was back on the ground, limping away from The Yellow Wall, I felt like I'd taken a beating. I'd been spooked by the climb's special atmosphere and I'd been unable to unlock its mysteries.

The very next week I found myself standing on top of Bonnie's Roof, with a bird's eye view as another climber got the send on The Yellow Wall. I didn't see what he did at the crux, but I watched him finish the climb. He was ecstatic as he topped out and I was insanely jealous.

I have to go back.

* * * 

As I headed up to the Gunks with Andy in December I knew The Yellow Wall wasn't going to make it onto our agenda for the day. It was going to be cold, barely above forty degrees. I didn't want to leave Andy shivering at the first pitch belay while I had another epic at the big overhang. And let's face it, I didn't feel up to it.

Instead I figured that we could knock off the four remaining climbs on my list of star-worthy tens that I hadn't sent in the Trapps. Since one of these tens (Ent Line) was actually a 5.11b if you do the direct variation, I could also potentially get a 5.11 send to cap off my season.

Nurse's Aid (Pitch two, 5.10a)

We started our day at the Arrow Wall. I quickly ran up pitch one of Cold Turkeys (5.8) to set us up for pitch two of Nurse's Aid (5.10a).


(Photo: Andy at the crux of pitch two of Nurse's Aid (5.10a).)

I first did this pitch exactly one year ago with Connie. On that occasion I took a hang during the wild traverse. But then I quickly figured out a mantel move that got me through the crux. As I went back with Andy, a year later, I thought I had this pitch all sussed out and that it would feel easy.

Things went well enough as I negotiated past the very worrisome rock in the early part of the pitch. And when I got to the alcove before the real business I didn't hesitate at all as I placed my crux gear and then heel-hooked out the amazing horizontal crack, which traverses over a sheer two-hundred-foot drop to the ground.

I set up for the mantel move that I thought I remembered, but I suppose I didn't push with my hands forcefully enough as I tried to get into the mantel. Suddenly I found that I was slipping backward instead of moving upward. I tried to correct my position but it was too late. I was flying through space! Although I had to admit it was a fun (and totally clean) whipper, I was furious.

Climbing back up, I tried the mantel again with a little more oomph and it worked perfectly.

I was so mad.

I will have to repeat this pitch again in 2018.

Ent Line (5.11b)

After we were done with Nurse's Aid, I started to lead the way over to Ent Line, the next climb on my list. In all honesty, I wasn't all that psyched to do it. As we trooped over to the climb, I had a whole list of excuses running through my mind.

Maybe it was too cold out for this climb. Maybe I'd lost the mojo and it should wait until next year. Maybe, if Nurse's Aid was any indication, this just wasn't going to be my day.

I figured the climb would likely be occupied, which would give us just the out I needed. Surely, I thought, the area around Ent/Ants' Line would be crawling with people and we'd have to go do something else.

But when we got there we were all alone.

I knew I had no real excuse for not doing this climb. I had every move rehearsed, every placement memorized. I just needed to execute.

I decided to give it my best shot. I tried to convince myself that the stakes were low and that I didn't care whether I got the send or not. I grabbed all the gear I needed-- eight cams and one nut-- and I set off.


(Photo: That's me, setting off on lead on Ent Line (5.11c). Photo by Andy.)

It went well! The tricky 5.10d crux, a thin step to the right, felt smooth as silk. Settling in, I felt increasingly solid as I made the big next move to a sidepull and then stepped up and left to the juggy hold right before the 5.11 crux roof. I made sure I correctly placed my bomber red Camalot in a vertical slot, and then I carefully reached up to the tiny crimps at the base of the overhang. This move is probably the real crux for me, but today it was no problem. Everything was working out just right, and as I reached to the better holds just above the lip I knew that this time, finally, I had this climb in the bag. I adjusted my feet and reached easily to the shelf above the roof.

Everything was going great, but I was getting pretty chilly. Unlike Nurse's Aid, this climb was in the shade. The rock was noticeably cold to the touch. I wasn't bothered by it right away, but by the time I got to the 5.11 crux my fingertips were on fire and I could barely feel the rock. As I tried to shake out and warm my fingers above the roof, I knew I still had one more hard move to do before it was really all over. I was determined not to make any mistakes. There was no way I was going to let myself blow it at this point. I carefully placed my last gear in the big pebbly horizontal, made it through the final tough sequence, and romped to the chains.

I was so happy to end the year with a send on Ent Line. I put a lot of work into it, more than I thought would be necessary. But it was very satisfying to see it pay off.


(Photo: Andy getting set up for the crux overhang on Ent Line (5.11b).)

Andy usually just shrugs at every Gunks climb we do, but this time, he let me know that he thought it was legit. As he reached the top he said "Good job; THAT was a nice lead."

Bragg-Hatch (5.10d)

Having cruised up Ent Line, I was hoping to get an easy redpoint on Bragg-Hatch. The climb is thin and devious but the hard moves come and go quickly.

On my first attempt back in October I'd fallen at the crux moves out of the initial corner and I'd welded a little nut in the fall. When Andy and I arrived at the base in December, I was pleased to see that my nut was still in place.


(Photo: I'm mid-crux on Bragg-Hatch (5.10d). Photo by Andy.)

Unfortunately, the fixed nut didn't make the climbing all that much easier! It was tense getting up to and past the nut, and I still needed to place gear from a very thin position afterwards. I realized as I tried to move up that I'd sketched through these moves on my second try in October without really working out the best sequence. I had no memory of what I'd done and all the holds felt bad.

I fell again.

Andy encouraged me to do whatever I needed to do to work the climb and tick it off. So I took a little time to put together a better sequence through the crux. Then, once I had it figured out, I did the route again on TR to clean it. And then I started over again on lead from the ground for the send.

This time it went smoothly. I really like this pitch. I still wish it were longer. But the crux section has several great moves all in a row.

Matinee (5.10d)



(Photo: I'm on pitch one of Matinee (5.10d). Photo by Andy.)

"It's better in the matinee. The dark of the matinee is mine." -- Franz Ferdinand.

There was only one climb left on my list, and I was dreading it.

Matinee had turned into a bit of an epic for Connie and me a year ago. I’d tried to do it all in one pitch but I encountered horrible drag and we ended up getting benighted, along with some other mishaps.

This time around, with Andy, I knew we had enough daylight left in which to do the climb. And I planned to split it into the traditional two pitches, so as to avoid any rope drag disasters.

I wasn’t worried about the spot where I’d had to hang last year, at the pitch two crux. This crux comes at the very beginning of the second pitch. It is literally one hard move up a corner. There is ample gear and a clean fall if you blow it. I expected to redpoint this pitch without a problem. And if I fell, I intended to just start the pitch over again and keep trying until I could call it done.

My real worry was pitch one.

I’d on-sighted this pitch last year. It was one of my best climbing achievements. But the horizontal traverse under the big roof had felt desperate. The handholds weren't great and the footholds were tiny, polished indentations on a smooth, glassy face.

It was slabby and slick, the stuff of climbing nightmares.


(Photo: Andy in the midst of the crux on pitch one of Matinee (5.10d).)

I was afraid that my success on this pitch had been a fluke, and that if I went back again I might fall all over it. I’d negate my prior send and I’d be revealed as the fraud that I surely am.

But I had no choice. It was my mission to redpoint pitch two so we had to do pitch one, in order to get there.

I needn’t have been so concerned. It went great.

I loved pitch one. It didn’t feel desperate at all, this time around.

(Photo: I'm at the early crux of pitch two of Matinee (5.10d).)

And I really liked pitch two as well. After the hard stuff is over the pitch remains interesting and exposed, as you work your way up and left around a few roofs and corners. Last year I hadn't been able to take the time to appreciate this pitch, what with the rope drag, the impending darkness, the snow, and whatever else was going on.

This time, it was a joy.

As Andy came up to join me I felt so grateful to be in the Gunks, and to be fit and healthy enough to climb as often as I do.


(Photo: Andy making the final moves on pitch two of Matinee (5.10d).)

Even though 2017 didn't go exactly as I planned, I still feel like I made progress. I remain more than capable of falling on a 5.10, as Nurse's Aid demonstrated. But I send my fair share of them as well, sometimes on the first try. And I'm capable of working harder climbs into submission.

I may not have talent, but I am stubborn. It is probably my greatest asset. I'm obsessive and I keep trying.

Next year, after I send the second pitch of Nurse's Aid, I have to turn my attention to the Nears and take down all my remaining star-worthy tens over there. And I intend to go back to all of the elevens that I've failed on, and maybe I'll even find some twelves to fail on as well!

(Photo: Will coming up pitch one (5.9) of The Movie Star (5.10+).)

I never made it out to Millbrook in 2016, not once. I hoped to correct this regrettable oversight in 2017, but for some reason it didn't happen. I let the entire year slip away, again, without paying a visit to the wonderful white cliff.

As 2018 got underway, I thought of every weekend as a chance to go to Millbrook. I was itching to get out there again. I resolved to go back to “the Bank” as soon as I got the chance.

A recent Saturday seemed like the perfect opportunity, with no rain in the forecast and temperatures expected to reach 70 degrees. My partner, Will, had never been there, and he was eager to see what it was all about.

