PeakMind

The first day of the snow season brings a double-sharp sword:  the body’s ability to cope with cold is at a low point which combines with the mind’s poor memory of (and ability to prepare for) the cold. Such a day can cut clean through the self-deception of a risk-less rock climb.

Brian and I knew the weather would be colder, as in the 40F area, and rainy. But Saturday was the only day we could get out, and since we’ve climbed the flatirons in the rain before, we decided it was no big deal. I remarked to Brian that the cooler weather would keep away the lightning, so we shouldn’t have any problems.

We met at the Chautauqua parking lot at 8:30am, both of us wisely with full waterproof shell gear.  I even had a light sweater and liner gloves, just in case.  I thought about bringing a heavier jacket but couldn’t fit it in my pack and didn’t want to wear anything hot on the hike in.  I also could not find any waterproof gloves, but I figured I would be okay with wet hands for only a few hours.

We started up toward the 3rd Flatiron (39.98760, -105.29163) in a light drizzle.  Along the way, we could see the snow dusting that had fallen and stuck to the trees up high on Green Mountain.  We didn’t think it would be too bad.

We were wrong.

A view of Chautauqua Park from the 3rd Flatiron on a snowy rock climb

Naturally, we were alone on the rock. We started up, taking the easiest possible path along the East Face of the 3rd Flatiron.  On a normal day, it would be easy enough to skip a rope (only a few spots as hard as 5.4).  But lichen-covered rock dripping wet in a steady light snow, we knew it wouldn’t take much bad luck to create serious problems. Let’s just say that our progress was justifiably slow.

Within the first 10 minutes, I was very sorry not to have brought more clothes. I was thinking, what kind of idiot goes out to climb in a snow shower without waterproof gloves or even a warm hat, for the love of God.

With my core getting cold, my exposed hands were doomed, and they got worse and worse until they refused to function properly. The climbing gear was nearly impossible to manipulate with immovable fingers.

Fortunately, the climbing required few hand holds.

At first, I stopped every 20 feet to warm my hands on my legs; it helped well enough to get me to the first belay. I told Brian to continue leading if he was able; I was too cold and needed some time to warm up.

He said he was okay and so organized the rope and gear as I jammed my hands inside my clothes to warm them against my belly skin.  My core was warm, but I swear my hands won the temp battle and cooled my core instead of the planned opposite impact.

A view of the First and Second Flatiron from low on the 3rd Flatiron, as the weather worsened

After 2-3 minutes, I accepted failure and put my liner gloves on and made ready to belay Brian.  He took off just as the sky started snowing harder, throwing large clumps of snowflakes. Within a few minutes, my gloves were wet and worse than useless.

We repeated this process 3 times, with the weather getting worse and worse.  On the 4th pitch, my hands were completely gone and my feet were starting to get numb.  I knew I had to get off the rock quickly before I lost the ability to get down at all.

When I reached Brian in the notch below the final pitch, I told him I had to skip the final pitch and scramble to the rappel anchors from there.  He agreed as he had finally succumbed to the elements as well and was shivering like a wet rat.

Brian climbing through a wet, heavy snowfall on the 3rd Flatiron

It was my job to move the belay through the escape gully, but first I had to get some functionality back into my hands.  Once again I jammed my claws down my pants to find warm skin.  This time, I had to endure the thawing agonies that we all know so well.  I was yelling out loud to disrupt my mind’s focus on the pain.  After five minutes, my hands started working again, and in addition, the adrenaline from the pain had warmed up my entire body and mind!  I’m sure it helped that I was sheltered from the wind throughout the process.

I moved the belay and setup the rappel.  I quickly rapped down to the rap ledge and then traversed west to the second anchor where I clipped in before taking myself off rappel.

While I waited for Brian, I could see that the wind blowing south was fierce.  On a south-facing ledge, we were protected for the moment; but soon we’d have to step and rappel into that freezing hurricane.  I was thankful for not facing it all the way to the summit.

Brian quickly followed.  He pulled the rope and handed me an end that I used to setup the 2nd rappel. I clipped in and stepped over the edge.  Only 75 feet from the ground, I was almost safe. Almost.

Brian escaping the brutally cold wind after the descent

About 1/3 of the way down, I noticed that the rope dangling below me had been blown around the corner of the arête and been tangled on rock features seemly designed with deadly intent.  While hanging in a freezing wind, clawing my way toward the snagged rope, the thought ran through my mind:  if I cannot clear the rope quickly, I’ll die here today.

