Stop 8, Teton National Park, Wyoming, Teewinot

I can outrun a pronghorn antelope. Though found in the Teton National Park and considered to be the fastest land animal in North America, the pronghorn must take second now that I have arrived in the area. So I think, as I begin the hike up Teewinot in the Teton National Park.

Sixth highest peak in the Tetons, Teewinot is the only major peak with an Indian appellation (though bestowed by Europeans). Considered non-technical, there is still a small snow field to cross requiring an ice axe, and fourth class moves through a cruxy section up higher. There is also a bit of route finding involved, especially just below the summit.

All that is yet to come though, as first there are the dreaded switchbacks up the Apex, 18 in all. They are no match for me, however as my lungs are bellows and my legs steam pumps, churning in unison to push me higher. I am invincible, surely faster than anything around. Until I am passed—no, Blown By—on the trail. By a girl.

That it is a girl is no big matter—I've shared a few runs in Bellingham with my friend Brie, and she could dust me at will. But my legs did feel strong this day; I had done a 21 mile acclimatization hike two days before, just after arriving in the area, and felt recovered and reenergized from that.

Perhaps I am not a pronghorn, reaching speeds of 50+ mph. Maybe I am more like a bison, also found here in the park. Once numbering in the millions, the bison (aka American buffalo) in the Teton National Park and are part of the only naturally surviving herd in North America which once ran 60 million strong and was hunted down to 300 by the late 1800s. Think Buffalo Bill Cody, who gained his nickname by killing almost 5,000 of these creatures in a year and a half under contract to supply food to railroad workers. And that was just one man.

The bison is big and shaggy (which I decidedly am not), but can run up to 35 mph. That's it...I'm a bison, big and strong and lord of all I see. Until I am passed again. And again by a girl. Okay, maybe I'm just a pika, small and harmless with a shrill whistle sounded in alarm as I scurry off the trail to let the faster hikers pass me by.

The day is beautiful, sunny but not too hot with a few high white clouds here and there and thunderstorms forecast for later in the day. Lower down, wildflowers splash the hillside with color, while at higher elevations the mica laden granite sparkles with every

step. Stopping to get out my ice axe before the snow field, I pause to enjoy the view across Jackson Hole and again give thanks that I am able to once again do exactly what I want to do today. I want to be nowhere else, I want to be doing nothing else. I am, at least for a time, living in the present, no thoughts of the past, no plans for the future.

At 12,325 feet, Teewinot is the sixth highest peak in the Tetons and the route from the parking lot includes 5,500 feet of elevation gain. I am definitely feeling the elevation—any slower on the last 500 feet and I think I would be going backwards. With a start, I realize that this is my personal high point. It's not much, but it's mine. The summit fin of rock is tiny, allowing for one person at a time on top, but there is a nice perch just below where I sit and chat with a father and daughter from Maine. The views from the top are inspiring, and thoughts reach towards future plans, imagining what the climbs on the nearby peaks will be like.

On top of Teewinot, with the Grand Teton in the background

On the hike down, a young marmot gives me a quizzical stare, and the trill of birds and calls of chipmunks and pikas accompany me. I temporarily lose the well-trodden trail but regain it slightly lower, and reaching for my camera to snap a pic of the dark afternoon clouds rolling in over the range, I say “Oh my!”—or perhaps some other four letter exclamation, I don't remember which—realizing my camera is no longer attached to me. Somewhere on my detour I lost it. Turning towards the darkening sky and hiking back up the trail to try and retrace my steps with little hope of finding the small black bag, I notice a ray of sunshine in the form of my friend Susan coming down the trail. She had finished her day early and hiked up the trail a ways to wait for me, choosing to wait at a spot along the trail that I had bypassed when I lost the path. Explaining my plight, we set off together on the search. She asked what the camera looked like, and I said it was in a small black case and would be impossible to find among the dark needles and ground cover shadows. “You mean it looks like this?” she asked, showing me my black camera case she had just bent down to pick up. Expressing my gratitude, I shook her hand gravely—or perhaps it was some other gesture, I don't remember which.

Stop 7, The City of Rocks, ID Part 2

I ran over a rabbit. Twice. On purpose.