Half of the cliff was closed for falcons but I had several targets in mind (a couple of hard 5.10’s among them) that were open.

I hoped I would feel up to climbing the harder stuff.

I'd been cruising along pretty well lately. In the Trapps and the Nears I wouldn’t think twice about trying any 5.10. But Millbrook, I knew, was different. The isolation, the loose rock, the spooky atmosphere— what Todd Swain describes as the “terrors of Millbrook”— could make me revise my plans. Once we were actually there, I expected that my bold ambitions might float off with the falcons, leaving us with few options. (There aren’t many easy routes at Millbrook.)

But I tried to put these doubts out of my mind. The last time I visited Millbrook, I’d gotten up the nerve to do my first 5.10 at the cliff, The Time Eraser. And once I finally sacked up and did it, the route went perfectly. I hoped I could build on that success with Will.

Our day began with the pleasant but long-ish hike out to the crag. We chugged along pretty quickly, but still spent over an hour on the trail. Was it the long walk that kept so many climbers away from Millbrook? Or was it the nature of the place?

We seemed to be the only ones at the cliff as we set up for the rap in to the base. Although civilization was visible beneath us, it seemed very far away. There was no road noise. The peace was disturbed only by a lone rooster, crowing away at some farm down below. I tried to imagine the crowds that were surely swarming the Trapps, even at this early morning hour, and felt so grateful that we had this huge expanse of stone to ourselves.


(Photo: Crossing the Death Ledge.)

Since it was Will’s first visit, we started with Westward Ha!, the ultra-classic 5.7 up a prominent corner system in the center of the cliff. It is everyone’s first route at Millbrook.

I led a short first pitch up from the Death Ledge to the tree at the base of the corner, so Will could then take it to the top in one pitch containing all of the great climbing.

Even though I’d done this climb twice before, I felt a bit uncertain as I led our first pitch. Was I really going the right way? The rock was so hollow and dirty. I picked my way slowly towards the tree, worried that this might not be my day to shine at Millbrook. I felt like I took much too long on what ought to have been a quick no-big-deal kind of pitch.

Will was clearly feeling the Millbrook spook too as he led off into the real meat of the climb. He was tentative and slow, but as he continued up the beautiful corner he seemed to gain confidence. By the time he disappeared around a roof up high I felt like things were looking up; we were going to have a very good day.


(Photo: Will setting off on the lead on Westward Ha! (5.7).)

As I climbed up to join him I remembered how great Westward Ha! is. There are some fun sequences in the corner. I have been working in the gym on my crack climbing skills, in preparation for a climbing trip to Squamish, BC (post coming soon). So on Westward Ha! I tried to throw a jam in whenever I could. It was fun but seldom necessary. I found the face climbing near the top of the cliff to be outstanding, on clean white rock with wonderful, grippy texture— quintessential Millbrook.

I decided it was go time. I was ready for something a bit more ambitious for our next route. We rapped back down and tip-toed our way across the Death Ledge until we found ourselves beneath The Movie Star (5.10+).

This climb doesn’t appear in any guidebook, but it is featured on Christian Fracchia’s website, The White Cliff. From Christian’s description, I gathered that we could expect technical 5.9 climbing up a leaning corner on pitch one, and then a couple of 5.10 cruxes after that. I wasn’t sure where to belay; it seemed from the photos on the website that the route could be broken into four pitches if you stopped at every ledge. I figured we would try to do it in two or three.

The usual rotten band off of the Death Ledge didn’t look too bad, and as I got started most of the rock seemed solid. It wasn’t long before the features forced me to the right and I found myself in the leaning corner depicted in Christian’s photos. Moving up the corner, I encountered thoughtful, continuous climbing, with no "stopper" moves. Before I knew it I was mantling onto a comfortable ledge where it seemed natural to build a belay. This was a very nice pitch; I might give it a rating of sustained 5.8 rather than 5.9, but regardless of how difficult it is, I found it quite enjoyable, with good gear.


(Photo: Will on pitch one of The Movie Star (5.10+).)

I knew I was about to hit the hard climbing. The right-facing corner system continued above me, with a pretty blank-looking section right off the belay. When Will joined me on the ledge I took the lead again.

I got through the first problem pretty fast. It took only a few delicate moves to reach some good holds at a shallow overhang, and once I was over that I was cruising up again towards another ledge. It seemed too early to stop, however, so I continued past the ledge into what was clearly the crux of the route, another even blanker corner capped by another overhang.

I knew I had to get to the top of this corner and then move left— a standard Gunks roof escape. But how? The corner was very smooth. I looked around for a while and eventually settled on something resembling a foothold. Stepping up, I managed to make some kind of Houdini move to the top of the corner, where I found good hands and could place gear.

Now I was stuck at the overhang. I had to figure out how to move left around the outside corner, and I struggled. I couldn’t find any feet, and I started to get pumped, just hanging on. I wanted to commit to something and move around the corner but I couldn’t see anything; no hands, no feet. I was in a stalemate with the rock. I remember uttering a number of sounds, along with a “f*ck me!” or two for good measure.

I was considering taking a hang when I finally spotted a foothold I’d missed. With no time to waste, I planted my toe on it, matched hands and moved blindly around to the left, where all became clear. I found more holds and gear, and then made it up to another little ledge, where I exhaled and decided to build an anchor.

Calling down to Will, I asked if he had seen my struggle with the crux.

He said he couldn’t see me but heard a lot of grunting going on!

I felt proud. This was a tough on-sight. I’d give it a 5.10+ for sure. And such good moves! The Movie Star is an awesome climb, very worthwhile. It is destined to be a Gunks classic. We all owe Christian a debt of gratitude for making this climb known to the general climbing public.


(Photo: Will between the two crux sections on The Movie Star (5.10+). I'm standing just above the hard moves around the corner.)

I think Will would agree about the quality of the climb and its difficulty. When he got up to the crux corner, he struggled too. He was having no trouble during the early going, but then all of a sudden I heard “oof, how did you DO this??” Along with “nice lead!” and a bunch of assorted curses. Eventually he figured it all out and made it up to join me.

I kept on leading for pitch three. It wasn’t entirely clear where to go but I followed the path of least resistance, taking a (5.8?) jog to the right around a little overhang and then heading straight up a dirty, vegetated gully to the top. Looking at Christian’s pictures that evening, I saw that I could have avoided some of that dirt by stepping left after the first part of the pitch. But even though it appears I went the wrong way for the final fifteen or twenty feet, I don’t think I missed much.


(Photo: View of the Trapps and Skytop from a perch near the top of Millbrook.)

As far as we knew, we were still the only climbers at the cliff that day, but as we emerged from The Movie Star at the top of the cliff we encountered a group of about ten hikers sitting around just above the top-out. This is another unique feature of climbing at Millbrook. There is a popular hiking trail from Minnewaska (called the Millbrook Mountain Trail) that dead-ends at the cliff's edge, so throughout the day groups of hikers reach the end of the hike, take a break, have a snack, and then turn around and hike back. (I've done the hike with my kids.) Where the hiking trail hits the cliff, close to Westward Ha!, the "summit" area is set back a ways from the edge, but further south by The Movie Star the slabs run pretty much right up to the precipice.

When Will and I stepped over the lip, surprising the group of hikers, I felt like we might as well have just come over the Visor on Half Dome. We were greeted with awe and wonder. One shocked hiker asked the most intelligent questions he could, under the circumstances, such as "How was your climb today?" and "How long did it take you?" I tried to explain that there are many routes to get from the bottom to the top, that we'd already done two of them that day, and that were going to go back down for more.

Then we marched off as heroically as we could.

We had time for another full-length route. Will was still getting used to the semi-alpine quality of the rock at Millbrook, which dictates that every hold must be treated with some skepticism. Given this reality, Will wasn’t too keen on leading anything hard, at least not yet. I understood his reticence; I had been there! But I wanted him to be able to lead something so I suggested we try a moderate climb called Again and Again (5.7). I was eager to do the second pitch, a fifty-foot traverse under a huge ceiling. And I knew that after the second pitch we’d have the option of finishing with an easy scramble to the top, or if we felt up to it we could do something harder: the 5.10 third pitch of Cuckoo Man, over a roof.

Again and Again is easy to find if you know what to look for: a massive, radically overhanging right-facing corner. This corner is so big, you can quickly pick it out from as far away as Bruynswick Road down in Gardiner. The corner houses a legendary 5.12 route called Happiness is a 110-Degree Wall. Again and Again starts about twenty-five feet to the right, at a smaller but equally obvious right-facing corner that forms the right side of a pedestal leaning against the main wall of the cliff.


(Photo: Will on pitch one of Again and Again (5.7).)

Will led pitch one, a perfectly pleasant climb up the side of the big pedestal. The route-finding on this pitch couldn’t be easier, and the rock seemed pretty solid, with good gear.

