• Phil ascends the back of Bob's Knob, Chapel Pond below

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• Josh ascending the lower pitch

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• Phil walks up a crack on Regular Route,

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• Old Piton on Bob's Knob

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• Josh atop Bob's Knob

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• Josh goes off route on Bob's Knob

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• Phil climbs the lower pitches of Empress

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• Phil contemplates the final pitches of Empress

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A rock climber could spend a lifetime exploring the Adirondack Park in New York. The guidebook Adirondack Rock describes more than 1,900 routes (and the number is growing) on cliffs and crags scattered throughout the region. But you have to start somewhere, and for many climbers, that place is Chapel Pond Slab.

Anyone who drives regularly on Route 73 must be familiar with this landmark: an expanse of gray rock that rises about five hundred feet above the road. If you’re driving from the Northway toward Keene Valley, you’ll see it on the left just before Chapel Pond. Among climbers, the slab is renowned for its clean rock. Two of the six routes, known as Empress and Regular Route, receive five stars in Adirondack Rock, the book’s highest rating for overall climbing quality. Because the routes are easy, they attract novices who want to practice multi-pitch climbing.  Because they’re fun, they also attract experienced climbers, some of whom ascend solo—that is, without ropes or other protection to stop a fall. The slab’s history adds to the appeal. Those who climb these routes are following in the footholds of greats.

Fritz Wiessner put up the Empress route in 1933. Wiessner was one of the finest climbers of his era. Two years after visiting Chapel Pond Slab, he “discovered” the Shawangunks of southeastern New York, the East’s most famous climbing venue, and went on to establish many routes there. Wiessner also was a high-altitude alpinist. In 1939, he nearly made it to the summit of K2, fifteen years before “the Savage Mountain” was finally conquered. (Four men died in his expedition.)

Regular Route is associated with John Case, another pioneering climber. It evolved from Bob’s Knob Standard, which Case established the same year Wiessner climbed Empress. At the time, Case was a past president of the American Alpine Club. Regular Route is a bit harder than Bob’s Knob Standard, but the two still share the same start and finish.

This past spring, Josh Wilson and I went to the slab with the intention of climbing both Regular Route and Empress as well as a third route to be determined. All told, we planned to climb roughly 2,400 feet, covering more than twenty pitches. To save time, we decided to climb without a rope. Climbing without protection is not something I would urge on anyone. Nonetheless, the easier routes on the slab do get soloed fairly frequently. In fact, Adirondack Rock contains a photograph of a solo climber on Regular Route. Back in the 1980s, Jim Cunningham and his buddies regarded the slab as such a breeze that they used to solo it barefoot—sometimes after smoking dope. “Are the statute of limitations up?” Cunningham replied in an e-mail when I inquired about his youthful escapades. “Yes, back in the day we were known to do some crazy stuff—barefoot and stoned! Now I am pretty much a teetotaler and enjoy a good beer. Those were good days as a youth, and I would not trade them for a minute.”

Old Piton on Bob's Knob

Weirder things have happened on this billion-year-old rock. Don Mellor, the author of Climbing in the Adirondacks—the rock-climbing bible before the publication of Adirondack Rock—once saw a white-tailed deer going up the slab. “It was something to see,” Mellor recalled in an e-mail. “He got spooked when he saw us and then tried to solo the slab below and left of the crack on Empress and then skidded down on all fours—must have worn inches from his hooves. He then hit a ledge, flipped, almost recovered, skidded, then tumbled. In the woods he got up, looked around (as if to say, ‘I meant that’), and walked off.”

Josh and I arrived at the base of the slab thankful for our prehensile toes and sticky-soled shoes. Our first objective was Regular Route, a 775-foot line that’s usually ascended in six pitches, or stages. Ordinarily, the lead climber would stop at the end of each pitch, set up an anchor, and belay the second climber from above. You can imagine how tedious it would be if you did this for twenty-plus pitches.

Climbing simultaneously, we polished off the first two pitches in no time, arriving at the base of a large left-arching wall, one of the more conspicuous features of the slab. A rusting piton was hammered into the rock here back when climbers still used pitons. I couldn’t help wondering if it had been pounded in by old Fritz himself, but I later learned its origins remain a mystery. “That pin seemed just as old as it seems today thirty-five years ago,” Mellor told me in an e-mail. He added that pitons also can be found on Empress and on another route known as Thanksgiving. “Same ring-type pins,”

Mellor noted. “I’d be skeptical of any theory about who/when they were placed.” (Modern climbers clip their ropes to cams and nuts placed into cracks.) The first piton is where Regular Route diverges from Bob Knob’s Standard. When they ascended the slab, Case and his partner, Bob Notman, traversed to the right below the arching wall and then went up, but Regular Route takes a steeper, more direct line to the top. We surmounted the wall and continued up clean rock to the base of Bob’s Knob, a huge bulge at the top of the slab (named for Case’s partner). This was the start of the fifth pitch.