This was my intro to the City of Rocks. Arriving after dark, I had headed up the dirt road from Almo to the entrance of the park, and a rabbit appeared in my headlights. I drove past giving a wide berth, expecting the hare to hop to the side of the road, but this rabbit did not run. I backed up to give a closer inspection, and realized that the poor thing had already been recently hit in the hind legs and could no longer move. Its head was cocked towards me in the soft sidelights of my Subaru, but the eyes were blank, lifeless, merely awaiting whatever was to come next.

I chose to play God and end its life as quickly and painlessly as possible. Backing up further, I aimed my right tires towards the crippled critter, said a little prayer, and stepped on the gas. At the last second, my instincts kicked in and I swerved slightly, just enough to miss. Okay, one more try as it was a task I must do. This time I drove straight and true, and did the deed once more to make sure. What was the poor rabbit feeling as I bore down upon him? Fear? Relief? Acceptance? Can rabbits have those emotions?

Call it karma, call it a chance. The next day while climbing in a group of four, we noticed—heard first—a baby bird in the shallow stream next to our climb. It had fallen from a nest in the rocks just above, and was calling for attention. A survival gamble, as the attention could be good or bad, that paid off in this case. D picked up the bird and climbed the rocks to the nest, gently pushing the bird back into the rock hollow. Yes it was messing with mother nature, but I pushed those thoughts away and took some consolation in a life taken, a life restored.

After our rest day, we felt strong and ready. D geared up to lead Crack of Doom as the first climb of the day. Unfortunately it was also the last climb of the day, as a sprained ankle brought a premature end to his trip. He had placed a piece of gear on the bouldery start just a few feet off the ground. While trying to figure out the move, he decided to rest on the piece. It popped and down he went, hitting his ankle just the wrong way.

Without a partner, I decide to get out the aid gear and solo lead a quick pitch. It was a good idea that took a lot longer in reality! I knew I was slow and needed the practice, but had forgotten HOW slow! I had also forgotten how much energy aiding takes. By the end of the pitch, I was DONE. It was a good ending to the day though, and once again I knew I was going to have a great sleep.

Self portrait

Portrait of a black tri-cam

The next day I was able to pick up with a group of three climbers and ended my stay in the City of Rocks with some great climbs, and great company! Two days of climbing with some new friends, and by the end of those climbs I am simply worn out and ready for a rest. I'm not sure where I am next headed...I will be in the Tetons (Wyoming) from the 19^th, so have an eleven day window with no concrete plan. I'm not worried though—I know I'll come up with something fun to do!

Worried? Me? Old school spicy runout climbing.

Looking down at the parking lot from Parking Lot Rock

The last few days saw thunderstorms move in during the afternoon, which greatly cooled things off. The pic below (left to right, Dale, Andrea, me, Herb) is just after we finished our last climbs of the day. We had all run back to our car to add layers/change clothes, as it was 54 degrees!

Just another beautiful sunset!

Leaving the City

Stop 7, The City of Rocks, ID Part 1

Once a stop on the California Trail 160 years ago, the City of Rocks National Reserve is now a stop on many a climber's itinerary. Located in south central Idaho in a line between Boise, 4 hours to the northwest, and Salt Lake City, 3 hours to the southeast, the City is an outcropping of granite rocks in the middle of rolling farmland. It is an unlikely place to find climbing, but that was also true of Joshua Tree. There is a long history of climbing here dating back to the mid-sixties as Utah climbers honed their skills here, and even (or more accurately, of course) Fred Beckey visited the area in his eternal search for new areas.

A view of the City of Rocks from the west

I am to meet up with a new (well, new to me!) partner I found through rockclimbing.com. D climbs a bit harder than I do, but with all the routes being single pitch, we figure personality is more important than climbing level. He plans on being here for ten days, till the 8th, which seems like a long time to commit to an unknown partner and area, but as I write this on the 3rd I feel there is so much left to climb with only a short time remaining!

Granite galore!

