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jsj42
Aug 12, 2005, 4:53 PM
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http://www.rockclimbing.com/...tailed=59288 border=
June 27th, 2005
From day one soloing has been an integral part of my climbing. In fact, my climbing career actually started with soloing: the line separating hiking, scrambling, and climbing became increasingly blurry for me long before I first put on a harness and a tied a figure eight. And yet, I’ve never really written or talked much about it – not because I haven’t wanted to, but more because of some sort of fear of the response I might get. While it seems OK to tell someone that I hiked a fourteener solo on one weekend, it seems a little more in the grey to tell someone that I ran up one of the Flatirons solo the next weekend. And discussion of anything beyond that seems downright taboo.
Why is that? Why have I never read a trip report on soloing? I don’t have a conclusive answer to that question, but I have noticed that there seems to be a consensus that there are appropriate reasons to solo (such as “doing it for yourself and no one else”) and inappropriate reasons (such as “to impress people”). Others have argued that you should never solo – to do so is irresponsible and shows a lack of respect for life. But couldn’t you argue that just about any form of climbing is irresponsible? I mean, it’s a dangerous sport. I’ve never been seriously injured with or without a rope, knock on wood, but how can you draw a line and say what is responsible and what isn’t? Afterall, the same arguments could be made about climbing something that’s PG or R rated, or wearing a helmet, or wearing your seatbelt on the way to the crag, or climbing outside at all.
These spoken and unspoken rules about and reasons for soloing all feel very nebulous to me. How can I demystify them? What are my personal reasons for soloing? Could it be that I just find it fun?
One thing I have concluded is that my soloing falls into two categories: The super-easy and the challenging. The super-easy is the stuff that I’m so comfortable on that the possibility of falling doesn’t even cross my mind. Not that I’m reckless – I’ve definitely gotten into the habit of climbing such that if any one handhold or foothold were to blow I’d still be fine. It’s just that the climbing in general is so easy that it’s really just an extension of walking. So it is when I climb in the Flatirons outside of Boulder. I love being able to move quickly and unencumbered over the rock – there’s a purity to it (and an ease to it – without the burden of a rope and a rack) that is positively delightful. Some of my favorite times have actually been tandem soloing: Climbing unroped alongside a friend. So much of climbing is done away from your partner, but it’s a unique and special experience to be able to climb right alongside one another – carrying conversations and enjoying things from the same perspective, rather than trading belay/lead duties.
The other category, of course, is the challenging. This is the terrain on which I can’t help but to consider the very real possibility (and consequences!) of falling. While I’ve never soloed close to my limit (in terms of physical difficulty), I have soloed terrain that is challenging enough to spawn mental battles. They seem to start for any number of reasons: Perhaps the climbing is exposed, or the moves or routefinding are inobvious or committing. Perhaps the holds are insecure (there’s a big difference between a hand jam and a slab move at any given grade!), or perhaps I just get scared – of the unknown, of an unforeseeable outcome, of the morbid side of my (vivid) imagination.
One recent climb that I did this past June during a trip to Rocky Mountain National Park encompassed all of these elements moreso than perhaps any other solo I’d done to date. The climb was Sykes’ Sickle (III 5.9+) on the Spearhead in Glacier Gorge.
I was up in the Park for the weekend with my friend and partner, Charles Vernon. Soloing Sykes’ wasn’t on the agenda when we left the trailhead; the decision was made relatively spontaneously – in spite of the fact that the seed had been planted months before when I read a description of the route on climbingboulder.com:
In reply to: “Pitch six is the "crux" (the book says 5.9 . . . I thought it was solid 5.10a). Note: Keep in mind you are well over six hundred and fifty feet off the ground, and below an amazing roof that cuts out then daggers down. The view is absolutely incredible! You are on a beautiful wall … the valley is painted with golden aspen, evergreen trees, bright red bushes, and turquoise lakes. At eye level there is an array of jagged peaks that jut forth from a wrapped ridgeline. It’s so awe- inspiring: everything is sharp and edgy and very intense. The crux starts with a nice 20-foot dihedral that intersects the roof (great pro w/ two good fixed pieces at the roof intersection). Time to get to work: Move out above a void of space, stem, place big gear (the crack above takes a large cam), stem some more, fist jam, then pull through the roof slot to a huge edge. Looking down into the void from the stemming position is wicked cool! …Ride the edge above the abyss for about 40 feet on easy rock and set up a belay.”