Most of the climbing on Chapel Pond Slab is friction climbing: you ascend by smearing your rubber soles against the rock. It doesn’t take a lot of technique, which is one reason these routes appeal to novices. The next fifty-foot pitch, however, ascends a wall on Bob’s Knob that requires careful placement of feet and hands. This is the one pitch on Regular Route that gives me pause when soloing. So I was not thrilled to discover that the wall was wet from recent rains and snowmelt. Josh, the more experienced climber, was willing to continue, but I was hesitant. Instead, we climbed down to the fourth pitch on Bob’s Knob Standard and took that easier route up Bob’s Knob, ascending a dirty chimney.

Josh goes off route on Bob's Knob

At least, I did. Josh strayed off course and climbed the steep slab next to the chimney—a more difficult and more dangerous line, with the potential for a big fall. Afterward, I suggested that we name his variation “Bob Knob’s Nonstandard.” Above the chimney, Bob Knob’s Standard rejoins Regular Route. From here, it’s a steep but easy scramble to the top of the knob, with its views of Chapel Pond, lying directly below, and Giant Mountain, rising across the highway. After changing into hiking shoes, we descended via a rough trail and streambed. Climbers have placed ropes to aid the descent in steep sections.

Once back at the base of the slab, we decided to attempt Regular Route again. This time, Josh brought a short rope and protective gear—cams and nuts that fit in cracks—for the Bob’s Knob pitch. We soloed to the base of the knob in less than twenty minutes. After we tied the rope to our harnesses, Josh ascended the wall easily, topping out on a wide terrace where he anchored himself and then belayed me. Despite the wetness of the rock, I did the pitch without a hitch. As before, we scrambled unroped  the rest of the way up the knob. The entire climb took forty-one minutes. Not bad, considering it included a roped pitch, but far from a record. Josh once soloed Regular Route in nine minutes. The biggest challenge lay ahead: Empress. Both Empress and Regular Route are rated 5.5 in difficulty in the Yosemite Decimal System, but to my mind, Empress is harder, or at least scarier. The Yosemite scale used to range from 5.0 to 5.9, so a 5.5 route once would have been considered moderate in difficulty. Since then, improvements in rock shoes and gear have enabled climbers to scale ever-harder routes. The system now tops out at 5.15. By today’s standards, a 5.5 route is deemed easy. But anyone who thinks Empress is easy ought to consider that early climbers did it in sneakers or mountaineering boots, using a hemp rope and pitons for protection.

The real challenge on Empress begins on the fourth pitch at the top of some rock hummocks. You face a hundred feet of steep slab, followed by an “off-width” crack (too wide for a fist jam, too narrow for squeezing in the torso), followed by another stretch of steep slab. There are few places on this part of the route to place protective gear, so the exposure can be daunting. Since we were climbing without a rope, though, the lack of opportunities for protection was immaterial. When I reached the top of the off-width crack, Josh went ahead to take photos from the top of Bob’s Knob. This gave me several minutes to contemplate what I was about to do: step onto a cliff face three hundred feet above the ground and climb a few hundred feet to the top. Here’s how Wiessner described this part of the route in Adirondac magazine in 1965: “Step to the right onto the buttress, follow it up to a piton stance.” Sounds simple enough–if you’re Fritz Wiessner. But I’m not. Last year, I took a nasty fall on the Eagle Slide on Giant, another steep slab. I had scraped much of the skin off my fingers, forearms, and legs. On that day, though, the rock was slippery and I was wearing hiking boots. Everything would be OK this time, I told myself. After all, I had done Empress twice before. Nevertheless, when Josh waved me on, I couldn’t help thinking about my accident.

I stepped onto a narrow shelf, perhaps an inch wide, and inspected the rock above for minuscule undulations and cracks—anything for a toehold or finger crimp. When I started up I had to fight the impulse to scramble over the rock as quickly as possible: it would be safer, I reasoned, to go slowly and deliberately. I tried to focus on my feet, not the air beneath them. Finally I reached an overlap with a good “jug”—a protrusion of rock that can be easily gripped (like a jug handle). Ah, sweet security. After a bit more climbing, the angle of the slab eased, and I hastened to the top, feeling much relieved when I got there.

Phil contemplates the final pitches of Empress

Our day did not go quite as planned. We had wanted to try one of the harder routes—Victoria, Thanksgiving, or Greensleeves—but ran out of time. Still, we weren’t about to complain: we did get to climb the three most historic routes on Chapel Pond Slab. Not that the other routes don’t have some history. Tad Welch, one of the region’s veteran climbers, once slipped while soloing Pringles, a variation (rated 5.7) of Victoria. According to Adirondack Rock Welch, “rode down to the hummocks on his hands, removing all the skin on his palms. He then drove to a bar using his wrists.”We’ll probably rope up for that one.