Arriving very late on Tuesday the 28^th, we begin climbing on the Wednesday morning. We turn out to be quite compatible partners, and we take our turns leading and cleaning routes on the various formations of the park. The weather is comfortable—lower to mid 80s and usually with a small breeze—and the days fly by as we get into our rhythms. Two days on, one day off. Two days on, and now another day off which finds me in the Tracy general store in Almo, pecking away at my computer and downing cold drinks and snacks while sitting at a wooden plank table with red-checkered cloth inside a business established well over one hundred years ago.

Someone needs a haircut

There is a trickle of customers inside the Tracy store; most are locals known by first name, but one family comes in, taking pictures and looking at the century of memorabilia on the walls and inside an old oak display case made by the Saint Paul Show Case Mfg. Co. of Saint Paul, Minnesota. They turn out to be the descendants of the man who donated the City of Rocks land to the Park. Everyone I've met in Almo, from the rangers both at the Park Station and within the City to the people in the the Tracy general store and post office, and the store of Rock City, have been extremely nice. It is a genuine smile that greets you upon entering one of the stores here—not rushed, not forced. It is perhaps a trite description of a small town (150 people live in Almo), but the description here doesn't seem trite—it seems just right.

Items in the Show Case

An old NCR cash register, still working though not in everyday use

Summer is the slow season here—too hot for most, whether they be climbers or non—and the park feels empty. This is partly an illusion—there are people here, but the designated camping spots are not of the general side-by-side variety. Rather, the spots are purposefully secluded from each other; sometimes even a few shrubs or some rocks between sites can create privacy, and this policy is one reason the City is so popular among all types of people.

The both of us however, being on a more limited budget than the average camper, choose to stay for free on BLM (Bureau of Land Management) ground about ten minutes outside the park. The fee for the park campsites is $12.63 per night including tax (Idaho taxes everything, including basic amenities). Though that may not sound like much, multiply that by 30 nights and you end up at almost $380 per month. I have a friend in Bellingham who pays less than that for his rent. My budget is a selective one, and I select to pay as little for camping as possible. I'd rather save the money for a night of pizza with friends, or webbing to replace old anchors. It's a strange sensation to have a limited amount of money with no more income. One of these days I will either have to stop this trip or, more likely, resupply my funds for a while. But that is something I don't need to worry about just yet!

Camping with a view of the rolling farmland

Stop 6, Vegas Baby!

Las Vegas. Lost Wages. Sin City. Capital of Second Chances. The City of Lights. Glitter Gulch. The Strip with its neon glow (and a neon museum nearby), shows and showgirls, Pyramids and Venetian canals, and of course, the lure of gambling. One more spin, another chip, a last roll of the dice and you too can live the new American dream and get rich quick by ignoring the odds and working only as hard as pulling a lever. Or pushing a button, with the new age of machines and rules.

All of this is the attraction of Vegas, and I come and go to this desert oasis without participating in any of them. I really didn't even see the hotels, and even the Luxor, with its 39 individual lights and 2 billion candlepower, failed to pierce my view. But then again, I left Flagstaff without seeing the Grand Canyon and Yosemite without seeing the Valley.

I am just outside of Vegas in the sprawling suburb of Summerlin. Sam and Brie, two of my best friends from Bellingham who have been featured in the first two weeks of my trip, have recently moved here for Brie's grad school, and it is on their couch I find my own oasis in the desert.

I had taken a small fall on my last day in Paradise Forks a little over a week ago, bruising my coccyx and making climbing, and even walking and sitting, less than enjoyable. I continued to climb (and walk, and sit), but realized that I really just needed some time off. The one and only climb in Tuolumne made that decision concrete—as beautiful as Tuolumne is, and as enjoyable as the climbing was, I just wasn't having fun.

While most of my time in Vegas was spent in sweet air-conditioned relief, Sam and I took a day to drive up to Mt. Charleston to check out some limestone climbing areas from afar, and to let Sam rocket down one of the mountain bike trails from the top of the mountain to the bottom. Mt. Charleston, at over 7,700 feet, has temperatures about 30 degrees cooler than Las Vegas proper. Combined with other areas such as Mt. Potosi, a limestone cave not too far from the entry to the Black Velvet Canyon, climbing is possible year round.