Others had this to say about the route:
In reply to: “The Sickle – wow. Not sure how to prepare for that one… Definitely a wild feature to climb up into and through – now that I'm forgetting how scared I was –wow that was cool.”
In reply to: “Probably the best route I've ever done in the park; I had dreams about laybacking huge flakes for hundreds of feet last night – my brain trying to process the day's experiences.”
In reply to: “Ah… the dubious 9+ rating was invented for cruxes like this one: Weird, weird, weird. This route is a natural passage up a grand monolith of bulletproof granite. So good!!!!!”
Sounds amazing, huh? With a description like that I knew I had to climb it, but I didn’t consider it as a solo until I continued reading the comments:
In reply to: “That roof wrecked us – my partner got his hand stuck in a twisted fist jam and nearly broke his knuckle, and I ended up using a heel-toe lock above my head. I didn't get beta from the free-soloist who spent 20 minutes up there looking at it before committing – we were on the belay ledge below, afraid to look. Yikes!”
Wow. So this is in the realm of possibility. What would that be like? I was having a hard time imagining what the crux climbing was like at all, let alone what it would be like to be there by yourself, without a rope.
I wanted to do it. To me it epitomized what climbing is about: Adventure. Challenging yourself mentally and physically, exploring the unknown and conquering your fears in the process. From that day forward the seed was growing.
Not that I had made up my mind! I considered it dangerous: 5.9+ was too close to my limit. While I hadn’t fallen off of a 5.9 in a couple years, this particular climb might not exactly be typical of the grade:
In reply to: “The roof is certainly hard to figure out. With that much exposure, it's hard to commit to such weird stemming (chimneying) moves. Mentally, it's a 5.11 roof.”
In reply to: “The climbing felt hard for the grade on nearly every pitch. Since the route is an old one the ratings don't appear to have been inflated over time.”
In fact, even though I was entertaining the notion, I was more realistically considering doing it as a linkup – Charles and I had discussed on several occasions attempting to link that route with the Barb (III 5.10c) in a day. The problem was that we both wanted to try harder climbs in the area more than we wanted to do the (relatively easy) linkup. Nevertheless, even during the hike into Glacier Gorge that weekend I had hoped I might convince Charles to run up (roped) Sykes’ with me that afternoon.
But when we arrived at our campsite, Charles wanted to save his energy for the following day’s climb. I, on the other hand, having been out of Colorado for so long, could hardly curb my enthusiasm to get on the rock. The 800’ east face of Spearhead was calling my name, and the thought of soloing the climb resurfaced.
We were sunning ourselves on rocks at the base of Spearhead, enjoying the perfect weather. I, restless but undecided, began to pick Charles’ brain for beta on the route: “What’s the crux like?” “Is it really 5.9?” “Is it that insecure?” My questions went on and on. At the time I felt like I was cheating – trying to take all the mystery out things. I’ve never been one to rehearse a climb, preferring instead the challenge of the onsight, and here I was, gathering as much information as possible. Still, since I’d never soloed something so difficult – especially in an alpine setting – to some extent my information gathering was prudent. In retrospect, I see that the questions served a different purpose – I was doing battle with my doubts before I ever left the ground, so that once I was up there in the thick of things I wouldn’t have to.
As I kicked steps across the snowfield I was excited and nervous: Crossing into the shadow of the east face and gazing up at the mysterious Sickle feature far above me was intimidating, but once my hands touched the rock my nerves faded away. I even had a little ice-breaker in the first 20’ to get myself to relax: I began climbing in my approach shoes (to keep my climbing shoes dry), but when I stopped at a tiny stance to change, I dropped one down onto the snowfield below. Once I had downclimbed and got the shoes on my feet, I chuckled to myself and said, “Well, I’m glad to get that over with early on.”
