Google Groups no longer supports new Usenet posts or subscriptions. Historical content remains viewable.
Dismiss

Squamish TR : Part VI

0 views
Skip to first unread message

A.M.

unread,
Jan 17, 2003, 12:45:08 PM1/17/03
to
Squamish TR : Fear of A Black Granite
Part VI

The first climb on the Grand Wall had been brief; we had only climbed "Apron
Strings", a two pitch route which left us far below our goal of the "Split
Pillar". This time we wanted to climb the Grand all the way to the Pillar,
and we were psyched up and ready for it. We had not started climbing until 3
in the afternoon, which was certainly a late time to start a multi-pitch
route of this magnitude. We had started so late for a myriad of reasons, but
the main one was that we simply had not planned to make an attempt that day.
It was supposed to be a rest day, and we had woken up late, and done many
rest day chores for most of the morning and early afternoon. But with the
good weather and temperature, we were regretting the wasted day, and so our
hasty decision to climb the Grand Wall did not occur until fully two
o'clock.

My previous success on the .10b pitch which started the route had not
necessarily meant that I was destined to lead it again. Wolfang was
determined to give the climb a try, and I was not about to talk him out of
it. After all, the climb had left me breathless and utterly exhausted, so I
felt that Wolfang should have a go at it. We once again scrambled to the
belay ledge, and he started up Apron Strings.

The beginning went well, and he did not protect more than was needed. In
fact, it was not long before he had clipped the two peices of fixed gear and
was working his way to the thin finish. But then he suddenly ran out of
steam. Sitting on his gear he took a long rest, and while he did so he began
to place gear above him.

After well over an hour, Wolfang still could not solve the remainder of the
route, and was fumbling around with small gear to place in the crux section
while on tension. I did not say anything, however, since he once told me
that he hates to feel that he is rushed by his belayer; something I can
understand and agree with given all the times he had to stand on belay as I
worked a route for hours, never once chastising me.

When he clipped the anchors at the top, I dismantled the belay and started
cleaning the route. It went fairly well until I hit the crux section which
was loaded with wires and small cams. One nut could not be dislodged so
easily and I was forced onto tension while I cleaned it. I found myself at
the top of the crack again, and decided to see if there was an easier
alternate finish, now that I was under the safety of a toprope. But I could
find no other way than the crossover I made on lead, and so I made it.
Reaching the anchors I was determined to make up time by leading the 5.9
second pitch quickly. I grabbed the rack and led the 5.9 layback on three
cams, running the crux out confidently. I then finished the superb 20 metre
5.6 zig-zag fist jam crack on three large cams, reaching the "Flake Ledge"
by about 4pm.

We now stood on a ledge below a long left-angling dyke which had no visible
means of protection. We stood there below the climb trying to find some kind
of sign of protection somewhere; a small crack, a bolt, anything. But I
couldn't see it. I refused to lead this pitch, and placed the responsibility
squarely on the shoulders of my partner. I could see him looking above to
the Split Pillar with growing longing, and if anything could motivate him to
the top of this climb, it would be the vision of the majestic crack above. I
was not ashamed of my cowardice at the time. It was a 5.7 runout listed in
the guidebook, bolted "sportingly" on lead by the first ascent party, and
has not since been retrobolted. At the time I was very upset by this turn of
events; what with all the retrobolting done in Squamish and around North
America in general, and people placing closely spaced bolts on easily
protected cracks, I found it hard to believe that this climb, with
absolutely no place to protect, should be left alone. It seemed somehow
unjust. But upon further reflection after the fact, I now see it as one of
the alluring aspects of the route. A runout, while unnecessary and easily
remedied by a $4 investment, added some character and committment to the
climb. This 5.7, which under a Rumney-style bolting spree, would ordinarily
be done carelessly and thoughtlessly, the leader knowing that any mistake
would result in very little penalty. But without the bolts, the leader is
forced to draw upon an inner strength and courage; to place one's feet
precisely and confidently; to make each move with crisp awareness of the
precariousness of the situation. Rarely has a 5.7 commanded so much respect.

After the length of the first pitch, and the indecision of my partner, it
was then with great surprise that Wolfang threw himself on the third pitch.
Where his caution had hindered him before, he now bravely took a few slings
and some wires in case he could find some hidden protection, and started up
the 5.7 dyke. I can honestly say that even today I am still unsure as to
where he drew his courage from to climb up something which looked so
unprotectable. In any case, he proceeded where I had not dared to tread.