After I joined Will atop the pedestal I took the lead for pitch two. This is truly a great pitch. It is marred slightly by dirt and bird shit in the early going, but the position and exposure soon make up for these trivial shortcomings. The long, rising traverse takes you across a smooth face under a gigantic overhang. The traverse stays below the roof level, on the seemingly blank face, for almost its entire length. You keep thinking the holds will run out, but as you move laterally, a magic row of footholds just keeps on going, with fun move after fun move. And while Dick Williams’ book gives this pitch an R rating, I thought with modern gear the protection was plentiful.


(Photo: Looking back at Will from the end of the long traverse on pitch two of Again and Again (5.7). Behind Will is the enormous, leaning corner of Happiness is a 110-Degree Wall (5.12).)

Once you finish the traverse there are some more fun moves up a corner on beautiful white rock.

This climb deserves to be popular. It is the Gunks’ answer to Seneca’s ultra-classic Pleasant Overhangs (5.7).

(Photo: Adrian's shot of me on the Angel Crack (5.10b).)

The month of May seems so long ago.

I've let the year get away from me!

I meant to write a post, oh-so-long ago, about my climbing trip to Squamish. But things have been busy busy busy. Spring has turned to summer and then to fall, and now-- I can hardly believe it-- I'm at risk of letting the year slip away without memorializing the four wonderful days I spent with Adrian in his backyard granite playground.

Well, my friends, the wait is over. I have been remiss, but I am here now to correct the oversight.

The original plan was to go to Yosemite in the Spring.

Adrian and I had been there once before, in 2014. We'd had a great time, and of course we'd barely scratched the surface of the climbing there. I was dying to go back. I hoped that I'd improved since 2014. I wanted to tackle some of the classics that were on my life list, like the old-school Steck-Salathe, historically rated a moderate 5.9 but universally feared for its wide sections and claustrophobic chimneys. I told Adrian that I'd volunteer to lead all of the weird and wide stuff, if he'd only agree to do the climb with me.

It seemed like a good plan. But Adrian had a bunch of things going on, chief among them moving his and Cathy's place of residence an hour up the Howe Sound from Vancouver to Squamish.

As we talked about Yosemite logistics and tried without much success to settle on some dates that we both could manage, Adrian eventually came up with a brilliant idea: I could just come to Squamish instead and stay with him in his new house, right after he and Cathy moved in.


(Photo: The Chief.)

Now, Squamish isn't Yosemite, but I'd loved itthere as well when I visited the area back in 2013. And we'd hardly gotten to do any of the big, long routes up the Chief. We'd had rain for three of the four days I was there, and though Adrian and I still got to do a lot of climbing, the only big route we'd really gotten to try was the Squamish Butt Light (5.9). I was eager to get back out there and, with a little bit of weather luck, maybe this time we'd get some more multi-pitch good times.

So it was a go.

As the trip approached, the weather looked grim. A few days before my departure, I checked the forecast and saw a steady week full of storms. It seemed our Squamish plans would be dashed. Adrian and I talked about driving off somewhere else to do some sport climbing.

But then everything changed. Right before I flew out to Vancouver, Adrian told me that we were about to get a stretch of splitter weather. I decided to take his word for it. I was too superstitious to check the forecast myself.

It was raining that evening as I hopped into Adrian's vintage BMW and headed up the highway from the airport to his new home in Squamish. But Adrian's optimism was undimmed. He reported that the rain was due to end by morning, after which we would get to climbing. I tried to keep the faith.

Apart from my general desire to do long routes, I had only one big goal for my trip to Squamish: I wanted to lead the Split Pillar pitch on the Grand Wall. Really I wanted to do the whole Grand Wall route-- it is a long route, as legendary as any climb in Squamish, with several memorable challenges along the way. I was willing to lead any and all of the pitches. But the Split Pillar pitch (rated 5.10b) became my particular focus because it is all about jamming, for over a hundred feet. The pitch follows a crack on the right side of the pillar, which gradually widens from thin hands, to perfect hands, to fists. I'd been working on my jamming skills, as best I could, in my local gym, and I felt like I'd recently made real progress. I thought that if I could send this pitch it would represent a big milestone for me. And I thought that I might be able to pull it off.

Unfortunately Adrian wasn't all that enthused about the Grand Wall. Of course, he'd been up there at various times during his two decades of Squamish experience. And he knew we would need to do some hard and/or runout slab climbing, plus some awkward aiding up a bolt ladder, to get to the base of the Split Pillar. In addition, after we finished with the Split Pillar there were still several hard pitches before we would get to the top of the wall. It was sure to be a very challenging day, maybe more challenging than we needed.

We decided to plan for the Grand Wall, but to push it off until the last day. And we figured we might just get up to the Split Pillar and then rap off afterwards, skipping the harder pitches that follow. Since this pitch was my main goal, I was fine with that.

Day One: Smoke Bluffs

On the morning of our first day, I woke up in Adrian and Cathy's new house, amazed to see the Chief in all its glory from Adrian's second-floor windows-- except that the Chief was partially obscured by clouds and the rain was still falling.

But it soon stopped, right on schedule. We had a leisurely breakfast and waited a few hours for everything to dry out.

And then we enjoyed four straight days of plentiful sunshine and moderate temperatures. We did tons of climbing and I got to lead almost all of the good pitches, since Adrian had done them all before.

Around noon on day one we headed over to the Smoke Bluffs (an area of small, single-pitch cliffs) to see if anything was dry enough to climb. It turned out that pretty much everything was dry. We did seven pitches that afternoon, hitting a bunch of climbs that were new for me as well as a couple of my favorites from my last visit.



(Photo: Out to Lunge (5.10b). Photo by Adrian.)

I was happy to find that I felt comfortable on the granite, pretty quickly. I remembered that Squamish granite has a wonderful, grippy texture-- in contrast to Yosemite granite, which feels much more slippery. But I also remembered that in 2013, despite the welcoming texture, it had taken me a while to trust my toes on rock that was unfamiliar to me.

Not this time. I felt confident right away and led a (soft?) 5.10 right off the bat. We started with Out to Lunge (5.10b), which begins with a crux high step right off the deck and then eases into a cruiser traverse up a diagonal crack to an anchor up and far left of the start.


(Photo: Mosquito, a classic 5.8 which we also did in 2013. Photo by Adrian.)

Next we hit a more technically challenging vertical climb called S-M's Delight (also 5.10b but harder). This one had a few thin, awkward moves in the middle. I felt fortunate to get the on-sight, clean.


(Photo: Adrian on S-M's Delight (5.10b).)

Adrian suggested we up the ante with Kangaroo Corner (5.11a), which he described as "everyone's first 5.11" at Squamish. It ascends a short but blank corner.

I set off, placing one nut and then clipping a fixed wire at what turned out to be the crux move, just a short distance off the ground.


(Photo: Adrian on Kangaroo Corner (5.11a).)

I slipped off attempting the next move up. I lowered and tried again, slipping off again at the same spot. But I thought I'd figured out the move. So I started one more time from the bottom and got it done, for my first clean 5.11 lead in Squamish.


(Photo: It's hard to pass up Penny Lane, a joyful 5.9. Photo by Adrian.)

Next we moved around to the Penny Lane area and I managed to get another on-sight on a 5.10d called (fittingly enough) Climb and Punishment. It is a fun route with some thin moves up a jagged flake and then a tough reach to a juggy shelf. The guidebook entry on this route mentions a piton, which is no longer there. The crux might be more difficult now than in the old days, because now you have to protect the crux with gear, and you have to place this gear in a crucial undercling hold without blocking the hold. I made it through the move, blindly placing a small cam at the overlap under pressure, and then working my feet up and reaching successfully for the good shelf. It was exciting.


(Photo: Adrian on Climb and Punishment (5.10d).)

We finished up our first day with Health Hazard (5.10a), a climb that felt a little bit spicy to me despite the two bolts that protect the climbing up the initial slab. I enjoyed the movement on this one but the runouts and hollow flakes make it unlikely I'll ever do it again.


(Photo: Health Hazard (5.10a). Photo by Adrian.)

As we ended our first day I felt like we were off to a great start. I couldn't wait to hit a big route in the morning. I was happy to find myself feeling right at home in Squamish, though I did find that the grading of the routes was often puzzling to me. Some 5.10's at Squamish felt like 5.8's to me, while other 5.10's seemed legitimately challenging. It was a pattern of inconsistency that I would continue to observe over the next few days.

Day Two: Angel's Crest (5.10b)

The day dawned bright and clear and we got a pretty early start, huffing and puffing our way uphill through the forest to the base of Angel's Crest. This adventurous route essentially follows a ridge line up the left edge of a big wall on the Chief, framing one side of a huge fissure called the North Gully. There are many sections of memorable climbing, interspersed with scrambling through the woods to the next obstacle. The route is popular so we expected crowds, even on a weekday. We got there in good time, finding ourselves alone at the toe of the ridge. We enjoyed the solitude for the moment, but we ended up encountering several other parties over the course of the day.


(Photo: Adrian in silhouette getting us started on Angel's Crest (5.10b).)

Adrian volunteered for pitch one, which involves thin 5.10b climbing past two bolts on a bulging face and then some unprotected easy slab, ending at the base of the beautiful Angel Crack.

