Welcome to New Mexico

Fresh in NM with no partner, my first destination was the local boulder pile in the foothills. I was alone, off balance from just having moved across the country and longing for the wild alpine that felt like home a year prior.

Notes from the Old Rag Bear Attack

-Met up with Tim from the gym after work.
-Hiked out to Old Rag by headlamp friday night and camped at the base of Strawberry Fields.
-Come morning, Tim hang dogged Strawberry Fields. I followed.
-I led the first pitch of Return to Sickbay, the route over in the corner to the left of Strawberry Fields that starts with the chimney, then a finger and hand crack exit. Very cool. Tim followed.
-I climbed the first pitch again and continued up to the second for the layback section. The climbed wasn't too hard, but committing, as there were no rests from the layback. The crack was filled with wet slime and moss, so I wasn't able to get reliable gear. I bailed ten feet from the top, as I was sure everything would rip given a slip on the dirty smears.
-After hiking up to rap and clean the gear, we bushwacked down to find Bushwack Crack.
-We were having a hell of a time trying to find our way in the dense woods. Then we came upon a bear.
-Tim starts "soloing" up a low angle and dirty dirty corner to get away. I just laughed.
-After a while of watching and being fascinated by the bear, we started tossing small rocks and making noise to scare it away.
-We continued deeper into the woods and found Bushwack Crack. It was amazing.
-I tried to lead it, but ended up hang dogging. I need to get back and get it clean. I'm not going to describe it. You have to see it for yourself.
-Hiked back to camp and found the rain fly on Tim's tent shredded, his pack and my stuff-sack of food, gone.
-We look up to see the bear 30' away tearing into Tim's pack.
-Tim starts looking for things to "solo" to escape the bear. I laugh and watched.
-I break out a beer and toss one up to Tim, who had found another dirty ramp to climb, and we discussed the situation.
-Tim's headlamp, phone and car keys were in the pack. We had to get it back. It was soon going to be dark. It looked like it was about to storm.
-We created an "escape route" by rigging tandem single line rappels over that little 30' drop just past Report to Sickbay. Then we started yelling "ROAR!" and trundling rocks and throwing logs.
-The bear retreated about 20 feet, then more. Soon it was about a hundred feet off.
-One of us would keep making noise while the other rushed in and grabbed our stuff.
-We hiked out as it fell completely dark. We weren't going to stick around with that bear and the sky looking to storm.
-Famous words from Saturday morning, "That's not bear shit.  There aren't any bears in VA!"  Tim will never let me live that down.

the patagonia trip: P-Town Rock

The morning weather would have been the perfect compliment to an evil wizard's castle.  Regardless, we resolved to accomplish something.  At the least we could cache gear at the base of the route.

At the crest of the talus we donned every layer and fought the wind to stay grounded.  Snow fell, blinded and wet us.  We ate and waited.  Why not try to climb the first pitches?  We could fix the ropes and have a head start for our next try if the tempest persisted.

I led the first pitch, stopping and starting many times as my body vascilated between warming up and shutting down.  Then Voytek jogged up behind me and led the next pitch from my hanging belay.

Voytek was a hundred feet above when I heard an explosion shake the valley.

By this point we were decently conditioned to the sound of rockfall and avalanches in the amphitheater.  I worried more when we first arrived in the high valley.  One particular morning, I was seized from sleep by a sound like a building falling down or a train crashing.  I sprang out from our boulder on a wave of emergency reaction.  I knew we couldn't be in the direct path of any rock fall, but worried the shaking ground might shift our bivy rock, and that would be it for Los Americanos.  The panic subsided to memory and I felt more hardened to these geological thunder storms.

But what I was hearing from my hanging stance amid snow, rain and Patagonian wind was bigger and closer than what I had come to know.  I turned my head a fraction and saw it.  The sky blotted out as a monument's worth of rock shot from the Central Tower and bombed a swath of ground to our right with tub sized boulders that spun and bounced in the slow motion of disaster time.

I yee-hawed into the aftermath to rid the shock of what I'd witnessed and I looked down too see that Dave was safe, scurrying around to find better cover.  I imagined what it'd look like if I saw that cloud coming down on me.

