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Our last day at Red Rocks we climbed at the Winter Heat Wall, a crag on the backside of Kraft Mountain.
On the other side of the canyon was another crag we had hoped to climb at but didn’t because of the heavy traffic that was there all day. It was called the Sunny and Steep Wall. Like the name implies it’s both ‘sunny’ and ‘steep’, all sport climbing, and one of the most popular areas around Kraft Mountain. Here’s a view from where we were.
That day we started with a thin seam that arched up the and right. It was one of the best 5.9′s we had climbed so far; a beautiful climb with a lot of different types of moves that all flowed very well together. I protected the climb entirely with nuts 
except for one cam. The irregular and shallow seam would not take cams well. It made me climb it a little slower, but all the protection was solid. Both Kristine and I thought it was a great climb. Very memorable for one of our last climbs at Red Rocks.
Next was a 5.11c on top rope, which also followed a thin seam up to a scooped out, steep finish at the top. The moves required balance and finesse, and then some delicate stemming and powerful moves at the top. It may have been one of my favorite climbs at Red Rocks. It would have been a difficult climb to protect on lead, but it’s on my list for when I return.
We finished on a 10a that started off in a short finger crack, passed a roof, and had delicate and hard to protect moves up a scooped face. I ended up running it out about 20′ between protection. I didn’t actually intend to, but I kept climbing thinking I’d have a good place to protect just a bit further up. I continued until I was way too far above my last piece. It was scaring Kristine, but she kept quiet as I had my own mental struggle about the best place to protect. I dropped a cam and a nut in, equalized them, and kept climbing. I didn’t want to take any chances with my last piece so far below. I think the climb would have been a lot nicer if I had done a better job protecting it, but in retrospect it wasn’t such a bad climb.
We’ll miss Red Rocks as much as we won’t miss Las Vegas. We’re happy to drive on to another place and are certainly taking all of our experience from climbing at Red Rocks with us.*
Note: These posts are about a week delayed. We’ve since been to Tucson, visited friends, climbed a bit, and left. We’re now in New Mexico somewhere near the Mexican border. More on that soon…
While climbing at the Red Rocks, we only ventured out of the Calico Basin area to climb twice. The first time we went to the second pull-out (on the scenic loop), where our initial destination wall of climbing was full. This sent us on an adventure that got us slightly lost. We never found our back-up area either, but stumbled instead upon a mysterious bolted wall with 3 moderate climbs. We played around on these chossy routes, realizing there was probably a good reason they didn’t make it into our guide book (though many decent climbs seem to be left out of the book we happen to own). It was a good day in the sun and exploring just the same. For whatever reason, we never went back to the loop, and instead just kept finding new fun routes off the Calico Basin road…Until one of our lasts days in Nevada.
We were having a pseudo-rest day, and decided to check out a new area. Jonathan chose the Pine Creek Canyon because of one inspiring picture he saw of a perfect finger crack. I anticipated an easy approach and decided to wear my flip flops (definitely not a great approach shoe unless you plan to belay from the parking lot). The walk out was really pretty. Pine Creek had a different feel than the other Red Rock areas I had seen. There was a grassy meadow, quite a few small green plants and yes, pine trees, this valley path led straight into an array of sandstone towers -our destination.
Up a rocky trail/scramble is the wall with the route Jonathan came to check out – the Straight Shooter Wall, 5.9+. It really is an alluring finger crack. We knew we had to climb it – it was slightly less than vertical, and short – totally qualifies for a rest day.
We got there just before another team, who was also here for this climb in particular. They would wait their turn by climbing another route, while we were on it. We chatted with them about the climbing they had done. These girls were from out of town and had been here awhile (not quite as long as us though). When one of them was pointing out a climb in her book – which, of course, wasn’t in ours (they had the black book of Red Rocks, which has more routes and better descriptions than ours) I couldn’t follow anything she was saying or pointing at. I was mesmerized by her huge and beat up hands. She had the hands the size of a grown man, fingers thick like knobby sausages, covered in calluses and chalk. I shuddered and looked down at my own boney hands – I had hoped climbing would make them stronger (and I do seem to have a bit more meat on them than before), but would climbing ruin them? I suppose enough finger and hand jams could have this effect…I made a silent vow to tape my hands and treat them well…then I looked back up to this finger crack, and seemed to forget all else.
