India Part 2: New Terrain.

India: Part 2

Approaching the Mystery Wall

The 3 ladies, nicknamed “Not ready to be Housewives” along with our new friends, finally arrived to our destination.  Five people, 12 packs, 2 crash pads, and 1 driver exploded out of the Toyota Hiace.  I wish they made them in the states p.s.  

Looking back towards the valley and our basecamp

The cliff luring us to this side of the Himachal Pradesh loomed straight over head.  Shoshala was first climbed by a Finnish team a few springs ago.  Their climb, mixed with many bolts, opened a serious of corners and small cracks on the south-center aspect of this spearheaded peak.  Throughout our research it seemed they did not tag the true summit.  Doing so would have required more climbing via a jagged undulating ridge.

Whitney brewing up

Speaking to locals we learned that our mid-October attempt would have limitations.  No water.  The steepening grass tufts and ramps allow no place for water to sit.  Spring snow accumulation allowed for the European team to collect some snow from shaded areas nearby.  We would have no such luck.  Water would have to be transported up.

Two nearby valleys also caught our eyes, the gameshow suspense began.   I was keen to climb, push myself to higher elevations.  This is the Himalayas after all.  Team discussion thickened.  Option number 2, the Mystery Wall, enticed with its name alone!  Sylvia Videl first person climbed the Mystery Wall’s giant granite face.

Still Approaching.  First pitch of climb is the leaning dihedral.
Aiming for the middle of three splitters abov.  

Hugged by pinnacle gendarmes swooping over a vast expanse of landscape, all tucked under a massive hanging glacier and 6000 m summit.  

Another slightly less impressive objective also stirred the conversation, option 3.  Alluring in possibility of stellar camping, running water and route-less peaks.  These peaks much smaller in comparison.  

Door number 1, 2, or 3, what would it be?

With 3 porters, 60 some eggs hard boiled, a head of cabbage, some stinky cheese and an arrangement of dehydrated oats and prepackaged meals we opted for door number 2.  The approach to the Mystery Wall involved a long slog straight up a grassy hillside.  Four hours in, we were forced to do a proper bouldering move to ascend any further.  Dropping our own heavy packs in a semi-flat nook 20 feet up from the boulder problem.  I scurried around hoping for a better bivy site while Whitney cleared a space big enough for our tent.  The porters insisted and angrily attempted the boulder problem refusing to give us the packs until they had ‘finished.’  I finally snagged the pack off the eldest of the three (who was completely exhausted, hungry and thirsty) and passed it up to Crystal.  One of the porters mentioned they hadn’t eaten breakfast, and of course were not carrying any lunch.  Geez!  All quickly rummaged the packs, shoving food and water their direction.  

Quinn on the first pitch.  

The men ate and began their load-free descent.  They would return in 9 days to help carry out our kit.  The ladies settled in, discussing our plan for the morning while the sun descended beneath the neighboring snow covered range.   

Essentially, the rest of the approach followed the water carved steep slabs and curvaceous deep waterholes requiring moderate soloing.  We encountered a singular bolt above a 100 foot steep section.  A trace of Sylvia and her gaggle of porters.  Nice, at least we don’t have to down climb that section! 

Our intentions were to climb new routes, hopefully new summits, all alpine style and bivy on route if necessary.  As we approached the light on the face altered the mountains features.  Sylvia’s wall undressed as a sheer, featureless granite sheet.  

My eyes gazed left, towards a pillar leading to the skyline ridge of the mountain.  Vertical climbing to probably difficult ridge climbing sprinkled with snow and ice.  

Crystal scoping out the line.  A splitter in the dihedral. 

At 4000m we carved a tiny bivy spot in scree.  The only flat-ish spot even close to the start of our intended line.  I led the first 70 m pitch, a less than vertical, very dirty right facing dihedral with a wide crack.  Crystal led the second 70 m, a really fun nobby face to another right facing dihedral.  