Cosas y Caseras 5.12a, El Chorro, Spain

Three and a half years ago I sent my first .12a. I was in Spain climbing in El Chorro and as fit as I’ve ever been. I had been training for months prior to the trip doing boulder circuits, laps on different routes in the gym and running a few times a week. Six months afterwards I developed tendonitis in my bicep and a year later I found a cyst on the tendon of my index finger. I was forced to slow down because of these injuries and eventually had the cyst on my tendon removed. That was a year and a half ago and here I am, healthy again and psyched to get strong!

There are a lot of resources out there for folks who are interested in ways to improve their climbing performance. I have been relying on two in particular get my plan started. The first is a blog that Matt turned me onto during this trip. It’s called the Lazy H Climbing Club and has been a great tool not only for training but also changing my ideas around setting goals for climbing. In a post around goal setting Mark Anderson talks about how arbitrary grades can be when climbing in different areas and that rather than shooting for an ever changing number, you should set your sights on a particular route that interests you instead. I’ve had a lot of time to think about which routes I want to strive to send this year and I think my ultimate would be Social Outcast (5.12a) at the Bonsai Wall in Rumney, New Hampshire. This route embodies not only a grade that is challenging for me, but also a style of climbing that I have been trying to improve at since I started climbing 9 years ago.

Tom Armstrong on Social Outcast

The other resource I’ve been using is a book called The Self-Coached Climber: A Guide to Movement, Training, Performance by Dan Hague and Douglas Hunter. While this book is really geared towards beginners, the insight and training tips it contains are relevant to anyone who wants to improve their level of climbing. One of the suggestions they make, that I will be using in my training, is the Climbing Pyramid. Basically you look at where you are, where you’d like to be and then choose routes or problems that incorporate experiences, movements and challenges that will help you get ready for your final project.

Social Outcast is a steep overhanging arete with a mixture of jugs, big moves and sustained climbing. In order to send this confidently and cleanly I will have to work on routes that involve the same movement at an easier level, working up to the final project. Hague and Hunter suggest an 8, 4, 2, 1 pyramid with 1 being the route or grade you want to send and 8 being three or four grades lower. So if 12a is my goal, then I should work on sending 8 at 5.11a-b, 4 at 5.11c and 2 at 5.11d before I work on the final project of 5.12a.

Bouldering at Smuggler's Notch, VT

I will also be working on my power endurance through bouldering circuits at the local climbing gym. For example, I will do three sets of V1, V2, V3, V4, V3, V2, V1, twice per week. This will help train my muscles to continue to perform at a high level of intensity even though I may be pumped or tired. Once a week I will be working on my general climbing endurance by simply climbing as many routes or boulder problems as I can. Along with this I’ll be running two to three times per week for at least 35-40 minutes. Building up both my aerobic and anaerobic endurances will help me to build the strength I need to succeed.

I’ll also be adding some core workouts, yoga and more than likely something on the hangboard to mix it up and give myself some more all around strength. I will be doing my physical therapy exercises that will help keep my shoulders, back and hands strong and healthy too.I’m totally psyched to be training again and I’m really looking forward to ramping up my fitness level and climbing some exciting and challenging new routes! For more on this project and my other adventures, check out my blog!

When he gets a vacation, he takes his passion on the road. In the past, this has resulted in some notable near-misses, such as his close call on the Ogre in Pakistan’s Karakoram, when he climbed the infamous South Pillar with friend Mark Newcomb only to turn back on the summit snowfields out of concern for avalanches; or in Patagonia, where, with Rolando Garibotti, he climbed most of the Cerro Torre skyline (Cerro Stanhardt, Torre Egger, Punta Heron, Cerro Torre) only to be turned back by a snow mushroom high on the north face of the last peak in the enchainment (Garibotti returned later in the season for the historic first traverse, with Colin Haley).

This year, Johnstone had eight days for a trip to the Alps. His partner? Fellow Exum guide Kevin Mahoney. Rather than just settle for one climb, though, the pair managed a trifecta that would have been respectable for most alpinists for a season, if not a career.

One thing Johnstone is not good at is writing about his accomplishments (which is one of the reasons most people have never heard about him). But the people in his home town know the significance of his adventures, and when he got back from Europe, Miller Resor, a sportswriter at the Jackson Hole News and Guide, wrote the following about their trip. We republish it here with Resor’s permission.

By Miller N. Resor

The Matterhorn, the Eiger and the Dru are iconic in the world of climbing. Each a tower of rock with razor-sharp ridges, they are to the Alps what the Tetons are to the Rockies.

