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Squamish TR : Part IV

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A.M.

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Jan 15, 2003, 1:20:51 PM1/15/03
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Squamish TR : Fear of A Black Granite
Part IV

The Grand Wall is perhaps "the" reason for many climbers to come to
Squamish. The famous "Split Pillar" is a 40-metre finger-to-hand crack which
splits the Grand Wall to the left of the prominent cedar clinging to the
middle of the cliff. For Wolfang and I, the Split Pillar was a climb which
we had dreamed of doing since the conception of our road trip. The start to
the route has many variations, none of which are for the faint of heart. You
can approach via "The Flake", a 5.10b layback, which leads into a series of
face climbs at 5.10d and 5.10b. This line leads into "Cruel Shoes", a 5.10c
flake, followed by a 5.9 runout, and a daring 5.10d traverse to the Split
Pillar. Not excited about so bold an excursion, we decided to try an
alternate variation. We would start up "Apron Strings", a strenuous and
"much fallen-off" route (5.10b), followed by a 5.9 layback, a 5.7 dyke
runout, a 5.9 traverse runout, a 5.10b traverse under the Split Pillar, the
A0 bolt ladder, which would lead to the Split Pillar. But standing in front
of the Grand Wall, looking up at the Split Pillar around 200 metres above, I
was not sure we had the skill to pull it off. I decided that climbing "Apron
Strings" would give us a better indication.

Wolfang was open about his doubts that I could lead this climb. In Ontario I
had spent many hours on tension on some 5.9, frightened to proceed upwards,
but too ashamed to come back down. Such incidents had not proven myself as
an adept and talented trad climber in his eyes. I knew then, however, and
know now what my problem was : committment. I was unwilling to take the
calculated risks necessary to succeed in traditional climbing. My hesitation
on climbs stemmed more from a lack of self-confidence in my climbing, my
protection, and ultimately in myself. I had vowed to make this trip to
Squamish a testpiece for my courage. This does not mean that I was willing
to take unnecessary chances on climbs beyond my ability, but rather a
journey into exploring what truly were the limits of ability, and just how
much was being hampered by self-doubt and fear. With these thoughts in mind,
I racked up for the 5.10b.

The climb is actually best started by scrambling up and to the left of a
very large tree, which is a perfect landmark for finding the start to the
climb. After a tricky start, I began laybacking and jamming up the crack.
The start was very enjoyable indeed, and I found myself quickly moving
upwards on highly textured footholds and excellent handholds. The climb in
the guidebook is described as "a much fallen-off route" which starts on
"lovely holds but with increasing difficulty as the crack thins". After I
had placed some preliminary protection, I decided to run it out towards what
appeared to be a sling protruding from the flake. When I reached it, I
clipped a carabiner on it and looked behind the flake. A weathered and
beaten Wild Country Forged Friend was decidedly stuck in the crack, and I
happily clipped in and climbed on. 5 metres beyond the fixed pro I spotted
yet another sling. Believing my luck too good to be true, I quickly ran it
out to the next sling and once again examined the specimen underneath. An
equally overexpanded Friend was buried below the flake, although this one
had a flexible stem. Clipping the second fixed piece, I looked up with
strong energy and confidence towards the thinning crack above.

The tiny footholds that I had been gloriously laybacking off seemed to be
growing more infrequent, and my hands were now searching for solid jams in
the layback. I was quickly getting tired, and only moving quickly could keep
the fatigue away. The problem was that although it was easy to make quick
progress up the flake, the further I went, the more I realized the need to
stop and get some protection in. Searching for a good handhold to rest on, I
smeared my feet almost to eye level where I spotted a good-sized jib
(foothold in gym-speak). Keeping my left arm straight and struggling to
control my breathing, I fumbled with the green 3/4 inch DMM TCU on my rack.
Prying it free, I slotted it in the crack and quickly switched my hands to
shake my left arm out.

