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dreday3000
Sep 11, 2007, 2:33 PM
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Registered: Jun 15, 2006
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At 3 o clock I pick Camilo up for his downtown basement in Capital Hill. We settle in for a long ride as traffic on 66 is thicker than usual. Still, its Friday and we’re excited to be getting out of the city so all is well. The weekend promises to be interesting. We are renting a Pontoon boat on Saturday and trad climbing at Beauty on Sunday. The group is large, consisting of 20 people, but only half of those are climbers and only a quarter is people with a skill set similar to my own. Still, the atmosphere is good and after some initial grumbling the weekend turns out swimmingly.
After a long drive, we head directly to Pies and Pints. Its late, around 9:30, and the place is pretty empty. We’re seated quickly and Jo Beth, friend to my former fling Andrea and potential fling to the Latin Love Machine. We make a little small talk but are more interested in the food and order quicker than usual. I get a salad – part of my intermittent attempt to eat healthier – and Camilo orders a medium pizza all to himself. I sneak a piece, but am still a little hungry. Camilo eats the rest and looks more satisfied. As per usual, we play a game of chess over dinner. Quite a good one. I win, but have to fight for it. Enjoyable.
On the way to the campground I buy two six packs of Mountaineer beer. A Nut Brown and some sort of Pale Ale. Both are popular and prove to be a good find. We camp at the ever overbearing Chestnut Creek. The proprietor, Brain, is a one time teacher who has applied his school room discipline to the wiles of West Virginia. If you can stomach the rules, it makes for good clean camping. Ever a fan of the climbing community hotspots, I’ve always resisted Chestnut but find myself gravitating there more and more. Roger’s – the alternative and home to the long term climbers – is on a freakin’ hill, has no bathrooms, is expensive for what it is, and truth be told – chalk full of posers. I’ll camp at Roger’s if I’m flying solo and in need of partners, but otherwise, fuck it. I suppose this is me getting old.
Wake up at 7:30 to the sounds of high pitch squealing. It’s Pei Lee and her protégé screaming about a daddy long legs. I drank too much last night and grumble to myself but am thankful to be up. The camp stirs and everyone is up and about within the next few minutes, a rarity amongst big groups. The advantage of traveling with Pei Lee I suppose. There is an annoying division between the camps on those that want to cook breakfast for themselves and those looking for a fix at Cathedral. I have traditionally fallen into the later group but am beginning to rethink my motives. Cathedral is always painfully slow. Cooking and cleaning can be a bitch but there is pleasantness about making your own breakfast.
Cathedral kills our early start. The food is good but we don’t get to the Marina till 10:30. A little annoying but I’ve been on enough boats to know that we don’t want to be floating around from 7am to 7pm as our reservation permits. We luck out with the cashier; a dimwitted youth unfamiliar with the normal Marina policies. We take advantage of the situation and sneak on – though sneak is a strong word, more like brazenly deposit – our climbing gear onto the boat. The usual guy, a 300 pound West Virginia Man,
has a habit of grilling renters on their intentions and casually mentioning that his daughter is a FBI agent so nothing gets by him. He is pleasant enough but no friend to the climbing man.
The Pontoon boat is surprisingly nice. Comfortable seats, adequate speed on the outboard motor, and enough space to lounge. The boat goes on my credit card (ouch) so I become de facto team captain. I throw my weight around a bit and head towards the rocks. Time for some Deep Water!
A little background. I had my first experience with deep water a few weeks ago when Farchy and I rented a small Jon Boat. It was a revelation. Deep Water blends the excitement of soloing with the performance of sport climbing; the fear is there – the pounding heart, that tingling at the nape of your neck, the electricity throughout your muscles - but without the consequences. That interplay between fear and conquest - between surrendering to an irrational fear of falling and pushing your personal limits - has always been something I enjoy. Deep Water is a new chapter in that game.
Sadly, the West Virginia Army Corps of Engineers doesn’t see it that way.
Summersville offers excellent Deep Water for a variety of reasons but foremost amongst these the preponderance of bolted lines that mysteriously rise up out of the water. Summersville is a damn feed lake. During the winter the lake is drained and local climbers establish routes from the dry lake bed. Come spring the water is restored and volia, established, graded routes to test your Deep Water abilities. Doesn’t get much better than that
Our 1st stop is “the Launch Point”: a 10 foot horizontal roof that juts out 25 feet from the water line. The first 25 feet is straightforward climbing, 5.9 at most. Just before the roof there is a wide platform to dry off and work up the courage to commit to the roof. To navigate the roof you work out to the left side arête and choose one of two options: use the jugs directly at the lip as footholds and crimp your way across the face section, or campus and heel hook your way across the large holds at the lip. I choose the latter.
1st move is committing. The first positive hold is a meter away and requires crouching up under low feet and exploding out with the right hand. Its not a dyno, but its close. Then, cross over with the left hand, let your feet cut – you’re too stretched out do anything else - and bring the left foot out to a toe. Push hard on the foot and make another big move to another jug. Cut the feet, swing across your body and pick up a right heal hook. Tic Tac your arms across the lip for a few moves until you can bump the heal further out right and eventually mantel over the exposed end point of the roof – the launch point. Gain a secure position, enjoy a brief moment of victory, steel your nerves and jump.
After a few jumps I decided to climb past the roof to the next ledge system. The line is less prominent and at twice the height, more frightening. After pulling the roof I take a few moments to recovery before committing myself to the upper section. The first 10 feet are straightforward, biggish holds and secure feet. Then I break left and I’m on less secure features, mostly smallish crimps and slopping feet. The climbing isn’t terribly difficult but the exposure and sun get to me. Swallow and push on. A few more moves and I’m just shy of the lip. The climbing becomes more difficult and lichen is covering most of the rock. To gain the lip I am forced to grab an undercling, use high feet, and deadpoint to the lip…. Lip turns out to be shit – slopping and covered in lichen – and I’m forced to grab a small tree to prevent a 60 foot, uncontrolled fall. I’m not terribly happy about my aesthetics, but under the circumstances I am relieved and don’t beat myself up too terribly.