Whitney led the third rope stretcher.  She made a hard move off the belay, trending leftward to a giant scree covered ledge.  It started to graupel.  Crystal and I followed the pitch, then scurried further up the ledge to check out the corner we had been eyeing.  

Was it really a crack?  

Heavy clouds teased us, swooping about, we barely caught a glimpse.  

Splitter!  It looked really good.  

We retreated to Whitney, cautiously poking around for a proper rappel anchor.  The ground white with tiny ball bearings of precipitation.  Finally, a purple camelot and number 2 ball-nut found their home.  Crystal descended first, her rope shifted causing a basketball sized boulder to tumble onto her knee.  

Trying to find an reasonable anchor.  Graupel accumulating.  

Bivy at the base of the climb.

Again we slept at the base.  Sunrise brought crisp mountain air, a thick blanket of dew and a weather forecast of clear skies for only one more day.  We estimated at least 5 more new pitches to gain the ridge.  Scale of the upper mountain was hard to gauge.  Whitney and I were left to continue upwards as a pair.  Crystal’s knee was stiff and swollen, she was out. 

Descending was a difficult decision in blue skies, but staying together as a team was important.  Arriving to our tent lower down valley, we drank the remaining whiskey.  The following morning we opted to hike our gear, days earlier than scheduled departure with the porters.  A snow storm swirled in the following day, easing our decision to bail.  I found myself discouraged.   

The snow storm.  Glad we descended.  Mystery Wall, the lower left pink face, our pillar edges the left of the wall.

Days passed.  With new snow accumulation, we hoped snow would be available to melt, in addition to the 25 liters our porters would carry to our original destination, Shoshala.  We estimated a 5-6 day mission.  

Shoshala 

Departing in good spirits, water slowly seeped from the porters backpacks.  Straight out of town we ascended thick grassy slopes to find a few hours later another tiny perch with outstanding views.  

  

The next day we rallied early.  Crystal climbed the breakfast pitch.  A beautiful and clean V- slot led her to a perfect hand-sized splitter on the left.  This pitch finished with a 10 foot section of perfect number 5 Camelot to a bushy mantel, 5.10+.  I headed up another perfect hand sized splitter to another smaller nest of grass, 5.9.  Pace slowed on the third, as the now finger crack was brimming with bushes and tufts of grass.  Whitney cleaned, tufts of dirt spewing over the three of us.  She retreated, Crystal headed up and wrestled a giant bush mid-pitch.  

We giggled, inappropriate jokes abound.  

First Pitch.  

The sun quickly arched over us, decent back to camp was upon us.  The following day we jummared to the base of pitch 3.  I took over, cleaning only enough to aid my way up the crack.  The crack began to taper but so did the angle.  I free climbed above tiny wires to another bushy stance.  We needed to continue upward momentum.  Crystal followed quickly, I belayed her as she blast off on pitch four.  Whitney mini traction the third pitch and attempted to clean a bit more, a now climbable finger crack at 5.11.   

Swapping leads upwards 3-4 more pitches brought us clean cracks again.  Unique and varied climbing, bushy mantels, lay backs, underclings, fist cracks, and a dash of heady slab moves.  Day three we had reached a steep mid-mountain grassy knoll.  

Pitch 3, Housewife cleaning.  All that remains is the green bush. 

We glanced upward, a myriad of broken cracks and bushy dihedrals confused us.  Daylight was again fading.  Day 4 flurries kept us tent bound.  Sipping tea, we discussed our personal lives and our climbing options.  Day 5 we rallied early but cold temperatures slowed our pace.  Beautiful climbing and good gear quickly ended.  Funky placements and a thick bushy ledge traverse led nowhere.  

This was our last day of food.  Eight excellent pitches with much more mountain to go.  

Defeated we descended the mountain.   

Like most humans in stressful environments, we didn’t always agree, we weren’t on the same eating regimen or sleep schedule, we have different skill-sets and overall priorities.  The dichotomy of external and internal challenges constantly edged us, weather and water issues, strong opinions and fluctuating stoke.  As a group, though, we were able to confidently express our views, earnestly listen, see one another perspective and move on as a collective.  