Exum guides Hans Johnstone and Kevin Mahoney climbed all three on a recent trip to Europe.

“Kevin and I have wanted to climb together for a while,” Johnstone said. “And each climb was a climb we had our eyes on for a long time.

“The Matterhorn and Eiger have long and storied pasts, and the Dru is one of the most spectacular peaks in the region,” he said.

They began with the Matterhorn, attempting the north face via the Schmid Route. They climbed to 800 feet below the summit, but were turned back by approaching darkness and descended the Hornli ridge.

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The entire trip was marked by “good weather and poor conditions,” which made for slower going, Johnstone said.

Next they turned their ice axes to the Eiger. They took the notorious 1938 Heckmair route up the North Face — Nordwand in German. The face is nicknamed Mordwand in German, which translates to the murder wall or murderous wall. Since 1935, at least 64 climbers have died attempting the north face.

Johnstone and Mahoney completed the climb in one 29-hour push. Mahoney said he will never forget the exhaustion of climbing along the summit ridge of the Eiger.

The Dru is a spectacular needle of rock in the Mont Blanc region, revered for its beauty. Johnstone and Mahoney climbed the direct approach of the north couloir, which was originally climbed by Steve Shea, a Jackson Hole mountaineer.

Compared to the Tetons, Johnstone said, in the Alps “the routes are longer and the approaches shorter. The mountains are bigger, grander scale, almost Alaskan.”

Mahoney had guided two routes on the Matterhorn, but otherwise it was the first time either of the pair had climbed the three peaks.

“There is no way to explain the feeling of climbing mountains,” Mahoney said, “Either you get it or you don’t.”

“I like the whole game,” Johnstone said. “I like the physical aspect, I like the mental aspect, I like getting in shape and training for it. I like the partnership of it. I’ve been doing mountain sports all my life. It’s just what I like to do.”

Climbing up the Standstone on Ben's Bluff

Winter time in B.C. tests the avid rock climber. It is too wet and/or cold to climb outside for weeks at a time, though it does provides somewhat of a rest. The body gets a chance to recover completely, the skin on the fingers begins to grow back, and the ‘stoke’ begins to build and build until finally the good weather arrives. When this happens, nothing can separate the climber from the rocks, except for maybe a job.

Needless to say, after three months of almost no climbing at all, when the forecast predicted nothing but sun for the second-to-last weekend of March I immediately began to think of what sort of adventure could be had. My good friend Hayden Robertson had been telling me of untouched sandstone crags near his home on the small island of Galiano, located between Vancouver and the mainland of B.C. I made plans to take a ferry out to visit and see about climbing a new route. He also mentioned that the crags were relatively clean, so I asked him if he would like to try a new route—ground up as opposed to rappelling in from above—he readily agreed.

Our adventure nearly ended before it even started. At work on Friday I was nailing blocking in place while framing an addition to a home in Vancouver. I mis-fired the large framing nailer, just skimming the top of my fingers and nearly nailing them together! After work I packed my bags and headed to the ferry terminal where a short wait and an hour long ferry ride took me to Sturdies Bay on Galiano Island. Hayden was waiting for me at the bay and we headed back to his place to hang out and jam some guitar.

I first met Hayden through a friend of mine in Squamish. He had moved from Galiano to Squamish to climb after being introduced to the sport through a C.O.L.T. course. We went climbing together and quickly became good friends. He told me about the undeveloped sandstone crags on Galiano, and showed me photos of sandstone boulders he had been working on. The rock looked unique and amazing!

I always find it a privilege climbing in lesser known, undeveloped areas. Often there are no guidebooks or topos, sometimes information can be found somewhere on the internet but usually a majority of the climb’s names and grades are known only by the locals and passed on via word of mouth. These areas can be more difficult to locate, rarely crowded, and there are unlikely to be designated parking lots. Galiano would prove to be one of the most unknown and undeveloped areas I have ever visited.

Rappelling on the Sandstone Face

We woke up Saturday morning to a leisurely breakfast and coffee, then packed up our gear and drove to a small crag the locals referred to as ‘Ben’s Bluff’. Hayden had already rappelled down an obvious line near the left end of the two pitch crag and installed an anchor at the top and an anchor on the midway ledge about 30 meters up. He figured the line should go, but had not attempted to actually climb it and I had only seen a photo from the base of the wall. I would be climbing more or less ‘on-sight’.

The plan was that I would lead while dragging a haul line that Hayden could attach his cordless hammer drill to. I would then pull up if I needed to place a bolt. I also had a borrowed set of hooks that I could theoretically hang from to pull up the drill and bolt, but this method would prove to be quite ineffective on the Galiano sandstone.