Jonathan made quick, flawless work of the lead (enjoyed it so much, he got gangster at the bottom – the ultimate gesture of his approval). I roped up and was on my way. The climb was delicious. All of the finger jams were there (though thin in places) and felt like they fit my fingers well. I was very happy that the climb also had nice feet – a few nubs, ledges and jams. The climb was fluid and lovely, but over way too soon.
We called it a day after the crack since the sun was starting to go down and we still had to hike out. On the way down, I slid slightly on the steep rocky trail and managed to slice my toe open on a sharp rock. 
My own fault for the flip flops, I know. It was throbbing and bleeding everywhere. Jonathan very carefully wrapped the injury in a homemade tape band-aid (our first aid kit was back in the car, so the antibiotic cream would have to wait). I got a lecture about proper footwear, a slow hobble on the walk out, and a small toe injury, but I was happy it wasn’t worse. I seem to learn some lessons the hard way. With an injury on the end of my toe, there was no telling if I would be able to climb any time soon. Climbing shoes fit so snuggly against the toes, and the pressure put against them while climbing could make matters worse. I recently read a book, Breaking Trail by Arlene Blum, who is a mountaineer and scientist with an overpowering will of self. In the book she broke her leg, but focused all of her attention on the break. With nothing other than mental conviction, her broken leg healed long before the doctors thought possible and she was out of her cast in time to join her team in another mountain expedition. And so, I started a mantra in my head to heal my toe. I would climb the next day.
After finishing the Atman Crack, and taking a short break, we packed and walked over to the other side of the crag. Upon us was a beautiful and thin finger crack. It was in a slightly overhanging dihedral. A very short climb. The sun was starting to set behind the mountains and the bottom of the climb was in a deep shade.
The truth is that I didn’t expect to climb anything else that day, especially anything harder than the crack I had just done. The beauty of the crack and the opportunity for another photo-op drowned my judgement and made me pretty stoked to climb. I was roping up minutes later and Keith was again snapping pictures from above.
I’ll tell the story in a way that’s not so serious and people can laugh a bit.
The Conquistador lands at the shores of an unknown island, home of the mystical and Unknown, 10c, finger crack.
He points this way and that. His intuition has never failed him, or so he thinks.
He’s found the mythical crack. He dreams about it from below, and then from above. It’s beauty is blinding.
One last look and the feel of the rock on his palm convince him it’s time.
Wearing the traditional blue and white colors of his country he pulls himself out of the darkness, into the light.
He moves up the wall using opposing forces. He’s in a full lieback: his feet push his body out and away from the crack, which allows him to oppose that force with his fingers in the crack keeping his body on the rock. He’s confident.
He places the orange Metolius piece. It’s always served him well. The crack has opened up a bit, but it constricts at the top. Our hero still doesn’t know how he’ll handle this apparently blank finish.
He’s nearing the top. His siege is brought to a halt when his scouting right arm reaches up and reports back nothing. Things look desperate.
He backs down. It’s only brief enough for him to rip off his mask and return to battle with the full energy in his eyes staring back at the crack.
His second attempt at the top starts off hopeful but it all goes to hell all at once…
He’s lost his grip, balance, and vertigo chokes off the gravity keeping our hero on the wall.
The fall is jolting. It strikes a cord our hero hardly understands: defeat. It only breeds more determination and it’s not long before he’s back on route to the top. He calms his mind as he searches to understand the combination of movements and holds that he needs to unlock to succeed.
He’s touched on the secret. A solid and unforeseen jam with his right hand gives him exactly what he needs to balance his body and reach up left.
The clouds part as he pulls the short roof that stands between him and the ambrosia at the top. The intoxicating smell fuels his body. Success is almost certain.
Our hero in a moment of triumph and wild exhilaration at the top.
Celebration pictures! Nectar!
Muscles shots and dirty jokes are the bread and butter of this couple. What else is there?!?
Mucho love!
