Lauren on Skyline
This fantastic route, in the City of Rocks in southern Idaho, features varied face holds, flakes, edges and cracks on extremely solid granite. In the back (lower left) Redfeather, an excellent climb on small edges (at 5.11, somewhat harder than Skyline) goes up to the right of the dark streak.
IN the very back, near the horizon, Steinfells Dome barely shows behind Lauren. We climbed a 5-pitch face climb on this dome, which I’ll show later.
A climber high on “Skyline”, on the Incisor (aka Morning Glory Spire)
On our first morning, we headed to the aptly-named “Skyline” on the Incisor. Our first taste of City of Rocks stone in a few years, and my first time on granite this year, rewarded us with clean stone, great position, and bomb-proof nut placements.
From the parking lot (at Parking Lot Rock, of course) a quick 5-minute walk took us to the base of the Incisor. The classic “Skyline” starts in any of three possible places.
At the lower start, two cracks on the right or the left, converge before a traverse left below an overlap. An upper start traverses in from a ledge directly below the bolted Fall Line, the climb directly right of Skyline.
The lower starts offer very easy climbing on gently-sloped rock and were a good way to get used to the feel of rubber on rock again (after the long drive to get here).
Andrew leading the arete on Skyline
All starts converge at a delicate traverse right, below a small roof, to the arete — the crux of the climb. From here, we followed big holds, good cracks, and nice jugs along the arete to the summit.
High on the arete of Skyline
Looking down form Jackson’s thumb
Toward the City of Rocks
Thumbelina , the left-most tower of the Bridger Jacks
Thumbelina is so beautiful. I always wanted to climb this tower, but was worried about getting up the hard 5.11 face climbing, which I doubted I could lead.
We did this route as two pitches, with me leading the first chimney pitch, above, to a belay on the chock stone. that worked out very well, as the lower part of the wall went into the shade as Andrew lead pitch two, and I luckily stayed in the sun atop my perch on the chockstone.
Andrew following pitch 1
The chimney is straightforward, but lacks protection, unless one carries very big gear.
One can climb Thumbelina as one long pitch, but I’m glad we didn’t . I stayed warm, belaying in the sun on ridge, from where I admired the view to both sides of the Mesa. I had a much better view of Andrew climbing pith two, the crux face moves.
Looking toward the La Sal Mountains from the top of North Sixshooter
Looking toward Canyonlands
It had been hot when we went up to climb Lightning Bolt Cracks, and the forecast was for temperatures in the mid 80s or higher. We started our hike early - at 8:30, after a long drive on tortuous washes and a challenging road. Numerous times I got out to check the deep ravine ahead, that I was supposed to drive into; or I’d ask Andrew to check the road if it looked less serious.
It was my truck - and if I couldn’t get back out, it would be my towing bill, so I was very concerned for the road’s drivability.
It turned out ok, and we made it close to the base by 8:30; hiking in up with cooler temperatures. It was so warm at the base, with a forecast of higher temperatures to come, so I left behind fleece and wind jacket.
Once we turned the corner on the last pitch (we ran pitch three all the way to the top), the wind howled and blew me around. There was no hope of hearing each other, and getting blown sideways made the climbing only harder.
At the top, instead of enjoying the view, my only thought was to get off. I was cold already, and hadn’t been there long.
Andrew tied the rope ends to himself when rapelling down so that a stray wind gust wouldn’t grab them, pull them around the corner, and stuff them into a distant crack. I’d heard of that happening to climbers on El Cap, and the vision of losing my rope to the wind has haunted me since.
Once off the top, after two quick, short rappels (one 70-meter rope), I ran around to the front side, still in the sun, donned my fleece, and started munching on extra food and water.
The climb was great, but it was sure nice to have water again.
Andrew on P1 , which gets wide at the top
Pitch 1 is much wider near the top!
Pitch 3 is fantastic!
Looking down at the belay for pitch 3.
After this, it’s around the corner and over the roof.
And then to the top in howling winds!
North Sixshooter from the trail
The trail to North sixshooter heads up through forbidding-looking rock bands towards the big mushroom boulder.
We found the trail after spying a cairn a little way up the wash, and having heard how hard the hike can be without a trail, had spent some time looking for it.
The large mushroom-like boulder provides a good target to head for on the hike up. From the truck , which we drove up the dirt road and wash (my 4WD Toyota with the TRD off-road package), it took us exactly an hour to hike to the base of the route.
Yesterday was maybe either the luckiest or most unusual day in my life. I was hit by what I can only guess was a spark of lightning. It couldn’t have been the entire bolt, or I’d be dead, I think.
We climbed Dark Angel, a tower in Arches National Park. As I was following the pitch, it started to rain. I reached the summit, in extremely high winds, and pouring rain.