I started up the first pitch, which was quite easy to begin with, and placed a cam in a shallow pocket. In granite I knew this cam would be bomber, but in the softer sandstone I could not be certain that it would hold a fall. A few steeper moves led me to a small awkward ledge I could sit on and bring the drill up to place a bolt. From my ‘half-sitting’ stance I was pleased to find that the whole ‘drilling on lead’ process went quite smoothly and I lowered the drill back to Hayden. I stood up and began to ponder the obvious leftwards traverse to an easy looking flake system, but all the sandstone edges looked very friable. A fall from there would have resulted in a nasty swing into a corner and a possible ledge fall.

After quite a bit of pondering I decided reluctantly to place a higher bolt before committing to the traverse. All the nearby edges were far too friable to support a hook, so I found a tenuous knee scum that gave me just enough purchase to pull the drill up again and place my bolt. This time drilling the hole was very strenuous and I found myself shaking out after every few seconds of drilling. Eventually I got the bolt in and lowered the drill back to Hayden and made the somewhat tricky traverse over to the flake. Pleasant moderate climbing with good gear brought me to the ledge where Hayden had placed the anchor; however the corner that would begin the second pitch was over to the left. I then traversed ledges to a good stance to the left and made a mixed ‘gear and bolt’ belay and bringing Hayden up to the ledge with me. We were stoked that the first pitch had all come together but the wall above was much steeper and intimidating.

I started up the second pitch with the drill in hand and pulled onto a juggy rail where I hung from one hand and drilled another bolt into a steep bulge below a hanging corner. I gave the drill back to Hayden at the belay and then pulled an awesome sequence involving an overhead kneebar to gain the steep but easy corner leading to a slab, and then to a thin overhanging crack.

Here I resorted to a couple moves of aid in order to pull thin loose flakes out of the crack and expose finger locks and gear placements. From my last cam in the crack I made a tricky traverse left onto a slab and found a small dish to stand in. Based on my stance in the dish, I knew I had to pull the drill up and place a final bolt before continuing to the top but this was a rather scary prospect. My foothold was good, but full of dirt and lichen and I could feel my feet sliding around on the grit. A fall would not have been too dangerous, but would involve a bit of a pendulum onto a slab and the idea of taking such a fall with a drill in hand seemed sketchy. Trying to stay calm and collected, I yelled for Hayden to tie the drill onto my haul line and slowly began pulling it up using one hand and my teeth. After drilling for what seemed like an eternity I finally hammered the bolt home and yelled ‘TAKE’. After accidentally dropping the hammer and lowering the drill back to Hayden at his belay, I made my way to the top of the crag. The view was fantastic, and I was very happy to have completed the first route on the entire crag in the best style I felt capable of. Hayden decided not to follow the second pitch, so I rappelled back down to the ledge to join him.

The next morning we left the drill and bolts at Hayden’s and brought only what we would need to climb the route we had established the day before. We hiked to the top of the crag and rappelled our line, giving it a proper clean on the way down. Compared to cleaning in Squamish or the Fraser Valley the cleaning was extremely easy. I scrubbed a small amount of lichen and broke the worst of the friable edges leaving behind a quality rock climb on quite good sandstone.

Once on the ground we prepared to make a proper free ascent of our line. We both dispatched the first pitch very easily, taking a variation out on an undercling flake leading directly to Hayden’s original belay. We decided to belay from here as it would reduce rope drag and make communication much easier on the harder second pitch.

I headed off on the second pitch and quickly made my way to the overhanging crack where I had resorted to aid the previous day. I tried to crank through the steep finger locks but fell on my first attempt. I found a good sequence through the crux and lowered back down to Hayden for a second try.

On my second burn I felt strong right through the crux, but just as I jammed my fingers into the final locks I broke a crucial foothold and fell again! I eventually found another, more powerful sequence through the overhang, but once I had it figured out I was much too tired to make another attempt from the ledge. A bit disappointed I carried on to the top and asked Hayden if he was going to follow the pitch. After seeing me struggle through the overhangs he decided to save it for another day and we rappelled to the ground. My ferry home left shortly afterwards and I soon found myself fast asleep on my Dad’s couch in Vancouver once again.

Although we did not manage to successfully free climb our route, I am highly content with my first trip to Galiano. The whole experience reminded me of why I began climbing in the first place, that sense of adventure where everything feels scary and unknown. I got to hang out with one of my best friend and establish the first route on an untouched crag with tons of potential. The fact that our line still awaits a proper free ascent means I absolutely have to return to this amazing little island for more exciting adventures. Personally, I can’t wait!

Forbidden Peak from the South.

Forbidden peak is located deep in the heart of North Cascade National Park, Washington. This pyramid-shaped peak has three different glaciers on each side, three major alpine faces, and three distinct ridge lines. On the north side of Forbidden is the surreal beauty of Moraine Lake several thousands of feet below the summit. To the east is the Boston Glacier—the largest glacier in North Cascade National Park. From the southern approach are the Boston Basin and the ironically named “un-named” glacier just below the impressive South Face of Forbidden Peak.

