by Ron Kilber rpknet@aztec.asu.edu
February 29, 1996
Outing Report
Ron Kilber, Devin Quince
It is 5 AM on a Thursday and a leap year too. As is always the case on a day when I have plans to climb, I'm awake about 3 hours sooner than I really need to be. This is never this case, of course, on a day when I need to work. I don't know why, but on a day set aside for climbing, I'm more eager than Tuffy, a dog I once had that got so excited on a hiking day, she actually squeaked with enthusiasm when I put on her leash.
Today I'm going climbing with a dude, Devin, from Minnesota. He recently moved to the area, and is now living with his mother in Apache Junction at the foot of the Superstitions Mountains (the only other better place for a climber to live would be in Yosemite Valley). About a week ago, after having arrived from the land of 10,000 frozen lakes, he phoned me wanting to hook up with someone to climb with. He sounded like his head was on straight, so I said to myself, what the heck, I'll give another blind-date a try. So we planned a day of climbing in the famed Superstition Mountains.
At 9 AM I arrive at Omega Foods in Apache Junction, Arizona, the agreed-upon place to rendez-vous, because they are a grocery store, and grocery stores have bakeries--more valuable to climbers than a lead rack.
Devin is nowhere around yet, so I think I'll sack-up on some pastries. Well, wouldn't you know it, on this very day, the bakery is closed because of some technical problem they are having in the store? The regional manager is here, as are about 10 other dudes in white shirts and ties, all trying to figure out what to do about the catastrophic failure in the bakery.
When I leave the store, I finally bump into Devin. Even though I have not yet met Devin, I know him when I see him because he is wearing shorts and a t-shirt (I'm wearing warm-ups and a down jacket). Never mind that it is only fifty degrees outside, when you are from Minnneeeesooootaaaa, who needs clothing in Arizona?
By 9:45 AM (we stopped at Bashas Food for the pastries) we arrive at the notorious Lost Dutchman State Park Ranger Station, where a smiling senior lady greets us. She wants $3, and asks us if we want a map. I tell here that her map is out-dated, and that I would be willing to update it in return for an annual pass to the park, because I'm tired of paying every time I come out here. She thinks I'm serious and wants to know if I want to talk to her supervisor about updating the map. "If he's willing to trade, sure."
At 10 AM we are on the trail leading to our goal for the day--"The Tower" (5.8R), a three pitch run-out climb less than 100 yards south of the classic "Hand".
After forty minutes of hiking (sucking wind for me), we arrive at the saddle between the Hand and the "Tower" (in my judgment about 1,500 feet above the parking lot). We peruse the "Hand" for a moment (a welcome rest for me), and then continue east and south up the steep slope towards the base of the "Tower" in front of the humongous 500 foot buttress of rock. After only ten minutes, we arrive at our destination.
Devin is most eager to lead, and since I am a generous and considerate partner, I let him take the sharp end of the rope. Beginning from the nuisance sticky bush (a chain saw would be handy here), as described in "Phoenix Rock", Devin gains about 10' of height when he suddenly realizes his right hand hold is no longer attached to the tower. He throws it at the sticky bush and then decides to come down. Since no opportunity exists at all for the placement of pro, and there is enough loose rock to bury the sticky bush, Devin concludes after three tries that he doesn't have the head for this insane madness today. Maybe another day. In addition, he does not think this is a 5.8 climb at all--more like 5.9 or 10. Maybe it was a 5.8 at one time when all the holds were still in place, but it definitely is not now.
Plan two requires a little more hiking southeast to the "Pickle". From here we continue and scrambling south ascending a steep gully with lots of sharp cats claw on loose 3rd and 4th class terrain. Eventually, with lots of slipping, sliding and slugging, we arrive atop a huge ledge below the humongous buttress of rock. From this new vantage point, we guess we are maybe fifty feet in elevation above the summit of the Hand, which is visible when we are at the edge.
There is no apparent evidence of existing climbs anywhere around here, so after investigating for about 15 minutes, we conclude that there might be promise in a 160 spire/mound. It looks doable to us--no more than 5.6 or 7 at the most, and the rock appears solid.