Unlimited potential on one of dozens of limestone "islands" at Mt. Charleston

Bouldering is also quite pleasant in the evenings, and several days after work and school we drive over to the Calico Hills area to wind down the day in the cooling canyon of boulders. Though work and school are on the other side of Vegas from Sumerlin, Sam and Brie's condo is about a ten minute drive to Calico Hills, as well as to the main entrance of Red Rocks National Park. For those climbing friends of Sam and Brie looking to come to Las Vegas and crash in their spare bedroom, be forewarned—age has its privileges, and I call the cot!

Spotting the rare Walking Crash Pad

One day I head into Red Rocks proper to stretch my legs and hike around. Properly known as the Red Rock National Conservation Area, the 195,000 acre reserve attracts over a million visitors per year, mostly in its 13 mile loop drive. In a thirty minute hike starting from the first pullout, I see a family of foxes, a covey of quail, and the biggest most bad ass bee I have ever seen, as big as my thumb with a sinister black and red color scheme. I would have taken lots of pictures, as per my earlier vow, had I brought along my camera. But after all, I was only going for a quick hike in the busiest part of the park...what wildlife would I possibly see?

The day before I leave, I hook up with a local climber and head out for a couple of routes before the hottest part of the day. We knock off three quick pitches, two gear and one sport, as the temperatures reach over 100°. Our choice of routes is of course dictated by the search for shade, and the climbing is not at all unpleasant.

Meanwhile I have filled out some holes in my climbing schedule; next up is the City of Rocks in Idaho. I am sad to leave Sam and Brie, and even Fin and TomCat (despite the fact that they really don't like me all that much). But I am healed and raring to climb again, and new arenas beckon. So off I go, through the desert of Nevada and Utah, through Salt Lake City with its streets numbered into the tens of thousands, and into southeastern Idaho, the small town of Almo, and the City of Rocks.

Stop 5: Tuolumne Meadows, CA

Within Yosemite National Park, Tuolumne Meadows is at higher elevation than Yosemite Valley and therefore cooler in the summer. It is also supposedly less crowded than The Valley...and maybe it is, but not this week. There is only one campground within this area of the park, and it is full. Every other campground just outside the park is full as well, and we spend several hours trying to find a site.

It's already the second day since my friend Angelina and I left Los Angeles, and we still have yet to climb. We had gotten off to a late start from LA, and then spent time trying to find wireless access along the highway to study a map and see if we should drive together or separately. We decide to take separate vehicles, since I am nursing an injury and don't know how long I can climb.

After checking out several roadside camping signs, we find an area that has free camping, just half an hour south of Mammoth Lakes. It's a perfect little site, complete with babbling brook, though we are both too tired to care too much about the amenities. The next morning we stop in Mammoth Lakes at Mammoth Mountaineering to continue my search for the perfect shoe, and we are able to leave Angelina's car at a park and ride, saving on park entrance fees.

From Mammoth it's less than an hour to the park entrance, assuming you don't miss the only turn required. We of course miss it and, engrossed in conversation, don't notice our mistake for 20 minutes or so. Turning around, we make it to the park, only to find the campground full—we backtrack from the entrance only to find all the other campgrounds full as well. Finally we find a site about ½ hour from the park entrance, not too far from the small town of Lee Vining, and get in a few quick climbs near Elliot Lake.

We sleep with our heads full of dreams of bears and climbing. We awake ready to pound out a couple of routes, but once again our climbing plans are temporarily foiled, this time by a flat tire! It's almost a good thing we are so close to Lee Vining, where for $20 at the garage behind the Chevron station the Subaru is once again good to go.

Finally we arrive at Daff Dome and its relatively short approach. Though several parties are both on and waiting for West Crack, no one is on the dihedral of the somewhat shaded Cooke Book, our goal for the day. We gear up and head straight to the first pitch, which begins just left of West Crack.

The first pitch goes up a short distance before detouring around an underclinging block, and the rope drag turns out to be horrendous. The topo mentions a need for long slings, but even double lengths are insufficient to clear a rope-eating crack at the far left of the block. Upward progress is a struggle, made even worse by injury, and I have to admit that I am just not having any fun. My mistake for not routing the rope better, either straight over the block by back-cleaning the gear on the left side of the block, or by using longer slings. I have no choice but to lower and clean the gear below the block before batmanning back up the rope to continue. After that, however, the beauty of the line becomes clear and the moves are effortless, and the rest of the pitch is an absolute blast.

