Climbing Therapy

Sorry, yes another climbing post. With the lack of other things to do this time of year rock (plastic) climbing and winter mountaineering (and it’s subsets – snowshoeing/hiking) are about all there is to do right now.  A few nights ago, when my buddy was hanging on a route, waiting out a stiff forearm pump so he could work out a sequence, I had a brief conversation with this girl that was brand new to rock climbing. She was there with, what I presume, was her boyfriend, or given that the gym is near BYU it could have even been her husband. He had walked off to find a new route and she started asking me questions about rock climbing. How long I had been at it, strength and form, etc. I encouraged her to keep at it and both form and strength would come around.  She seemed encouraged, thanked me, and walked away with her slightly irritated boyfriend.

I realized at that point that I had gone to the gym in kind of a bad mood and wasn’t in a bad mood anymore. Not because of the conversation, but because of climbing. When you’re working a hard route, gritting out a sequence of small holds, it’s impossible to think about anything but the route and not falling, even on a top rope.  Climbing is very therapeutic. There are a lot of things out there that people find to be their own brand of therapy. Climbing happens to be a very good one for me.

There is one particular 5.10d route that I’m working at The Quarry. It starts out jogging to the left a bit on an overhanging wall, up onto a vertical wall on thin-ish holds, until the crux sequence with a big undercling movement to some big jugs above the roof.  I haven’t quite made it to the crux, just working the sequence to the hold right below it. When I made it to my high point on Saturday I had literally sprinted up the wall to get there, knowing that there was no place to rest or chalk up, and my fingers don’t have the strength to dawdle on those small holds. I made a diving grab for a decent hold and (because of poor foot hold choices) just missed it. I was left swinging out above everyone. My heart was racing and it felt good.

My own physical weight is more than enough to haul up a route, I can’t possibly carry any mental or emotional baggage up as well. If it’s a tough route I don’t think you have a choice. Everything but your harness, shoes and chalk bag stays on the deck. Fighting to move through thin holds to get to the next jug is a pointless endeavor in the scope of the existence we lead here on Earth. But, in terms of mental, and to some degree physical health, it’s incredibly helpful. By the time I walked out the door to my car that night I didn’t care about whatever it was that had put me in the bad mood, it just didn’t seem to matter.

I enjoy climbing. I like the mental and physical test that it provides. I can push myself through physical pain and the mental fear to accomplish new things. It’s fun to work on new skills. Focusing on using my feet better, maybe back step or drop-knee to make better use of a good stance. Ultimately, it’s the opportunity to forget the cares of the world for a few hours that I like the best. I don’t think it’s running away from life’s problems, it’s providing a fresh perspective. Put your day/week through a few hours of fun, fear and pain then deal with whatever is important enough to stick around afterward. 

Mt. Timpanogos - Redemption...almost

Last year my friend Rick and I made an attempt at climbing Mt. Timpanogos (Timp) via Everest Ridge on the West face. We planned on an overnighter, but never made it to our intended camp site on the Timp- Big Baldy saddle. We bumped up against heavy trees/brush, a large spring, and deep snow on the Battle Creek (North) side of Big Baldy.

Ever since then the massif that is Timp has been looking down at me, taunting me. Timp is a beautiful mountain and Everest Ridge is an awesome route running up the middle of the West face from Big Baldy to a point about .38 mile south of the summit. After a couple of weeks of heavy storms, heat, and massive avalanche danger everything finally settled down and Rick and I made our attempt.

We decided on a single day push from the bottom of Dry Canyon on the South side of Big Baldy. With snowshoes strapped to our packs we left the trailhead at around 5:20am. The temps were cold enough to keep the snow pretty solid until we got to near the saddle (~8000 ft.) where the snow was deeper and less consolidated. We moved up a prominent low angle ridge to the base of Everest Ridge where things got pretty steep. After a 100 yards we stashed our snowshoes next to a small band of rocks and switched to crampons and ice axes.

It was fantastic working our way up the ridge, watching the valley floor and Baldy drop below us. Most of the going was pretty steep, but stable crusty snow. A few stretches of post holing kept the heart rate up and made us extra grateful for the solid stuff. At one point, I think around 10,500 ft., there is a narrow, rocky ridge, that made the going a little interesting, and did a good job of breaking up the stretches of snow and post holing.

Rick and I finally made it to the cliff band, often referred to as the Step. We opted to traverse to the right (South) on a pretty steep slope. We got about halfway through the first section, after I slipped a couple of times and Rick admitting that his leg injury wasn't doing so well, we decided that we probably ought to cut it short and turn around.

Our high point was at around 11,300 ft. We dropped down a hundred or so to a place where we could glissade down the chute. There was a large crack across the face so we stayed far to the left so as to not tempt the avalanche gods. Just as we were about to start our slide down four college students, who were coming down from the summit stopped to watch. They had never heard of glissading down this section and were intrigued with not having to climb down the entire ridge.

After watching Rick and I they got enough courage to give it a try themselves. After that they were hooked and provided us with some ready made glissade tracks to follow down much of the mountain. After a lot of glissading and walking we made it to the cliff band where we had stowed the snowshoes. Only we were about 500 yards to the South. What proceeded was the worst period of post holing and swimming in waist deep snow that I've ever had. It was pretty late in the day and the snow was pretty soft and slushy. It took an hour or two (I really have no idea how long, but it felt like an eternity) until I was below the spot where I could finally see our snowshoes. Only problem, I had about a hundred yards to go strait up a 45 degree slope. At times I was literally moving on all fours, just trying to stay as near the top of the snow as I could.  I was about 30 ft. from the snowshoes and nearly gave up when I realized that 30 ft. was about a year in post holing years. Eventually I made it and after some trouble finally made it down to the bottom where Rick was wringing out his socks. He had followed me part of the way but had to give up when his leg injury started some serious nagging.

