• Madaleine on Wholesome Fullback, 5.10

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• 'Our Father' 5.10R

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• Jason and Madaleine on Our Father, 5.10R

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• Taking a breather, Red Rocks, NV

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• Red Rocks

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• Jason Nelson climbing 5.11 at the Pier crag in Red Rocks, NV.

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Location:
Red Rock Canyon National Conversation Area, Nevada

Season:
The Rainbow Wall can be climbed any time of year, but spring and fall bring the best climbing conditions.

Route(s):
Original Route, Rainbow Wall (V 5.12- 14 pitches)

Getting There:
From Las Vegas, head west on Charleston Boulevard (Hwy 159) toward the mountains. Just before you reach the mountains the road bends slightly left, and after a few more miles you will see prominent signs telling you that you have entered Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area (RRCNCA). If you’re not camping, follow signs for the RRCNCA Scenic Loop Road and continue about 10 miles on the Loop Road until you reach the Pine Creek Canyon turn-out.

Entering the Loop Road requires a $5 daily fee, but you can also use an Interagency National Parks Annual Pass – a Dirtbag prerequisite. It is critical to know and remember that the Loop Road is only open each day from 6am to 5pm, and you will receive a hefty citation if your car is not out before then. If you expect to be out past 5pm, you can receive a free late exit permit by calling the BLM at 702-515-5050 and leaving your name, address and phone number, vehicle license number and description, type of pass (late exit or overnight), intended date of climb, route name, and parking area. You will not receive a permit if you do not include all of this information. For long climbs like the Rainbow Wall, it is a very good idea to call ahead for a permit.

To get to the Rainbow Wall from the Pine Creek Canyon parking area, follow a trail north toward the entrance to Pine Creek Canyon. After a mile or so, keep an eye out for the foundation of an old homestead on your left. Look for a fork in the trail at the homestead and take the left fork, crossing over Pine Creek and following the Arnight Trail south toward the mouth of Juniper Canyon. Follow the path of least resistance to the back of Juniper Canyon, where you will find the Rainbow Wall on your left.

If you’re looking to camp, the Red Rock Canyon Campground is your best option, located two miles east of the RRCNCA entrance station on Moenkopi Road. Camping fees are $15/night per site (two vehicles allowed) and the rangers are strict on payment. Group sites are a good way to save money. Though not the most beautiful place to stay – many frequent residents often refer to the campground as “Afghanistan” for its scenic quality and full exposure to the wind – the campground is close to the climbing and preferable to the lights and noise of Sin City. If you want a little more comfort or to be closer to the city itself, there are a large number of cheap motels and hotels in Vegas.

What You Need:
Most guidebooks call for a full set of nuts and a double rack to 4″ for the Original Route, but many parties will find it helpful to bring triples of small cams to 1″ and leave multiples of the bigger cams at home. A 70m rope will make it easier to rappel the route after you’ve finished. The Rainbow Wall receives approximately zero sun and many climbers have found themselves shivering at belays on this route, wishing they had brought warmer clothes. This is all the more important to remember in late fall and early spring, when temperatures can be perfect in the sun but downright frigid in the shade.

History:
Red Rocks was still a quiet and lonely backwater when Larry Hamilton and Joe Herbst showed up in 1972. Few climbs had been established at the time, and the majestic Rainbow Wall beckoned the young climbers as an obvious choice. As things turned out, however, they wouldn’t nab the first ascent of the wall’s classic Original Route until the following year. On their first attempt in 1972, an interesting experience with some loose blocks on the initial pitches left their ropes and haul bags in tatters at the base of the route, prompting the duo to tuck tails and scurry back to Yosemite to climb the “less fearsome” Salathe Wall. Returning the next year, the pair moved smoothly up the wall, requiring only one bivouac en route to the summit. The route went at V 5.9 A4, but it wasn’t until the 1980s that it saw a successful second ascent and more than two decades would pass before Leo Henson freed the climb in 1994. Today the Original Route stands as one of the most classic routes of its type in the country, and many consider it the best climb in all of Red Rocks.