Still giggling even though calorie deprived and short of a summit.  

We traveled to India “Not ready to be Housewives.”  A joke name with serious undertones of us running from scary unknown terrain of life.  Impending and almost certain adventure-less moments—marriage, babies, or full-time work.  Oh my!  

Hilarious!  As climbers we constantly navigate and seek out difficult unknown terrain with a positive attitude and fervor.  

Ah, how climbing continues to make me a better person.  

We may not have conquered any summits in India but we also haven’t conquered ourselves.  Thank goodness, because I would hate to have already reached the pinnacle. 

Our high point.  Tibet not so far behind us.


***Whitney and Crystal arrived 3 weeks before I and did climb two new routes.  http://www.alpinist.com/doc/web15y/newswire-team-authors-new-lines-india-himachal-pradesh

Many thank you's for supporting this expedition GORE-TEX, Petzl, Hyperlight Mountain Gear,
Skratch Labs, Omega Pacific, Mammut,  La Sportiva.   

100th Aniversary

This September was Rocky Mountain National Park's 100th anniversary. Being an obscure goal setter to keep myself interested, busy, whatever you call it, I decided to climb 100 alpine pitches in the park.

Ariana  PHOTO: Max Barlerin

At first I was trying for as many different formations in the park as possible.  This objective was going well, but saying no to the Diamond is like saying no to red wine and chocolate. You just feel better giving in.
Hallets peak is similar. It's a wonderful solo. Its a wonderful half-day climb. It's groovy to climb three times in a work day. ;).

I digress.

I counted 109 pitches. I counted the North Chimney as one pitch, as we simul-climb or solo. Having climbed it four times = four pitches.  My dearest margarita loving friend suggested a kindly correction.  If I am to count pitches, I should be counting them as per the guidebook.
So I need a recount.  The number is higher.

Either way. I achieved my obscure summer goal.  I climbed on formations that I hadn't climbed on previously. Like Chiefshead.
WTF.  Max rallied. I worked a rescue until 10 pm the day previously. 60% chance of showers and many alpine days throughout the week had me tired.
Sorry, I blacked out.  Did I just tell you I was tired.

Geronimo--PHOTO:Max Barlerin

I was hesitant. Definitely just hesitant. Bed seemed nice. 4am came quickly.
Max made coffee. He dragged my ass out of bed, tucked me into the truck, nearly pushed the yogurt into my mouth at the trailhead.

Okay maybe not that bad.

We started hiking. Clouds swirled slowly. Non-threatening poofs spooning the granite spires. Lovers not ready to part with dawns first rays.  We passed Spearhead with a minor glance. Max was on a mission for a new line on the northeast face if Chiefshead. As we neared the cliff, the lines still looked good.  Blue sky poked her head out just enough to support a mission upwards. Off we set!!  A ballsy 5.12 pitch off the deck, eventually led into some lovely 5.11 corners and cracks with 2 sections of low fifth class linking dihedrals.  We topped out just after noon and descended quickly. During our lunch break, I began my push for another climb on the Spearhead. As we packed up and meandered. Water droplets released from above. Persistent annoying mist, not a downpour. Bummer.

Arrowhead. double WTF.


I had never climbed on it. Saving it?  Blowing it!  Adam Baxter and I climbed Birds of Fire on the Northwest face of Chiefshead the day prior, bivied and rallied for day two in Arrowhead.  Arrowplane. SickbiRd.

The list.
Casual route
Black dagger
Pervertical
Ariana
The Beaver and Staircase
The North Face
Keyhole ridge
The SW- Saber
Dalke- Cathdral wall
South buttress direct- Notchtop
Spiral route - Notchtop
Great Dihedral -First buttress of Hallets.
Culp-Bullsier  - Secomd buttress Hallets
Better than Love - Secomd buttress Hallets
Culp-Bossier with variation start - Secomd buttress Hallets
Flying Buttress - Meeker
Directisma - Chasm View Wall
Geronimo - Northeast face of Chiefshead
Birds of Fire - Northwest face of Chiefshead
Arrowplane - Arrowhead

#amazeballs.