With so much exposure for the 5.6 grade, the West Ridge is considered one of the best alpine climbs in the country. The rock quality is superb and the setting is world-class. Prominent American alpinists have cut their teeth on this peak and all aspiring mountaineers will enjoy the remarkable scenery and the memorable climbing experience. The route was established by Lloyd Anderson, Jim Crooks, Dave Lind, and of course Fred and Helmy Beckey on June 1st 1940.

When I climbed the peak in 2001, my partner and I roped up for the approach couloir and climbed 600 vertical feet to the base of the west ridge. We took a break for food and water on the couloir below the West ridge. I started to lead up the mellow 4th class sections of the ridge. My partner and I moved together on the long, aesthetic ridge, staying directly on the crest. When the ridge steepened we started pitching it out through the 5.6 crux, where an old fixed pin can be found. Staying directly on the ridge crest will lead to the summit. The climbing is so spectacular that the summit comes too soon.

Gear: Ice axe, crampons, alpine rack to 2 inches, helmet, and a single 60m rope (This will be helpful on the descent).

Approach: A wilderness permit is required to be in the Boston Basin cross-country zone. A permit can be obtained at the Marblemount NPS ranger station. Weekends can be crowded. Drive down the Cascade River Road to just past mile marker 21. Park there.  Follow the well-defined climber’s trail through the overgrown shrubbery to Boston Basin Campsites. A machete might be handy! Ascend slopes to the Un-named glacier below the South face of Forbidden Peak. Look for the obvious couloir that leads to the base of the Western Ridge of Forbidden Peak.

Descent: Descend back down the West Ridge doing a series of short rappels and down climbing to reach the col. From the col there are many ways to descend. The beta for the least objective hazard way is to rappel down the rock ridge between two gullies. Four rappels off solid natural anchors lead to the last rappel which is a bolted anchor. Rappelling down the gullies will get you to the ground, but there is more rockfall and objective hazard. Fill your belly with greasy goodness at Good Food in Marblemount.

Athletes Perspective: Get the real alpine feel and climb the ridge in your mountain boots. Save the weight and leave the rock shoes for another day!

Additional Options: If the West Ridge seems a bit too mild or crowded for your taste, check out the uber classic Torment-Forbidden traverse, or the seldom climbed but amazing NW face to N Ridge of Forbidden peak and descend the West Ridge for the full North Cascade experience.

Johnathon Sptizer is an IFMGA guide and works for Ruby Mountain Heli Ski Lodge.  For more information about Jonathon check out his website Snow Rock & Ice Adventures.

Check out the May 2012 issue of Rock and Ice to read Blake’s article on Cascades Climbing and get more of the story.

I’d bumped into Charlotte that morning. “It’s Ace’s birthday tonight,” she’d said. “Everyone’s here.” Now she’s leaning out of her bus, giving me directions to the party, the old guy beaming behind her.

She’s right: everyone is here. I drag my Walmart camp chair to the fire. Familiar faces—Ace, Jay, Kitty, Jim, Dave, Nigro—flicker from the shadows.

The old guy leans forward to offer his hand. It’s Ralph Tingey, retired climbing ranger and park superintendent. Our circles have nearly, but never quite, overlapped for years. His reedy voice is animated with enthusiasm, as well it should be: he has been on the road for three months now, climbing from Joshua Tree to Yosemite to, now, here.

Ralph Tingey, on the other side of sixty, heading into another Alaska Range adventure.

Beer, burritos, tequila, gossip, laughter. The next morning, we clutch mugs of coffee and huddle in a ragged circle as we discuss the day’s perfect crag: in the sun, hidden from the wind, secluded from the crowds, with a wide range of grades. A posse forms, and nine people soon load into a four-vehicle caravan.

Ropes appear like magic on the barn-red sandstone wall, suspended from anchors hidden by the topography. As I climb, I hear Ralph from around the corner. He’s talking to Charlotte, and he’s a metronome, one sentence tumbling out after another. Her responses become shorter until finally she’s at the crux.

“Ralph, not now,” I hear her say.

Routes go up, partners switch, and a few climbs later I find myself tying in with Ralph. He slips his purple Mythos over black, calf-high socks. He talks. I listen. His monologue requires no response. He gives running commentary even when he climbs. It’s as if the flow of words balances out the exertion of his efforts. On the short walk over to our route he told me that he went through a hard divorce a few years back, right after he retired. He and his ex remain close, but I get the sense that he’s just coming out of the darkness.

As the day progresses, Ralph and I rattle off lines. I’m impressed: this sixty-five-year old climbing bum is psyched to climb, psyched to cradle a cold bear in a curled-up paw back in the parking lot, psyched about the ice climbing season just around the corner.