Local Beta:
There are several popular variations to the Original Route on the Rainbow Wall. Rainbow Country (V 5.12d) provides a quality 5.11+ variation to the first two pitches before taking a harder line higher up. If you arrive at Red Rocks and need to pick up any climbing or camping gear, head down Charleston Boulevard to Desert Rock Sports where you can find all the essentials and a staff that provide good beta for climbing in the canyons. There is also a small rock gym located next door if you absolutely need to climb on rainy days. Water in the campground tastes pretty terrible, so some Gatorade powder or other drink mix is a good idea. If you’re hungry and on a budget, the Red Rock Casino located just down Charleston Boulevard from the campground offers a $5 breakfast buffet for “game club members,” which only requires five minutes of your time to sign up.

Extra Time:
If you finish the Rainbow Wall and are looking for other classic climbs in the area, Cloud Tower (IV 5.12- 6 pitches) and Levitation 29 (III 5.11 9 pitches) are two of the best, the latter being Lynn Hill’s favorite route of all time. Try linking either of these routes with the Rainbow Wall for a seriously badass day in the canyons.

Athlete’s Perspective:
“The Rainbow Wall is the route to do in Vegas. It is one of the most classic climbs in Red Rocks.” – Jason Nelson

Check out videos on the Classics including climbing in the Bugs, backcountry skiing, ice climbing, sea kayaking, and mountain biking. The Classics Vital Stats were contributed by Austin Siadak, writer and intern extraordinaire for Duct Tape Then Beer.

Werner and frog, Photo: Majka Burhardt

DAY 1
MB: I say goodbye to Ethiopia (intentionally), and to my new ultralight Thermarest (unintentionally). My first-ever spotting of the Congo appears initially out of a plane window, and soon through a propped-open plane door during a re-supply. Malawi and Mozambique bound.

SG: It’s 5:30 a.m. at Boston’s Logan Airport. I have a bad reaction to my anti-malaria meds and vomit into a trashcan at the airline check-in desk. I can feel the stares of the hundred or so early morning passengers in line behind me. Please let this not be a sign for what’s to come.

DAY 4
MB: We hike the wide side of a long arcing bend in the trail to see Mt. Namuli on its other side. I requisition a flask of whiskey from an already drunk porter. Herpetologist Werner Conradie confirms the presence of crocodiles in the Malema River while we are hip deep, midstream.

SG: It’s dark. We’ve been hiking for 6 hours already and there’s nowhere to stop until we get to the Queen’s hut at the base of the mountain. Our guide Cotxane (pronounced co-chan-ee) says it’s only 30 more minutes, but I don’t believe him. We are a group of thirteen—climbers, scientists, guides, and porters—hiking single-file through the bush, illuminated by the narrow light of four headlamps. I can’t help but think about lions and spitting cobras, the former apparently hunted out from this area, the latter we’ve already seen, but with any luck not active at night?

Majka mid pitch 1, Photo: Sarah G

DAY 5
SG: My skin, thinned by the malarial meds (the bane of my existence), feels like fire under the equatorial sun. I hike behind a young woman named Katarine who we’ve hired, with a few other locals, to help carry our equipment from the Queen’s village up to a grassy plain near the base of the mountain’s southeast wall. She is slender and strong, balancing the 40-pound duffel seemingly without effort on her head as she hikes barefoot along the dusty red path.

DAY 7 (See Video Below)

MB: Today I finally meet Namuli’s granite face, face-to-face.  It turns out that a 50-degree granite slab is the threshold for reasonable “hiking.” 53-degrees means we start climbing. I watch Sarah levitate up vertical grass. We swing leads. The high point of my lead? Feeling like I was one with the vertical grass. Low point? Slinging clump of said grass for protection. Gave up any semblance of cleanliness under my fingernails.

Porters on the flanks of Mt Namuli, Photo: Majka

SG: Paul has dubbed this our “Chia Mountain” and it’s an apt description. Who knew grass could grow on vertical rock? But it’s surprisingly solid to climb. Meter by meter, move by move, I make my way up the first pitch. It feels good to open this face, despite the absurdity of the vegetated terrain. A difficult move around a non-solid bush gets me into a squeeze chimney. I realize the black coating on the rock is not dirt here, but soot, which instantly coats my face, my arms, everything. I keep going until I run low on gear, then build an anchor. The thought of wildfire reaching this high up Namuli’s rock face occupies the back of my mind.

