Mace TR, march '03
ant
figured id give her a thread to call her own:
kellie...@urscorp.com (kellie) wrote in message
> How was your year?
aw shucks, thanks for asking. couldnt say ive spent that much time on
the rocks this year. i figured finishing college would up the climbing
time, but it downed it, and i need to fix that. at least i can say
that this year i spent a lot more time on stone than plastic.
exhorbitant gym prices, y'know.
anyways, the vertical highlight of my year was a shoulda'-been-epic
ascent of a climb ive seen a few TRs on in this ng, and for that
reason i thought id make a quick stab at my own version in lieu of
monthly climbing reports on climbing that didnt happen.
march: spring break found me and three good folk in red rocks.
aforementioned three good folk were less experienced than i, which
isnt saying much, but became wildly clear in their mastery of the dark
arts of ropework, trad leading, and moving around quickly in both up
and down directions. we ticked a few friendly ascents of classics like
cat in the hat (recently disgraced by mike myers et al), olive oil
(link the pitches together, and everyone will be happy), and some
shorter bits and pieces of friendly trad and gentle sport. despite my
digital out-of-shapitude, and a debilitated lead head due to long
absence from anything over 5.7, i was itching for something exciting,
and the trip was quickly coming to an end.
then it started raining. after numerous trips to the public library,
it quickly became clear that it was raining everywhere, and i made an
executive decision to try out a route far far away that had been
pushed pretty hard by a resident maniac, er, climber. we'll call him
"j. peterson". said climb was The Mace, somewhere around sedona, so me
and m'troops monopolized the vegas library terminals finding weather,
directions, and perusing countless TRs, most of which read something
like the following:
pitch 1: blah blah balh blahsdlahsd
pitch 2: ouch climb climb climb ledge
pitch 3: hm, fingers, climb climb ledge
pitch 4: cool stem damn bolt goddamngoddamn myfirstoffwidth ohboy
pitch 5: man, [I (or) My S.O.] was so scared, but we pulled through
it, and rapped off the fire hydrant.
I printed some pitch by pitch beta from who knows where, someone else
got the map, and we had a quick tete-a-tete. antsy as i was, i was all
for it. however, comments such as 'we're going to die up there' may or
may not have been mentioned by other cynical readers of said TRs.
drove out at night, arriving in the wee hours. slept at top of
whatever that long road overlooking the desert is that everybody knows
about, after banging bottom of overstuffed economy rental car on
numerous rocks, ruts, and possibly pedestrians. woke up crack of dawn
early to a granola bar or two, a blinking amazed look at the panorama,
and a sprint to the climb, to fight off the expected hoards vying for
this classic. none of whom materialized, and we had the desert to
ourselves for a day.
anyways, at the bottom of the climb, and only after each climber had
each taken at least two leaks, further eroding the already tenuous
grip the chossy sandstone had on the pile called 'mace', we suited up.
i was ready to fight all comers for the crux pitches, but it seemed
like that was the group concensus anyways. we would climb as one
party, as i was the only person deemed qualifed enough to lead the
upper pitches, with two 60m ropes to link us on the way. jeff led the
first pitch, a slabby easy pitch to an enormous ledge. it looked so
easy we all just pushed him onto it. my quote before he headed up
"youll be up there before you know it, you wont need the big cams".
his quote halfway up with almost no pro above or below "i need the big
cams". whoops. so its going slow, but he gets there and we all fire up
behind him and pull his one placement or something like that, and its
party time on ledge #1. anyways, we switch the ropes around, and now
its my turn for the rest of the day. pitch two is the crux of the
route. or more accurately, for unskilled crack climbers (read:
handjam? what?) that first move is a killer. after exhausting my
meager reserves of bicepery and finger skin, i was able to
hyperventilate my way through that first move into the wildly easier
ground above, stemming and cruising to an enormous ledge... for a
party of two. note to self: cease climbing with more than one partner.
forever. apply this note to all other ledges on this and any climb.
pitch three: see 'fingery' traverse to left. this fingery traverse is
the crux of the route. at least i recalled many TRs saying that this
was tricky. crank through it witout so much as a second thought, and
thank my countless hours of fingery plastic time to give me the
confidence to do things like crimp on windy exposed desert towers
without so much as a second thought. Around arete, find out that
someone had painted the third pitch white with a powdery white yellow
substance, which I assumed to be tempera paint, or possibly a fine
japanese watercolor pigment. As i stemmed and chimneyed my way through
an otherwise breathtaking pitch, i noted the fact that said paint was
so pervasive and powdery and everywhere that it made it completely
unnecessary to perpetually dip into my chalkbag, as per usual. this
paint was so thick and so volimunous that it was unclear that ledges i
woudl stand on where actually rock formations, or merely accumulations
of the stuff. besides dusting my hands, it also dusted my clothes, my
eyes, and favorite of all- my mouth, which woudl receive a bland, but
stunningly captivating, dust shower every time i opened my mouth to
either a)call out to belayers who coudlnt possibly hear me due to wind
noise, or b)whine to myself about how there were no handholds, or c)
comment to myself about how cool it was that there were no handholds.