“I’m going to housesit for Jim and Angela in Ouray in December,” he says. “You should come ice climbing!”

Three days later, when I roll out of the Creek, he’s still beaming.

“We should go climbing sometime!” he says as I leave.

—————-

Next stop: J Tree, where my brother awaits, another victim of the economy. We spend the first day on routes close to camp, walking to the classics in Hidden Valley and Real Hidden Valley until the falling temperatures chase us back to camp. We’ve got beers in hand when this old guy walks up to us.

“Which one of you is from Wyoming?” he asks.

I am, and within a couple of exchanges we’ve ascertained that he’s geology professor emeritus Gray Thompson from Missoula, Montana. My brother took a class from him years ago, and he and I narrowly missed one another three or four times as I threatened a move I never managed to make to that blue-collar paradise.

Gray has translucent sacks beneath his eyes and a low laugh that comes out like a mountain brook.

“Mind if I climb with you?” he soon asks. He’s solo, in between partners, and no, we don’t mind: he’s a legend.

We head to the Wonderland. My brother climbs with a buddy of his, lured to the classics—Solid Gold, Figures on a Landscape—that lie deep in shade. Gray and I head for the sun. Out beyond Freak Brothers Dome, which watch over the valley with silent authority, lie a series of long, thin formations, south faces in sun, north faces hidden from view. We wind through clefts of rough tawny granite, our soles adding imprints to the track-riddled sand.

We flake the rope and, youth that I am, I take the sharp end. Twenty feet later I’m having second thoughts. Yes, the blue Camalot a few feet off the deck was a nice start, but there has been nothing since, and the terrain ahead looks slabby, gritty, and more than a little runout.

I pad up, pause, pad back. A solid nubbin provides a semblance of a stance, and I stand on it, contemplating the terrain above, until my toes start to go numb.

A rattling occurs, just behind my sternum. Twenty years into this game, I’ve finally learned to respect it.

“I don’t know, Gray,” I call down. “You sure this is it?”

“Could be,” comes the muted reply.

This is embarrassing.

Ten minutes later I’m handing the sharp end to my 67-year-old partner. Ten minutes after that I watch Gray move through my high point without hesitation.

Patina chickenheads on a blunt arete form an improbable ladder to the sky. The rope keeps feeding out, never slowing, until his words—“Off belay!”—float down.

Gray Thompson atop a new route in Joshua Tree's Wonderland of Rocks. The retired geology professor is pushing 70--and more of a dirtbag than ever.

A man can get lost here, in these islands of granite; thoughts come and go, quickened by the adrenaline of the climbs. We thread the spiny flora into a hidden cleft between formations, where a jagged line sprouts from between two boulders to a tawny granite shelf. Chastened, I take it.

The crack’s dirty, bits flaking off as I start up. A small overlap near the top starts the rattling again, but I move through, powered by momentum and chagrin. On top, we find no way off save for a massive boulder, uncluttered by previous tat. New route? Who knows. Gray’s low voice disappears into the sand.

We proceed carefully through the flora’s sharp defenses, squeezing through constrictions, the formations etched against the cobalt sky. By the time we emerge, it’s late. We should probably head back: there’s no sign of the others, no voices to break the deepening stillness.

On a nondescript dome a few hundred yards past the mouth of a slot canyon, another line appears.

“Should we?” I ask.

“Sure,” Gray rumbles.

“OK,” I say. “Your lead.”

I watch as he climbs: one calf, illuminated by the late-day sun, tightens against a moment of strain. A minute later, he hits the hard part, grit and grain flaking off beneath the toe of his shoe. The first obscenities of our encounter rise in the back of his throat, but they’re ill-formed, the start of something he has no intention of finishing, and soon he’s disappearing up the route. Twenty minutes later I follow, and have just as much trouble with the crux.

The shadows are lengthening when I scramble to join him.

“Good one!” I gasp in all honesty. “That was hard.”

There’s no mention of it in the guidebook, and it was just dirty enough to be virgin.

“What should we call it?” I ask.

He chuckles, long and deep. I can tell he doesn’t care; he’s more concerned with the play of light on the surrounding domes. “Grandpa Fires Another One,” I think to myself, but he’s already descending into the shadows.

—————-

A few weeks later I’m in Vegas, where we meet up with Joanne and Jorge Urioste. They’ve been developing Red Rocks since the 1970s, and we follow them into Juniper Canyon toward one of the few places in this late November cold that retains the sun: the Brownstone Wall. Joanne wears black tights and a black top against the cold; Jorge is elfin beside her, his bald head enveloped in the hood of his pile jacket.

“Are you sure this is Juniper Canyon?” I ask as we walk.