Keith’s second and last day with us was EPIC! It was so epic I’m breaking it up into two posts. One for each one of the climbs we did that day.
We hiked back up Kraft Mountain to a few crack climbs that some climbers had raved about while we were all around a camp fire a few nights before. Walking around the corner and seeing the Atman crack for the first exalted praise and aw from all of us. Things like, ‘Beautiful!’ ‘You got to climb it!’ ‘Oh my god.’ ‘Indian Creek.’ It’s rated 10a, and would be my most ambitious trad lead yet. Here’s Keith leaning out over the top of the crack, of course tied in to the natural anchor we built first.
Here’s the crack in its entirety. It presented a difficult shooting situation because of the high contrast between the sun grazing the top of the climb and the shadow the rest of the climb was in. Keith handled it like a pro and all it took was some contrast adjustment during post processing to make these images great.
Keith’s pictures captured more than just my leading the climb. He captured something I’ve very much wanted to share with friends and family: What Kristine and I are actually doing when we’re ‘climbing’, and how we do it. So I’ll narrate as the pictures tell the real story:
Kristine and I reach a climb, I tie in to the end of the rope, she puts me ‘on belay’, and I make sure I have all the gear I need for the climb. We always double-check each other–knots and so forth. I usually turn my hat backwards while on the rock. I do it because I saw Sonnie Trotter do it on his first ascent of Cobra Crack, 5.14, up in Squamish, B.C. For those interested check out the video by Patagonia. It’s bad ass! Anyway, here’s our cheery disposition at the beginning of the climb.
When climbing cracks, which is also called ‘trad’, short for ‘traditional’, you hand and foot jam in the crack to move up the climb. This climb had an especially hard and tricky beginning. The crack wasn’t quite wide enough to get the meat of my hand in. I was jamming in the crack just past my knuckles, which was a little insecure and painful. I’m wearing tape gloves on my hands to minimize the damage, although after this climb the backside of my right hand was pretty wrecked. This kicks off a great sequence of moves up the first half of the climb. You can see Kristine belaying, which is something of an art when lead belaying. She manages the rope that is out and is ready for a fall at any time, she feeds out rope as I climb, and is generally aware of everything that I’m doing and how the rope is involved.
After a few failed starts I finally got some momentum and made it half way up the crack before my forearms, pumped full of blood, screamed for mercy. I hung on a piece that I had placed and let out wild groans of pain and pleasure. Then back to climbing.
I anticipated putting in another piece of gear, which I put in my mouth while I had a good hand jam in, then climbed on with the piece in my mouth.
Now I placed the size 2, yellow cam, which is short for the Black Diamond ‘camalot’. They come in all different sizes and I have to choose the right one for that sized crack. It’s what makes trad climbing so engaging.
I’ve now clipped my rope to a beaner that’s attached to the cam. This is what protects me were I to fall at any point during the climb. It’s each climbers discretion and experience that dictates how much protection to use and how often. On this climb I kept myself pretty well protected, not being more than six or seven feet between placements.
After climbing past the #2 cam I was very close to the top and I placed my last piece, a #3 cam. With my arms and legs shaking I took an involuntary rest when my body gave out and I sat in my harness, against the rock, breathing hard and feeling humble.
One final and perfect hand jam!
While my eyes are looking up to find the final moves that will take me home, I’m really looking inside and scrapping down deep to muster the last bit of strength, spit, and courage to make this fat lady sing.
A climber at peace coiling his rope.
This was an amazing climb! I thank Kristine for the flawless belay and for giving me her time on a climb that was beyond her ability to follow.
In the last few years Keith has been fostering along a photographic interest that has developed into a full-blown skill, which I am indebted to for all the pictures that he took on this day (and every other day); as well as the motivation to get on this climb and make it to the top.
There was a beautiful 11c climb called Ying Yang Crack on the adjacent wall to Atman. It sat upon our gaze for quiet some time, until Keith and I vowed that we’d return to climb it. Just the kind of motivation we need for another climbing rendezvous!