Arrowplane..Arrowhead

Touch of Green on Birds of Fire

Home Sweet Home

Top of the Park

Good Morning from the Cirque

Baxter getting into the Black Dagger

Goofin off on Table Ledge

New Route, No Problem.  Max on Geronimo!

Keyhole Ridge, Longs Peak

Notchtop and her goods

Rizzo enjoying the view from Notchtops Summit

Childhood Memories; Part 1

Yosemite for the first time.  

“I am going to climb that one day,” the young girl unknowingly stated.  Her father stood by her side.  Both their toes mushed into the sandy banks of the Merced River.  Her big brown eyes gazed upwards, frame dwarfed by the 3000 foot monolith filling much of the foreground.  

Fifteen years passed before her cheeks felt the gentle twirling of wind as it exhaled throughout the same narrow valley.  The same brown eyes twinkled.   

The girl, with 4 male dirt-bag friends, nestled into their Eco-line van.  Brimming with bikes, a futon mattress, cases of New Belgium beer, climbing gear and food, had finally arrived early one morning.  Dew clung effortlessly to blades of grass.  Rock consumed their visions.  The tingling hearts of the five valley virgins added to the electricity of the crisp October air.

The gang on Washington Column

The girl climbed.  Her swollen hands littered with small scabs from each days work, fuddled the zipper to her shared tent space night after night. 

The next morning she climbed again.    

The whole gang climbed their first big wall together, family style.  

She slept on the side of a granite face for the first time.  Thousands of feet of air between her and the ground.  A little nest in the sky.  




She learned. Her smile grew.  Her mind calmed in the oddest of moments.  She cried.  She tried hard.  She laughed.  She found true joy, passion and forged unforgettable bonds. 

Twenty-six days in a row she flung herself repeatedly at the overwhelming granite jutting vertically from the sunburnt horizontal valley floor.  She hadn’t showered in equally as many days.  Stoke was high, ‘finding’ the showers proved less exciting then finding the next days route.  

The 27th day she phoned her father.  Her toes dangling into the ever constant waters of the Merced River.  “I climbed it!” she exclaimed.  The clear waters iced her battered body, tiredness seeped in.  Brown eyes closed, the girls head nestled into the familiar sandy banks where consciousness melted in the warm afternoon sun.  

She day-dreamed of the possibilities…

Two

Libby and me finishing up the Great Roof - Alan Riling photo

“You can’t wait until Thanksgiving ledge?”  Libby Sauter honestly inquired.  Her headlamp sliced the crisp black expanse above, illuminating a sea of granite dihedral's.  A series of sloping ledges splayed 20 feet below me, with Libby perched on one of them.  I had just finished tagging up gear, merely two pitches below the location in question.

  

Pause

“Nope.”  I said flatly. 

Been in the back of my brain since I started leading 2 hours ago.  This momentary pause of motion, my first re-rack since the start of my lead block/Pitch 10, pushed me over the threshold.  

Libby and I started this day of climbing approximately twenty hours earlier.  At 4:30 am she blasted off the first pitch of The Nose on El Capitan, in Yosemite National Park.  

Libby on the Glowering Spot, The Nose

Gracefully dispatching the first 6 pitches without a hitch. Our ropes snagged at a pendulum on pitch 7, stalling us up for a breath-holding 20 minutes.  I tensioned out the available rope with just enough slack to get around the corner.  The snag released and our spirits perked.  The movement continued upward once again.  We reached Dolt Tower, happy with our pace.  

Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.  

We swapped leads at Dolt Tower, passing two parties along the way to Texas Flake.   I led a prominent feature called ‘The Boot Flake’ for the first time!  
COOL.  I monkey’ed us across the King Swing and through the Lynn Hill Traverse, once my least favorite pitch to lead.  Now, I freekin’ love it!!!  We swapped leads under the Great Roof, passing my good friends from Colorado, and again swapped for the last time at the base of the Changing Corners pitch.  