DAY 8
MB: Watched from 100-feet up the face as Werner, Sarah, and Paul celebrate spotting a gecko running up the granite face. I convince Werner to trust a rope and let go. We eat dinner as a blood moon—dark orange from the smoke from dozens of burning fields—rises over Namuli’s eastern hills.

SG: I am so dirty. I’ve tried to wash the soot and dirt away down at the river in the rainforest, but I can’t seem to get clean. My fingernails are rimmed with black grime and I’ve seen Majka’s sidelong glances. How does she stay so clean? Will she ever want to travel with me again?

DAY 10
MB: I don my gaiters at dawn. Eight hours later I learn that one of the most deadly snakes in the world is as skinny as my thumb. Today we leave Namuli; memories full of what we need to know to come back in 2012.

Mt. Namuli Photo Renata Jagustovic

When non-climbers ask why I climb, I often give them what I think of as my Zen answer, essentially that climbing is way to experience perfect alignment of body, mind, and nature. It sounds totally flakey, I know. But it’s also true.

But another truth about why I climb has less to do with actual climbing and more to do with adventure. For me, climbing is a tool—a mechanism—for exploring the wild corners of the planet. Last year it brought me to an unpronounceable island on the southern tip of Greenland. We only climbed four days in four weeks, but we still managed to establish a new free route on a beautiful wall. Now I’m heading out once again to Boston’s Logan Airport with a van full of enormous expedition duffels. Next stop: Mozambique.

My friend Majka Burhardt and I are setting out on a reconnaissance expedition to Mount Namuli, a 900-meter granite dome in the wildlands of northern Mozambique. Joining us is our friend Paul Yoo, a documentary filmmaker from Los Angeles, and Werner Conradie, a biologist from South Africa. Our mission is twofold: to scout the wall for climbing potential and to help scientists survey the cracks and recesses of Namuli’s massive granite face for new species of life.

The months of research and planning are over. Now it’s time to put the wheels in motion and see where this adventure leads. Will we find the new species of Forest Viper that is believed to be lurking in the rainforest along Namuli’s base? If we do, I sure hope it’s on Werner’s watch and not mine. Will we find a free-climbable route up the steep expanse of granite? Here’s hoping…

You can follow Sarah and Majka’s expedition here, on the Osprey blog and on their website, The Lost Mountain Film

Spring 2011 was busy as we wrapped up plastic pulling (world cup). Summer was filled with climbing around the Bow Valley and prepping for our road trip. With the arrival of the first snowfall we headed east stopping in Thunder Bay, Toronto, Lion’s Head, and Ottawa only to say good bye to Canada from there. We are at the mercy of the weather but we plan to see and climb in Rumney, the Red River Gorge, hit up a few bouldering spots in the southeast then Hueco for Christmas and New Years. From there we’ll chase the sun west to California. Fingers crossed, we’ll spend March in Spain.

This is definitely a trip of a lifetime for us, just chillin and making our way around N. America to climb and meet with friends. We’ll document some of the stops and events thanks to Outdoor Research. Check back here for more clips from the Van Life.

“My attitude is that if you push me towards something that you think is a weakness, then I will turn that perceived weakness into a strength.” – Michael Jordan

For the past couple of months I’ve been focusing my climbing a lot on “onsighting” – the art of showing up to a route you’ve never seen before and trying to do it first go.  A while ago my coach told me straight up that it was my onsighting ability that’s been holding me back from certain goals (mainly competing).  With only a few months to go before mixed season (and the start of all the comps lined up), he basically said to get after it and onsight as much as possible with the time I had left (on rock that is).

It’s been a tough summer, with crappy weather and too many bugs.  I’ve been able to rock climb a bunch but not as much as I would have liked.  Because of the various “road blocks” I’ve been somewhat restricted to backyard training.  Not such a bad thing considering what I have back there (bouldering gym and a crazy mixed climbing set up).  But because of the lack there of, it’s been mentally taxing when the “bit that I’ve been chomping on” has near worn out.

My local crag is rad but I’ve either climbed “it” or been on “it”.  Thus onsighting is a bit hard to do there.  Next plan: convince my wife that I need to go climb elsewhere.  And so “operation: onsighting” began.