Before I knew it I had cruised up several pitches of 5.7 and 5.8 flakes and I reached a final corner system leading up to the Sickle. At a stance I paused and looked down at Charles, a tiny dot in the boulderfield below, and said adieu. Charles and I had agreed that at this point we wouldn’t talk to each so that any subsequent conversation would be a clear indication that I was in trouble and needed some sort of assistance (not that there was much that could be done). I continued upwards, now more cautiously, and somehow feeling strangely alone.
After a tricky traverse right from one flake system to another, I climbed up to a great ledge that was a mere 25’ below the Sickle. I stopped here to rest, but as I did so I made a mental note not to take too long. I did not want to spend 20 minutes here like the other soloist did – letting my fears and doubts and insecurities rise up inside of me. Instead I chose to spend my time carefully surveying the climbing above.
I couldn’t tell what the Sickle itself would involve (I’d just have to deal with that when I got there), so I shifted my focus to the approach: 25’ of 5.9 cracks leading up into the maw. I was dismayed to see that these cracks were clearly seeping water, but at the same time I could see each and every handhold. In my mind’s eye I saw myself performing each move – right up to a foothold on the face and the first rest. I looked back down at Charles (still basking in the warm sun) for a moment, then turned my attention back to the rock, grabbed the crack, and entered the lieback.
Straight arms, constant pressure with the feet, locking my fingers in the jams – just like clockwork and I had reached the foothold. Everything was perfect, but still my heart was pounding inside my chest. I twisted my head around to look at the chimney: I was right in the midst of it and I still couldn’t figure out how it would go. Instinctively I put my hands out across the gap and began full-body chimneying upwards – my body prostrate with 600’ of air below.
Charles was still lying on a rock far below.
High up in the chimney I swung one leg across and then turned around to face outwards. Reaching overhead I found a fist jam, hung from it and swung both my feet forward. From this new position I reached upwards into the slot, expecting to find nothing but smooth rock, but instead I found a huge jug.! I cut loosed and swung a second time up and into the light – just like that I was out of the Sickle! I threw my elbows over the edge and just hung there, feet dangling, smiling broadly and trying to catch my breath at the same time. It was done! I pulled up and let out a whoop – partly to relieve the nervous tension and partly to alert Charles that all was well. After a nice rest I continued upwards – one more difficulty remaining.
I knew that the final pitch had a tricky friction traverse – checking in at around 5.8 – if done correctly:
In reply to: “Didn't find that bolt on the last pitch though. Talk about being exposed up there, very, very airy.”
In reply to: “The bolt on the pitch after the crux was camouflaged… It is hard to find. After climbing through the roof, continue up the left leaning crack system for about 40' until you come to some large blocks in the crack system. The bolt is about 25' up and to the right of these blocks. It can be seen if you lean way back from the blocks.”
In reply to: “If you have anxiety about finding the traverse and the bolt, check the photos. Thin moves to get there though – a little spooky.”
My longest pause on the climb was standing on those blocks searching and searching for the bolt. When I finally found it I still wasn’t sure how to reach it, but I tip-toed across the face, once again trusting my instinct. There were one or two friction moves – the kind of thing you just have to trust your feet on – but some breath-holding and over-gripping on the tiny crimps saw me through it.
Even though I’d climbed Spearhead before via a different route, I had yet to scramble up to the true summit. I made sure to do it that day! The summit is incredible – it consists of a huge block that extends way out over the face like a diving board. I had a great time lying down on it with my chin over the edge, gazing at the steep line I had taken up the face. I felt a sense of disbelief – had I really done that or was it a dream? Then, suddenly overcome with a desire to be on level ground, I got up and got out of there.
On the way down I wondered if I could talk to Charles about the climb. Was it off-limits? Taboo? Perhaps, but I didn’t care – I was excited and elated and wanted to share that with him. Maybe free soloing is crazy, but to me, it’s just another facet of climbing as a whole – in the same way that leading and following, top-roping and belaying are. To me, rock climbing is not about ropes and harnesses and gear, nor is it about being foolish and risking your life. Rather, it is about the adventures... the challenges… the freedom – be it with a rope or without.