Reaching the tree atop El Capitan, I pulled in the rope as Libby finished the up the last overhanging moves of the Bolt ladder.  We casually snapped a selfie with a fancy phone, and I reported to my brother via text…”on the top of El Cap right now!!  Climbed the Nose in 8:20, one down so far!”  

Lunch on top of The Nose.  

Libby and I had mentioned to some photographer friends this particular endeavor, but interest wavered. 

"Coach" Tom Evans on the other side of the lens.

Oh well…for them.  

We were sending and psyched!!    

After snacks and a little water, we moseyed down the East ledges, reaching our stash of food in the bear bins of El Cap Meadow.  It was a little after 2pm.  Our friends, Joel and Neil Kauffman offered us some Mate and a candy bar.  Alex Honnold made fun of my shoe choice as we shoved our faces with a variety of food choices.  (I sport an old, loose pair of La Sportiva Barracudas on big wall days, instead of the ever popular TC Pro’s.)  Tom Evans continued proud encouragement as we sorted the gear for the next climb.  Rebecca Caldwell (and little Fitz) gave hugs as we walked past the meadow and a gaggle of other friends hollered monkey sounds as we disappeared into the tiny forest at the base El Capitan for the second time in 12 hours.  Refueling took just over an hour.  

The sunset during pitch 4.  Libby pushed upward, crack-jumaring and free climbing with efficiency.  

Lurking Fear was my first big wall in the Valley in 2009.  I returned this spring to free climb the first few pitches with Josh Lavigne, but hadn’t seen beyond pitch 6 in five years.  Three days prior to this adventure, Libby and I blasted up the whole route…Alzheimer on-sighting the upper pitches with a new female speed record of 7:47.  Although we were not moving as fast this go round, our pace didn't seem too far off.   

Climbing TOPO for Lurking Fear

After jugging the 9th pitch in darkness, conserving my headlamp batteries, I clicked the light on.  Our perch, a pedestal of granite, was like an iceberg in the Atlantic.  Dwarfed and isolated in the night.  

Libby handed me the rack, I was to take us to the top!

My stomach churned.  

Some tedious aid moves in the next few pitches loomed above in the void.  At times I felt crippled by the narrow beam of my headlamp, as the unfamiliarity of this route tossed minutes into the encompassing darkness.  Time and ground passes more quickly free climbing.  I narrow-mindedly missed tiny features, resorting to mostly aid climbing.  It is just slower and more tedious.  I could have smeared on little dime edges, crimped crystals with my hands, paddled upward more quickly.

Part of our gear.  

My stomach still churned.  

I sighed with relief as I completed the last difficult pitch, a 5.12 corner with fiddly gear.  During our record breaking ascent, I took a whipper up-side down while self belaying.  
It rattled me a little bit.  

The terrain finally eased to a 5.7 slab.  At the top a party was bivied in a portaledge.  They woke with my passing, and almost necessary mantling over their hanging bed.  

“Sorry, just a minute, sorry.”  I climbed 10 more feet, fixed the rope for Libby and headed up a series of ledges until I ran out of rope.  

After wall hands, tingly and swollen.  

Waiting.  

My stomach flopped again, this time with a loud thud.  

Libby arrived.  

“Can you lower me?!”

“You can’t wait until Thanksgiving ledge?”  Libby Sauter honestly inquired.

  

Pause.  

“Nope.”  I said flatly. 

I had to poop. Yup.  Poop.  

I didn’t have a proper disposal bag.  I certainly wasn’t leaving it on a ledge for those poor guys to climb into it on their breakfast pitch.  I was scared to Anasazi Shot-put it (shit on a rock and throw it) because they were below me.  

I had to take it with me.  

How?  

Well, I removed my last snack (a peanut butter/nutella sandwich) from the flimsy produce bag that contained it.  While I made my hurried deposit, Libby cut her small gatorade bottle up for me to stuff the poop bag into.  