And now the jump. It’s not the highest jump I have ever done, but my heart is pounding from the climb and there are butterflies in my stomach. I feel the fear creep up the back of my neck and I know that if I don’t jump now, it’ll take a long time to work the courage back up. Best to move now before the fear grabs hold. I leap, swim through the air and crash into the smooth water below. I surface to the hoots and hollers of my friends and onlookers. Relieved, I smile and swim for the boat for some much needed rest and a spot of sun before we travel on to the next area.
Slowly, our group trickles in from the water. Kelly, an impertinent youth of 15, demands control of the boat. I relinquish control to the imp and begin explaining the sum total of my boating knowledge. Its doesn’t take long: don’t cut off a boat bigger than you. Kelly does just fine. She takes us across the lake to our next deepwater spot, a 60 foot overhanging cliff with a few bolted lines a rope swing to boot.
We are tired. Only a few of us get out of the boat; the Field sisters (Morgan and Kelly), Will, and myself. We amuse ourselves on the rope swing before trying our hand at the route. The route is good, probably a mid to hard 11. Big moves, generally good holds, with a few distinct cruxes. After three attempts I consistently arrive, and fail, at the final crux – just meters from the top out. I am a little irked –cause its always nice to top out – but happy to have tried my hand at a new, hard route, and willing to come back another time. I pretty tired at this point and content to return to the boat for one last spot of Deep Water: WhipperWill.
WhipperWill is the first place I’ve done Deep Water and as such has a special place in my heart. There are two exceptional routes there; an 11 D arête climb and an 11a corner/face climb. Both are bolted lines I have done ground up. The 11D is hard but only has one real committing move. If you’re fresh, its doable, if you’re tired – as I was from a full day of swimming – its next to impossible. Today, I fail miserably.
On to the 11a. The climb breaks into two parts: 1st 10 meters are corner/crack feature with good liebacking and large moves, and the rest is sloping crimps on delicate feet. The climb isn’t terribly difficult but its airy, pumpy, and requires its fair share of self control. I manage to top out, but just barely. The days climbing has taken its toll, I’m lucky to have reach the top and spend a few moments to enjoy the day’s last top out. Satisfied, I turn, push off from the wall, linger in the air for a few moments and crash into the cool blue water. I surface exhausted and doggy paddle to the boat for some much needed relaxation.
But alas, a change of plans. Will is gung ho to try his project Apollo Reed, a 13a test piece at the end of the Coliseum. We motor over and I reluctantly help transfer the gear onto the rocky shoreline. Will, Camilo, Ernesto, and I trudge over to the notorious pumpfest. Will puts in a good show. He is fairly close, I think he will send in the next few attempts. But that is for another, fresher day. None of us are motivated to follow him. We decide to take it down a notch. Will recommends Animal Logic, a pumpy 3 bolt 12b on the DC memorial boulder. I poo poo the route as an over bolted high ball but in the end enjoy the routes movement. I try twice, the first time I learn the movement, the second I go for the send. I fail, but just barely. Should get it next go around. Camilo, on the other hand, does miserably. He curses and screams his way up the route and easily takes 30 minutes to cover the 25 feet of climbing. In the end he succeeds and we are all relieved for him.
Finally we head home. On the ride back a peacefulness settles over the boat. Everyone is all smiles and I get the feeling we’ll be back on the water before too long. We hit camp by 8 and begin a feast of epic proportions. Now, it seems to me a hero invariably emerges on these climbing trips of ours. This weekend Pei Lee, Morgan and Kelly win hands down. Never in my life have I seen such a feast. For two hours these girls churned out dish after dish. Pasta, Steak, sis kabob chicken, salmon; you name it, they had it. All told, there were a few helpers here and there but the girls defiantly spearhead the operation and deserve the bulk of the credit. I barely lift a finger. What can I say? I was a little drunk, tired, and outright lazy. I am an asshole and I owe them one.
Dinner is followed by drinks. Quite a lot of drinks for some of us: The tired and sleepy retire early while the loud and obnoxious do our best to remain respectable. We fail miserably. Towards the end of the evening, one of us slinks to bed only to wake her poor boyfriend and subject the rest of us to 40 minutes of moans and groans. Quite funny that. The boyfriend is sound asleep, hears the unzipping of the tent, shoves over to allow his debaucherous mate some room and does his best to return to bed. She was having none of it. She advances, he protests feeble but already knows the battle is lost. A little cuddle there, a little rub here, and boom, babymaking. The poor bastards were respectful I suppose, but greatly over estimated the insulating power of a tent. In the morning they wake to a gentle chiding and some good natured teasing.
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wzrdgandalf
Sep 11, 2007, 3:07 PM
Post #2 of 4
(2614 views)
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Registered: Nov 1, 2004
Posts: 261
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Great Trip Report, I hope I can make it for some DWS sometime.
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dreday3000
Sep 11, 2007, 3:46 PM
Post #3 of 4
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Registered: Jun 15, 2006
Posts: 566
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Hope you make it out, its a whole lot of fun.
BUT becareful about the new ban. Apparently they have gotten more strick in the enforcement. That said, I haven't heard about anyone getting a ticket yet. Best of luck !
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j_ung
Sep 11, 2007, 3:56 PM
Post #4 of 4
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Registered: Nov 21, 2003
Posts: 18690
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Climbing, food, drink, porn... what more could a TR need? 
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