In a jiffy, Devin is on lead and in no time gains 120 foot of ground to a handy spot where he sets up a belay station. Just as quickly, I join him, and with only 40 more feet to go, we reach the summit in excellent form. We conclude that the first pitch might be 5.4 and the second is 5.6. The pro along the way is medium to large stoppers and tri-cams.
Now that we are on top, the view here is awesome with 270 degree unobstructed views. The winter smog, however, totally obscures downtown Phoenix 40 miles west. I can tell that we are no more than a couple hundred feet southeast of the Tower, and higher too. The Tower summit is in plain view, but we cannot see any evidence of rappel anchors there at all. Wondering how to get down without a bolting kit, we conclude that we are glad we did not climb the Tower today.
It's a little chilly up here too. I'm starting to shiver, even though I'm still in my warm-ups and down vest. Devin, with only shorts and a t-shirt, finally succumbs to the Arizona winter, but swears he would be all right if only he had his sweatshirt on.
The interesting and exciting thing about climbing uncharted territory is you just never know what to expect. Like, how do we get down from up here without using much of our rack for rappel anchors? Obvious to us, there is no evidence that anyone has ever been up here.
Since today is February 29th, we decide to name this climb, "Leap Year", and Devin and I take official claim for its first ascent.
There is a grassy alcove southwest and 60' below us. We rappel to it by slinging a rope around a 15 foot thick mound. The only problem is, we can't pull our rope. The friction and coarseness of the mound won't allow it. We'll have to climb back up and get the rope.
"What are you doing?", I ask as Devin shoots up the climb for a second time--solo. He thinks it will take too long to recover the rope by belaying, and argues the rock is solid and he'll be back in a jiffy.
Sure enough, in nothing flat, Devin is back on the deck after retrieving our stuck climbing rope. He made solo minced meat out of this route.
Personally, I do not agree with solo climbing at all. In my view, soloists are walking contradictions, and when I have the chance, I like to have a go at proving it to them. One of my favorite questions to ask soloists is if they wear seat belts while driving a car. They always say yes. When I wonder to them if driving would be much more exciting without seat belts, this always shifts them into a pensive mood. It really throws them, because it hits home hard the insane madness of solo climbing. Imagine driving around all the time, living off endorphines generated from the exciting thought of surviving a head-on collision without wearing seat belts?
If soloists get such a kick out of risk-taking, why do they just limit themselves to rock climbing? I can think of many activities which generate epinephrine. For example, wouldn't it be exciting to go swimming with sharks? That certainly would give the most nerve-hardened soloist a good jolt of adrenaline.
Maybe our ancient ancestors solo climbed high into the trees and canopy for food and safety, but there's a big difference between trees with bomb-proof hand holds, and rock which can be brittle and break. Also, there's a big difference between an ape's steel vice-grip, and that of a pencil-pushing softened human. Those ancestors who attempted solo rock climbing did not survive long, because they were genetically de-selected. Judging from all the fatal solo reports I read, I'd say genetic selection is still alive and well.
Obviously, soloists have not fully thought through the reality of solo climbing. When they finally do, they will come down to earth figuratively, instead of literally.
Normally, I would protest against soloing with anyone I am climbing with, however, Devin does appear to have good judgment. After all, he did back off of the "Tower" when he judged circumstances made him uncomfortable. I give him lots of credit for that.
It's 3 PM already, so we pack and depart. The trail back to the base of the Hand is much easier because it is downhill all the way.
Since the day is not yet over, Devin wants to do a short 5.6 trad climb which he ascended years earlier. The unnamed route is west (no more than a football field's length) of the Hand on a small 70 to 80 foot tower. We use two stoppers, both bomb-proof placements, and the rappell is easily rigged with sacrificial slings. It proves to be a nice, solid climb, and a good way to round out our day.
By 5 o'clock, we are back at the Basha's parking lot in Apache Junction, and I'm enjoying my first beer since I climbed the Crying Dinosaur weeks earlier (see outing report) . I offer to buy Devin a Fosters, however, he decline's. This is a first for me, because I've never know a climber who has turned down good beer. In fact, I don't know any climber who would turn down bad beer either.
Copyright 1996, Ron Kilber, all rights reserved.Ron Kilber rpknet@aztec.asu.edu