Adrian made quick work of it but I thought the climbing off the deck was strange and harder than I expected. Although the awkward climbing was well-protected by the bolts, I was glad Adrian led the pitch instead of me.


(Photo: Striking a pose at the start of the Angel Crack. Photo by Adrian.)

I took the next pitch, the Angel Crack. Allegedly 5.10b, this pitch felt to me like a really nice 5.8, with beautiful moves throughout. The supposed crux at the top didn't seem like a big deal to me, but I found the pitch outstanding and very memorable, regardless of the grade.



(Photo: I've stepped down and left into the wet crux pitch of Angel's Crest (5.10b). Photo by Adrian.)

I took the lead again for the pitches 3 and 4 combined, starting with some supposed 5.10b face climbing past bolts, leading into easy climbing up a corner. This pitch is often wet, and, as usual, it was wet on the day we did it. But still I thought it was easy for 5.10 and it was over very quickly.

I kept right on leading for the pitches 5 and 6 combined, starting with some 5.10a moves up some steep flakes, leading to a technical, slabby, right-facing corner. I loved this pitch. It was one of my favorites. The steep flakes offered good juggy fun and I also enjoyed the corner, although I found myself wishing it continued on for a bit longer. Before I knew it I was basically hiking up the next easy pitch to a set of trees.


(Photo: Adrian leading pitch 7 of Angel's Crest.)

The pitches started to go by in a blur. Pitch 9 was another highlight: the Acrophobes, a set of Flatiron-like fins leaning back, a thousand feet off the ground. Climbing them is easy (5.5) but the exposure is spectacular and the position affords sweeping views down to the Howe Sound.


(Photo: The Acrophobes. You can see the party ahead of us on the Flatiron-like features.)

We'd been on the heels of one other party for much of the day but as we reached the Acrophobes the traffic increased, with another pair briefly joining Angel's Crest from an adjacent route called Borderline (5.10d). These folks had big things in mind. They soloed the Acrophobes right behind us, and then they scrambled over to finish their day on High Plains Drifter, a gorgeous, curving 5.11a crack climb. We were able to watch them sending High Plains Drifter from our position on Angel's Crest. I was impressed. The route looked so sustained and pure. I was inspired to come back and try it on another trip. It looked like my crack game would have to be very on point if I were going to attack that one.

Meanwhile, we could see that the end was approaching for us. Adrian took pitch 11, yet another memorable bit of climbing. After a steep vertical crack, the pitch ended with the Whaleback, an unprotected easy slab (shaped, obviously, like the back of a whale) with ridiculous exposure.


(Photo: A climber from another party took this photo of Adrian starting up pitch 11 of Angel's Crest.)

I led the final 5.10 pitch of the day, pitch 12, which went up some discontinuous vertical cracks, some of them a bit wide. There were some interesting moves. For the first time all day, I felt like I was actually climbing a 5.10. But then Adrian told me that it used to be considered 5.9 and was only upgraded to 5.10a in the most recent guidebook! But Adrian also added that the pitch is known as "the stinger in the tail," so I guess  I'm not the only one who finds it somewhat challenging. In any event, it was enjoyable and went fine.

We just had one more pitch to go, and it was my lead again. Pitch 13 wasn't technically hard, but it was thrilling, with an exposed step down and across a void to get into a 5.8 chimney, which I then took to the top of the Second Peak of the Chief.


(Photo: Adrian emerging from the final chimney on Angel's Crest.)

What a day! This was the kind of thing I'd always wanted to do in Squamish. A 13-pitch 5.10, and it felt casual. We finished it without any trouble by mid-afternoon. We'd have been a few hours quicker if there'd been no one else around, but as we got towards the top we found ourselves waiting to climb on several occasions.

It was my first time atop the Second Peak and I savored the views over the First Peak and down to the water. The walkoff was long, featuring what seemed like a million steps, but we felt like superheroes walking with our climbing gear amongst the gawking hikers.

Day Three: St. Vitus' Dance (5.9) to Squamish Buttress (5.10c)

I was psyched to do it all over again on day three. Another long route, please! The glorious weather continued unabated, so the only question was which route to do.

Adrian proposed the Ultimate Everything (5.10b), and I agreed although I had reservations. From what I'd read on the web, this route involved lots of scrambling and maybe wasn't actually the best, or ultimate, in anything. But Adrian swore I'd like it so I went along.

This ten-pitch route starts from the top of the Apron so we had to pick an approach route as well. Adrian proposed St. Vitus' Dance, a high-quality 5.9 route with some good jamming for me. I was sold.

After Adrian and I knocked off first two approach pitches of St. Vitus' Dance, I led the next two pitches, the heart of the route.


(Photo: I'm heading into the hand crack pitch of St. Vitus' Dance (5.9), with another party just ahead of us. Photo by Adrian.)

The first pitch of St. Vitus proper (our pitch three) is a glorious 5.8 hand/fist jam-crack pitch. Although the grade is moderate and the climb is sub-vertical, I felt like the time I'd spent practicing my jamming skills definitely paid dividends. I was more solid with the hand and the fist jams than ever before. The pitch felt just how 5.8 ought to feel. Before doing it I read numerous comments on Mountain Project suggesting the leader should bring an absurd number of duplicate cams to protect this pitch, but I was comfortable walking up a couple of hand-sized Camalots while leaving behind the occasional piece here and there. I thought a standard rack was perfectly sufficient.


(Photo: Adrian coming up the beautiful St. Vitus crack.)

The next pitch was maybe even better, with some nice 5.9 face climbing up to a brief wide slot.



(Photo: I'm doing the crux face climbing on St. Vitus' Dance (5.9). Photo by Adrian.)

Adrian led the next two pitches in one up to the top of the Apron. The final bits of real climbing came right at the beginning of the pitch, as the St. Vitus crack continued through a steep bulge. Again I saw my crack practice coming in handy as I was able to get a high jam right off the ledge, which effectively put the pitch in the bag for me (as the follower) after just one move.


(Photo: Adrian past the final challenging bits of St. Vitus' Dance.)

Now we were atop the Apron, but we still had to do a couple of pitches to get to our next objective.


(Photo: Getting started on Karen's Math (5.10a). Photo by Adrian.)

First was Karen's Math (5.10a). This was one of my favorite pitches of the trip. It is a full-value pitch. It starts with steep, overhanging jams, then offers beautiful technical climbing up a thin flake, then a hand traverse past a bolt with slabby feet, and finally a thin move up a crack. I got through all of it without a problem but I made the mistake of going up at the bolt for one too many moves. I contemplated the foot traverse for a minute but then decided I had to downclimb to the hand traverse. It was touch and go for a second as I made the step down but then it was smooth sailing to the end of the pitch.

The next pitch, Memorial Crack (5.9), was also special. It is an old-school 5.9, probably harder than many of the pitches we'd done that were described as 5.10. Nice climbing up twin cracks, involving some thin moves and insecure positions.


(Photo: Memorial Crack (5.9). Photo by Adrian.)

Now we arrived at a decision point. We had plenty of time left in our day but we'd already done eight guidebook pitches. The Ultimate Everything would add another ten. Alternatively, we could do another popular route called the Squamish Buttress (5.10c), which would involve only seven pitches, most of which were pretty easy, and some of which we could combine together.

We had done portions of the Squamish Buttress on my first visit to Squamish back in 2013, as part of an easier variation route called the Butt Light (5.9). But this time around we could change things up by starting with an alternate 5.10a first pitch. And of course we would do the crux 5.10c pitch near the top, which Adrian described as one of Squamish's most beautiful pitches, and which the Butt Light avoids.

It sounded good to me, and better than the Ultimate Everything. So we went for the Squamish Buttress.

I led the alternate start 5.10a pitch. It is an interesting pitch, moving awkwardly around a corner with bolts for protection, and then following more bolts up a slab to a crack that takes gear. I liked the moves but I felt a little bit uneasy moving past the first three bolts. It seemed to me that they were placed such that falling would be a bad idea.


(Photo: Adrian coming up the alternative 5.10a start to Squamish Buttress.)

As we cruised up the next several unremarkable pitches towards the 5.10c crux, I started feeling pretty fatigued. Still, I was excited about the 10c pitch. I remembered looking at it five years earlier and wondering if I would one day be up for it. It sits in a dramatic position, near the top of the First Peak of the Chief. It is a pure, natural line, ascending a dead-vertical crack in a shallow corner. It just begs to be climbed.


(Photo: The crux pitch of Squamish Buttress (5.10c). Photo by Adrian.)

Once we got there, the pitch did not disappoint. A few interesting moves up little ledges brought me to a good stance below the business. And then, after a nice rest, it was on. From there to the top, there would be no rest stances, although it was possible to change positions from a layback in the corner to the occasional stem, with the right foot on the outside edge of the corner and the left foot in a crack on the face. For the hands, too, there were choices. You could jam the crack at the back of the corner with your fingers, or you could reach over to the crack outside the corner to the right.

Unlike many of the pitches I'd done in Squamish, this climb felt like a real 5.10. The corner steepened as I got higher, getting harder just before the end, but after a few tenuous final moves I found myself with a sinker hand jam at the top of the buttress and I knew I'd made it. This was my favorite pitch so far at Squamish, and I was thrilled to get the on-sight.