“Pretty sure,” says Joanne. “I named it.”

Jorge, 72 at the time the photo was taken, on top of his route, Armatron, Brownstone Wall. Jorge and Joanne have put up more new routes in Red Rocks than anyone--and they show no signs of slowing down.

At a large cleft between boulders, Jorge humbly requests a hydraulic lift from behind. He’s 72, and after thirty-four years of new routing, his knees have begun to deteriorate.

“I’m old!” he says, disappearing into the slot, but he’s soon pointing out various routes he’s created as we thread our way up the trail.

“I did that one last week,” he exclaims, indicating an ephemeral line on a 1,000-foot wall. “5.11b!”

“It’s too hard for me,” Joanne confesses. “I pull on gear when the crimps get that small.”

We rack up on a broad sandstone plateau below our route: a swathe of sandy beige, a varnished patina, a few glinting bolts. Thirty years ago, the couple, who are on their third marriage to one another, shocked the small community of local traditionalists with an blasphemous addition: bolts. Today, their lines—Epinephrine, Crimson Crysalis, Leavitation 29—are considered classic trad testpieces, with just enough bolts to keep them safe.

“I’m old,” Jorge says as we rack. “You lead.”

A part of me had been hoping he’d take the crux. Instead, he takes the pack.

From above, I watch as he climbs. He has done this for years, and he moves without hesitation, calling out plaintive endearments to Joanne as he rises. She answers back from an adjoining route. They sound like an exotic fauna yet to be anthropologically catalogued.

On top, Jorge twinkles as he cites climbs on the walls all around us, long, elegant routes up formations that may or may not feature continuous lines to the top. We follow him down the live oak bramble to where his partner of forty years awaits.

—————-

A few days later it’s time to go home. It’s getting too cold to climb, and soon I’ll be trading rock shoes for skis. As I drive, I think of Ralph and Gray and Jorge and Joanne, still out there getting after it, still psyched, still inspired.

I’m 42 now, and my body’s starting to feel gravity’s effects. But climbing with these old farts has convinced me: I’ve got another thirty years in me if I do it right.

And I’ve got some new partners to call the next time I’m on the road.

———-

Christian Beckwith is a dirtbag climber and skier who lives in Jackson, WY. He runs a social media website for adventure athletes called www.outerlocal.com.

Jake List also put in work and sent a V12 called Wonder Bread. The low start to “Lunch Money” was considered, but the moves were hard and for a while we didn’t go back. Although there were clearly other lines on the boulder we once felt the boulder to be too hard.

During the summer of 2011 I found myself climbing very little. I was motivated by work and I was not against taking time off to rest a bumming shoulder. I climbed less that summer than I had since I started climbing almost 14 years ago. When the weather started to get nice and business slowed down in the fall of 2011, I was psyched to climb.

Within a couple visits to the 8th Grade Boulder I was able to do the two intro moves to the low start of Lunch Money. The moves suited me well and I was eager to add a new line to the boulder. I devoted myself to mastering the moves and gaining the power to link them. Within a few weeks and five or so days, I was falling off the double-clutch dyno. I called Matt and we set out to film the sucker. I did the dyno first try that day (after not having done it since sending the year before). Next go, I managed to top the problem out. Enjoy this small glimpse of Vermont bouldering!

Video filmed and produced by Matt McCormick.

USA Canoe & Kayak, a division of the United States Olympic committee, and the governing body for canoe and kayak racing in the United States has chosen the Jackson Hole Kayak Club to host the 2012 Wildwater National Championships over Memorial Day weekend, May 25-27. The races will run in conjunction with the 16th Annual Wyoming Whitewater Championships. This will be the first time the national race has occurred in Wyoming and these races will determine the 2012 American Downriver National Champion.

Wildwater kayak racing is a disciplined whitewater sport often called the “race of truth”. It consists of paddlers racing down whitewater rapids from point A to point B trying to clock the fastest time. The boats are long, skinny and built for speed making for an exciting race for competitors and spectators alike. The champion is determined by two races: a sprint and a classic. The sprint will take place in the Snake River Canyon through the new landslide formed Double Draw rapid with the Classic taking place on the Hoback River just above its confluence with the Snake River.

The Jackson Hole Kayak Club puts on the Wyoming Whitewater Championships annually as a fundraiser for its youth kayaking programs and scholarship fund. It consists of three different events: a downriver race, freestyle competition and a boatercross, head to head race. The downriver race has a variety of classes for all river enthusiasts including rafts, canoes and standup paddleboards. If the on water events were not enough, a river-inspired film festival will be showing at the Pink Garter Theater on Friday night.

Outdoor Research is proud to support the Jackson Hole Kayak Club in this event. For more information, see http://www.jhkayakclub.org/2012-usa-wildwater-national-championships/.