If thats not fu&8ing teamwork!!!!!!

I then circumferentially wrapped the bottle with athletic tape, clipped it to my harness and finished two pitches to Thanksgiving ledge.

Lingering wafts with the occasional chimney move reminded me of the extra package clipped to the back of my harness.  I traversed across the Thanksgiving Ledge, jammed my way up the last 5.10 crack, fixed the line for the amazing lady I had been tied to for nearly a day and scurried up the final slabs.  

First female team to drink two King Cobras on the bridge--- yea, right!

Libby followed suit, unfixed the line and scrambled to meet me at the top of El Capitan for the second time in one day.  

Both of us weary but happy in the cool stillness of the night.

We had just become the first females to climb two routes on El Capitan in under 24 hours. (21:17)

The poop definitely cost us a little time.  

Sorry Libby.  














Link's to the Climb

http://www.climbing.com/news/first-time-two-el-cap-routes-in-a-day-for-womens-team/

http://www.alpinist.com/doc/web14f/wfeature-yosemite-speed-brett-sauter-smith-gobat

The Gneiss Abyss

My passion for climbing elevated gradually.  There is no focal point for the shift.  Just an increasing trend from childhood John Long books to quick draw stocking stuffers hanging adjacent to the smoldering chimney of my frozen flatland childhood home.

In college I found someone with a car and enough trust in me to test out the How to Rock Climb techniques.  

My parents moved.  So did I—-Estes Park, Colorado.  I was around real rock.  Real climbers.  Legends!  Lumpy Ridge, the Diamond, Boulder Canyon, Tommy Caldwell, Kelly Cordes, Josh Wharton, Tom Hornbein, Lynn Hill and Douglas Snively.

An enumerable amount of rad people.  They had climbed all over the world.  They had put up first ascents.  They tried HARD! 

Crystal---dropping in!

They inspired me.  

They inspire me even now.  

Crystal Davis-Robbins is one of these people.  I read about her Patagonian adventures in the American Alpine Journal.  I caught wind from friends who climbed with her in Durango.  My Canadian friends adore her.  Crystal was crushing it, Crystal IS crushing it!  

We attempted to meet up in Bariloche this spring while I was in Patagonia.  

Fail.  

While bivying up near the Diamond this July we finally met.  I grunted up Ariana.  She chuckled up D7.  As I rappelled, we exchanged desire to seriously connect and climb.  

“Black Canyon September 3-5?” my text message inquired.

“I think I can take the time off” she replied quickly.

Done.

Wednesday at noon my Subaru wheeled in—-a little late.  Whipping through the campgrounds, my eyes peeled for the green Ranger.  

Not there.

Out climbing? I would be. 

I drove the rim, spot the truck.  Peer over.  

Huh.  

Having never been to the South Rim I thought I would explore the Astro Slog rappels.  

As I was driving away, a truck passed.  Crystal was in the back waving.  She had hitchhiked (after running for awhile barefoot) from the campground I had just blazed through.  The nice folks drove her around the rim drive to find me.  

Hilarious. 

Crystal spied a route we could warm up on, so we dove right in.  Climbing a dirty ass splitter.  We thought it might be new, but the fat ledge at the end of my pitch had a cairn.  Super dirty.  Super splitter.  We trundled many rocks.  Crystal led us to the top via another perfect corner ending with a typical Black Canyon thorn wrestle.

Dinner.  Our plans were open.  Astrodog?  Crystal had done it.  

New routes established by friend Jonathan Schaffer?  Por que no?  

He easily convinced us over the fire Wednesday evening. 

Cheezin’ together!!  Jonathan would be climbing nearby.  Juan (Crystal’s husband) and our mutual friend Cole would also be climbing another route nearby.  

Thursday 8:30 am meet-up.  We descended.  Then descended some more. 

Not sooooooper early for a river to rim kinda-day.  Didn’t quite know we were dropping down so low.  

Oh well.

There is no cheezin’ in the Black Canyon.  There is only crawling your way out.   