Voytek finished the pitch and we descended to ABC where we cooked endless dishes of the last bits of virtually all of our foods.

We ate polenta with veggie soup sauce.  We drank Zucar.  We ate pasta with parmesan.  We drank Zucar.  We ate a milk peanutbutter and apricot dish of Voytek's devizing.  We drank chai tea.

I went to bed at 8pm and slept deeply.

the patagonia trip: Dave Turner

We woke at 5am to dubious weather, ate breakfast at Voytek's "villa" in the talus, and decided to postpone our decision for the day's action to see what would happen with the weather.  Back to bed.

A few hours later Voytek rousted Dave and I and pointed to a beautiful sky.  It was later than I would have liked to attempt the route, and I was really enjoying the additional rest.  With Voytek's support we decided to put it off.  It could use some time to dry anyway.

Later in the day, which blossomed to the warmest and sunniest of days, we met Dave Turner.  Dave had been on his portaledge soloing a new route on Escudo for 34 days.  It was the first grade VII onsight solo in history.

Every time we ventured into the high valley, we were comforted by his California-eye-in-the-sky presence.  Where's Waldo?  Where's the fly on that big granite wall?  Ah, relief, there it is!

The evening Dave and I masqueraded on Taller Del Sol, we heard a woop! waft across the valley.  "I bet that's Dave topping out," my Dave told me and we wooped back as hard as we could into the big void between us and Escudo.

Last night, as we dined with Voytek, we again heard celebratory yells, this time from the base of the wall.  Dave had just touched down after a full day of descending.  We all yelled back, and I yee-hawed to let him know there was another American there to witness his landing.

What a weird meeting to finally put form to legend as Dave, Voytek and I greeted Dave, who was already in conversation with Raul and Lucas of Santiago and the Dutch Guys, Gerke and Marten, atop a moraine.  Dave and I were among the least experienced in the group, but felt we might offer some American familiarity to the contact deprived climber.

Dave was tall and lanky with huge hand and feet and smaller chest and shoulders.  He said fuck a lot and spoke about his rope access work on wind mills and about the pot laws in CA.

Dave told us he had heard our yells the night before, and to some level we all felt a part of his experience, which Steve Sneider had dubbed the biggest adventure since Shackelton's.

"Why are none of us climbing?"  I exclaimed of the beautiful day around us.

"Well, I have an excuse," Dave replied.

We all laughed and felt genuinely good.

the patagonia trip: The Wake Up Call

"Hey, Dan and Dave," said a muffled voice.

I blinked to clear sand from my eyes and peeked from my alpine hangover.

Clearer now, "Wake up Americans.  It's time to climb Taller Del Sol."

When the contrast balanced I could see out from our dark hole and saw Voytek's smiling face.

"What do you mean?  That was yesterday.  We're out of food."  I told him.

He explained that he had food from the rest of his team who had taken off, done with Paine, having slapped the top of each of the three towers.

"Once you obtain your goals," Voytek told us, "it can be very hard to seek new ones."

But Voytek had not been satisfied by the climbing quality on his share of the South African expedition and wanted a last stand.  He wanted a route that was excellent for the climbing, not strictly the easist way to bag another summit.  He wanted Taller del Sol.  The route everyone was talking about, but few pursued as they focused on bigger prizes.

I beamed with gratitude and enthusiasm.  Then Voytek, the Polish South African angel, silouetted by clear sky, sauntered off to find a bivvy spot of his own.

the patagonia trip: Attempt on Taller del Sol

We planned to sleep until 5am, but I couldn't.  Maybe it had something to do with the coffee I drank with the Dutch or maybe I was just buzzing with anticipation.  I looked out from my nook under our boulder, watched the stars and day-bright moon, and found high pressure every time I checked my watch-barometer.  Finally, I could take no more and rose at 4am.  The towers, Escudo, Fortulessa and Tridente shined by the moonlight.  The air was still and comfortable.  Life was perfect.

I woke Dave and made the case for getting up a little early.  I can't sleep, and...come on.  Then we made breakfast with the last of our cereal and some tea, and crawled up the talus to the base of the route.

