TR: Drinking From the Fire Hydrant
Alex Chiang
with "our" being Scary Larry, Bill, and myself.
Pictures to come soon.
/Alex
------------------------------
07-November-2001
Alexander Chiang
Scary Larry
"Drinking From the Fire Hydrant"
I. Prologue
*gulp*
Over shots of Bacardi 151, Josh and I make plans to go to Las Vegas to
celebrate his 21st birthday in style. So a week later, after my
headache disappears and my eyes uncross, I email Larry about the
possibility of doing a longish route together. After a few exchanges,
the plan is set: our goal is to climb the Rainbow Buttress.
Now for some, this would seem absolutely reasonable, as it is a fun
route with moderate to slightly difficult climbing, with a scenic
descent, and a summit involved. For myself, the analogy of getting a
drink from a fire hydrant springs to mind, as I have never climbed a
multipitch route before, much less a grade IV. "Larry knows what he's
doing," I reason, "and it's not like we could DIE or anything. It'll
be ok."
Larry: The Rainbow Buttress encompasses the quintessential Red
Rock trad experience. The approach is long and interesting. The
climb is a prominent natural line on a spectacular formation. It
ends on a true and beautiful mountain summit. The descent
includes the artistically sculptured sandstone slabs of upper Oak
Creek canyon. The entire operation requires sufficient commitment
and endurance to give a respectable level of satisfaction upon
survival. I mean completion.
II. The Approach
*groan*
I fall off the bed onto the floor, half an hour before my 3:30 AM
wakeup call. My body hates me for only letting it rest for three
hours. My friends are in various states of intoxication and stare
curiously as I gather my things and stumble my way out the door, still
stupid from sleep.
Larry spots me and I get into his car. Although we've only met once
before, the atmosphere is comfortable. The beautiful heat blasting my
frozen body surely helps. We babble climber-talk at each other until we
arrive at the parking lot near the end of the scenic loop. As we pull
in, I can make out Bill sleeping on the ground near his car.
Introductions are quickly made and we start gearing up. Flying in has
forced me to travel light. I supply the small pack which will hold our
water, food, and shoes. Additionally, my memory of Larry's rack has
encouraged me to bring along my 0.75 Camalot, to function as a
security blanket of sorts. His Dolts and Titons scare me.
Finally we're off. Hiking along the road and then the trail in the
bright light of the moon and the cold desert air invigorates me. Mt.
Wilson and Rainbow Mountain loom hugely and eerily as we get closer
and closer. It's hard for me to believe that we're actually going to
the base of one of these things. Driving along the scenic loop as a
mere tourist has infected me with museum-itis.
All of my life, I have been riding on the tour bus with a guide
spewing canned spiel for the umpteenth time as we pass yet another
historical spot, yet another natural monument, pausing for a few
moments to let the paying customers snap a few photos to remember
their vacations, and then driving on to the next Important Spot. And
now, I grin wickedly like a kid locked in the proverbial candy store,
as we are OUT of our damned cars and hiking CLOSER so we can actually
TOUCH and CLIMB these awesome formations. Amazing.
Quickly, we leave the trail and the boulder-hopping begins. I'm having
a lot of fun, but I quickly realize that Larry and Bill are in much
better shape than I. A strategy is quickly developed, as I pull the
camera out and feign impressed visitor. Taking a picture becomes a
euphemism for catching my breath. Sometimes, I don't even do the
"click" part of "point and click". However, I can't use this trick too
often, as I want to slow down the group as little as possible.
Larry: It just doesn't seem like a real climb without an alpine
start. Sort of like you're not taking it seriously. We started
walking at 4:30 by the light of an almost full moon. Daylight
caught up to us while we were scrambling up the rocky streambed
in Oak Creek Canyon. Bill and I tried to entertain Alex by
playing a game called "Psych Out the New Guy," but I'm not sure
it had the relaxing effect that we expected.
My cunning pays off as we end up in the spot where we will cache the
big pack and our extra water, without either Larry or Bill mentioning
how out of shape I am. At this point, my feet are slightly sore and
chafed, since I have stupidly decided to wear Tevas. More on this
later.
We sit near a stream and I take the evil Tevas off. My feet relish the
cool rock, and the numbing cold takes some of the edge off. Too soon,
though, we are getting up and making our way to the base of the route.