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mtnjunkie
Aug 12, 2005, 5:34 PM
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Registered: Sep 2, 2003
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Nice TR and a ballsy onsight solo. Having been up on the Barb a couple of weeks ago and getting a good look at the Sickle makes your TR even more vivid. Thanks for sharing, your post is a good read.
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mother_sheep
Aug 12, 2005, 5:42 PM
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Registered: Jul 18, 2002
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I was just looking at some up close pics of Sykes Sickle this am and was thinking. . .look at all that slab! hehe. You gave me goosebumps. Very nice work. How long did it take you? Did I miss that in the TR?
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jsj42
Aug 12, 2005, 5:45 PM
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Registered: Dec 24, 2002
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Tracy - thinking about it gives me goosebumps too. I'd say that all in all it took about 45 minutes to an hour - Charles could confirm that though. Admittedly it felt like a time warp to me!
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takeme
Aug 12, 2005, 5:49 PM
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In reply to: I was just looking at some up close pics of Sykes Sickle this am and was thinking. . .look at all that slab! hehe. You gave me goosebumps. Very nice work. How long did it take you? Did I miss that in the TR?
It didn't take him very long--he was moving pretty steadily the whole way through, although in some ways, watching, it seemed like it took forever. I knew Josh would be solid (and solid enough to downclimb if he didn't like the look of the crux), but it was still terrifying to watch. Although I did have a very comfortable spot in the sun.
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takeme
Aug 12, 2005, 5:52 PM
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Goosebumps...yes....
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ambler
Aug 12, 2005, 5:56 PM
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In reply to: http://www.rockclimbing.com/...tailed=59288 border= Straight arms, constant pressure with the feet, locking my fingers in the jams – just like clockwork and I had reached the foothold. Everything was perfect, but still my heart was pounding inside my chest. I twisted my head around to look at the chimney: I was right in the midst of it and I still couldn’t figure out how it would go. Instinctively I put my hands out across the gap and began full-body chimneying upwards – my body prostrate with 600’ of air below.
Sounds far from secure! A good read about a proud climb; thanks for writing up and sharing it.
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blitzkrieg_climber13
Aug 12, 2005, 6:21 PM
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what an awesome story you have to tell all who listen. i read it twice. if it was longer and had more detail that could be a book. no joke. id read it to.
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pt
Aug 12, 2005, 6:39 PM
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Registered: May 29, 2003
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Great story! Makes me glad I use a rope :lol: .
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mrtristan
Aug 12, 2005, 7:54 PM
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Registered: Jun 21, 2002
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This is one of the only longish trip reports that I have read all the way through. Congrats on a job well done and thanks for taking the time to write it up. Much appreciated.
-Tristan
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dingus
Aug 12, 2005, 8:42 PM
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Great writing about a PROUD ascent! Thanks for posting it, it was truly enjoyable. Gripped!
DMT
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cowpoke
Aug 12, 2005, 10:10 PM
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wow!! sweet tick and totally absorbing report of it!!
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vegastradguy
Aug 13, 2005, 1:26 AM
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Registered: Aug 28, 2002
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wow...excellent report and awesome job on the onsight...
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cologman
Aug 13, 2005, 2:03 AM
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Registered: Sep 29, 2002
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My, My! Upping the ante I'd say. Must have been quite stimulating to say the least. Watched a party suffer in the rain under that monster this summer after doing "Obviously Four..." and thought it must be rather intimidating spot to perch, hahaha. Good job and excellent writing once again.
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cracklover
Aug 13, 2005, 3:07 AM
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Wow!
Very impressive climb. And thanks for writing it up with such care.
Wow.
GO
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slobmonster
Aug 13, 2005, 5:53 AM
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Spearhead is just one of those spots, it's somewhat magical. Good job on keeping it together.
I would suggest sending this piece (perhaps edited for a print audience), along with a query letter and a note of introduction, to your favorite climbing magazine. It's worthy.
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philbox
Moderator
Aug 17, 2005, 10:17 AM
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Yes, I would most definitely agree, great read and gripping to boot. Thanks muchly for taking the trouble to write it up for us to share somewhat in your moment.
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crag
Aug 17, 2005, 12:12 PM
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Registered: Jan 29, 2003
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Three words: Fab-U-Lous
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