Crystal and I had a topo for the first tower.  Good climbing, 5.11, with the typical Black Canyon run-outs.   

I had a topo for the second tower on my camera and we had the beta for the descent from the first tower in our heads.  

Cole and Juan were not too far ahead.  We trailed them on the last few pitches of Tower one and upon summiting spotted their position on the second tower. 

Making a mental note of where to aim.  

We descended tower one no problem.  A chimney down climb, a short rappel and a quick gully jaunt to the base of the next tower.  We bush-wacked around.  Looking back, we think we were deceived due to the boys positioning.  A 5.8 hand crack did not present itself….or at least I didn’t think so.  

Juan morning glow.  Testing my new Hyperlight Summit Pack!

Crystal was patient.  

I ascended a sort of hand crack, then climbed right into a broken and blocky dihedral.  

I belayed at the start of a bushy mess.  Crystal played through the jumble and started up the splitter we had seen the boys at the top of.  

Topo says, “splitter hands.”  

She belayed mid-pitch.  As the crack jogged right it turned “wide,” Crystal observed.  

I had the number 4.  

Earlier in the day I humped the shit out of an exfoliating rounded corner splitter tipping out a number three.  Ops, we gotta remember to pass along the 4!!

I climbed up, geared up and went up. 

The sun.  It flirted the skyline.  

I went up a number 5 sized crack 20-25 feet with our one tipped out number 4.  A stance provided itself on the left.  I placed a blue alien and a .4 to bring Crystal up.  One pitch, now becoming 3!

The wide crack continued up 20 more feet and then jogged left finally diminishing in size.  

Crystal crushed it.  That is what she does. 

The sun had set.  That is what it does.  

I led another pitch with a spicy face traverse.  I brought Crystal up and we simul-climbed the last little bit of Tower 2.  

My camera display smashed in the off-width.  Didn’t matter really.  We didn’t have a description for a descent of Tower 2.  We had our vague recall from the evening before mixed with the ten other routes we were deliberating between. 

A rappel.  A chockstone bridge.  A tower.  A third tower.  

Crystal following up the first tower.

Fuck?  Really, I vaguely remember a discussion of having to climb 3 towers.  Well……

So I climbed up an adjacent tower.  It was rad.  The moon glimmered.  

No rappel anchors.  

I reversed the 100 feet of climbing.  

Crystal’s turn to scout.  She descended a bushy chimney.  A ledge appeared but below her a vast gully continued to drop and wrap back around to our original descent from the morning.  Who knows how steep or how much gear would be left.  

The third tower was the summit, we could see the top.  The look-out.  The tourist spit-off point, with carved logs and trashcans.  So close.  SO CLOSE!  Just gaining access it to it seemed impossible in the dark.  

Juan, Crystal, Cole, myself---Schaffers leg :)

I joked with Crystal that I had been hoping to spoon, I get benighted once a year—-it was time. 

We were snuggled in for 10 minutes when headlamps and a ‘Caw Caw’ came echoing from the rim.  

With a little bit of moonlight left, Cole and Juan hollered vague directions of descent, traversing, ascending, rappelling and ascending one last time.  

We botched a little bit more of the their directions but perfected the art of laughing and climbing via a fading headlamp and no more moonlight.   

First pitches.  First tower.

Somewhere along the way I put Crystal on belay and heard, “Shit….I lost my shoes!”

Your rock shoes or your approach shoes?  

Approach shoes!

Thank GOD, I secretly thought.  We were ‘two easy pitches’ from the top and all I wanted to do was share the burden.  I didn't want to HAVE to lead.  What a selfish sissy!

I climbed the wide chimney the boys — now long gone to bed—- had landmarked for us via headlamp.  Pulled up to a bushy block with a starry sky filling 90 percent of my vision.  

RIM!!!!!  We had crawled out.  Tempted to holler, I abstained.  Just in case.  

Crystal arrived.  

We untied.  We scrambled the 50 feet more over boulders and thorns.  