I attempted to clear the tangle as my brake hand (holding my weight on the rope) slowly lost feeling. I couldn’t quite get far enough around the corner to see what the rope was caught on, so I kept flipping the rope in hopes of clearing whatever it had gotten hooked on. After 4 attempts, the rope fell clear.

Then the wind blew again and the rope below me swung around the corner to get caught again. Once again I clawed my way to get as close as I could, and finally was able to clear it.  Before heading down I looked to see if any more tangles would impede my retreat, and could see a massive knot in the ropes well below me, blowing far out to my left in the wind.  My heart sank for a moment until I realized that I could reach the ground before needing to clear the knot. I was safe!

After reaching the ground, I cleared the knot and then scrambled to find some shelter from the hurricane winds while I waited for Brian, who soon joined me for a snowy scramble back to civilization and warmth.

I know it sounds rather pathetic, my near brush with disaster while doing a 5.4 rock climb in the Boulder Flatirons.  But I have to say that Brian and I both felt that we could both be pleased that we found an adventure and persevered on a day when a self-inflicted adventure was all we had time for.

I suppose it is true, adventure is where you find it. And, twenty-four hours later, my fingertips are just starting to regain feeling.

Sometimes, the adventure is found in just getting in and getting out; but as long as its in there somewhere, it is all good.

With an ankle under repair, I was limited to a short sort of adventure. Brian suggested Angel’s Way, a Flatiron’s route we’d found only a few months earlier and put on top of our Flatiron to-do list.

Angel's Way is the 3rd rib on the north side of Skunk Canyon, sandwiched between Satan's Slab and Mohling's Arete

August 7th, 2010, was going to be a hot one; the high temperature forecast was 96F. To beat the heat, we started from NCAR at 6:30am; but, it was already in the 70’s.

(Position #1 on map)

I had a vague memory of having to hike back down the main NCAR road to find the path leading to the water tank on top of the hill separating us from the Mesa Trail. Brian agreed and we found ourselves hiking through tall grass that made me think of Africa.  I kept wondering if I’d find a sleeping lion in the grass until my mind hit on a more likely scenario:  snakes.  Yikes!

Our Angel's Way map and reference points along the way

My pace was energized by my worrying about my route-finding mistake so early in the day.  Fortunately, we quickly came upon a super high quality trail/road. Heck, it looked brand new.

We then quickly worked our way over to the Water Tank (passing the correct trail junction along the way) and then down to the Mesa Trail.

(Position #2 on map)

We followed the Mesa Trail north for a couple hundred yards before exiting the trail at the end of a switchback, heading west toward Skunk Canyon on a climber’s trail.

Before leaving the Mesa trail, we had been quizzed about our wearing long pants on such a hot day; the sea of poison ivy on the climber’s trail justified the extra water loss. We were forewarned.  We were also warned about the shocking bushwack and route-finding needed to reach the base of Angel’s Way, but we were not prepared for the confusing directions provided to guide our efforts.

Here is where I’ll officially complain about the poor quality of information available to guide us to the base of the climb.  I don’t mean to say that all the information was incorrect; it was all correct.  The problem is that the people providing the information were not thinking about the uselessness of a description that while correct cannot be used to distinguish the right rock or path from many other wrong ones.  Much of it was so bad that it actually seemed to be contradictary, for example:

“It (the 3rd rib) is about 100 yards west of the [2nd] rib that forms Satan’s Slab”

vs.

“The Third Ridge is almost abutting the Second and the gully that separates them is very narrow”

Note: both of these statements turned out to be true, in one way or another

I know, I know.  All we had to do was count the ridges, right? The third ridge comes right after the second ridge which is preceded by the first ridge. And while there is no hiding from this fact, it is only useful if it is obvious what makes up a ridge when you are standing far below them, and for only as long as you knew in advance to avoid losing track of what you’ve already passed.

Neither of us managed to succeed with either requirement. Fortunately, Brian did bring along his brain which proved helpful in isolating the important data and using it to reason out the correct conclusion.

(Position #3 on map)

Angel's Way Route

After such a confusing start to the day, it was gratifying to finally start climbing and find the climbing to be very enjoyable.

