I used to think that Southern Illinois had rocks of sufficient size. Then those enormous 3-pitch climbs of Looking Glass, NC set a new standard.
And now...
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Las Vegas.
Red Rock Canyon.
Holy Christ those mountains are high.
Alex had commented `You think they look so huge when you
are miles away. And then they just keep getting huger.'
Yeah.
So they do.
The size of the mountains was inversely proportionate to the pit in my stomach as I thought about clinging to some miniscule little hold of desert sandstone that breaks in hand 2000' off the ground. But always up for an adventure I decided to give it a go.
Five pitches from the base, we reached the top of Solar Slab Gully at noon. Then we were finally ready to start our real climb, the 9 pitches of Solar Slab itself. Let us note that the highest I have ever climbed in my life was 5 pitches the day before. The highest before that was a simple 2-pitch climb that turned into three and a 100-foot traverse in the dark in NC, without headlamps or any real idea where the rap rings could possibly be. And was my first taste of the Alex insanity (which at the time I thought was a fluke).
 (with her foot as evidence) |
My method of climbing Solar Slab had been to not look. Not look down, not look up, and not look out. Definitely, not to look out. Just take one tiny hanging belay at a time. It all became very Zen-like and inward. Noting the iron-oxide coloration patterns on the rocks, the pretty pink cliff flowers in bloom, the beautiful ice chunks falling from an unknown location reflecting rainbows in the desert sun, hearing distant laughter from the belayer as the leader was pelted and unhappy with such ice, fascinated by the sun-cast shadows of worn climbing ropes and trad gear...
And then...
Suddenly, there was a lack of such shadows.
And a snowstorm was upon us. With mountain updrafts swirling the flakes in all directions.
I questioned my partners and asked if they thought we should rap down now. I tried to lead their answers by saying how cold out it is, how they are both freezing and hungry, and how our ropes will probably get stuck during the raps. They both stared at me blankly and claiming it is still safe and fine and we should keep climbing a few more pitches and it's not dangerous until the snow actually accumulates a lot, and we are only a couple of hours from total darkness, and even though we are miles from the car...etc..
And so I turned inward again. The white flakes falling on my wind-stopper are light, fluffy and melt slowly into the darkening fleece. My lips feel cracked and cheeks chapped from the cold 5:30 am start, the hot noon day sun, and the current high winds accompanying the snow. Visibility is diminished and I can't see the top of the adjacent peak. I can do nothing more than climb on.
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After an eternity, Alex and Anthony decided we should rap down. It goes slow due to ropes being stuck and my being a bit scared for a 30' free hanging simul-rap over sharp rock as we searched for the next set of anchors.
We finally made it to the ground and I was elated. I didn't even care when we were lost and hiked 5.5 miles in a roundabout direction to the car. Alex writes that we took an `alternate trail' out. What he meant to say was that we bushwacked our way randomly through the desert impaling ourselves on every pointy and prickly plant ever to exist and somehow we survived the streambed with cabin-sized boulders that we had to climb over and jump off of, headlampless.
James, asked me in North Carolina if I had ever been afraid climbing.
What's to fear? I confidently replied.
Foolishly replied.
Well, James, I now know fear.
And it's a frightening combination of Exposure and Alex Chiang.
(Exposure To Alex Chiang).
I took the next day off from climbing.
