Now that summer is finally here, I've ramped up the climbing part of my trinity of daily activities (science, climbing and drinking). Several days a week at Vedauwoo and two recent trips (Lander, WY and Black Hills, SD) is putting more than gristle on my bones:
Although I still have a hard time keeping up with Uncle Meat (aka Tom):
Tom is in turn dwarfed by Jeff, former Vedauwoo local and abdicated king of the Buckhorn Saloon. At 6'4'' and a good 230 lbs, Jeff is not just a giant of a man but also the proud owner of the foulest mouth in Wyoming. In my favorite Alpinist article, he gets a worthier write-up than I could provide here. The story about the deaf-mute girl alone (ending with the line "Well, at least there wasn't any small-talk!") had me alternating between laughing and going "God, that's so wrong!", and there were infinitely worse tales to come that day. But despite it all, he still floats up 5.12 sport routes at will, which is remarkable for a man of his build:
I had a great weekend up in Lander with Tom, Jeff and Tim, another ex-Laramite. The endless yanking on plastic this winter finally paid off as I onsighted 5.11a and toproped my way up 5.12a. This was lightyears beyond anything I'd climbed previously, and I was pleasantly surprised by the limestone in Sinks Canyon. It felt a bit odd at first - there's no such thing as limestone sport climbing in Sweden - but it obviously suits me quite well. Rumor has it that Wild Iris, another couple of miles up the road, caters even better to my brute-force-over-delicate-balance method of ascent. Can't wait to go there!
At the home crag, the race to get in shape (or get back there in Tom's case) has been on for a couple of weeks. We've gotten horribly spanked on a variety of burly climbs (e.g. Flying Buttress), had some bouldering success (I finally passed the bathang move on Nats Three Star Roof) and gotten close on the straight-forward-but-pumpy classic Spectreman. Neither one of us was anywhere near sending Women's Work, but I got some pretty sweet shots of it:
Most recently I've been off to the Black Hills, South Dakota. Tom was meeting old friends of his from New Mexico, who had been swearing up and down for years that the Needles housed some of the most unique climbing in the West. I tagged along, happy to get to travel a little bit. However, after reading up on where we were going, I was slightly apprenhensive: the Needles have a vicious reputation for being slabby and extremely runout. I can deal with being far above my last piece if I'm feeling solid (e.g. locked into a crack or on huge jugs), but I hate slab - mostly because I'm so bad at it.
My first surprise had nothing to do with climbing, though, and everything to do with landscape. When we rolled into the Black Hills late on Friday, a strong feeling of familiarity crept up on me. After I took a closer look, I realized that I'd just arrived in the US equivalent of northern Sweden:
The more I looked, the more I felt that I'd traveled half-way around the world just to arrive back in Norrland. Bit of a bummer, to tell you the truth - I like my destinations kind of exotic. But I was soon treated to some of that: wild turkeys were running around, chipmunks bounced off the trees and the rock formations were really weird:
As for the climbing, it was mostly as expected. The "classics" included horrific runouts on slick feldspar crystals that would occasionally pop off and send you flying. Topping out some of the thin spires was a real trip, though, and if you're brave enough (I certainly wasn't!) you can try the Needles rappel:
After the first day we were not amused, but the fact that we got consistently either spanked (on 5.10) or scared witless (on 5.8) probably had something to do with that. The climbing at the Needles is so far removed from both Vedauwoo and Sinks Canyon that it might as well not be the same sport. Pessimism quickly set in.
Our second day turned out way better, though. After a slow start (beer takes its toll) we found ourselves at the base of the Conn Diagonal. At 5.7, its three pitches promised to be a pleasant romp. The climb is fairly unique: it follows a gigantic flake several hundred feet up a sheer cliff face, creating easier climbing with fantastic exposure. I was fairly gripped on some of the less secure moves (one is required to climb the outside of the flake occasionally), but the going was easy enough that it was fairly enjoyable. The second pitch is a spectacular hand traverse with hundreds of feet of empty air below your feet, and pitch three delivers you safe into the bosom of a friendly chimney. All in all, highly recommended.
After coming off the Diagonal, Tom spotted something in the distance that he'd seen in Climbing magazine recently. What looked like a thin-ish crack from afar split the Egg spire almost in half, promising severly overhung climbing at the start:
With two days of mincing around on teensy footholds behind us, it was time for revenge, and Michael's Crack (maybe 5.11+) could provide it. The crux, however, proved to be pretty fiddly itself (passing a wide pod at the lip of a roof):
Once you scream your way past the lip (applying anger always helps in situations like these), you still have to contend with 20 feet of overhanging hands/cups/fists:
Unfortunately, once the angle lessens the crack widens to rattly fists and the rock quality turns to absolute shit. Loose blocks and licheny footholds abound, which disqualifies the climb from a list of real classics. The first half of it is spectacular, though, and worth the suffering up top. Another 20 ascents or 5 hours with the Umeå Crew would probably set it straight. Pity it's in the middle of a National Park... Think we could sneak in at night?