Moving up a few more metres, I could see where the crack ended, but it
seemed to be on terribly thin moves. Pausing again, I took out my 1/2 inch
purple DMM TCU and gingerly eased it into the now tiny crack which I was
clinging to. My legs were wobbling slightly with the fatigue of the climb,
and I was shaking my arms out in an attempt to control the massive attack of
exhaustion which had descended upon me. Familiar doubts had by now crept
back into my mind, and I suddenly felt the urge to sit down. Easing very
gently onto semi-tension, I was reluctant to remove my fingers from the
locks they had in the crack. As my partial weight came down on the TCU, I
watched in horror as it rotated outwards, one camming unit completely
exposed. The TCU was on a very inefficient one and a half points of contact
with the rock, and I pulled into the layback again. Grabbing the TCU, I
rammed it into the crack in the hope that brute force would put the cam in
place. Certain that it was now placed perfectly, I began to move upwards
again. At the moment that the rope made a pulling contact with the TCU's
sling, the hapless cam fell out of the crack as though it were deliberately
not cooperating with me. Frustration seemed to overtake my feelings of fear
and fatigue, and in very deliberate and controlled movements, I reached down
to snag the loose TCU, and calmly placed it above me. Yanking down on the
sling hard, the cam was finally placed securely. With renewed confidence I
climbed onwards.

The moves to the top were strenuous and tricky, but finally I came to where
the layback ended, and the crack darted left and up towards the anchors.
Unfortunately I seemed to have hit a problem, since I did not understand how
to navigate the mantle onto the sloping slab above. My left hand found
purchase in the crack where it widened generously just enough for one hand.
I could only find one other place for my right hand, on the corner where the
layback crack diverted to the left. My body was filled with tremendous
fatigue now, and I constantly shifted my stance on the exiguous footholds
beneath me, shaking one arm out and then the next, trying to recover my
energy to the point where I might be able to protect somewhere. The runout
below me was not significant, but it did represent an 8 metre fall which I
was not looking forward to.

Slotting large nuts blindly into the crack at my side proved fruitless and
further tiring to my situation, while none of my cams seemed to be working
either. Running out of options, I grabbed my gold Friend and jammed it into
the hold which I had been using for my right hand. Yanking down on the
sling, the cam did not budge, but I was not fully confident of it since I
was unable to inspect where it sat in the crack from my viewpoint. Making
things even worse, I had now sewn up the only hold for my right hand. With
my legs shaking and my body slowly failing, it suddenly became clear to me.
I had two simple choices: stand here until I fall off, or make a move for
the anchors, which would either result in success or failure. The one option
provided only failure, while the second at least gave me a chance. To one
now reflecting on the situation, the choice seems to be easily made, but the
effects of a tiring climb seemed to have the same results which altitude has
on mountaineers. My senses had been dulled by fatigue and fear. Only a sense
of urgency to finish the route now propelled me on from somewhere deep
within me.

My left hand locked into the crack, clinging desperately, my right hand
began inching across me, making an awkward and balancy crossover move
towards what looked like a hold above. My left leg flagged out instinctively
to keep me from barndooring off the cliff, while my right hand continued to
move above and beyond my left. With my reach at its limit I made a sudden
dynamic push for the hold, my left hand slipping from its locked position,
and my feet cutting loose. My right hand hit the hold and somehow slotted
deep into some hidden, yet perfect handjam. With my body fully supported by
this perfect handjam, I swung my left hand up to a better hold and quickly
made the "thank-god" mantle onto the slab above. Scrambling towards a large
and easily protected crack, I slotted a 3.5 friend in and exhaled for what
seemed like the first time on the climb. My body went limp on the rock,
clutching the warm granite with my hands, allowing my face to lie against
the rock, panting as though I had run a marathon. When my breath had finally
returned to normal I shouted a victory "whoop!" and stemmed to the anchors
easily. Putting my partner on belay, I allowed the sun to caress my
sweat-drenched body, the smile on my lips now planted inextricably for the
remainder of the day...


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