The day after the Kraft Mountain brouhaha, Keith, Kristine, and I headed out to no other place than Kraft Mountain. The hike took us past some beautiful boulders, which caused Keith’s fingertips to salivate with desire. He’s a boulder-er by trade and has incredible strength and skill on small holds and powerful moves. We coaxed him to keep walking with us and on the back side of the mountain, after a half an hour or so, we made it to a batch of three sport climbs at The Family Crag. The book didn’t give the climbs very good ratings, but we were amped to climb regardless and began with the easiest of the three climbs. A 5.8 that Keith lead. He was gushing about climbing on his favorite rock: sandstone. It’s incredibly featured which makes the climbing very fun and dynamic as you pick your holds on our way to the top. I led it next and then it was Kristine’s turn to rope up. She had been feeling a little funny from the night before and wasn’t quiet sure how well she’d climb, or even if she would climb at all. We told her she couldn’t miss such a nice climb, especially since it was perfect for her ability. She conceded.
She felt a little out of balance as she began the climb but quickly got in the rhythm as she made it to the top without any difficulty. Keith and I were both impressed.
We then moved down the wall and I led the next climb, which was a very smooth 5.9. Keith followed and then again came Kristine and basically walked up the climb in very good style.
I again kicked off the third and last climb on that wall–another 5.9. It was a very nice climb. It seemed harder than the last climb. The holds were smaller and the wall a bit more overhung. I definitely felt a bit pumped when I reached the top. Keith climbed it next and really liked it. I told you those small, crimpy holds are his vice. I really wasn’t sure if Kristine would make it up the climb unless she exercised all the technique that she’s learned so far. She’d have to move up the wall using mostly her legs, while hanging on her arms and keeping them from getting too fatigued. She’d have to look ahead at the next few moves so she could commit to them and climb past without using up all her energy. Well. She did it! And made it look easy.
It was getting late when we finished the last climb. The sun would be setting within the hour. We completed our hike around Kraft Mountain and made it back to the car with the last few rays of sun lighting our way. Our fatigue and hunger shot flairs into our conversation demanding nothing other than ‘Chipotle’. Like the bat-signal a big barbacoa burrito lighted the sky. Half an hour later three hungry and satisfied climbers walked into a bowl of chips and guacamole. If we had ordered a round of drinks I would have made a toast to Kristine, “A climber! Body and spirit!”
Today, while you all eat your turkey, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pie, Jonathan and I will be enjoying our last day here in Vegas, at the Red Rocks. We will cram as much climbing as possible into our last day, and (hopefully) since it is a holiday we won’t have crowds to contend with.
We have been here for three fantastic weeks. While not a fan of Vegas, the rocks have held our attention and enthusiasm. We could easily stay another month and still not have done 1/2 of the climbs here. This gives us a good excuse to come back and send the climbs that challenged us on this trip and venture out to try more of the ones we haven’t yet experienced.
Our trip has been so fun and full of adventures, the time has flown by. It is hard to believe that it is already Thanksgiving – a big mile marker signaling only a few weeks left until Christmas, the end of the road (for awhile). I suppose there are definite signs that we have been on the road – Jonathan’s ever growing beard, the state of our small wardrobe (dirty and increasing in number of holes), the stronger climbing ability and leaner bodies. I guess we have been doing this awhile.
Tomorrow we head south to Arizona to spend a few days with some friends in Tucson. We will enjoy their company, some good food, and some time playing outdoors. Jonathan & I are still a bit unsure of our plans after Tucson – maybe we will meet up with Ben for a soak (his hot spring pass time), climb in some local crags, head back to California for some time in Joshua Tree, or let the wind blow us somewhere new like New Mexico.
To all our family and friends we send our love – enjoy your feasts, the long weekend, and the half marathon (good luck Heather!) – Happy Thanksgiving!
After what turned out to be two full days off spent at Zion National Park, Kristine and I were amped to climb but decided on a bike ride to help us warm up. We bit off more than we could chew when we decided on the 14 mile long scenic drive through the Red Rock Canyon. We had a five mile ride just to get to the scenic drive, then we ascended just over 1000 feet in 4.8 miles, then came our payoff from the hard earned ascent in coasting down the majority of remaining 9.2 miles, and then we had seven long miles back to the van. It was a refreshing ride but neither my butt nor Kristine’s was ready for 26 miles on our bike. We ate a hearty lunch, took a siesta, walked around to look at some climbs, and read the rest of the afternoon away.