As is usually the case with me, once the climbing is done I get a strong mental urge to just get down to the car. The problem is that my knees don't like the quick pounding descent, so I'm forced to stop now and then to give them a break. 

Though Rick and I still didn't summit, I feel much more satisfied with this effort than last year when we were turned back so early. Timp still looks down on me, but its nice to look back near the summit to see just how close we got. I'll definitely have another go at it. Each time I learn some new lessons. Next time, if the weather is going to be warm, start much earlier in the morning and stow the snowshoes in a spot that I'll pass by on the way down. 

Muir and Me

Anyone who’s done any rock climbing, mountaineering, or maybe just anything, knows that rather often you fail to accomplish the goal you set out to do. This is certainly the case with rock climbing and mountaineering for me. In cycling, I know enough about myself to set my goals nice and low so that I don’t get disappointed quite as often. The problem with climbing rock and ice is that people have set grades to them. I started climbing 5.6 then moved up to 5.7 on up to 5.10 and so on. The problem is that these grades are so dependent on the experience of the climber that set the grade as well as that person’s personal strengths and even their size. Bigger is not always better either. Sometimes a route, this happens more often indoors, is set by someone much smaller than me (6’3”). The hand and foot holds end up too close to each other, but to far apart to stretch to the next set. So, I get stuck making some tricky moves with my body all cramped up. 

Most mountains don’t have difficulty grades, and if they do the mountain is usually technical enough in nature that you better be fit and knowledgeable before you attempt them. Weather, snow conditions, temperatures, fitness and recovery for the day, all play into success of any venture into the mountains.

If I’m heading out for a new objective usually I’ll have done some research on it, thank you internet. This means if I’m picking a rock route I know what my grade limit is and I’ll choose some fun routes that I think I have a reasonable chance on. Sometimes I’m right and sometimes I’m wrong.

I’m usually upbeat enough and not tied so emotionally to my goals that if I fail I’m not too broken up by it. If that’s the case then I usually just look around at the surrounding mountains, rocks and trees and think how lucky I am that I’m able to spend those few hours in the mountains. My oft repeated statement in these times is “Any time spent in the mountains is a good time.” And it’s the truth. I’ve come to realize that most people seem to feel some kinship with the mountains, so I don’t think it’s just me. While walking up Rock Canyon on our way to Provo Peak my friend Dave exclaimed, “I love the pines,” which was a tad surprising to me only because I’ve said the same thing a number of times. Something about pine trees is so calming and comforting. Dave thinks it’s the majesty of them, so tall and strait. The fragrant green boughs overhead along with the flaky and gnarled bark on the trunks make a pine forest a true joy to walk through.

I’ve been reading a giant 800+ page compilation of the works of John Muir for the last few months. I usually find an hour or two per week to read so it’s slow going. I love the mountains. John Muir loves the mountains like my 6 year old loves chocolate, like Darth Vader loves choking people with the Force, like the programmers that I work with love Mountain Dew; you get the idea. As much as I love the mountains John Muir has opened my eyes further to all the beauty that abounds. This man loves the pines. He also, like me, has an affinity for rock formations and the geologic forces that it took to get them there and in that shape and condition. This especially applies to the great massive grinding force of glaciers. Muir marvels equally at the beauty of the soaring granite peaks as he does the ability for squirrels to clamber around in pine trees eating the nuts and somehow do so without getting any sap or mess on their fur.

The fact that I have three canyons and the Wasatch range within 15 minutes of my driveway is of incredible importance to me. I used to have an office cubicle next to a window that faced Mount Timpanogos and Lone Peak. Often, when I needed a break from staring at a computer screen, I’d swivel my chair a few degrees and trace ridges to the tops of the mountains, looking for new interesting routes to reach those highest peaks. I dream of hiking the canyons and listening to the wind blow through the trees until it sounds like a roaring river. Or, scaling a cliff face straining to hang on to that tiny hold long enough to clip the rope into the next bolt. I may fail to top out, I may fail to summit a peak, but it’s all time spent in the mountains, and that can only be good.

Adventure in the Mountains

All of my favorite adventures seem to be in the mountains. My earliest memories of exploring and really feeling alive are from my time in the mountains. From my 8th birthday trip to Yellowstone to the trips to the summit of Willard Peak. I loved the variety of things the mountains had to offer, raging waterfalls, animals big and small. My favorite thing has always been the high overlooks and cliffs where you could see for miles and miles out over river basins and farmland. I recall being amazed that the mountains I could see from my home were not the end but just the start of of the great Wasatch Range. I wanted to see was behind each wave like ridge, what sort of things would I find in the valleys.

I've always loved climbing rocks and boulders. Even as a non-rock climbing adult I often felt like a kid as my family and I ventured out in the area canyons and I soon found myself scrambling up easy 5.3 and 5.4 type walls. Working out moves and holds just always seemed like so much fun.

As I've become more adept at the various types of climbing I've found even more joy in realizing the opportunities that open up because of my new found talent. Mountaineering and heading off into the wooded hills and snow clogged chutes is a lot more fun now that I have some knowledge and experience to back it up. Learning the technical nature of ice and rock climbing keeps my mind working as well as my fatigued limbs.

I hope to be able to chronicle my various adventures and do a better job of getting photographic evidence to share the beauty that is to be had in the Utah mountains and the mountains all over the world.