(Position #5 on map)

We did a belayed down climb from the summit and then north to reach a likely down climb.  I should say Brian thought it looked likely, but when I moved the belay to the official ‘rappel tree’ I surely didn’t like the look of it.  Brian allowed me to go first and take the belayed down climb while placing gear to protect Brian’s descent.  I couldn’t figure it out until Brian lowered me past the crux where I found the necessary footholds that Brian shortly used to join me at the bottom.

We then scrambled down the next section before packing away our gear and switching into hiking boots.  We contemplated returning to the start of the climb, but since we had brought our packs along to avoid having to go back down the ridge, we were loath to crawl back into the poison ivy pit of death.

Instead, we started hiking east.  We figured we’d find a way to get to the Mesa Trail and we used Brian’s research into booze to pass the time.

It turns out that Gin, Whiskey & Vodka are all very similar forms of liquor.  Back in the day, the problem with Whiskey was its harshness out of the still.  The only way to make what was essentially Vodka, palettable, to “anyone other than a Russian”, was to put it in wood casks and let it sit for a few years.   That is, until some enterprising Belgian doctor discovered that if you put Juniper berries in the un-aged whiskey and distilled it again, you got something tolerable.  It is called Gin.

If this is incorrect, talk to Brian

(Position #6 on map)

After a considerable amount of bushwacking down and across a moderately steep forest of small pine trees, we broke out onto a talus field.  At this point, we could see that we had been heading a bit NE instead of E, but it was going to work.  We reached an old road cut into the talus which we followed NE for a 100 yards to its end, and then we scrambled further down the talus to reach the current Mesa Trail.  We turned south and hiked toward NCAR.

(Position #7 on map)

It had been a hot day, but really it was not so long compared to others we’ve done recently.  We powered back up to the water tank and then took the proper trail toward NCAR.  A few hundred feet of hiking got us back to the car at 2pm.

My first thought was that now I get to cross off one more flatiron from my endless list of flatirons not yet climbed. I haven’t done much of that in the last few years; if I don’t pickup the pace, I may never finish that list.

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See Boulder Flatiron list

Brian and I had scheduled a Lumpy climb for Saturday, June 12, 2010; but the weather didn’t cooperate.  After a month of hot, clear weather during which Brian skiied and I did therapy on my knee, the forecast for our rock climb was rain and cold.  Thanks.

But the forecast for Sunday looked better, so we agreed to push the plan back a day; and in addition, we agreed to move the climbing to lower elevation. We agreed to go to Eldo if the weather was good or Flatirons if the weather was bad.

We didn’t have a plan for very bad weather.

When the forecast turned to “rain all day”, we agreed at the last moment to do the 3rd Flatiron.  We’ve done the 3rd in snow and ice; we felt confident we could do it in a steady rain as well.

We started hiking from the Chautauqua Ranger Station parking lot around 8am, taking the old paved road to avoid the muddy trench that the main trail becomes when wet. It was steadily drizzling into the standing puddles that had accumulated over the past 2 days of rain. On the hike in we discussed Paul Graham’s essay on Why Nerds are Unpopular (in school).

At the turnoff the Royal Arch trail to the 2nd/3rd Flaitron approach, Brian stopped to look at the “Rock Climbing Closure” sign.  Shit.  We’d forgotten about that stupid raptor closure program that I’ve had to contend with since before I moved to Boulder many years ago.  The 3rd Flatiron was closed until the end of July.

There is no nonsense so arrant that it cannot be made the creed of the vast majority by adequate governmental action.

~Bertrand Russell (1872 – 1970)

Neither of us had a guidebook, so we resorted to mining our failing memory about past climbs and unclimbed objectives that might work under the current horrendous conditions.

My first comment was that the Tangen Tunnel route would be perfect except for the blanket of Poison Ivy living in that particular gully. I then offered the idea to finally climb the Royal Arch, but Brian rightly thought the climbing would be too steep for exceptionally slippery rock.  Brian then suggested the 1st Flatiron, but there was no way I was going up the steep East Face Direct in a steady rain.  I’ve done it wet by accident; I wasn’t going to do it intentionally.  Then I had the idea to do the 2nd Flatiron.  I remembered someone telling me about the “Highway”,  a 4th class route that went up the gully between the South Block and the main portion of the 2nd Flatiron that led to the Hanging Garden below the “Pullman Car” that capped the 2nd Flatiron.  Of course we’d skip the Pullman Car, I said.  The route had been described to me about 10 years ago, but it still felt fresh in my mind because I had thought about it every time I’d climbed the 2nd Flatiron. Brian agreed and we started for the base of the 2nd Flatiron.