A dirt path meandered to pavement.  To things.  To sure comforts.  

It was 5:00 am when we reached the car and slammed a beer that was left on the windshield.  

Clean teeth-- Clean climbing!

Ariana winks.  

Precisely etched corners refract the dawns early rays.  The orange, no, the pinkish-red glow of triangular granite looms overhead.  An evolving electric blue sky hugs from behind.  A gurgling pitter patter of fresh snow melt slips its way through lime green tufts.  
Color and energy abound.  

The Diamond lives up to its namesake this July morning.  

Brilliant

We approach quietly, soaking in the scene.  Long's Peak and its East Face stand proudly at 14,000 feet. 

14k Diamond.  

Two parties are tucked in a boulder bivy on the west side of Chasm Lake. They are friends of ours from Durango.  Just six of us hoping to claw upward through dreamy granite splitters.  Lucky to be with friends, lucky there wasn't more.    

Alluring

The North Chimney is no joke.  The Diamond's proximity to the Front Range, a handful of 'moderate' climbs such as Pervertical and the Casual Route, combined with the proliferation of climbing in Colorado---eh, the world -- makes it a crowded alpine 'crag' some days. The Diamond has become a popular first alpine climb.  Sadly, delicate grace and mountain humbleness has not yet been cultivated. 

Pernicious

Loose blocks tumble, grazing by heads and ropes---if your lucky!  Death and serious injury do occur.    

Stomping our way up steep snow, a wet cross over onto a rock apron finds us shoed-up and tied-in.  Jens sets sail up the North Chimney in one long pitch.  We dance the fine line of casual-moderate-terrain-effortless-cruising and wheels-off-the-wagon-loose-rocks-shit-could-hit-the-fan.

Unscathed, we sashay across the massive Broadway ledge.  

Jens following the golden crux pitch

Ariana teases.   

I begin to ascend the perfect dihedral's-- stretching to the ropes end.  My lead felt fluid, but my head was already spinning in anticipation.  

Thoughts refract.  

On-sight? Failure? Motivation? Ability? 

Jens arrival to the ledge snaps me from the day dream.  Gear is exchanged and he dances upward. 

Another moderate pitch sets us at the base of Ariana's goods.  A golden pillar sliced with a shallow finger crack.  I didn't pause, I am not even sure I made eye-contact with Jens. 

I played through.    

Timid at first, cautious of rejection.  Ariana's finicky nature precedes her.  

My breathing is labored.  Chasm lake glimmers and tiny boulders 2000 feet below edge my peripheral.  I place a wire, with a firm yank it holds fast.  

I shrug, still uncertain.  

Feet--feet-- stay on your feet.  

I step left precariously than upward, placing a small cam.  

Bah 

A grunt escapes as I delicately jam upwards.  Blood pulses into my forearms.  Ariana holds steady, providing thin finger locks and meek shallow hand jams  These provide temporary relief, calming my breath while balancing on tiny edges.  I miraculously find tiny stances and continue ascending.    

AhaHHHH 

Many more loud grunts echo through the Chasm cirque.  Exhausted, I throw myself through the final moves to the anchor.  

HOLY SHIT!!!  I exclaimed or thought or whispered.  

Jens follows gracefully, with a toothy smile and a giant exhale he arrives ready to tackle the final pitch.  Another full value brilliant hand and finger crack with a slabby crimp finish. 

Soon I am moving upwards.  While not as pumpy as the crux pitch, there is no backseat during this 140 foot pitch.   

With a glance at the time and a quick conversation of up or down...we couldn't resist.  

UP, one more at least!! 

I jetted up the last 5.9 pitch to Table Ledge.  With an ever important dentist appointment at 3pm--we thread the ropes and worked our way back to Broadway and the once far far away scree field.  Chasm lake still shimmering but the Diamond much darker.  

Her brilliance exhausted for the day-- Ariana let two cruise by first try!!   

What a day!!!            What a dream!!!!              What a dentist appointment????

Table Ledge Success, Ops --11:45--Time to Jet!