View across the Meadows from the climb

Angelina leads the crux pitch, and I can not remove one of her nuts. It's been a long time since I couldn't clean a piece of gear, and this one is especially frustrating as it moves freely in a small pod. Pulling up, pulling down, twisting all around...I just can't unlock the Chinese puzzle of the pod, and leave it and continue to the belay. Though clouds are building, we take a chance and Angelina raps back down to see if she can clean it. Of course, it takes her about three seconds! She returns to the belay, and on the gear changeover I promptly drop my belay device and carabiner (Doh!). Again, it's been years since I dropped anything, but dropped gear seems to be consistent with the theme of this trip. With a few rolls of thunder in the distance, we decide it's not worth it to rap down and grab it, even though in plain sight.

Looking pretty haggard at the top

The rest of the climb is devoid of any more drama, and on the descent I try and climb my way back up to the ledge with the dropped gear, but just can't seem to get to it. Perhaps a good samaritan will find it, so I post a note at the message board at the Tuolumne Meadows Grill.

I decide to rest on Saturday, and in the morning we set out in search of Angelina's friend who should be climbing in the area. Even though we don't find him, Angelina finds another climber in search of a partner and off they go, while I spend the day catching up on phone calls and e-mail. AT&T seems to have the best service in the area, with an especially strong signal starting just off the turn-off to Tuolumne Meadows Lodge. I find a stream to sit next to, which is on the John Muir and Pacific Crest Trails, and peck away on the computer and chat on the phone while watching the hikers traipse past.

At this point I know I need an extended rest—I am really in too much pain to enjoy the climbing—and I plan to head to Las Vegas to surf the couch of my friends Sam and Brie, who have just moved to Sin City for school and work. We fortunately find Angelina's friend, and Sunday morning we drive back into Mammoth Lakes so she can retrieve her car and head back to Tuolumne, while I head north for some R&R.

Tuolumne Clouds

Stop Four, Tuscon, Mt. Lemmon

Friday, July 10^th

I am driving into the maw of hell. Black clouds prematurely blot out the setting sun, and lightning and thunder punctuate the senses with a manic assault of percussive sound and strobe lights. The top of some distant peak is illuminated in the flashes, along with the ghost like figures of suguaro standing alongside the road, arms uplifted to the heavens collecting the moisture. Rain and wind beat sideways against my car; the drops are so big they sound like rocks against the window by my head, while the wind is so fierce the rain merely pings off the front windshield. The display is all the more impressive considering the size of the horizon—not enclosed like that of Washington, but an expansive horizon that begs you to take a deep breath and let your spirit soar to the ends of the earth. Or at least be blown west with the whipping wind!

This is my introduction to Tuscon, and adds to the wealth of experiences I've so far collected in Arizona. I like Arizona.

On Saturday morning we meet up with a large group of climbers at The Buzz coffee shop at the foot of Mt. Lemmon, while Stephanie heads out for a class taught by a local guide. The Buzz is, well, abuzz with activity—the dozen climbers are easily outnumbered by the cyclist, ready to pit themselves against thousands of feet of climbing in temperatures that are already into the high 90s.

Our group heads to the Munchkinland area, a stretch of granite wall with a number of face climbs, with many first ascents and much hardware supplied by local climber Scott Ayers. He has invested well over a thousand dollars in hardware alone, all of it first class and bomber. This wall was meant to be used and enjoyed for years to come. Thank you, Scott!

The 30 minute hike has some ups and downs, but goes quickly. Michelle, who is in the lead, suddenly makes a short jump to one side. She has spotted a good-sized rattlesnake sunning himself just off the trail. We make a wide berth while the snake slowly crawls over a log and curls up under a small bush. Much darker than rattlesnakes I've seen in Florida, the almost black snake is perfectly camouflaged and the rest of the group can barely make him out under the shade of the foliage.

Can you spot the rattler?

Large groups can be difficult, but this one works out well. There are just enough ropes and leaders to keep everyone busy and satisfied climbing at whatever level they choose. There is a 5.6 stemming route (Miss Gultch) that is incredibly fun (so much fun we repeat it the next day), and some mildly overhanging workouts at the end of the day as we all warm up to the wall. As the sun appears over the cliff just past mid-day, the clouds mercifully roll in and we spend the whole day in the shade.