Unfortunately, I was completely wrong.  The route was not “Highway” but “Freeway” and that route doesn’t go up the gully but rather up the face well to the right of the gully.  The route that does go up some of the gully is “Dodgeblock” but it starts differently and dodges the Pullman Car to the right; it does not go left of the Pullman Car and into the Hanging Belay.

In fact, no established route, 4th or 5th class, goes up the gully all the way to the Hanging Belay. I misunderstood what I was told about “Freeway” all those years ago and I never bothered to check it out. My foolishness would be the catalyst for an interesting day in the rain.

The 'Waterfall' route and our other regular routes up the 2nd Flatiron

On the way there, the weather actually worsened.  It was raining hard by the time we started up the vegetated gully.

Position #1

About 100 feet above the hiking trail, we stood beneath a house sized boulder choking the gully.  It looked like we might be able to work up and around to the right, but Brian wanted to try to climb the left side up a low angled dihedral. We got our harnesses on and then he started up in his hiking boots. He refused a belay.

Under the current conditions, I surely did not want to be standing beneath him when he came sliding back down the slip-n-slide.  It would have been a bad tumble back down the rocky, tree-filled gully.  I stood off to the side and encouraged him to request a belay. He explained that the rope might let him avoid getting so wet and dirty (he was laying on the rock for full body friction), but ‘no thanks’. Apparently, he was working on his mental toughness.  Fortunately, he made it to a small ledge with injury only to his clothing.

I took a belay and managed to avoid the mud wallow Brian endured, but it was very sippery. I was very glad to have the belay. I continued up the next obstacle and setup a belay behind a large tree another 50 feet above.  It was a wet, gooey, slippery experience, not significantly different from how I would imagine the experience of climbing a waterfall with mossy vegetation beneath the water.

Position #2

Our route followed the rock seam and then the tree lined gully toward the 'Hanging Garden'. Photo not from rainy day (imagine torrents of water pouring down the gully)

We then scrambled up another 100 feet to reach the bottom of a true waterfall. The water was cascading down a broad slab of smooth rock with a channel cut just below a rib of rock; the channel looked to be cut into the rock by thousands of years of running water. The slab of rock blocked easy access to the tree-filled gully 100 feet above. Uh oh.

With most of our views obscured by trees and by the heavily falling rain & mist in the air, I wasn’t sure where we were.  At first I (wishfully) thought we were underneath the Pullman Car, but it was just the overhang on the South Block.  I noticed another gully to the right (north) and thought I had found the way up; we traversed north 50 feet and then scrambled up 50 feet to were I could see well enough to know where I was.  We here standing at the bottom of the gully that we use to reach the bottom of the Pullman Car on our normal 2nd Flatiron route (which is similar to Free For All).  I remembered that this water-smoothed gully is steep with delicate climbing when dry and in rock shoes, and that the only escape I knew was the 5.6 traversing crux underneath the Pullman Car.  No way we were going to do that in these conditions. Shit.

That was when I knew that I had screwed up.  We weren’t going to make it. If we were going to push ahead, we’d have to commit to a risky effort. Turning around was a solid option, in my mind.

Position #3

We returned to the waterfall and Brian said he wanted to try it. I tried to talk him out of it as I thought the protection would run out after 20 feet. My point was we were in a good place to bail from, while 50 feet up with no way to secure a rappel would not be a good place to decide to go home. But Brian was feeling adventurous, I suppose; and he started up the waterfall. At least, this time he took a belay.

But, the rock was too slippery for hiking boots, and we figured rock shoes would be worse.  He slid back to the ground before putting in a single piece of protection, and gave up on the waterfall.

Position #4

I looked around and then pointed to a seam and a potential ramp in the rock above us and to the left, just below the South Block.  I wondered out loud if that would allow us to work our way above the waterfall area. Brian jumped to it, apparently determined not to go home just yet.

He led a scrambling pitch to a saddle between the waterfall gully and the South Block of the 2nd Flatiron.  From that platform, we could see the diving board flake that is the crux of the Southeast Ridge route on the South Block; it’s a 2-move route, but it is awesome set of moves. We could also see that our best bet was the seam in the rock face that led toward the tree-filled gully.

Brian again took the sharp end and oh-so-gingerly worked his way across the slick rock using the rock seam.  The seam provided just enough protection and friction to make it possible to cross this amazingly slippery rock in hiking boots while dragging a 20 lbs rope (soaked with water).  Brian yelled that the slabby bit at the end (after the seam ended) wasn’t as bad as it looked from afar.  When it was my turn to cross it, I complained that it was exactly as bad as it looked.  Yet, we both made it without a slip.

