TR: Hallucinogen Wall
Amanda Tarr
Hallucinogen Wall
VI 5.11 A5
Black Canyon of the Gunnison
June 21-25 1997
I'm sitting here, thinking about this trip report that I'm about to write.
I want to relate my tale in as raw a form as possible, because this wall
meant a lot to me. It was about returning to my home ground, about
challenging my limits, about spending 5 days alone in a wild and forbidding
place. My time on the wall felt so very far from all the other stuff, both
positive and negative, that clutters my life. I want to capture as much of
the feeling as I can, yet I'm afraid that it's already been marred. Upon
returning, I've been hit with a wave of congratulations and praise, spanning
the spectrum from handshakes and hugs from good friends to newspaper reporters
and photographers. While appreciated, it feels overwhelming and foreign.
Climbing the Hallucinogen Wall was a powerful experience for me, a very
personal journey, and it's hard to let people take this and turn it into
just another accomplishment. It means a lot more.
The other major influence which may have cast this climb in a slightly
different hue for me was talking to Dr. Coomer just after I finished. Good
partners and good friends are hard to find. Expecting to be able to swap
stories of scary leads and killer bivies, I instead heard about how Eric
almost took the ride. It was very sobering, and caused me to look back at
some of the loose blocks that I started to yard on or place gear behind.
Brought up so many questions in my mind. What if Eric had gone to the deck?
What if I'd pulled off one of the blocks? What if, what if, what if...
On with the show...
I never really made a conscious decision to solo the Hallucinogen. There
was just this spark of an idea in my head that got a little out of control.
Before I knew it, there I was at the North Rim campground, with a nearly
full moon overhead. I couldn't bring myself to walk the trail to the rim.
Having made the stroll with Nate just a couple weeks previous, I knew how
scared it would make me feel to stand at the railing and feel the air
currents wafting up from the gorge. With someone else there, I could just
squelch the nervousness with idle conversation. Being alone, there would
have been no ignoring it.
In the middle of the night I awoke to a crazy jingling. Someone went flying
by on a bicycle, gear rattling madly. Groggily, I lowered my head back to
the pillow. Seconds later, I heard a meow. Was someone just messing around?
What was going on? I sat up and looked around. Believe it or not, there were
a pair of kitty cats walking down the campground road. I mentioned this to
the rangers the next day, and they just think I'm nuts. Maybe it was a dream
after all.
Next morning, much to my delight, Ranger Jason 2 agreed to carry one of my
bags down the Cruise gully to the base of the wall. On top of that, he made
me some damn fine pancakes to send me on my way. He was quite happy about
the arrangement, actually, because he has a lot of interest in getting to
know the canyon. Since I'd been down the Cruise gully descent way too many
times in the past 6 weeks or so, I was the perfect guide. Down at the base,
he helped me fill my water bottles with river water (and iodine tablets),
and I was soon alone in the base of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison.
The Hallucinogen Wall loomed above me. The line slices through what appears to
be the most featureless section of North Chasm View wall. The stories I had
heard over the last week were racing through my head. 80 foot whippers,
unprotectable 5.10 offwidth on the very last pitch... warning upon warning.
I knew how arduous retreat would be, both from the wall and back up the Cruise
gully. There's no YOSAR in the Black Canyon. Were I to get hurt, self rescue
would likely be the only option. So many uncertainties. Did I have enough
water? Could I even lead the crux hooking? Was it a good idea to try and
bring a fairly light rack? Would the 90+ degree heat be too much to handle?
I had to just get on lead. It was 2 pm, much later than I'd hoped.
The first pitch is lichen infested 4th class to some slightly grovelly 5.8
or so. I ran a full 60 meters to try and haul from the point that would create
the cleanest path for the bag. Unfortunately, the bag got stuck 5 times,
3 of which were within the first 30 feet. All told, I must have jugged 800'
on the first pitch alone. The next pitch was better but not great. Fairly
quality free climbing, but another slab haul with complications. I was doing
a mixture of space hauling, rappelling, jumaring, swearing, cussing, and
sweating, but the bag eventually joined me at the belay. It was then late,
and I knew I had to bivy, but the slab was so low angle that there was no
hope of getting my ledge level. In addition, the gear on the next pitch was
too far away to be of use, so I hung my ledge on a Fish hook. I pleaded
with the gods of thin flakes to spare me the horror of falling 10 feet or
so onto the main anchor at some early hour of the morning.
Maybe I'm still scared of the dark. All I know is that, as soon as I settled
into my ledge, a deep, chilling fear took over all my thoughts. The moon was
dramatically illuminating South Chasm View Wall, and I had never felt so
small. The roar of the river was so close, and the distance to the rim seemed
so infinite. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fell into a fitful sleep.