It was light by the time we reached the top, and cold.  We took our time to survey the wall and find our route.  We needed the day to warm enough for our fingers to be nimble.

With much uncertainty of the route start, Dave racked up and led towards a promising crack system.  On our second pitch, Ivo and his friend traversed below, on their way to climb the Monzino Route.

Ivo had to leave Paine for work the day Dave and I did the Monzino. He said he cried having to leave on a calm, clear day.  Then he saw the forecast for the big break in the weather, snubbed his work and returned with ten more days of food.  We were glad to see him.

We yelled down as he passed below and asked if he knew where Taller Del Sol started. He called up in his broken English that he thought the route was further to our right, but he wasn't certain. 

Dave and I decided to trend right when we could.

Then Marten and Gerka passed below us.  Marten climbed Taller Del Sol on a previous trip, so we knew he would set us straight. "It's over to the right side of this pillar," he pointed, "but you're definitely on something, so you should continue if you can."

As they disappeared, on their way to climb Monzino, Dave reached a blank section on our line.  We could go no further.  He set a good nut and lowered to my stance atop the first pitch of easy slab.

It was a perfect day and here we were, all false starts and where do we go?

We pulled the bail rope and the tip got jammed in a crack above me.  I raged in my head.

We rappelled our free rope to solid ground where I could throw my wrath into the line.  I whipped, pulled and yarded.  With some heavy bouncing, it came free.  I took the minor victory, pulled myself out of my frustration and aimed to enjoy the rest of the day.  As late as it was, we had missed our last chance to top out, but at least we could do some climbing.

I racked and started the first pitch of easy slab. Then there was a tricky pitch of 5.10 with a crux streaming with water.  I didn't know if I was capable of the moves, but kept extending myself into the next setion and somehow succeeded from stance to stance.  I was charged as I belayed Dave.

The next pitch was a little easier, 5.9, but still very wet. I took my time getting through the crux, then made good progress to the belay, ending the pitch a little short of the streaming wet fixed anchor.  I was ready for Dave to take the next pitch.

Dave climbed the 5.10+ offwidth pitch with typical no-big-deal style.  I figured offwidths are a matter of applying requisite energy, so I opened the valves and let it all come streaming out like a car lot blower man.  Like the blower man, I didn't go anywhere gracefully.  I'm sure it would have been easier without a pack, and I did follow clean in the end, but I'm not sure I would have led it smoothly as Dave had.

Now Dave was warmed up and he happily embarked on the next 5.9 pitch.

It is interesting how one's mood shifts between leading and following. You might expect worry to come under the pressure of being on lead, rather than while enjoying the safety of a belay stance. However, it is at the belay stance where you have the time and mental space to consider the commitment of your position.  I suppose experience helps you recognize the swing and take it more in stride.  I still get the unfocused dread, but it's starting to make way for in-the-moment excitement.

Dave's second pitch was superb. Almost the entirety was a three sided elevator shaft where you place your back on one side and an outstretched leg pushing on the opposite wall, in the ideal position to savor the exposure below.

On the sixth pitch--the second 5.10+ pitch I'd ever attempted to lead--I led with a fluidity I hadn't experienced before.  It was as if I was too tired to worry if my interpretation of the next sequence was correct.  Everything had worked out so far.  I enjoyed my relaxed disposition, but thought I could be getting close to the edge.

Ahead of me laid a thin finger crack I should be able to lay back and then grab a large hold to regain composure. That's it?  A couple 5.10 moves and I get that big jug to hang on?  Easy.


I checked the micro cam I placed at chest level, slotted my fingers into the fold before me and pulled into the moves.  I raised my right hand to the next gap in the crack, then matched with my left, foot shuffled and repeated until I could make a big reach up to the jug I spied from below.  But it wasn't a jug! It was a marginal pinch.

Shaking with exertion, I tried to reverse the moves. The thought of the last cam flashed in my mind, but, before the image could fruit into a coherent thought, my world began to accelerate. Just as the feeling of acceleration registered, my stomach landed in my gut and I came to a very soft stop.