His progress was careful and steady. Each step was precise and calculated,
as he went farther and farther from the ledge. After quite some time he
shrieked in delight as he came upon a bolt, a full 10 metres from the Flake
Ledge. With the bolt below him, Wolfang now moved much quicker, and clipped
a second hidden bolt. In no time he had clipped the anchors. I was soon on
belay, and made a quicker, but equally tense trip up the dyke, all the while
wondering what it had been like for him in that runout.

Looking above the anchors, I could see that the dyke started angling
leftwards towards University Wall. The guidebook called for another runout,
this time "5.9", before a traverse would bring us back right and below the
large roof. We scanned the rock for a long, long time, but could not see a
single bolt on this pitch either. Once again, courage failed within me, and
I told Wolfang that the decision to proceed was his. The success of the
first runout had left him so confident that he immediately accepted, and
started off along the dyke. I was amazed at him, realizing that it must be
his desire of the Split Pillar which drove him on. The moves looked very
thin as Wolfang continued up and to the left, moving very slowly but
precisely, his eyes scanning the rock for some kind of assistance. Each move
brought him into a more perilous position, as a fall would not only send him
down, but back to the right again, well below my stance. A good 10 metres
from the anchors he suddenly spotted the bolt, and moved up and right to
clip it. Once again, the bolt gave him renewed confidence, and he moved
along the dyke more easily now.

Reaching a crux move Wolfang stopped and hesitated. He shifted his body
several times, and finally made the move. He then started traversing back
right again, where he was able to clip a second bolt. Soon after, he reached
a flake and placed a Camalot. Surmounting the flake, there was a tricky
traverse before he reached the anchors.

Once again on toprope, I quickly made the traverse to the bolt, and then
continued along the dyke. I stopped at the crux move, and could see what the
problem was. A nasty gaston hold and some small foot placements were the
only things which kept me balanced on the rock. I had to shift my body
weight up, pull off the gaston, and make a delicate move before I was once
again on easy holds. The 5.9 rating therefore seemed a little sandbagged on
what could easily be rated a .10a. I then moved right, coming to the flake
and the camalot. I could not understand why he had placed the camalot, since
the climbing at this section was getting very easy, and to make matters
worse I could not extricate it from behind the flake. The size of the flake
and the angle of the slab made it easy to work at the cam with both hands,
and I used the nut tool to try and retract the heads from their overexpanded
position. After quite some effort, I could not dislodge it, and I continued
climbing. Just before the anchors was a bolt protected traverse on some
extremely delicate face moves and balancey positions, thus solidifying in my
mind that Wolfang had just led a very hard pitch.

Wolfang and I switched belays, as he was determined to have a go at his
Camalot, and he made the awkward traverse back to the flake. After a long
effort, he finally pulled it from the crack triumphantly. I was also
secretly relieved, since we had agreed upon a rule prior to the trip: Any
gear which had to be left in the rock, which could not be removed, or needed
to be left in an emergency, would be bought back after the trip under a
50-50 shared expense. It was a fair rule, and I had agreed to it. A new
Black Diamond Camalot would have cost me quite a pretty penny, even at half
the cost.

By the time Wolfang arrived at my side again, the sun was setting over the
mountains across Howe Sound. The granite slabs were bathed in orange light,
and the shadows had already crept over the forest where Alejandra was
waiting for us patiently below. Wolfang was eager to continue, since only
the short .10b traverse and the aid ladder kept us from our goal of the
Split Pillar. He was about to set off without even asking me my opinion,
when I told him outright that I thought we should go down. It was at this
point that I think he finally looked away from the Split Pillar, and across
the water to the setting sun. The conflict within him was immense, and he
argued that if we moved quickly, we could be at the base of the Pillar
within ten minutes. But he did not argue long, as the shadows began creeping
up the slabs to where we were situated, and with great reluctance he agreed
to set up the rappell. Looking at the Split Pillar above, we both felt as
one must just below a mountain summit. We may indeed have been able to reach
our desired destination, but the night would soon have consumed us, and we
would be repaid our decision by a dangerous rappell in the darkness.

Arriving at the campground in the blackness, we ate our dinner with a mix of
emotions. We were happy to have come so far on the route, overcoming the
runouts and the difficulties along the way. But we were disappointed that we
had not reached the Pillar. Each day as we walked past the Grand Wall we had
seen a small figure scaling the imperceptible crack, and inevitably we would
hear the summit cheer as the victorious leader arrived on its' top. That
victory shout haunted our thoughts and dreams constantly, as the Grand Wall
became less of a desire, and more of an obsession...


0 new messages