The first stop on this mission was Skaha Bluffs in Penticton, BC.  This place has a bazillion routes, so there was no shortage of new climbs to jump on.  I spent 4 days there (during the first annual Skaha climbing festival), attempting to climb every day, as myself and the two buddies I was with wanted to make the most of the trip.  Naturally by day 4 we could barely move, never mind climb.  However, sucking it up and ignoring the pain, I gave ‘er everything I had for all four days.  Onsighting went well and I felt as though I was reading routes a little better by the end.

The next location for mission: onsighting was down in Tensleep, Wyoming.  This place is so incredible, whether limestone, sandstone, steep, pockets, crimps, the works.  I was there earlier this year and had an amazing time. The second time around I was totally focused on getting on as many new routes as possible.  I wanted to “send”, but more so to jump from route to route, attempting to better my skills at reading the routes as well as my movement whilst on the fly.

Throughout my 7 day stay in Tensleep, we had 5 days of actual rock climbing–2 on, 1 off, 3 on.  My buddy Kevin Wilkinson, who has bolted a lot of the top-notch routes in Tensleep, was super keen in helping me.  Showing me all the routes to get on, working with me on various tactics, etc., it was certainly great having him there, the support, the encouragement…it helped.

By the end of the trip I was starting to feel as though I had gained some momentum in the realm of onsighting.  I was moving more efficiently, not resting as much…all in all I was feeling better about the weakness…which was a good thing.

Last year during various competitions I was strong enough, I could move fast enough…but I struggled with the actual movement, sorting through the moves when the clock was ticking.  I thought that perhaps it was power, or lack there of, that was holding me back but really from the beginning it was my lack of comfort on new terrain.  I was nervous; cautious, too cautious, uneasy, scared.  These elements did not help for coming anywhere near the chains (top of route).

Climbing needs to be fun.  Without that, there’s just total discomfort.  Despite being focused on recent trips and the task at hand I definitely made sure there was some fun thrown in.  I needed to keep it all in perspective that I love climbing because I have fun doing it.   When I step out into the “arena” of a competition I need to remember that it’s fun, to have fun and if I can keep that at the forefront there will be no hesitation, or caution. There will be nothing holding me back.

There’s about a month left of rock season and I’m gaining on the goal of onsighting 20+ routes.  It’s a good challenge and I’ve remained motivated to get ‘er done.  I’m psyched, excited, stoked, pumped…you name it.  I think I’m starting to understand the “fun” again.  Kinda like when you first started rock climbing, that constant chill up your spine, the adrenaline of such happiness when going up. And of course, with the mixed season just around the corner naturally I’ve been given’r with the tools in the backyard.  It’s kinda cool when you’re able to look back at where you were and to where you are now, knowing that where you want to go, perhaps once a dream, is now within reach.

All you have to do is believe and go up.

Blake was organizing a “Glacier Gorge Extravaganza” up to the heights of Rocky Mountain National Park. In short, a week of good friends eating good food, living under rocks surrounded by gorgeous granite. For the tribes of folks who chase the challenge of the wild mountains of the world, who put it all on the line for little in return, it is trips like these that give us the real rest that we need to keep psyched. We spend months scabbing by on scraps to keep the body fueled, searching through used books to keep our minds learning and pushing our bodies to discover new ground both physical and mental. But to head into friendly mountains with good friends to climb, is a true gift and offers a well earned rest.

The others came with similar stories, from huge Patagonian towers to months under heavy school and work loads. In each of our minds we hold an ideal, and with our hands we sculpt how we would like to achieve it, we train, we work, we suffer and sometimes, we send. Everyone’s grail was different as was their method for finding it. But a week away was a reminder as to why we work so hard. To better know ourselves, those around us and the terrain we hold so dear.

Refueled, we move back into the state of perpetual work and motion, as objects under newtons law we only slow when specific outside force is applied. But is weeks away like the GG Extravaganza supply such outside force and give us the breaks that we need to keep the dream alive.

Huge thanks to Blake and Allison Herrington and Scott Bennett for organizing the GGE. Also thank you to Forest Woodward and Garret Grove for their exceptional work with their cameras.

Cap Trinite on Bay Eternite in the Saguenay Fjord, Quebec

From our tent I heard two loud crashes of thunder and found myself trying to grab Anne’s hand as she scrambled out of the tent to get below the boulder. She tore away, her better instincts telling her the thunder I had heard was actually something – big – falling off the cliff. Once out of the tent, it was obvious we were really in some weather. The tropical storm that had been forming as we headed north almost a week before had apparently turned into something. The tarp was flying high like a single wing, then crashing down, rain was blowing everywhere and we soon discovered that the “thunder” I had heard had almost crushed three of my best friends.