(Photo: Success! Photo by Adrian.)

I was also wiped out. As Adrian led the final 5.6 pitch to the top I was wishing we could paraglide down instead of doing the long walkoff again.


(Photo: Adrian taking us to the top on Squamish Buttress.)

I had no regrets. It had been another perfect day in Squamish, with fifteen guidebook pitches and many varied challenges. It all had gone off without a hitch. But it was our third day in a row and I was starting to feel it.

Day Four: Apron Strings (5.10b) and Diedre (5.8)

So tired.

This was supposed to be our Grand Wall day, a fitting finale to my trip.

Or if not the whole Grand Wall, I was determined to get up to the Split Pillar.

But here I was, hanging from the rope after taking a whip on our first pitch, the 5.10b Apron Strings.


(Photo: Hanging after taking a fall on Apron Strings (5.10b). Photo by Adrian.)

Was this climb harder than all the other tens we'd done? Or was I just exhausted after three full days of climbing?

The route was sustained, following a steep layback flake, with smeary feet. I'd struggled from the get-go, misjudging which cams I needed to save for higher up and using them down below. As I got higher, I had to make do with the gear I had left and I battled to get good placements.

Eventually I got a bad case of the leg shakes, and after fighting to get in a blue .3 Camalot I slipped off and took the ride. Going back up, I made a few more moves past the blue cam but then nearly whipped again before getting my next piece at the top of the flake. I had hoped there would be juggy holds at the top of the flake, but no. There was no stance to speak of and, barely holding on, I struggled again to get gear I was happy with.

Once I finally got in a piece I took a hang, and then I finished the pitch.

I arrived at the anchor mentally drained and drenched with sweat. This was not an auspicious start to our day.

I should be enjoying this, I thought. It's another beautiful day. I would kill for a pitch like this in the Gunks.

But I wasn't enjoying it. I was suffering. Was I really up for the Split Pillar today?

Adrian was tired too. He struggled to follow the pitch. His stomach was bothering him.


(Photo: Adrian reaching the top of pitch one of Apron Strings (5.10b).)

I decided to pull the plug.

"Why don't we go run up something easier," I suggested, "like maybe Diedre?"

"Wait a minute," Adrian said, surprised. "You've never done Diedre?"

"No, it was soaking wet last time."

That was all Adrian needed to hear. He was psyched. "Let's do it!"

Diedre (5.8) is what you might call the High Exposure of Squamish. It is an incredibly popular moderate climb. It is a slab climb but because it follows a corner it also provides relatively good gear, for a slab climb.

I had some worries about Diedre because I have very little slab experience and slabs give me the willies.

But in 2017 I'd led the poorly protected slab pitch on White Punks on Dope (5.8+), and it had gone well. So I figured I'd be fine on Diedre. With the generally soft grades at Squamish, Diedre was sure to feel easier, and with better gear too.

When we got to the base, we could see a party ahead of us, a couple of pitches up, but no one was cued up behind them. Perhaps because it was Mother's Day morning, there weren't too many climbers about. So we didn't have to wait to get on the climb.

I took the first pitch, a somewhat complicated 5.7 slab with some traversing and not much pro. It went fine.


(Photo: Adrian coming up the long, poorly protected 5.7 pitch one of Diedre.)

Adrian took the second pitch, a 5.6 slab traverse to the big corner, with pretty much no gear.

Then I led the next three pitches, climbing the endless slab and corner up the huge Apron. I enjoyed these pitches immensely.


(Photo: I'm leading one of the 5.8 pitches on Diedre. Photo by Adrian.)

The two 5.8 pitches were well-protected. Much of the time my feet were pasted on the slab but you could make use of the corner if you wanted to. There were also some fun flakes in the corner for handholds from time to time.

(Photo: Adrian reaching the end of pitch 3 or 4 on Diedre (5.8).)

As the angle eased the protection got worse, and I couldn't say that the 5.6 pitch felt much easier than the 5.8 pitches. I started to worry a bit as the gear got more sparse and I scared myself a little when one of my feet slipped on the slab. But I held on and continued leading without incident.


(Photo: Adrian leading our final pitch on Diedre (5.8). At least, I believe that's Adrian. We both wore red that day, sorry.)

I think Adrian could sense my weariness, so he volunteered to lead our final pitch. I was relieved. I was having a great time but I was mentally and physically exhausted. There wasn't much protection for the final, lower-angled slab section of the last pitch, and the 5.8 exit moves onto the ledge atop the Apron were wet. I was so happy to be on top rope as I grunted my way to the finish.

(Photo: Totally out of gas at the final move on Diedre (5.8). Photo by Adrian.)

There was of course plenty of time left in our day and many many routes still above us, but we were both done. It was Miller time.


(Photo: Hiking down Broadway Ledge. Photo by Adrian.)

All in all, I could not have been happier with my trip to Squamish. The weather was ideal, and the routes we did were all world class. I got a good sampling of the very best of the climbing that Squamish has to offer. And I felt like I climbed reasonably well too.

I wished I'd had the chance to do a little bit more pure crack climbing. And I regretted not putting the Grand Wall closer to the start of the trip. But Angel's Crest, St. Vitus' Dance, the Squamish Buttress, and Diedre were all amazing, so it is hard to say I would have had a better trip if I'd done the Grand Wall instead of one of these other climbs.

And besides, I have to save some goals for next time, right? I hope I don't wait another five years to visit Squamish again. I'm already getting my routes planned out. We'll hit the Grand Wall (5.11a) on day one, Borderline (5.10d) to High Plains Drifter (5.11a) on day two...

And then maybe a rest day. Rest days are nice.

(Photo: That's me on Enduro Man's Longest Hangout (5.11c), pitch 3. Photo by Gus.)

"So what about you?" Gus asked. "Don't you have any projects?"

It took me a second to process that he was talking to me.

We were walking on the carriage road, on our way in to the Trapps from the parking lot. I'd been with Gus, Kevin and Fredy for two hours in the car, listening to lots of chit-chat about their plans to get on such venerable testpieces as The Sting (5.11d), Supper's Ready (5.12a), and Uphill All the Way (5.12a).


(Photo: Gus on Directissima Direct (5.10b).)

I didn't know any of these guys very well. I'd seen them around the gym. I considered them to be strong sport climbers who occasionally dabbled in trad. I'd somehow lucked into going to the Gunks with them, but I didn't think of them as my peers. I thought of them as climbers who were better than me.

While they'd been discussing their goals for the day, I'd been mute, taking it all in.

Gus' question caught me off guard. I didn't know the answer.

It was mid-October. High season. I ought to have goals, I thought. Did I have any current projects? What were they?

"I'm just hoping I can keep up with you guys," I replied.

I knew this was a pathetic answer.

How did I get here? Where had my year gone?

*  *  *

In the spring I'd picked up where I left off last year, trying to lead cleanly every last 5.10 in the Gunks that gets at least a star in the guidebook. I also planned to keep working my way through the popular 5.11's.

I didn't have any tens left to do in the Trapps, so I focused on the Nears. Over the course of a few different days, I knocked off some of my 5.10 targets, but I got a little bit bored with my 5.10 project pretty fast.


(Photo: Will following me up Fat Stick Direct (5.10b).)

Meanwhile, I sent just one Gunks 5.11 in the spring: Harvest Moon (5.11a). I worked it out over two visits to cliff. The crux bulge (near the finish) is tricky. The climb follows a striking vertical crack, but-- in typical Gunks fashion--  it doesn't really climb like one. You'd love to just jam it, hand over hand, but the crack size doesn't make it easy, and the angles are all wrong. I definitely did some jamming on Harvest Moon, but just a little, and it was weird, awkward jamming.


(Photo: I'm getting ready to commit to the crack on Harvest Moon (5.11a). Photo by Connie.)

On my first visit, with Connie, I figured it out well enough that I was able to fire it off on my second visit to the climb with Michael. At the crux bulge I nearly blew it when my foot popped but I clamped down like crazy and managed to stay on the rock. It wasn't pretty but I got to the top and was happy to call it done.


(Photo: Connie sending Harvest Moon (5.11a) on TR.)

Until late in the year that was where my 2018 achievements ended. It got hot in a hurry this spring and when I made it to the Gunks this summer I didn't do much but play around on old favorites.

And then September came along and I got to climb with Fredy.

I had seen him around the gym for several years and he seemed like a very strong guy. I assumed he was a sport climber because I never saw him in the Gunks. Then on one fateful day in the gym he asked me if I could climb with him in the Gunks that weekend, and although I was a bit taken aback (you want to climb with me?),  I said sure, why not. It turned out that Fredy had a baby on the way and was changing his focus from sport to trad as a way to stay closer to NYC. Our first time climbing together was going to be only his third trip ever to the Gunks.


(Photo: Fredy on our first outdoor climb together, Feast of Fools (5.10b).)

On our way up to the Gunks that first day, it somehow came up that Fredy wanted to hop on a 5.12a in the Trapps called Supper's Ready, and when I said I was happy to flail away at it too, a partnership was born.