The next day started with 3 free pitches, 5.8 rotten roof yikes, 5.10 funk
ow, and 5.9 nice, they were designated on the topo. I'd jugged the pitches
before, in what seemed another life. Tony, Nate, and I had been on the wall
just 2 weeks before, and had to retreat from our push attempt after getting
absolutely whalloped by the mother of all thunderstorms.
My fourth and last pitch of the day was the A4 pendulum pitch to the Fantasy
Island bivy. It was the first aid I'd done since I climbed Spaceshot this
past spring, and it took a couple placements before I was in the groove. I
was also accustoming myself to the Yates adjustable daisies, an experiment
that worked out well for me. My first taste of the hooking that was to
follow on the upper pitches came on this pitch. All went well until the
pendulum. I lowered myself out and began running wildly back and forth
across the face. Try as I might, I just couldn't swing far enough. I went
so far as to take off the rack and try to swing unencumbered. No luck.
Eventually, decided to try something new. I hung at the center point of the
swing and started pulling myself towards my goal. When the angle between
the pendulum point and myself was too high for my weak fingers to hold, I
eased onto a talon hook, took some of the tension out of the pendulum rope,
and started a hook traverse towards the fixed pin at the edge of the swing.
Suddenly, the flake upon which I was hooked peeled, and I was sent spinning
back across the rock, back to the beginning. Eventually, however, this tactic
worked. I found a slightly lower traverse and was able to hit Fantasy Island
in plenty of time to settle in comfortably for the night.
With darkness came the same dull but overpowering fear. Some people say the
Canyon messes with your mind. I don't know that those are the words I'd
choose, but I can tell you that there's a presence there. The Black Canyon
feels untamable. I felt very much like a visitor when I was on the wall
those nights. The roar of the river filled my ears. I couldn't escape it,
even with music from my walkman playing full volume.
Morning dawned and I was quickly on lead. The next couple pitches went fairly
quickly, and the hauling was improving. The pitch which is labeled 5.11 or
A4 required a bit of free climbing to most easily surpass the difficulties,
but I wore my free shoes and it really wasn't too bad. The third pitch of
the day upped the stakes a little bit; strings of #1 heads followed by hooks
and I eventually banged in the first pin that I actually aided off. (I had
placed another on the pitch before, but only clipped it for pro). It was the
first pitch that put me on completely unfamiliar ground; We'd bailed from
pitch 8 after the storm. Eventually, however, I clipped the anchor below the
crux pitch and looked up.
Where was the pitch?
Between the two topos I had of the route, I decided that I must somehow
figure out how to trend left for a bit. But this would have to wait. As
always, I wanted to take everything one step at a time, so I rapped down,
cleaned and hauled, stacked the ropes, and got racked up.
Then I looked up. Craning my neck, I could see a bolt on the upper reaches
of the pitch. A bit confused, I tried to imagine a line trending vaguely
left and then back right to this bolt, but I just couldn't see it. Then I
saw the bolt out of the corner of my eye. It was almost dead horizontal
with me, to the left. My topos sucked.
Started out on a series of creaky hooks to the first bolt, one of my islands
of safety in a sea of flexing flakes. I saw a bolt about 15 feet above and
tried to search out a path of hooks to reach it. The evil twist is that all
the hooking on the Hallucinogen is very natural and very difficult to spot.
I felt around with my fingertips, trying to select placements with a bit of
an incut. Sometimes it just wasn't possible. I blindly placed a hook and
eased some weight onto it. Stood up on it and quickly crawled up to my
second steps. There looked to be a storm building on the horizon, and I wanted
to be off this pitch before it hit. Quickly, I chose another placement and
put my weight on it. Improperly. I had forgotten to take into account the
fact that some of my weight was still on the previous hook. Suddenly, as I
tried to commit fully to my new placement, the crystal broke and I was flying.
The fall was over almost before it was begun. I have only fallen a handful
of times in my life, so I can tell you the fully blown Screamer is going on
my wall.
I assessed the mistakes I had made. Moving too quickly. Improper testing.
I decided that the rock quality was such that maybe the incuts just weren't
as positive as one might think. For the remainder of the pitch, I tended
to opt for flat hook edges because while they didn't feel as bomber,
intellectually I knew that they were probably more solid. I took to the
practice of prying ever so slightly on every placement before I committed to
it. With the constant crunching of exfoliating flakes under my toes in the
aiders, I knew I needed to be dialed in.
Slowly and carefully, I balanced my way up the pitch. There were many times
that I wasn't sure which way to go, and had to just follow my nose and hope
I'd find the way. Maybe I was lucky, for every time I thought I'd hooked
myself out into a dead end, I'd get into my top steps and find another
placement to send me on my way. I was scared, but I did my best to block out
the nervousness and focus on the climbing. With a squeak of relief, I clipped
the anchors and looked back at what had been the hardest pitch of aid I've
yet done. 4 bolts and a couple fixed heads in a full pitch of devious hooking.