At night I was already realizing that my body would pay the next day for the three days of softness I had allowed it. Sure enough the first climb we got on the next day was a 5.8+ dihedral called Valentine’s Day , the climb came highly recommended from everyone we had talked to so we thought it was a most do. I not embarrassed to say it kicked my butt. There were two obvious cruxes, which were both getting over a bulge that didn’t afford many hold or very good feet. I definitely took my time on what was really a pretty short climb. I made it to the top pumped (which in climbing lingo means my forearms were pumped full of blood and fatigued from strain). I decided to climb a 5.10d to the left of the previous climb. It actually felt a lot smoother than the first climb. There were small holds and a thin seam all the way to the top. It warmed my body in the brisk wind that cut the warmth that the sun would have provided otherwise. Kristine then climbed Valentine’s Day and made it to the top equally fatigued and punished.
There was one other climb I wanted to do in that area. It was a 10d sport route that climbed cool looking huecos up the arête of a free standing pillar. It’s pictured on the left looking up at the climb, and the picture on the right shows Kristine at the bottom of the climb and the climb is outlined. It completed the job of trashing my body and spirit. I was wiped clean at the top of the climb and my sweat was quickly chilled by the unrelenting wind. The last bolt before the anchors at the top added to my mental strain when I noticed the bolt itself was sticking away from the rock at least half an inch and was spinning freely. I wasn’t sure it could even hold my weight let alone if I was to take a fall on it. I had to come out onto a steep face on crimps and finish the climb without falling. I didn’t have a choice. I would like to say that it was just me that took a beating on this climb, but Kristine got her share even though she
didn’t even climb it. On my way down while I was cleaning the route (removing all the quickdraws from the bolts that I had placed on the way up), I was having to pull myself into the rock as Kristine lowered me to reach the quickdraws since the climb was so overhung. At the last quickdraw I removed it and let go, I dropped a few feet and went swinging out with quite a bit of force. There was carabiner connecting me to Kristine’s rope, which transferred the force from my swing to Kristine and she was sent swinging through a thorn bush and back. The back of her calves and ankles were pretty scratched up. That along with the cold and Kristine was ready for some food and a respite from the cold. It was her never failing good humor that kept her from being totally pissed. She even coiled the rope after the climb. How did I get so lucky!?!?!
The day after all the hard climbing that Queen Rockstar did we decided our bodies could use a day off and we embarked on the three hour drive to Zion National Park. We arrived around noon to an overcast park. We really weren’t planning on doing any climbing while we were there, and we really didn’t know how long we’d be there anyway, but my curiosity decided it was worth the 25 bucks for the climbing guide – that we would at least return at some point in the future. I quickly became submerged in the book and started to see all the potential at Zion. Kristine was on somewhat of a desperate search for a pair of Native American earrings. The seed was planted when
we drove through Bishop, CA and she saw the perfect earrings. She decided against buying them since they were at the gas station next to a casino and she thought that was a bit shabby and that she’d run into something a little more authentic. Well, she hadn’t up until this point and has regretting not buying the earrings ever since. The town just outside Zion had a number of Indian craft and jewelry stores, so while I drooled over the climbing guide she left me to wander and look for ‘the perfect earrings’. She finally found them after having lost all hope and it was at the last store that we entered at the end of the day that she saw them. It was love at first sight and her ears tingled with anticipation as she tried them on. I admit they were very much her, although nothing like the earrings she saw in Bishop.
That first day, we drove around Zion and scouted a few climbs, which made my finger tips sweat from just looking at them. They were beautiful, clean cracks with very few or no face holds. It was a type of climbing that I dreamt about but had yet to climb. We decided on climbing the following day and so that day we simply let the anticipation build while we check out the climbs. In the late afternoon the heavy grey sky parted and gave way to a sun that lit up the rock and the sky and everything. It was mystical. Zion has been called a Yosemite with the rock from Red Rocks, which is a multicolored sandstone. I totally agreed!