I was only a couple feet above my gear when I fell, but with rope stretch I fell 25'.  I was okay.  Just a little scrape on my arm.  Woah!  My heart pounded.

"I'm good," I called to Dave in a strange voice, "I'm going to batman up now."

I was pulling on the rope, walking myself up the rock when my forearm cramped solid and pinky curled tight on the rope.  It was the adrenaline jamming my system.  I beat the offending hand against my leg and thrust the curled finger in my mouth so I could pull it straight.

Just ten feet from the next belay stance and I was reduced to a cramping wreck and my ability to move with a modicum of grace was shot.  So I did what I had to.  I grabbed the highest piece of gear, pulled up on a shaky arm and plugged a new piece above.  Then I grabbed that one and repeated. This "french freeing" thuggery seemed like more work than actually climbing, but it felt secure. Finally I clipped the anchor.

"I think it's time we start rappelling," Dave called up.

No! I cried internally.

We had come so far and had even completed all of the most difficult pitches. All that laid ahead were a couple 5.10 pitches, then easier ground to the top. Alas, it would take another four hours, probably five, to reach the summit. This was supposed to be our tour de force to capture the summit block. It would be so great to reach the true peak by such a direct and beautiful route.

I looked across the valley, upon the vast wall of Escudo. The sun was just beginning to dip below its edge.  It was 930pm--two hours before total darkness.

But the weather is so fine! We could push into the night.

If we had more experience and fitness we could push it. Besides, if we were to continue, Dave would have to pick up my slack.  I was cooked.  It was time to go down.

I carefully rigged the rappel and cleaned the pitch back to Dave's stance. I was bitter about reversing our progress, but also psyched that we got so far.  I had climbed only a few 5.9 and 5.10 pitches in my almost two years of climbing, but never in a sustained effort and certainly never in such a threatening environment.

Down we went into the dark.

When climbing, you feel in control of your fate, at least to some degree, but while descending, it's more like you're the sucker in a morbid game of dice. At the end of each rappel you wait in suspense as you pull the rope, hoping it doesn't jam on any of the myriad features you used to ascend the wall.  If it does you're guaranteed an epic, and you may be forced into such dubious activities as ascending the stuck line, or cutting the rope and making numerous short rappels where you'll have many more chances to get the rope stuck.  In the worst case you could end up stranded.  Bait for the next storm.  Combine this world of uncertainty with fatigue, dehydration and hunger and you feel a vertigo of boredom, horror, exhilaration, fatigue and that unfocused dread.

My mind tried to escape by thinking of family and girlfriend, and such pleasures as a warm pizza and a casual afternoon with friends.

1000' of rappels later, after a few scares from stuck ropes that eventually came free, we regained terra firma.  What relief!  But the relief was short, as we still had a two hour descent through loose talus in the dark.

As zombies we descended from the wall, back to our advanced camp where our last can of tuna and packet of soup waited.

We thought we were done with Paine.

the patagonia trip: International Relief

Wind and low visibility shut us down for climbing today, so we retreated to Japonese Camp to pick up more food and a few additional comforts.

Almost back to Japonese, Dave and I passed the successful South African climbers as they returned from the South Tower.  They had been on the move for around 36 hours and stopped in the path to sit, even with their tents less than a mile away.  As they straggled into camp, we offered a nip of celebratory whiskey.  Most declined, solely focused on burrowing into their respective tents to sleep.

The Dutch, who had succeeded on the Central Tower the day before, were more sociable.  Finding them in the climber's shanty, we offered the whiskey and they heartily accepted.  They reciprocated by sharing their honey, tobacco and, after learning that we were low on food, a package of pasta and a large chocolate wafer mystery bar that contained enough calories to keep us in the mountains for another day.

We were dumbfounded by their generosity and felt quite happy.  Hearing they were low, we gave them a stick of sunblock, hoping to return part of the favor.

Later, we came to enjoy the antics of Raul, a climber fom Santiago, who, with an amiably goofy manner, demonstrated the preparation of his powdered eggs.  Then he gave us a zip-lock bag full of the stuff, assuring he had more than he could use.

Back at our bivy site, Dave and I prepared for flight on our route in the morning.  We were convinced that tomorrow would be the day.