Fredy had not yet been to the Gunks with anyone willing to do twelves with him-- his partners so far hadn't wanted to work that hard, and maybe they were concerned about Fredy biting off more of a trad challenge than he could chew. But after our first conversation I had no such reservations. It was quickly apparent to me that Fredy knew what he was doing. Fredy had sent sport climbs up to 5.13b, a grade that I couldn't even imagine. And he wasn't just a sport weenie-- he had alpine experience in his native Chile. If he thought he was ready to lead 5.12 trad, I wasn't going to try to stop him.

And I was excited to learn from him. I knew I might not be able to do the moves on some of the climbs Fredy would want to do, but maybe climbing hard stuff with him would push me to a new level.

It came at a good time for me, too. I turned 49 years old in June of 2018 and it has occurred to me that I'd like to send a trad 5.12 on lead before I turn 50. I think this is a reasonable goal, if I actually try to do it! I need to find the right climb and make it into a project, breaking it into digestible chunks. If I make a wise choice, and devote enough time to the climb, I should be able to work it all out and eventually send it.

It sounds reasonable on paper, anyway.

I've made some efforts on my own to find the perfect 5.12 for me. I've fooled around on a few of the obvious candidates, on top rope. Some of these routes have had moves I could do but are dangerous leads, so they don't fit the bill for my project. Some other twelves I've attempted have had good protection but are too hard-- or maybe I just haven't discovered the right beta.

Prior to meeting Fredy, my top candidate for my first twelve lead was probably Brave New World (5.12a/b), out in Lost City. It is a beautiful climb, with lots of cool moves on a steep face, but the only real 5.12 part is the first bouldery sequence off the ground. The rest of the climb is probably some variety of 5.11, with good gear. My big problem with Brave New World is that I haven't unlocked the hard opening sequence yet. I worked on it a bit with Will this fall, and I made progress, getting halfway through the boulder problem. If I can figure out how to step up from there to the good hold-- just one more move-- then I know I can do the whole climb. So this climb remains a contender.


(Photo: This is Will on the upper half of Brave New World (5.12a/b). Not a great photo but it's the best I've got!)

During that first day in September that I spent with Fredy, we got to know each other over a few warm-ups and then Fredy took a shot at Supper's Ready. The climb wanders up a moderate face just left of Hans' Puss and then kicks back through what is probably the biggest, most outrageous roof in the Gunks. There are five or six tiers and the crux moves involve huge reaches to jugs. Fredy went right at it without hesitation. He took some impressive falls attempting the on-sight on the climb, but his gear was good and he worked everything out, eventually reaching the fixed anchor. He was eager to return for the send on a different day.


(Photo: Fredy about to attempt the final big reach to the lip of the roof on Supper's Ready (5.12a).)

We'd driven up to the Gunks with some other friends, Connie and Pascal. After Fredy got the rope up on Supper's Ready all three of us tried it, with similar results: lots of falling. But we all got up it, more or less. I left thinking that maybe this was a climb I could put together and lead, some day. It has good gear and two definite cruxes. I would have to refine my beta for each of the biggest reaches and really execute well if I were to have any hope of hanging on to the finish.


(Photo: Connie on Supper's Ready (5.12a).)

That same day Fredy and I also tried another 5.12a/b called Bullfrog. I know that people lead this climb but it appeared to me that it would be very challenging to place the gear in the climb's thin vertical seam, so I suggested we set it up from Balrog (5.10b) instead of leading it.


(Photo: Fredy on Bullfrog (5.12a/b).)

On top rope, Fredy worked the climb out with just a fall or two. I did well on the opening arch but didn't really figure out the crux move onto a slab near the top. I need to go back to work on this one some more, but I think this one too could be a 5.12 possibility for me, after some more top-rope work to get the beta for both the moves and the gear.

* * *

After our first day together, I felt like I was already getting a lot out my new partnership with Fredy.

But the autumn seemed to go by very quickly, with near-constant rain. On the rare weekend days without precipitation, I went to the Gunks with Fredy and tried more hard stuff.

Fredy invited Gus and Kevin along for our second day out, in mid-October. We were on our way in to the cliff that day when Gus asked me that question about whether I had any goals in mind.

I struggled to name any and then felt ashamed of my mumbled non-answer. After stewing over it for a few minutes, I made a decision: I was going to try Enduro Man, pitch 3 (5.11c).

It had been a year and a half since I'd first attempted the climb. I almost sent it on my first go. But I'd never gone back. I think a part of me was afraid that my near-success on that first attempt was a fluke and that I'd end up hanging all over it if I tried it again.

I decided it was high time I just went up there and threw the dice.

So I told Fredy I wanted to do it and he was psyched. He led quickly up the first pitch of Modern Times and then I went right at it.

To my surprise, I remembered the two cruxes reasonably well. The first crux involves steep moves up and left using several non-obvious sidepulls, until a bomber horizontal slot is reached. Then after you shake out and place gear, you go hard to the right for the second crux, traversing with some mediocre slopers and then stepping slightly down and into another great hold.


(Photo: That's me on Enduro Man (5.11c) pitch 3. Photo by Gus.)

I managed to get through both cruxes again without falling. And then, much to my chagrin, I made the exact same mistake that I made a year and a half earlier-- I kept going to the right (wrong!) and couldn't find the move to get up and out to finish the pitch. The route finding is really the third crux on this climb. The whole pitch is overhanging, and as soon as you get lost, you flame out. Or I do, anyway.

Once I took a hang I could see where to go-- just like on my first time on the route.

I was upset with myself but I took solace in the fact that I could definitely send this climb. I proved to myself that my first time on the route was not just a fluke. So I vowed to go back to get the send before the end of the year.


(Photo: Fredy reaching the top of Enduro Man, discussing his beta for the traverse while still climbing.)

That same day, Fredy and I went back to Supper's Ready and he put the thing down with authority. It was quite crowded at the Arrow wall (peak season) and everyone was watching. The whole cliff was abuzz after Fredy sent. I was honored just to be associated with this event, which seemed to provide so much entertainment for the masses.


(Photo: Fredy in the final crux as he sends Supper's Ready (5.12a).)

I wish I could say I did just as well as Fredy, or at least made some progress on Supper's Ready. But after getting super pumped on Enduro Man, I was worse on my second effort at Supper's Ready than I was on our first day on the route. I had a really hard time with the first crux and eventually gave up, and we spent the rest of our day on some easier stuff.


(Photo: That's me on Never Never Land (5.10a). Photo by Fredy.)

Two weeks later, in early November, Fredy and I were together in the Gunks again.

I went right back at Enduro Man for my second attempt of the season. From the very start I could tell that I wasn't feeling as strong as I did on my last effort. It was a high-gravity day, as they say. I struggled, grunting, through both cruxes, and the move up afterwards as well. I was still hanging in there, but barely. So far I was only making it because I knew the moves and the gear beta. Still, I had done all of the hard climbing and was at a good horizontal. Fredy was shouting up that he thought I'd made it. I threw a piece in and tried to regroup. But I knew I was toast-- I was going to have to hang. I just felt so pumped and couldn't get it back, even though it should have been all over!

So I called out "take" and took a rest. And then after I started moving again I saw that if I'd made just one more move to the right I could have gotten a much better resting position and maybe could have finished it. I felt frustrated, but again, I knew I'd made progress and could (definitely? probably?) get the send if I got the opportunity to come back for a third time in 2018.


(Photo: Fredy heading into the overhangs on Carbs and Caffeine (5.11a).)

We didn't try any twelves that day (thank God), but Fredy continued to add to his Gunks resume. He wanted to check out the Yellow Wall area so we went over there and Fredy proceeded to send Carbs and Caffeine (5.11a), No Man's Land (5.11b), and the Yellow Wall (5.11c), in succession, all on-sight, in a single afternoon.


(Photo: Fredy on The Yellow Wall (5.11c).)

What for me had been a two year project with multiple efforts at each climb (still incomplete as I have yet to send the Yellow Wall), Fredy knocked off easily in a day.

What can I say, the guy is good.

* * *

It was December 1. Would this be our last climbing day of 2018? Fredy and I were back once again. We'd hoped to go to the Gunks on each of the previous two weekends, but the cliffs were soaking wet.

At least it was dry today. But conditions were cold, in the high thirties. We'd hoped for sunshine, but a gloomy fog hung over the cliffs for the entire morning.


(Photo: I'm headed up Teeny Face (5.10a). Photo by Fredy.)

I started our day on Teeny Face (5.10a). I had a hard time committing to the crux moves with numb, burning fingers, but I got through it.

We moved over to Ridicullissima (5.10d). Fredy thought this would get me ready for my third try on Enduro Man. As Fredy led upward, disappearing into the fog, I wondered if I was really game for the send today. I felt fat and weak in the aftermath of Thanksgiving.


(Photo: Fredy on Ridicullissima (5.10d).)

When I started climbing up to join Fredy, Ridicullissima felt hard. I didn't fall but by the time I reached the crux my fingers and toes were numb again from the cold. I got through the roof, willing myself to hold on even though I couldn't really feel what I was holding on to. I was struggling, and this was 5.10d! Was I really about to lead 5.11c?