Position #5

And once we were past the waterfall area, I felt sure we would make it.  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I still clung to a certainty in my mind for the climb-ability of the gully beneath the Hanging Garden that I had casually glanced at on a number of occasions over the years. It surely was a day for being very wrong.

A 20 foot scramble led to another waterfall, and this time the water fell over an overhanging lip of rock; we wouldn’t be climbing directly up it. We found a path to the right that required a significant reach to utilize a hold big enough to pull our bodies out of the falling water. As I pulled my gore-tex protected bulk out of the water, I could feel the difference between a good rain jacket and a dry suit; I could only wish for the latter.

Position #6

The 'Waterfall' route crux

Another 20 feet of scrambling led to another waterfall, and this was a big one. It was directly below the Hanging Garden between the summit of the South Block and the Pullman Car atop the 2nd Flatiron. And, it was another overhanging rock formation that we would not be able to climb.  But while we could climb around it, I could finally see the gully beneath the Hanging Garden; and I could see how it was steep and featureless, and I could see how so very wrong I had been all day long.

I got that sinking feeling, the one that says “I’m screwed!”

Brian rightly insisted on solving one problem at a time, and we climbed up and right to get past the waterfall and reach the bottom of the technical climbing directly beneath the Pullman Car formation.  From there, we’d have to traverse left back into the gully, and then climb straight up into the Hanging Garden.

This was it.  The crux.  If we couldn’t slither our way past this last section of rock, we’d have to rappel all the way back down the gully.  I dreaded it with all my heart.

And, it looked hard.  Just looking at the smooth rock, I wasn’t confident we could even get around the corner to get back into the gully below the Hanging Garden.  The rock was slick and it lacked the normal flatiron features we’d been using to get this high.  Once again, Brian started up.  I told him to aid it, if he could.

The only thing going our way was the weather.  At last the rain had stopped.

Position #7

He put in a yellow camalot and then the grey one in the overhanging lip on the corner.  He managed to pendelum out into the gully and then climb up a few feet, but soon slipped back down.  It was too slippery. It wasn’t going to work.

In desperation, I suggested he try his rock climbing shoes.  I was just thinking that we should try all the possible variations; I really didn’t think the treadless rock shoes would hold any better. Brian returned to the belay to change shoes.

It was still agonizingly slow, but Brian managed to work back out to the gully and then upward about 1/2 way to the Hanging Garden before bringing me up. I took my own advice and put on my rock shoes; they stuck to the wet, slabbly rock very well.  We should have known. I quickly made my way up to Brian with the gear he’d need to complete the rest of the climb.

He started up again, slowly making progress toward the Hanging Garden. Near the top, he made an awkward flopping move to mount a block that he then used to step up to the belay ledge.  He made it!  We didn’t have to rappel all the way back down the gully!

I followed, using a batman rope climbing move to quickly overcome a particularly thin and slippery section. I was amazed at the volume of poison ivy that I had to trod upon to escape.  But I did escape.

We had to overcome another tricky move to reach the last layer of the Hanging Garden, but from there I knew how to escape the Hanging Garden and led Brian to the downclimb that led to the backside of the 2nd Flatiron.

We made it! I think we actually put up a new route in the process.  I think I’ll call it the “Waterfall” route. I cannot say I recommend it.

We stopped for quick, late lunch and to put away the gear. It was approximately 1:30pm.

After the short break, we started hiking up slope behind the 2nd Flatiron to reach the descent trail between the 1st and 2nd Flatirons, which we took all the way back to the parking lot.

On the hike out we discussed on plans for the year.  We decided to next do the Spiral Route on Notchtop and then the traverse from Thatchtop to Powell as preparation for a fun scrambling climb around the Solitude Lake Cirque, climbing up Arrowhead to McHenry to Powell to Thatchtop.

And, yes, the lower part of the main trail was a miserable, slippery muddy mess (that is still stuck to my boots).  But at least I didn’t slip this time, unlike 6 months ago when I slipped on the same trail, icy instead of muddy, and spoiled my 2010 ski season.

We always find a way to find adventure, and so far, we always get home to tell tall tales.  And we share credit this time: Brian gets all the credit for the positive outcome, while I get all the credit for getting us into a jam.

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