(As I remember anyway... could be wrong)
The annoying part about soloing is that I'd carried a full wall rack up for
this pitch. A bit of overkill on the gear, but I guess I would have been
pretty bummed if I'd found a bomber #3 Camalot slot in the middle of the
hectic stuff.
Slept a little better that night, thinking that maybe I'd actually make it
up this damn wall. I'd done 4 pitches each the last 2 days, and I had just
5 to go. I didn't know that the scariest moves were yet to come.
Morning came and I merrily hooked off the belay to the first bolt on the
"A2 cactus" pitch. Clipped it and hooked left to another bolt, placing
me directly above a rather pointy death block. I had to get into my top steps,
and I still couldn't touch the next hook placement. My small 5'3" stature
probably keeps me from blowing some of those delicate placements, but there
are disadvantages. I pinched a Talon hook with the very tips of my fingers and
managed to barely sneak it over the lip of the edge. Tried pulling down on
the daisy that was attached to it and it slipped. So I reset it and this time
the test passed. Ever so gently, I eased onto the hook and it seemed to hold.
As I climbed up and put it into view, I got a slightly better look at the
placement. Basically, I have no idea how it held. Unfortunately, it was just
about the only option, so up I went to my top steps. The bad news was, I
had to repeat the process. This was definitely a tall person's pitch.
Presently, I realized that the distance between me and the bolt was greater
than the distance between the bolt and the pointy death block. Joy. And my
only option was to keep on hooking. One last out of reach placement, and I
was on the A2 ramp. Now, the hardest part was over. Except for the cactus.
Yeowwwch!
I did just one more pitch that day, the first overhanging pitch on the route.
It felt great to just set up my bivy early and enjoy my last night on the
wall. I heard some faint whooping from the overlook on the South Rim. Some
friends of mine were pretty psyched for me, and I think my mom was probably
just happy to know I wasn't yet dead. I stayed awake until the stars started
peeking out into the night. The bivy was set under a huge roof, and the route
really fell away below me. The uncertainties in my head were starting to fall
away one by one.
The final three pitches of the route were long, but fairly uneventful. I
left the fat pins in the haulbag for the one pitch that I would have needed
them, but some funky placements did the trick. The last 60m pitch did involve
some unprotectable rotten chimneying, but I guess everyone can use a little
extra grovelling in their lives. My mom and the Rangers Jason were waiting at
the rim. As was some cold beer. They helped me haul the last pitch, and the
wall was over 5 days and 15 pitches after it had started. Ranger Tony on
the South Rim extended his congratulations. He'd been checking my progress
roughly every hour since I started the climb, and I think it was probably
a relief for him to see me done.
I grew up in Gunnison, Colorado. Since I moved away and went to college,
people have always asked if I'd ever climbed in the Black. For 4 years, the
answer had been, "Nope". This climb was a very special homecoming.
I am posting this trip report unedited. My apologies about spelling or
grammar. Whatever is written here came straight out of my head, and I hope
that it has left the telling of the story simple and real.
Paul Davidson
now this is the type of post that keeps one
coming back to the news group.
Way to go Amanda, too bad a lot of the group has no
idea just how serious the Black Canyon really is !
- Paul Davidson
Paul Davidson
>
> I do...poison ivy, crappy bands of rock, lack of pro...oooohhh, icky! :)
You forgot, no rescue team within cell phone distance :)
A bold woman, that Amanda.
- pkd
Steelmnkey
-- now this is the type of post that keeps one
-- coming back to the news group.
You got that RIGHT!!! Great story and muchos congratulations !!
:-) :-) :-)
-- Way to go Amanda, too bad a lot of the group has no
-- idea just how serious the Black Canyon really is !
I do...poison ivy, crappy bands of rock, lack of pro...oooohhh, icky! :)
G.
"Vy can't ve chust climb?" - John Salathe
Charles Arthur
In article <5p21u8$j...@lace.colorado.edu>, ta...@refuge.Colorado.EDU
(Amanda Tarr) wrote:
> Hallucinogen Wall
> VI 5.11 A5
> Black Canyon of the Gunnison
> June 21-25 1997
> I am posting this trip report unedited. My apologies about spelling or
> grammar. Whatever is written here came straight out of my head, and I hope
> that it has left the telling of the story simple and real.
Whooaaa. What an amazing account. Stunning, and great.
Charles
--
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Jeff Elison wrote:
>
> Amanda Tarr (ta...@refuge.Colorado.EDU) wrote:
> : Hallucinogen Wall
> : VI 5.11 A5
> : Black Canyon of the Gunnison
> : June 21-25 1997
>
>
> The first time I ever saw the Black Canyon I looked thru a telescope at
> a party on the Hallucinogen. They were about a 3rd of the way up and I
> asked if it was their first day. The guy with the scope said, "Nope,
> third day".
>
> congrats,
> Mort
Seems 1/3 of the way up should be second day. first five pitches are
mostly free with a few points of aid to make the hard moves faster.
Then again...
EIther way, yes, great T.R.
-T.