Up on the GT Ledge, I wasn't sure I was up for Enduro Man. I was freezing. We were surrounded by fog.

Maybe the season was really over. Wouldn't it be nice to rappel off, have some hot tea, and do some 5.8's?

Fredy wasn't having it.

He said if I didn't send, we would just pack up and go home.

He told me I knew exactly what to do.

He reminded me that I'd never actually fallen on Enduro Man. I'd just given up at various points.


(Photo: Fredy on the GT Ledge, psyched for Enduro Man.)

Eventually he shamed me into giving it a try. I racked up, grimly. I told myself to have no expectations, just to be safe and keep climbing.

It went perfectly. Of course.

I placed my crux gear and then committed to the first hard bit right away. The moves felt easier than ever before and in an instant I was holding the bomber horizontal.

Then crux number two, the slopery traverse, felt casual. In the cold the holds felt so positive. And with one more move up, I was now at the spot where I'd given up the last time. But this time I had no intention of giving up. This time I wasn't so depleted. I couldn't believe how quickly I'd gotten there.

Fredy was shouting encouragement, saying I had it in the bag. I told him to shut up. I didn't want to jinx my send.

But I was just being superstitious. I knew I wasn't going to fall now. I just needed to execute a few more easy moves and it would all be over. I carefully picked my way to the top and let out a victory yell. I'd finally sent Enduro Man, pitch 3.

I felt great. I wasn't cold at all. I wouldn't have done it without Fredy's encouragement.


(Photo: The view from the top of the cliff on a foggy December 1.)

After we were done with Enduro Man, I didn't care what we did. Fredy decided he wanted to try Uphill All the Way (5.12a), also known as The Man Who Fell to Earth. This short pitch ascends a beautiful, technical crack, and then follows a weird, arching corner to a final crux move out of the corner and onto a slab.

Fredy wanted to lead it. I didn't know how hard it would be to place gear in the thin crack. It looked like it was going to be all nuts and I worried a bit about Fredy's lack of experience with passive gear. But he was game for it and promised to be careful, and I didn't want to do anything to hold him back. In our few visits to the Gunks I'd learned to trust in his abilities.

As it turned out, the first moves up the thin crack are actually pretty casual, and it is easy to place bomber gear before the tough moves begin.


(Photo: Fredy on Uphill All the Way (5.12a).)

Fredy didn't get the on-sight but it was an impressive performance nonetheless. He got up the initial crack and then made some difficult moves up the arching corner, fighting for good gear and every inch of progress. He ended up making it all the way to the final crux move on to the slab, but then he fell off. He worked it out after a couple of more tries, finishing the climb.


(Photo: Fredy at the final crux move on Uphill All the Way (5.12a).)

Following Fredy up this route, I discovered that this might become my top 5.12 contender, even though there remain a couple of moves that I didn't quite figure out. I had trouble in the middle of the pitch, with a hard move up as you start the slanting corner. I didn't quite master this move but I did succeed at an alternate sequence that involves stepping to the right and making a big throw to a jug. And then I also fell a bunch at the top move around and onto the slab, but I think I know what to do there now and I'll eventually get it right.


(Photo: That's me on Uphill All the Way (5.12a). Photo by Fredy.)

I liked the gear. Having top-roped it once, I'm pretty comfortable with the idea of working this climb on lead. I might fix a nut or two if I fall repeatedly at the hard bits, but that's okay.

* * *

I did lots of fun climbing in 2018. I had a great trip to Squamish with Adrian in the spring, and another productive trip to Whitehorse and Cathedral Ledges with Will in the fall, which I will eventually write about.

Closer to home, I didn't rack up too many achievements in the Gunks this year. For reasons that I can't really pin down, I coasted through most of 2018. But meeting up with Fredy in the fall definitely gave a boost to my ambitions. I'm very happy to have gotten exposed to some new and harder climbs, and to have capped off my year with Enduro Man, which at 5.11c is my hardest trad send to date.

Next year I intend to put a real emphasis on working a couple of my 5.12 targets into submission. So long as I have partners willing to patiently belay me for parts of every climbing day, I should be able to do it.

I don't know if that partner will be Fredy, since he and his wife just had that baby they were expecting! Maybe he'll settle into domestic bliss, scale it back, and forget about climbing for a while. And on the rare occasions that we get out I'll be dragging him up climbs for a change...

But I doubt it. More likely, he'll be hangboarding in the nursery. When I next see him he will probably be stronger than ever.

(Photo: At the final crux on Uphill All the Way (5.12a).)

I know, I know.

It has been a while-- over two years!-- since I published a blog post.

It's not that I stopped climbing. Far from it.

But for whatever reason, my blogging dwindled and then faded away. 

Seems like people don't blog so much any more. But that makes no difference to me. I was never much of a trend follower, much less a trend setter. I have no big platform, nothing to sell. I am ignorant of fashion. I started this blog because I wanted to express myself. I post because I enjoy it.

But over time I have blogged a lot less about every single thing I did, and blogged more selectively, about what seemed like significant events. And I guess over time the truly significant climbing events have become a bit less frequent for me? 

When last we spoke, I talked about how I was hoping to send my first 5.12, before my 50th birthday. I've never been obsessed with numbers, but I have tried to make progress, however glacial, over the years. And finally breaking the 5.12 barrier after well over a decade of climbing seemed like a nice goal. I could have found an "easy" sport 5.12 for this particular milestone, but for me that would not have seemed legit. I am a trad guy, and my first twelve had to be a trad climb, preferably in my home crag the Gunks. 

I thought this achievement would be a great subject for my next blog post.

Only problem was, it didn't happen! I did turn 50-- unfortunately there was no putting THAT off-- but the 5.12 never came. 

Until now.

At the start of the 2021 season, I finally sent Uphill All the Way (5.12a). I'm over 50, but not by so much. 

I'll take it. 

It was a somewhat circuitous journey. Allow me, please, if you will, to share with you my own "road to 5.12." This is not meant to be a guide for others. If you'd like actual advice as to how to climb 5.12 I think you can skip the rest of this post and follow this advice: try hangboarding. It seems to work.

But I digress.

The first step, for me, was to follow around a great climber like Fredy, who introduced me to several of the prime 5.12 candidates in the Gunks. He introduced me, as a matter of fact, to Uphill All the Way, in late 2018 (which I discussed in my last post). 

(Photo: Fredy heading up the initial crack in November, 2018.)

As soon as I saw the climb, I knew that this was the one: the 5.12 climb that really fired my imagination, even though it might not have been the most sensible choice for my first 5.12. 

Why might it not have been the best choice?

Because it is hard! It is intricate and complicated, with four distinctly difficult sections.

When I first did the climb with Fredy I was unable to do two of these four sections. 

But I loved how this short climb was packed with varied and interesting movement. It seemed to build on itself, getting harder and harder with each bouldery sequence. The climbing challenges were not the usual big roofs or blank sections between horizontals we so often see in the Gunks. In a way, the climbing seemed more typical of granite, with delicate foot placements on ripples in the rock and even some vertical crack climbing. And the gear was good, good enough that after our first visit I thought I might be able to attack Uphill All the Way on lead, and feel pretty safe doing so.

So after following Fredy up it just once, I considered it my new project. 

I went ahead and tried to lead it, with Josh, in May of 2019. Unfortunately, it didn't go well. Despite my conviction that the gear was good, I found myself climbing scared, making very tentative moves on the initial vertical crack, the EASIEST section of the route. I took a hang before making it to the rest jug at the top of the starting crack, and then felt too defeated even to try the next bit. I lowered off of the fixed nut and we walked away.

(Photo: Toh took this photo of me trying (and failing) to lead Uphill All the Way in May of 2019.)

This was a setback. Mentally, I wasn't ready yet.

But I wasn't done with the climb. In pretty short order, I had the chance to climb Uphill All the Way again with Fredy. He had narrowly missed on-sighting the climb at the end of 2018, and naturally he wanted the redpoint. 

Funny thing: when Fredy wasn't juiced with on-sight energy, he found the climb much more mysterious. When he and I tried the climb for the second time together, in May of 2019, Fredy did not send, and in fact had a lot more trouble with the climb than he had the first time. He had to put some real work into figuring out the moves. He took several whippers at the top, off of the final, crux moves up and around an overhanging corner. Then he lowered, took a break, and offered me the lead. I top-roped up to his high point, and led on from there, taking several lobbers off of the crux move. I got no closer to being able to do the move, but I did get more comfortable with the idea of blowing it and taking the whip.

(Photo: Fredy sending in June, 2019.)

Fredy and I went back again in June, 2019, and by this time Fredy had it all worked out. He got the send like it was nothing, and I got another chance to work at the climb on TR and to make some progress. This time I got my beta a bit more worked out, though things were still far from smooth for me. 

At this point, it might be helpful to get into the weeds a bit and describe the challenges of Uphill All the Way, in detail. This is what you came for, right?

As I mentioned above, there are four sections:

1. Moving up the initial vertical crack. Funky moves, thin feet. This section is probably 5.10. At the top of the crack you reach a big jug, and an optional step up left to a rest. 