Andrew started to rappel, and I felt a blow to the right upper part of my helmet, at the same time that I saw a huge, bright flash. I felt a bit dizzy, and immediately went into my “emergency survival mode”. Luckily, after climbing all my life, since I was a child climbing with my parents, this is deeply ingrained, and automatic.
I thought:
‘This is really, really bad. I need to out of here as fast as I can, before I’m hit again.
I also thought: ‘I need to be really careful now, and double-check everything, and not rush and make a serious mistake.’
I wasn’t hurt, and not that scared - I’d already been hit by something, which I can only assume was a spark of lightning. I saw a big bolt go by me, as I felt the blow, and it appeared to hit some distance away. I guess that maybe a spark from the big bolt went out to the side and got my helmet? Luckily, the helmet seems pretty good insulation.
I put my foot under the rope, so that I would immediately notice when the pressure released and I could pull up rope to get myself on rappell. As soon as the pressure on my foot let up, I tried pulling up rope. Though only about 100′ from the ground, Andrew and I could not hear each other due to the howling wind, which was blowing our ropes horizontally to the side.
As soon as I could pull up rope, which was hard due to the pull from the high winds, I clipped on my rappel device, double -checked the set-up, and jumped off the ledge. It was a free rappel - I don’t know if it was due to the tower overhanging, or the wind blowing me out away from the wall.
“I got hit!” I exclaimed, as soon as I hit the ground.
Andrew said he’d never, ever, seen two people rappel so quickly off a climb.
We hid under a rock during the pouring rain. More thunder pealed and grumbled around us; rain poured down in sheets.
I seemed to be ok. No burns, no pain, no injuries, a little bit of a headache. That was all.
But I felt that I was lucky to survive, and that I need to update my will before climbing anything else dangerous — which I guess, could be any climb when it storms.
I think I’ll be way more reluctant to climb in stormy conditions after this. today, I’m having a rest day in the Moab library. I’ll climb again on a clear sunny day with no clouds.
Tristan a little above the start of Pitch 2
Sunflower Tower sits in the middle of the Bridger Jack Mesa, towering above its nearest neighbors - Easter Island and Sparkling Touch. We’d climbed the two latter towers, and now was the time to reach for the top of Sunflower tower.
I like the approach hike to the Bridger Jack Towers - a well-trodden trail that I can get to the top of in a little over half an hour.
Our first pitch looked fun - a slightly awkward crack to start, heading into a wide stem to a ledge.
From this ledge, things would get harder, beginning with the very first move.
I was glad Tristan was leading - he stepped out over a chasm between the tower proper, and the adjacent mini-tower. Our ledge ended about 8 feet short of the crack- which started tantalizingly close, but over to the left.
Tristan chimneyed over to the crack, stuffed his hands into the crack, and levitated up toward the next small pinnacle. From here, the crack progressively narrowed from hands size to finger size - without any convenient footholds making an appearance.
After battling gravity, and struggling up on insecure finger locks and laybacking when possible, it was my turn to follow the pitch. Happy with my tight toprope, I struggled no less than Tristan. finally, I joined him on a large ledge barely below the top of a sort of ‘intermediate’ summit - the top of one tower section adjacent to the main tower body. I quickly clambered above him, out of the shade, onto the main ledge, now basking in the very welcome sun.
Looking down at the top of pitch two from the summit
We belayed near here for the last pitch.
My handhold just broke off!
Tristan and I hiked in to climb Carson’s Tower during his spring break from college.
It was perhaps not the best timing - on our drive to Castle Valley on Sunday, it snowed when we left Colorado and rained when we arrived at the primitive camping area at the base of Castleton.
However, the excellent new tent platforms kept the tent out of the small creek flowing down what had been the approach trail when we climbed Castleton Tower the year before.
Monday morning dawned clear, sunny, under blue skies. After scraping the ice off the windshield, we drove to the Fisher Tower area - here, we could choose among one-pitch towers, which seemed preferable in the cold, windy temperatures.
We hiked to Carson’s Tower, crossing a few canyons running with water.
“Why are you taking us through this swamp?” asked Tristan, sceptically.
“I wasn’t planning on it being here,”I told him.
I’d never seen so much water near Moab, after over 20 years of climbing here.
I got to lead the first climb - the supposedly easy 5.7 original route. Only, after weeks of rain and snow, it seemed less than solid, with fist-sized chunks of rock breaking off in m hand and under my feet. Luckily, the bottom of the climb chimneys up between two pinnacles that seemed large and solid enough that they at least would stay upright. Numerous holds broke off in my hands, transforming this year’s 5.7 climb into next year’s 5.8.
Above the chimney, after clipping two fixed pins, the route description said to step across onto the taller of the two towers. Looking at a sandy, sloping, face (not a foothold), and unable to reach above to the next hold, I opted to descend and let Tristan, who at 6′2″ had much more reach than I, lead that final 8 feet to the summit.
Finally, in a joint effort, we reached the top, with beautiful views off the Fisher Towers and the La Sal Mountains.