Halfway up the exposed slabs, I get nervous for the first time while
making what should be a simple downstepping move. "Screw this," I say,
and start to put on my climbing shoes. Larry senses my apprehension
and creates a positive edge with his hand for me to step on. I thank
him and put on my helmet. I notice that Larry is already wearing his.
Finally, we reach the base of the route. I am happy to be off the
slabs, and I guess Larry is too, as he remarks, "You know, one doesn't
really worry about the caloric exertion this approach took when one is
worried about DYING." His sense of understatement is wonderful.
Larry: The standard approach follows the "ramp" out of the
canyon to the base of the buttress. This is usually a reasonable
class 2 and 3 jaunt. However, careful routefinding can take you
onto some scenic class 4 terrain across polished, holdless slabs
with a breathtaking view of the canyon floor, several hundred
feet below. I'm not sure if this helped to restore the relaxed
feelings about which we had been concerned.
III. The Climb
*whee!*
Larry fires the first pitch, and the second is mine. Fun stuff so far,
and I haven't managed to screw up the belays yet. Not bad for a
bumblie whose home crag is in Illinois. Larry and I do most of the
climbing, fixing lines for Bill who climbs and self-belays with an
ascender in order to save time. Turns out his efforts will be wasted
due to my ineptitude and poor planning, but I'm getting ahead of
myself here.
The third pitch starts off as an offwidth. Larry leads it in fine
style. When it's my turn, the pack causes me no end of problems. I
manage to wedge an awkward knee, and readjust the pack so it's hanging
beneath and between my legs on a piece of webbing. Ahh... much better.
Pitch four is mine. The climbing is neat, and I end up on a tower of
sorts. It's this large formation that is sort of flaking off the rest
of the wall, and I am totally excited as I pull myself on top of this
thing. I sling the entire tower as my anchor and bring up the rest of
the team. As they climb, I feel fatigue for the first time. I can't
believe that we're only half way up, and this realization scares me a
bit. I quickly put this out of my mind as Larry arrives at the belay.
Larry: Halfway up the buttress is a spacious ledge on top of a
varnished tower. From this point the new guidebook suggests a
traverse right into a "scary" dihedral. Instead, we intended to
climb straight up, following the route described in Joanne
Urioste's original guide. It didn't look too difficult, but was
feeling kind of like 5.8 by the time I stepped onto the bushy
belay ledge.
The straight up variation involves stepping across a minor chasm to
get back to the face. I don't realize this until it's my turn. Yikes
-- this ain't no crag, and the duality of fear and excitement is a
strange new feeling.
Next is pitch six. It's a sustained fist crack that goes up for about
40 feet, and then traverses underneath a roof out left to a ledge of
sorts. I suck pretty bad at anything but perfect hands, and this thing
is scary. Larry offers to take the lead, but I think I can handle it.
A little fear can be a good thing, and I'd been rather constipated
lately anyhow. Who needs laxatives when you've got crack? I move up
slowly, as my jams are insecure. My feet, which are sore from the
Tevas protest loudly whenever I try and stuff them into the crack, so
I must resort to stemming. Pushing a #3 Camalot ahead of me helps my
confidence a bit, and soon I am near the roof. Transitioning out onto
the traverse is hard, and now I taste the metallic tang of adrenaline
in the back of my mouth. Somehow, I manage to hold it together and
make it to the ledge.
Larry: The next pitch was a clean hand to fist crack leading to
an impressive roof. This section is what local climbers refer to
as a "Joe Herbst 5.8", which I gather is sort of like of calling
something a "Seneca 5.8." One of those happy coincidences of fate
put the New Guy on this lead. I simulated envy for the classic
pitch he would enjoy while I snugged up the slack in the anchors
and wedged myself a little tighter into the belay niche.
I want to keep going, but the rope drag is evil. Fine -- let's build a
belay station then. Hmm... all of my big pieces are left in the crack,
so I build a marginal anchor out of twigs and berries. As Larry
cruises up, I advise him not to fall. There is no way I'd let Bill fix
his line to these anchors, so Larry climbs up and through to the
next ledge where he sets up a real anchor. Bill climbs his fixed line,
and I get the benefit of Larry's famous hip belay.
Larry: The sandstone at Red Rock is usually very good quality.