Me on Miss Gultch

Brigette leads Miss Gultch

Sunday, July 12th

The next day sees us back at the same area, considering our success in keeping out of the sun on the previous day. We're a little slower today with just the three of us, a pace that suits us all just fine. I'm nursing a number of niggling injuries by now, and am content to lead at a moderate level.

We met a couple of friends of Brigette's, Tanya and Dave. Tanya's fiance is Scott, who put up many of the bolts. While talking, I mention I have friends who have just moved to Las Vegas. Tanya shouts out, “You're Brie's friend!”. As it turns out, I met Tanya and Scott in the Needles where they had camped next to Sam and Brie for a number of days. It's a small climbing world!

Back at Brigette's house, we settle down for a late dinner and a movie. It's been a great trip, all too short, and I absolutely can not wait to get back to Tuscon and see the rest of Mt. Lemmon. I've only been to one of the numerous areas, and haven't even seen the top of the peak itself!

It may be a small climbing world, but it's going to take years to see even a fraction of everything and everyplace. My goal is to take more pictures—I have no picture of the storm, of the suguaro, or of the incredibly beautiful sunset that accompanies me on the drive out of Arizona. I realize that, six weeks through this journey, my eyes are just beginning to see.

Me leading at the Munchkinland Area

Stephanie on her first rappel!

Stephanie's first time ascending on prussiks!

Stop Three, Flagstaff Part Three

Fourth of July weekend saw an influx of caravans into the forest. Gypsies from the surrounding areas, some local and some escaping the heat from southern Arizona, set up camps and campfires to enjoy the long holiday weekend. Every type of vehicle and tent was represented, from buses larger than my old house to decrepit trailers evidently dusted off for just this occasion.

My friend Brigette and her daughter Stephanie came up from Tuscon to climb with me, this time at The Overlook, just south of Flagstaff on the way to Sedona. The Overlook is a popular stop with travelers, and has not only a terrific view of the surrounding cliffs but also a number of local native crafts for sale at about a dozen tables. Although the necklaces and bracelets are assembled by natives, the beads and other materials themselves mostly come from China, Taiwan, and other SouthEast Asian countries. I noticed the same thing when in Alaska trying to buy a small jade bear trinket...everything was completely made in Taiwan.

Now I'll support a democratic Taiwan most any day, but I would at least like to have the option of buying objects made in the U.S. I know the economic issues are complex, but I'll support someone like Ryan at www.AmericanClothingExperiment.org in his quest for American sourced and American made products.

Back to the climbing. More basalt awaited, a little more featured and quite a bit shorter than at Paradise Forks. The climbing and company was great, and later included Brigette's father who was in the middle of a several-state motorcycle tour.

We were rained out one morning, and so drove down to Sedona in quest of drier weather. As we emerged from Oak Creek Canyon, the spires of the West of my imagination suddenly appeared...awesome! Sedona is located in the midst of spectacular scenery and numerous vortexes, of which I have yet to form an opinion. New-agers, cowboys, and tourists explore the west exist side by side in Sedona, making for an interesting mix of craft shops, horse-drawn wagon tours, and jeep off-road tours.

Sedona is also hot, about twenty degrees hotter than Flagstaff on this day, and we quickly decide to head back to The Overlook to see if the weather has cleared up. It has, and we spend the next days climbing and seeing the sights of Flagstaff.

After Brigette and Stephanie leave, I head back north of Flagstaff for a few more days of crack school at Paradise Forks. It is easy to set up top ropes there, and I can knock off six or seven routes quickly, running as many laps on each as my fists and fingers can stand. I climb my pain into oblivion, scars and callouses and aches accumulating slowly but surely. I'm soon ready for a day of rest, and take up Brigette's offer to visit Tuscon and climb at Mt. Lemmon for a few days.

Marcus leading a crack

Me following a crack. When it's the wrong size, it's just wrong. But when it's right, it truly is Paradise!

A rare featured overhanging flake

Every climber in Flagstaff knows that Paradise is down below