pitch three ended in an enormous ledge (see previous comments) where i
interrupted some birds who were busy painting.
pitch four is the crux of the route. pitch four starts out, if you are
climbing with three partners, by clambering over one of them, under
another, stemming over the third, who is wedged in a crack further in
to block the whipping paint-laden wind from you three on the enormous
ledge, and stemming high onto a veritable climbing gym of seriously
cool and flowing moves that land you somewhere where you can actually
rack the gear the way you like it and gaze down longingly at the
enormous ledge where they have broken out the snickers bar to
celebrate 25% more personal space, pausing only occasionally to glance
upwards and see whether you are still watching, so they can eat yours
too. a series of odd moves lands you underneath the offwidth section,
and for many the trickiest part of the climb. rumor had it that there
was a bolt placed to protect this crux, so i had nothign to fear. why,
i could sew it up!-- i had some crux pro, a "j. peterson" chouinard #4
pre-camalot, lovingly and expertly re-trigger-wired the evening before
with string and epoxy. much thrutching and grunting below the crux
found me downclimbing with fire in my eyes. i callously removed my
helmet, jammed it in a crack, and told the snicker(eat)ing suckers
below they were going to have to grab it ont he way, becuase damned if
it was making it through the crack i was preparing to squeeze into.
and squeeze i did, into my first offwidth, pushing the #4 along with
me, and grunting like this wasn't recreation. i did, as it happens,
have a chance to scope out the conveniently placed bolt on the way up.
conveniently placed, as it happens, for climbers who are either
1)aiding, and have run out of #4 cams, 2) enamored of 5.17d friction
instead of 5.9 offwidth, and can miraculously hold onto the rock
without actually having a leg and/or arm and/or body wedged into the
crack, or 3)possessed of arms of such length that they are often
called upon to stick clip sport routes by merely standing on their
tiptoes. as i am neither of these three, i passed it by, leaving the
#4 in the slot while i pulled the move above, and hauled my tired, but
decidedly happy ass onto the plateau which makes the end of the pitch.
I then had almost two hours to enjoy the remainder of the days
sunshine, while scattered drops started to fall here and there, and
spent my time humming to myself, yelling into the crack at my feet
(which lead straight to the climber's ear) 'keep 'em comin', baby!',
and placing bets with myself as to the likelihood of getting struck by
lightning on a desert tower. we all made it up, myself unencumbered by
the daypacks and helmets entrusted to my partners which didnt make the
last pitch any easier. we had a quick conference about whether to go
for the last pitch, in light of our laboriously slow climbing and the
possibility of an oncoming storm. i decided that i hadnt come this far
to quit before the shortest and easiest pitch on the route, so i woudl
lead out, and if weather deteriorated, they quickly could belay me on
teh downclimb and we coudl be gone in a jiffy. thankfully, the weather
held til about a quarter mile from the car.
pitch 5: was heavily hyped by the trip reports. (folks unfamiliar with
mace TRs, there's this chasm you have to cross between two desert
towers. pitch 5 is the crux of the route.). as it turns out, exposure
doesnt rattle me all that much when the going is easy and there's a
bolt. i leaned over, clipped her, and sidled over to the flake. up i
go, and suddenly its just me and the fire hydrant rap anchor, and
little touristy airplanes flying by every seven minutes, and banking
so their aerial tour customers could have a good look at the [hardcore
ropeguns at the summit/wide-eyed lunatic newbies about to get
smitten][pick one]. we all cruised up. i belayed while alistair, my
brother, and the first one to follow, read me summit register entries
in which i recognized many a name from this group. then we rapped back
(getting dark), rapped again (darker), rapped once more, and shuffled
off the chosspile in the new night, and the first drops of rain that
woudlnt let up until we reboarded southwest airlines, connecticut
bound.
'twas a damn good route, and a damn good climb. the maniac was right.
happy holidays,
anthony
[the insect nickname for anthony @ productionrunone.com]
Karl Baba
I guess you Yale smarty-pantes are too smart to wreck your ankles on
the stupid jump from the second back to the top of the fourth. I'll
never do it again.
But not smart enough to stay away from super trad crack climbs without
requisite experience. Good job pulling it off!
peace
karl
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Mark Heyman
"ant" <anthony.a...@yale.edu> wrote in message
news:61806f59.03122...@posting.google.com...
> i started this out as a chestbeater '03, but it expanded a bit and i
> figured id give her a thread to call her own:
Glad you did. Just in time to make into the "best of" for the year!
Thanks.
Mark H.
A. Cairns
ant wrote:
Mace TR
Better than being there!