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My wife Anne and I rolled north, across the border, with Sam Bendroth packed into the the back of my pick-up, freshly retrofitted with a cap that didn’t fit, a 2×4 canoe rack and re-riveted plex-iglas window.  Sarah Garlick and Jim Surette were a couple of days behind us, canoe lashed to the roof of their Matrix. The weather was beautiful. It was the end of my summer guiding season and Anne had taken a break from her busy schedule so we could celebrate out 1st anniversary together – just us, and three of our friends.

Jugging up to clean some chunder

After a relatively easy drive, a few minor language issues and a good sleep we got our first load in the canoe at the Bay Eterinite boat launch – about three hours north of Quebec city and in a peaceful bay carved into the mountains which line the Saguenay Fjord – around noon. We were rolling heavy, it was our anniversary after all, and after a couple of trips all the kit was in place at a our bivi site below the stunning 800′+ Grand Galets on Cap Trinite.

The first couple of days were slow. We had all been working a lot and this adventure was as much a vacation as climbing trip.

After a warm-up pitch that first afternoon, a rain day followed and Anne and I paddled back for more provisions; fresh ice, more beer, that kind of thing. The forecast was good for the next few days. As we paddled our laden canoe back to camp the approaching front pushed us backwards forcing us to shore. We watched, gear on high ground, as a wall of white caps moved in.

I scrambled down the little cliffs lining the coast in the rain, relishing the isolation, the grey water – and the taste of Molsen’s Export. After a 1/2 hour conditions mellowed, and we loaded back up and paddled back to camp, singing, in a soaking rain.

Sarah and Jim arrived in the sunny and breezy afternoon of our third day. Sam and I were in the shade enjoying the first lead of Maree Houte. This 100m section of overhanging rock comes right down to just above the water, where it meets a walkable ledge that is only partly submerged at the highest tides; the perfect place to dry out after a rain. Maree’s gorgeous 5.12a first pitch is variety pack of steep climbing on good rock with a hard, bolt protected crux, a great finger crack in a corner and a splitter off-width.

After a pitch the sheltered sections of granite became covered in a persistent flaky chunder. Luckily, Sam and I are no strangers to choss gardening after spending much of the past decade developing the forgotten notch of New Hampshire’s White Mountains, so while Sarah and Jim got to work on a long and dirty 5.11+ called La Vire du cure Dallaire, Sam laid into the second pitch of Maree, getting it done on a scary lead. We fixed a rope and retreated for a team briefing.

The gorgeous 2nd pitch of Maree Haute

After a morning spent cleaning the flakey rock we were finally ready to try a little free climbing. Sam headed up the 1st 12a pitch of Maree, crushing it. I followed and headed out on the second lead, quickly working up the less steep stemming and liebacking of its gently overhanging lower half. But, higher up it got harder and the rock got looser. My progress slowed while I figured out the difficult moves with small gear in the flaky cracks. The final jug haul up to the belay is a classic and exposed bit of glory climbing. The gear is hidden below the roof, the good holds are all on the same hollow sounding flake and you are right out over the high tide line. Sam arriving at the belay in full freak out mode after tearing through the crux, excitedly spurting between breaths about how hard it was. Funny, from the belay he made it seem easy.

He made his way up the next pitch, more chunder raining down on me, finger jamming, off-widthing and taking up the steep wet crack. A burly little roof move and we were up to our highpoint; a little hole half way up the route.  I kept telling Sam the rock would get better as we got higher – being more exposed to rain and weather – but after three pitches we still weren’t high enough. Above was an off-width lined with more of those loose flakes, but at least it was overhanging.

We headed down from there, after all it was the day before my anniversary and Anne is a lot more attractive than Sammy.

The 1st and 2nd pitches of The Beluga Belly

On our anniversary, Sarah, Jim and Sam started up the straight-out-of-the-water, 3 pitch and wide Beluga Belly (5.11+), at low tide, while Anne and I took a quiet rest day together. By the time they finished and rapped the route the access ledge was partially underwater giving Anne and I some more, high tide-enforced, quality time. While they sat marooned, the clouds that had been building all day finally started a steady rain and the increasing wind began to pick up white capped chop on the bay.