2. Stepping back down to the crack and making tenuous moves to the right, following a right-facing flake, with poor hands and very thin feet, to another good hold and gear. This is crux number 1. 

3. Moving straight up into the slanted, overhanging corner, to an undercling hold. This move requires balance and strength. This is crux number 2, and it is harder than crux number 1. After you get established in the undercling, there is an easy move up to a horizontal that takes your gear for the final sequence.

4. The true, final crux: moving around the overhanging corner and onto the face. You have to make a big move to poor crimps for the hands, and then a challenging reach to the left as you rotate your body around the corner using bad feet on the arete. 

After working on the route with Fredy, I had the first two sections pretty well worked out. I came up with this nice step-through beta that usually works for the second section. And as for section three, I knew I could do it, though I still needed to work on it. Sometimes I fell and sometimes I nailed it.

But the final crux was still very hard for me. Up until this point I had managed to do the move successfully just once, on TR, and had fallen there many times. I found the move to be very low percentage. I couldn't reliably keep my foot on the arete and I couldn't use the handhold way around left with any consistency. 

Still, I wanted to try again. This was my 5.12, and I intended to work on it, or so I thought. 

For the rest of 2019, I kept putting myself in position to try Uphill All the Way on lead again. I made sure I was in the Trapps every time I visited the Gunks, and would pick other climbs for warm-ups that were nearby. I would even walk up to the route and put my stuff down, with the intention of climbing it. But then, over and over again, I chickened out. I decided I wasn't feeling it and walked away without trying it. I told myself that this must be part of the process of breaking into 5.12. First you had to work up the courage to try. And I needed more time.

I got a lot more time to sit around and work up my courage when COVID happened. 

I'm hesitant to talk much about COVID and its effect on my climbing. I don't want to sound like I think I am some kind of victim of COVID. I am one of the lucky ones. I have a job and a place to live. No one in my family got very sick or died from the disease. Of course it touched my life, as it touched everyone's. But I have nothing to complain about. I'm grateful to have gotten through the last year with my existence, and my family's existence, more or less unchanged.

Still, my climbing was negatively affected, just as I imagine yours was. The gyms were closed. Like a lot of people, perhaps, I personally went through a cycle in which I exercised like mad to stay sane for the first few months, and then got kind of depressed and stopped exercising entirely for a few months after that. The Gunks opened back up in June (I ran up there on the first day), and an outdoor gym in NYC opened up a few months after that. When I got back to climbing outside, I felt kind of normal, surprisingly. But I could tell that I'd lost something. I didn't have the endurance I took for granted before the pandemic. I definitely wasn't at my best. It would have been truly shocking if I felt any differently.

Nevertheless, somehow I fell back into working on Uphill All the Way in the fall of 2020. One day in September, Will and I were playing around on the 5.10d Ventre de Boeuf direct start, which is right next to Uphill All the Way, and I decided it might be fun to throw a top rope over Uphill again, for old times' sake.

(Photo: Will on Uphill All the Way.)

And what happened was kind of a breakthrough for me. Somehow I worked out beta for the final crux that was much better for me than what I'd been doing. I used a different, higher foothold. It was hard for me to get the foot up so high-- I felt like I was putting my toe in my ear-- but once I did, the move around the corner was really solid. If I successfully got the foot up there, the climb was over.

This was exciting. It meant that I could do every move on the climb. I just had to put it all together. From that point on, I was inspired again. I started tackling the climb head-on, going at it on lead. We returned five more times in 2020. Will patiently belayed me over and over again. It was very nice of him. If he got tired of going to the Trapps every weekend, he kept it to himself. Over these several attempts, I got tantalizingly close to the send, falling off at the last move a couple of times. But I couldn't quite get it done. 

I think, more than anything else, the problem was that I felt weak. I would reach the final crux very tired; I couldn't seem to contrive much of a rest before the hardest moves. And I wasn't able to try the climb more than once in a session. I would be spent after one burn. It was clear to me that the COVID layoff was hurting my chances.

As the fall season ended, I resolved to get fitter. I wasn't sure that I was capable of feeling the way I used to feel. Maybe, at 51, I would have to work really hard just to stay the same. Maybe I'd never get stronger again?

In late December, I did something that was truly radical: I hired a climbing coach. 

I had always been uninterested in "training." Mostly this was because I really enjoyed climbing in the gym, and didn't want to turn it into work. I was afraid I would get burnt out and see climbing as a chore instead of a joyful, fun time. I also feared that I would hurt myself. It seemed like people who trained were always dealing with injured pulleys and the like. 

But as 2020 ended, I knew I wanted to do something to change my personal climbing trajectory. And then, completely at random, I saw an Instagram post from someone I didn't know, saying they had achieved good results working with a coach named Alice Hafer. I'd never heard of her. There was a link to Alice's own Instagram page, and when I clicked on it, I saw that she offered free consultations. Despite my longstanding lack of interest in training, I thought I had nothing to lose and, totally on a whim, I signed up for a meeting.  

I did no research. I considered no other coaches.

When I talked to Alice, I really liked her, and her fees seemed very reasonable, so I decided to give training with her a shot. And I don't really want to dwell on this too much or turn this post into an extended plug for Alice (she doesn't need it anyway), but I can say without reservation that my time climbing with Alice has been amazing! She's worked wonders for me. She is really great and if she has space for any more clients you should hire her. 

Alice gave me a fitness test, analyzed my goals and tailored a plan specifically for me. I was worried that working with a coach would be boring, but she gave me all sorts of fun climbing exercises (which I never would have come up with myself), and listened to me when I said that sometimes I'd like to "just climb." Some of the things she's had me doing (like hangboarding) are things I could have developed a strategy for on my own, if I had the patience. But my eyes glaze over when I read these endless blogs and books on training and it has been so helpful for me to have someone to tell me what to do! 

It also helped that I buckled down and put in the effort. I did pretty much everything in the plan Alice gave me. It wasn't that hard to keep up with it, since I was mostly working from home and had nothing else to do but to work out. And it was very lucky, from a climbing perspective, that the governor never closed the gyms again, even though over the winter the state blew past every COVID benchmark that had been set for gym closures. 

Probably the most important aspect of working with Alice, for me, has been the realization that my reluctance to "train" was based on irrational fears. I was afraid that if I trained I'd come to see climbing as a tiresome chore. I was afraid that if I trained I'd get hurt. But these fears were unfounded. 

While I was doing all of this training, I kept wondering how I'd fare once the outdoor season rolled around. I knew I was feeling pretty good, much better than before, indoors, but would it translate to routes in the real world? 

I found out pretty quickly once we got into March, and the temperature got high enough for some Gunks climbing. On my first day out I felt a little bit tentative but as the day went on I cruised a few of my favorite 5.10s. They felt very easy. 

Then on my second day out, on March 13, I went to the Gunks with Richard. We'd been climbing together in the gym before the pandemic, and I knew him to be a strong boulderer who wanted to dabble a bit in the trad game. He was curious about the twelves I'd been talking about so I knew it was time to put up or shut up. We needed to head to Uphill All the Way and see how it went. 

(Photo: Richard on Uphill All the Way. He sent it on his second try on TR, which is very impressive.)

I didn't think I would send it right away, and I didn't. After four or five months away from the climb, I had to reacquaint myself with the moves. I assumed this would be a work session. As I expected, I fell a couple of times on my first trip up. But at the same time I could tell I felt better than before. My crimp strength was better. My flexibility was better. My endurance was better. I didn't feel at all tired. I thought that maybe I could send the climb if I went at it again.

So we rested a bit and I tried again. And then on my second attempt I took a random fall early, in the first cruxy bit! Oops. This was unexpected. I lowered off of the fixed nut and rested. 

And then on try number three it went very well indeed. See for yourself:

You can hear my shock at how it turned out in the video. Even though intellectually I knew I was close to sending this climb, I realize now that somewhere, deep down, I thought that maybe it would never happen. There was a barrier erected in my mind that I had to knock down. 

And now that barrier is gone! I've since sent a second Gunks 5.12, which maybe I'll talk about in another post, and I'm getting close on a third one. 

Looking back over the experience, I feel like I've learned so much from Uphill All the Way. I've learned about trusting my feet on things that aren't even footholds, more like small textures or changes in the angle of the rock. I've learned that sometimes the best way to do a difficult move is as slowly as possible, shifting my balance and keeping my whole body in tension to stay on the rock. And I've learned to experiment and to try new ideas, even if they seem like impossibilities at first. 

And in the time since March, I've just been floating on air. This spring has been a magical Gunks season for me, one like I've never had. I didn't expect to send 5.12 trad on my second day of the season. And now I'm just hoping to keep riding the wave, stay uninjured, and keep sending more twelves. I feel so grateful to be healthy and climbing well. It feels so good not just to work at new levels of difficulty, but to cruise up climbs that used to feel hard. The big thing missing for me now is travel, which I hope we will all be able to enjoy again soon enough. There are so many climbing destinations I want to visit and revisit. Time will tell.

I hope that you, too, are having the kind of fun that I'm having out there. Be safe and climb on, folks. Stay tuned for more reports, coming soon?