However, you sometimes run into patches that may induce a certain
level of apprehension. What a treat for a visiting New Guy to
sample this essential element of the Red Rock experience! I
couldn't, in good conscience, subject him to the perception-dulling
effects of a top-rope. And so Alex led. . .
Pitch eight is next, and it's mine. As I make my way up, I suddenly
realize that I am really freaking high up, and the rock is all of a
sudden kinda rotten, and gee -- I'm 40 feet above my last piece. For
the first time in my short climbing life, I question the sanity of
what I'm doing. I wonder what the hell I'm doing monkeying around this
high off the ground, and as various handholds turn to dust and fly
into my eyes, I become scared. "Get a grip," I tell myself. "You don't
have a choice." I am able to get a piece in and it calms me a bit. I
continue upward, slowly but surely, banging each hold with the heel of
my hand before entrusting any weight to it. Somehow, I find myself
another 30 feet above that last piece.
Larry: This so-called "unprotected" pitch actually allowed
marginal placements in soft rock every forty feet or so. What
really made the climbing interesting was the nature of the rock.
At first glance, it seemed to be COVERED with holds.
Unfortunately, tapping on one of the numerous flakes resulted in
an ominous hollow sound like closing the lid of a bloody coffin. At
midnight. On Halloween. In Transylvania. Or maybe a little
spookier, if you happened to be the guy who was forty feet out.
From my spot on the belay ledge, it really didn't seem so bad.
"30 feet left!"
I look up. The route has leveled off somewhat and there is a stout
pine tree that I can belay from. Getting there, though, involves
climbing over a smooth, slick, scary slab. About 30 feet of it. Ho ho.
Gingerly carefully, I make my way towards the tree. Now, I am climbing
with my right hand on the rock, and with the rope in my left hand.
Before each move, I pull up some slack with my left hand. The last
thing I want is to get yanked back down this slab and take a huge fall
for lack of rope. Finally, I get to the tree and weep with relief. A
few minutes later, I hear Larry from about 30 feet below, asking if he
is on belay. I think he is being facetious, but later he tells me that
he started simulclimbing as the rope ran out so that I wouldn't get
tugged backwards.
Anyhow, we can relax now. Bill climbs up and we are ready to climb the
last pitch, which also involves soft rock and poor protection. The
mental and physical fatigue of the route has worn me down, and I am
glad to have a toprope.
After a twenty minute scramble, we are at the summit, and dadgum it
shure is purty. I have climbed my first multipitch route, a grade IV,
and now I am victoriously straddling the cairn that marks the summit.
The sun casts interesting shadows of the peaks on the desert sand, and
pretty as they are, their lengths indicate we are now pressed for
time.
IV. The Descent
*ouch*
My feet are tender and raw and blistered. The descent slabs are
beautiful blends and swirls of toffee and vanilla and strawberry, but
I can't enjoy them. Larry and Bill know that I'm hurting and offer to
take the gear, but I refuse. It's foolish pride, but I can't let it
go. A fatal character flaw, I guess. But after half an hour or so, I
realize that we will be boulder-hopping in the dark, and it will be
because of me, so I pragmatically let Bill carry the rope. I am
ashamed that my poor choice of footwear means that Bill and Larry have
to carry my share of the gear and *still* have to slow their pace so
that I can hobble behind. I feel like an anchor dragging down the
team, and the only thing that keeps my mind off this enormous guilt is
the amazing pain in my feet.
Larry: The most beautiful part of the hike down is the descent of
the colorful, water-sculpted slabs in Oak Creek. This is best
appreciated when the warm orange light of the late afternoon sun
brings out the rich hues of the sandstone spectrum for which
Rainbow Mountain was named. I was worried that the grayish
twilight through which we hurried might interfere with Alex's
enjoyment of this scenic wonder. Alas, it probably did, since in
our later conversation, he seemed to focus mainly on his badly
lacerated feet.
Dusk comes, and we still haven't made our way back to where we stashed
our packs. Larry is ever patient and always helpful, shining his
penlight to let me find the best footholds. He apologizes for being
condescending, but I am grateful for all the help I can get. No more
dignity left, as I scootch down large portions of the slabs on my
butt, since my feet can't handle the cutting sandal straps much
longer. When I get back, the first thing I will do after burning these
sandals will be to buy a pair of real approach shoes.