That night we all had dinner together sheltered below a camo tarp strung between our tent and a boulder. Sarah and Jim went to bed while Anne, Sam and I had another beer and played out a southern NH card game called 45′s. Now it was pouring. Sammy won and got up to walk back to his tent, the wind had just really started to blow. A few minutes later he was almost crushed by a tree ending it’s 850′ free fall just a few feet away. All we heard was two loud thundering crashes, and Anne was out the tent door to get shelter below the boulder.

I ran out in the dark, rain pounding, wind blowing and stumbled into a shaken Sarah. She yelled through the storm that the tree that almost took out Sam had hit their tent too She said everyone was OK, but they were headed over to bivy with us, their tent ruined. Jim was shortly behind her, cool and collected. I mushed my way through the mud and puddles to Sam’s bivy. He was already reading, and calmly asked me through the tent wall if I thought he was safe. I just reminded him of the obvious and mentioned we were all going to spend some time huddled below the boulder. He joined us shortly.

The storm continued the rest of the night as we huddled together. One of us had a soft cooler for a foam pad, another slept on a towel inside a trash bag, another wedged her hips between the dirt and the boulder and one just sandwiched herself patiently in the middle. Unsure of what to do next, I sat on the cooler and drank beer, trying to keep smiling and finally relaxing when we double checked the guidebook. It described a climber’s trail back the cars – only a two hour walk. With a plan for tomorrow hatched, all we had to do was wait – and not get hit by another tree.

The next morning Sam drew the short straw and jugged our fixed line in a waterfall to retrieve it. The rest of us packed up while Jim bundled our gear in a burly two tarp taco wrap. We started hiking in the rain, packs light with little bivy kits.

The Sarah-Anne Wrap Bivi. Sarah is in there somewhere

The hike out was memorable; we scoped an amazing amount of potential for steep crack climbing, and witnessed some incredible wind at the Notre-Dame du Saguenay statue at the tip of the cape. The storm had passed, but the wind here was still so strong I realized we had actually been sheltered from the full force of Irene by the steep granite of the Cap and our semi-subterranean bivy.

Arriving at a locked up and darkened visitor’s center, and a parking lot empty but for our two vehicles, was a surreal. We discussed the fact that they might have shut the park down due to the storm, but a persistent feeling of it-couldn’t-have-been-that-bad convinced me the competing theory of “zombie apocalypse” was more plausible. After a quiet hour drying out in the park we arrived at the park entrance, and the backside of a closed gate right next to the park headquarters A very busy English speaking park employee took the time to explain that the park was shut down and had been evacuated. She explained that the main road was washed out, and gave us advice on where to find inexpensive lodging for the night and told us to check in with her in the morning.

After a more traditional 1st anniversary dinner at a fine restaurant, and a good night’s sleep in a clean, modern hotel room in Chicoutimi, we headed back to the park the next day. We had since learned how bad the storm had been, seen Facebook photos from home of friends’ damaged houses – Sarah and Jim’s house was just inches above the high water line – and had plotted our route back to New Hampshire to avoid the many closed roads. We lined up a zodiac ride out to the Cap to clean out our kit, and Jonathan, our English speaker driver, gave us a high speed tour of the Saguenay and an up close look at some seals.

Sam Bendroth mid-breifiing

In the zodiac on our way back to the quay, on calm water, one of the towed canoes capsized and the three trash bags on board floated away. All was recovered with the exception of a shirt and some sunglasses, far less than many people lost to the hurricane. We were fortunate in many ways – I later saw the crushed metal water bottle that had been between Sarah and Jim’s heads when their tent was hit – all we really had to endure was the shell shock of a near miss and one uncomfortable night. Many people’s homes’ were severely damaged or lost entirely, including an entire community here in North Conway and many more in devastated parts of Vermont and New York.

Despite the tribulations and the flaky rock, I did love the place. The effect of the water, the paddle approach, the careful and crumbly gear placements, the steep compelling crack lines and the amazingly friendly locals all combine to make a long weekend here feel like a far flung, and far more expensive, expedition.

Cap Trinite got under my skin and I can’t wait to go back – and with any luck, actually climb something.