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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!
As we enter our third week at Red Rocks Canyon we still haven’t given in to the Las Vegas glitter and we keep on climbing, stronger than ever. We haven’t entered a single casino or even fooled around with all the conveniently located gambling machines, though I’m surprised Las Vegas isn’t audacious enough to put a slot machine right inside all the toilet stalls in the city. No doubt that would coax even the least interested to gamble, as staring it right in the face without taking a chance would seem a little unfulfilling.
Our gear is part of us. We take care of all of it and treat it like an extension of our bodies. In return it treats us well, or maybe ‘fairly’ would be more accurate. The cams respond to a squeeze of my fingers. They’ve lost some of their color from the many times I’ve placed them inside a crack to protect me from any potential falls. This gear holds me from hitting the ground were I to fall. I trust it and have learned to use it well. I think about the direction of the force that would be exerted on the piece, and then place it accordingly. Each piece should be set with the intention that it could withstand a fall. I gain confidence from each piece that I place, and keep climbing past it. It suits the part of my mind that should have been an engineer. It’s that confidence that allows me to keep climbing harder and harder routes. I can place gear as I see fit. I stitch up a climb if it’s difficult and I conserve pieces and energy in the stretches that don’t warrant protection. The placing protection component of trad climbing might be the most dynamic element that always keeps things interesting.
This climb is called The Fox. It’s a 10d dihedral crack that starts at fingers moves quickly past thin hands to hands and then mandates a lieback through an off width section and then finishes on a slabby, balancy arête. This climb has been the feature presentation of my dreams. Kristine and I have hiked up there twice since the first time I saw the climb, which isn’t a small feat since it’s a solid 45 minutes scrambling up boulders to the climb. I’ve hiked up to the top of the climb and set up a natural anchor from which I top-roped the climb. The second time I had Kristine accompany me to the top and taught her about the anchor I built and then we both rappelled to the base of the climb. Here’s Kristine in perfect style with The Fox to her left.
As much as I’d love to I don’t think I’ll be leading the climb before I leave. It’s part that I need to simply do it, but I also don’t have big enough cams to adequately protect the crack where it opens up. My mind can manage the tension while on top rope, but I don’t think my nerves would stay as calm if I was working myself up the slabby arête knowing my last piece was fifteen or more feet below me. For now I’ll remain content with my top-roping feat of this climb, but continue to dream of the day when I’ll lead it. Here are my boney knees, a bloody pinky, and my limp forearms after my second go at The Fox.
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!?!?!
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