We finally get to the cache and I rip off the Tevas. Soaking my feet
in the icy stream numbs them and the pain disappears briefly. It is
now completely dark as we stop to rehydrate and get some nutrients in
our systems. My breath has tasted funny and bitter for the last half
hour, and although I'm not sure what it is, I know it's related to
dehydration. I can tell from the cramps that bloom in my thighs and
calves and toes. At least for the rest of the descent, I'll have my
own headlamp, and Larry won't have to travel at quite my slime mold's
pace.
Too soon, we leave. I'm not sure which is worse -- slabs or
boulder-hopping. My wrists hurt, since my technique is now to plant my
hands, squat down onto the boulder, and then slide down until my feet
touch the next hold. This continues for a long time, and all I can
feel is pity and frustration at myself. Larry makes a comment about my
gasps of agony, and that if there was anything he could do to help, to
just let him know. I am grateful for his concern, but his comment
turns my self-pity to anger at my pathetic state. I know I've had to
endure worse than this before, and I am acting like a coward. I clench
my jaw. I develop a simple stupid sing-songy chant and focus my
singularity of being on maintaining the rhythm.
left right left right left right left right left right left right
left right right oops! left right left right left right left right
left right left right hand hand scootch slide left right left right
left right ducks! left right left right left right hand hand scootch
slide left right left right left right ducks! left right left right
And so on until we reach the car something like two hours later. It's
9 pm now. Sixteen and a half hours door to door. Damn. I've got a long
way to go in my climbing life, but at least I've upgraded to conscious
incompetent. Handshakes are exchanged all around, and soon we are
laughing and celebrating over beer and half pound burgers at Calico
Jack's.
V. Epilogue
*joy*
Back in Illinois, I am sleep deprived, having gotten only 9 hours in
the past three days. My quadriceps are tighter than those rubber bands
used to keep lobster claws shut, my fingertips are raw, and blisters
rage on my feet. My lips feel thick and strange, and my roommates have
no idea of what I've just accomplished.
The pain will disappear soon; I know this. And like a dead empty
cocoon falling away to reveal a nascent beautiful butterfly, great
memories will be all that remain.
fin.
Greg Sadowy
Alex,
Thanks for the entertaining report. It sounds like a nice outing with
some good suffering. It's really good that most climbers have short
memories for that sort of thing!
-Greg
Kreighton
"Alex Chiang" <ach...@nyx.net.invalid> wrote
> Here is a report of our adventures from last weekend (Nov. 3),
> with "our" being Scary Larry, Bill, and myself.
>
<snip well written TR>
Nice report Alex! Quite an achievement for your first multipitch, and the
approach/descent sounds like it was epic enough. Which route did you climb?
It sounded like a moderate one.
Thanks,
kreighton
A. Cairns
Alex Chiang wrote:
> a report of our adventures from last weekend (Nov. 3),
> with "our" being Scary Larry, Bill, and myself.
Well climbed and well told. Thanks for the 2 point perspective.
Andy Cairns
Mad Dog
>cocoon falling away to reveal a nascent beautiful butterfly, great
>memories will be all that remain.
Excellent TR! A virgin is deflowered.
Tom Cikoski
can stop climbing in my approach shoes!
--
( )_( )
\. ./
_=.=_
"
Alex Chiang
> Nice report Alex! Quite an achievement for your first
> multipitch, and the approach/descent sounds like it was epic
> enough. Which route did you climb? It sounded like a moderate
> one.
Thanks for the kind comments everyone. The feedback is very
encouraging, and now I'm itching to get out and do some more long
stuff.
Larry will correct me if I'm wrong, but the route we climbed was
a variation of the Rainbow Buttress (5.8, IV).
For those that are interested (and are either very patient or
have a fat internet connection), you can check out some pictures
here:
http://www.photo.net/photodb/folder?folder_id=141651
The first few are from another trip, but the last 16 are from the
weekend.
/Alex
--
Alexander Chiang <> ach...@nyx.net
Life is a whim of several billion cells to be you for a while.
Paulina Varchavskaia
> Here is a report of our adventures from last weekend (Nov. 3),
> with "our" being Scary Larry, Bill, and myself.
<snip>
Wow, that sounds like everything you'd want a first multi-pitch experience
to be (and then some)! Congratulations. I'm particularly impressed with the
way Larry was so concerned with the "relaxing effect" of the approach :-).