At night the wind picked up. We cooked an Indian fare for dinner and had to bundle up to stay warm. A beer a piece also helped, but the 4000 foot elevation at Zion was definitely much cooler than Red Rocks had been. While falling asleep I heard what
might have been a few rain drops tickle the top of the van. I popped my head outside to assure myself it was dust or some other UFO, but not rain! I fell asleep without hearing any other suspicious sounds, but was woken up around 2AM to the sure sound of rain falling steadily. I couldn’t believe it. I thought maybe the rain was coming from a ‘snoopy cloud’ that was only raining down on our van in an attempt to depress me. I guess it worked since I cried myself to sleep knowing the chance of climbing that day had been crushed.
The next morning I found solace from the grey somber clouds in warms pancakes, apple-sauce, an egg, and plenty of maple syrup.
Ok, enough is enough. Yesterday we got to park early and both Kristine and I got into our groove. We started with a fairly easy but interesting crack climb, which was long and required our entire 70M rope to rappel down to the bottom. I then jumped on my first 5.10 at Smith Rock, which was a beautiful climb, albeit short. It was just a bit overhung with dynamic moves and a two-finger pocket at the top to a sloper finish to clip the chains (climbers reading this know what i’m talking about…). Kristine was so amped that she wanted to try the climb as well. She did amazing well but didn’t make it to the top. The irony the entire morning was that every time I was climbing the sun was shining on me and when Kristine began climbing the sun would disappear behind storm clouds of death. This was the case on the 5.10 climb. I felt the sun on my back while clipping the anchors at the top of the climb. Clouds moved in when Kristine got on the climb and torrential rain showered down as soon as she was back on the ground from trying the climb. We piled our gear in our packs and hurried back to the van. The pictures doesn’t demonstrate just how wet we really were, but regardless this is us after getting back to the van.
We then woke up this morning to 25 degree weather. It was cold but we wanted nothing other than a great day climbing, so after german pancakes with some special Hull applesauce and plenty of maple syrup and butter, we suited up and headed for the climbs. This morning we wanted to try a different area that neither of us had been to before, it was the columnar basalt of the Lower Gorge, which has renown crack climbs that are much different from the tuff rock that makes up most of the rock that Smith Rock is known for. We were still freezing before even getting to the climbs, we couldn’t even imagine taking off our gloves to climbing, so we settled for a hike up to the top of Smith Rock. The hike was beautiful. It was only around a 3.5 mile hike, but we ascended over 2,000 feet to the top and got some great pictures of the park:
Monkey face, which is a 300 foot pillar that ironically looks like a monkey’s face (although not from this angle). It actually looks like rock from another planet and just looking at it was intimidating:
A view of the valley below. This is the heart of Terrebonne, OR. It’s beautiful. With this landscape and cute llamas if it weren’t for the cold weather Kristine would probably never leave.
Back at the van we ate a late lunch and as the sun had just about convinced us that the afternoon was going to be perfect for climbing, we had to run for cover from pellet sized hail. “Are you kidding me!!!!” , I screamed, and Kristine knowingly, simply looked at me and said three words, “We’re heading South.” Simple, direct, and straight from the boss. Now it’s just a a matter of choosing between all the sunny and amazing climbing heavens in California and Southern Utah and Southern Nevada.
Our first day at Smith Rock was Beautiful. I’d almost say it was magical. Blue skies and perfect weather greeted our descent into the Park.
We had the gumption to climb. The night before we had driven into the night through Portland and spent the night at a rest area at the top of Mt. Hood. We completed the drive to Smith Rock in the morning.
In the Park, Kristine was taking pictures of ladybugs, going goo goo over purple rocks, the geology of the park, the fact that the rock there is called ‘tuff’, and that it’s purple from iron that’s oxidized. We had to rally from sitting, which looks something like this:
To actually finding a route to climb, which looks more like this:
Aha! We found it. A three star 5.7 called Spiderman Buttress. It was a two pitch climb of which only did the first pitch. Here’s a glimpse from the top looking down:
A graceful climber looks something like this:
And a happy climber at the top looks a lot like this:
jonathan
kristine