But I happen to like Tevas....
Good job, write again!
Paulina
D a v i d E m r i c h
Comments below.
David
"Alex Chiang" <ach...@nyx.net.invalid> wrote in message news:slrn9ulvg3....@nyx10.nyx.net...
> Larry: The standard approach follows the "ramp" out of the
> canyon to the base of the buttress. This is usually a reasonable
> class 2 and 3 jaunt. However, careful routefinding can take you
> onto some scenic class 4 terrain across polished, holdless slabs
> with a breathtaking view of the canyon floor, several hundred
> feet below.
Nice ;)
...
> Next is pitch six. It's a sustained fist crack that goes up for about
> 40 feet, and then traverses underneath a roof out left to a ledge of
> sorts. I suck pretty bad at anything but perfect hands, and this thing
> is scary. Larry offers to take the lead, but I think I can handle it.
> A little fear can be a good thing, and I'd been rather constipated
> lately anyhow. Who needs laxatives when you've got crack?
Gu or similar is good for energy on long climbs. You don't get the
login-logout effect you get from eating real food.
> My feet, which are sore from the Tevas protest loudly whenever I try
> and stuff them into the crack,
Do you have comfortable shoes that fit with your toes straight?
...
> Anyhow, we can relax now. Bill climbs up and we are ready to climb the
> last pitch, which also involves soft rock and poor protection. The
> mental and physical fatigue of the route has worn me down,
Gu seems like the fastest way to remedy that too. You know the
expression popular with chiropracters: "your head doesn't hurt
because your body has a shortage of aspirin"? Well your body *is*
tired because it has a shortage of Gu. At least that's how I see it.
Anyway, you'll be energized in a few minutes.
Dawn Alguard
>
> Here is a report of our adventures from last weekend (Nov. 3),
> with "our" being Scary Larry, Bill, and myself.
Did you learn nothing from wearing your Tevas to the last
GunksFest? Perhaps this year we can chip in and buy you a pair
of approach shoes. You'll be there, right?
Nice TR!
Dawn
Alex Chiang
> Gu or similar is good for energy on long climbs. You don't get the
> login-logout effect you get from eating real food.
I'll have to try that next time. Larry had these goo-packets,
although I don't know if they were Gu or just goo. They sure
tasted gu-d though.
> > My feet, which are sore from the Tevas protest loudly whenever I try
> > and stuff them into the crack,
>
> Do you have comfortable shoes that fit with your toes straight?
My shoes actually fit pretty well. Normally, I can wear them all
day without pain. In this case, I really think it was the chafing
and rubbing of the approach that made foot jamming too painful.
Plus, my technique sucks.
Anyhow, thanks for reading and the sug-gu-stion.
Alex Chiang
> Did you learn nothing from wearing your Tevas to the last
> GunksFest?
Hey now -- that was just cold, and it really wasn't that bad,
what with a pair of wool socks and all.
However, I am learning that as much as I would like it to be so,
Tevas really *aren't* suitable for everywhere.
> Perhaps this year we can chip in and buy you a pair
> of approach shoes. You'll be there, right?
You bet yer fur I'll be there. No need for an approach shoe fund
though, as I'm going out and getting a pair this weekend. I try
not to trip over the same stone twice.
> Nice TR!
Thanks!
joe
>gather is sort of like of calling something a "Seneca 5.8."
here in salt lake (and in the canadian rockies, i assume) we call it "george
lowe 5.8". there is an alpine route here with a pitch he rated "5.9" that
some have suggested an .11a rating
great TR, keep on keepin' on
joe
maohai huang
:, since my feet can't handle the cutting sandal straps much
: longer.
tape works on feet, too.
nice TR.
Steve
In the northeast, we call it a Henry Barber 5.8, and then we find something
else to climb.
Gnarling
>
> celebrate his 21st birthday in style. So a week later, after my
> headache disappears and my eyes uncross, I email Larry about the
> possibility of doing a longish route together. After a few exchanges,
> the plan is set: our goal is to climb the Rainbow Buttress.
Great trip report and congratulations on a job well done. I really
enjoyed your insightful and vivid description not only of the climb
but of all that entails a long committing route. You have inspired me
to put Rainbow Buttress on my list of climbs to do. Thanks much!
Inez Drixelius