Further
Climbing Misadventures - Falling, Ticks, Snakes, Blisters, and Shenanigans:
2006
By
Matt Talley
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Arkansas:
The Natural State... |
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Thao
on the first route of the day.
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Ross
leading the 5.HARD and the rock with all the ticks is just behind the
rope.
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The
ticks!! I had never seen so many of the blood-sucking bastards in one spot.
I was in Arkansas hiking with my kids for a long weekend and spent my final
day there rock climbing with Ross and Thao. We drove to Horseshoe Canyon
Ranch in north Arkansas so that we could all play on familiar stone. I had
slathered my whole body – even the nether regions - in square-sperm
causing 100% DEET, learning my lesson while hiking the previous weekend.
Thao had waited to put on bug-dope until we hiked to the base of our first
route and had picked up four or five ticks on that short stroll. She and
Ross followed my lead and rubbed themselves in pesticide. That was it. Not
one more of the things had the balls to come near us, but we saw them everywhere!
Ross got on a 5.HARD route and I was belaying from the ground, standing
near a small boulder that had just a foot or so of exposed stone above ground
level. I spotted more than ten ticks on that one rock while I was belaying.
Not almost microscopic seed ticks, but full grown deer and cattle ticks.
The previous winter hadn’t been cold enough in Arkansas to kill any
so there was a new crop on top of the surviving one. There are all sorts
of reasons that I am so very thankful not to climb in Arkansas more than
once every couple of years: heat, humidity, all the snakes, poison ivy &
oak, hillbillies with guns, and ticks.
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I
may look like I know what I am doing, but this shot was taken just before
a big fall.
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Ross
leading. The visor is gay, but we let him wear it because he believes
it is "turbo cool" and no one has the heart to tell him the
truth.
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Aside
from the ticks, Ross had a good time. He felt somewhat strong and got on
some good routes. I enjoyed the company, but I climbed like crap and got
spit off every route I got on but one. Ross put us on a “5.10”
that had a crazy-hard start that took me four tries to get to the first
bolt. I won’t discuss the shame I feel over the rest of them. Then
there was a route named Agent Orange that I have climbed at least four other
times with no problem at all. Not this trip! I clipped the first two bolts
on lead and then had to let Ross finish it for me. I even had trouble top
roping the stupid thing. I left the ranch that evening a thoroughly beaten
man.
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A
hot day in Joshua Tree National Park: |
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Brauning, Mitch,
and I took off early one morning for Joshua Tree hoping to have a casual
day out. We got on a couple of routes in Hidden Valley that were so-so and
had less than straight forward anchors to repel back to the ground from.
Brauning thought it would be best if we followed the shade and led us to
Thin Wall. We were the second group on the wall and the couple beside us
were friendly. I lead a VERY sweet 5.9 that had a strange heady ending sequence
that was a lot of fun. I was standing on the ground after coming down when
a three foot long snake slithered out from a rock that I had been standing
beside. Oh the joy!! I need to say that there was none of the jumping around
or screaming or cussing or anger that usually accompanies a snake sighting
when I am about. This whole Buddhist outlook that I have taken on letting
nonaggressive snakes live has seemed to have a calming effect on me. I haven’t
knocked down, stiff-armed, or stepped on any of my friends while fleeing
one of the slithering devils in at least two years. The snake was headed
away from me and looked like it wanted no part of the climbing scene, so
I let him go in peace. |
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One
more snake that I let live.
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Me
on the first route of the day, an easy route that I did the hard way
due to my own hubris.
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Brauning
on Lead. He is wearing the brain-bucket just in case his mom sees a
picture of him climbing...
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We
ran three or four routes before this guy showed up talking so loud I thought
he was a Pentecost preacher on the eve of The Rapture. Anyone who has climbed
for a while has either run into this guy or someone that could pass for
his twin: Late 30’s, scraggly sun bleached hair, shell and hemp necklace,
proselytizing for anyone within hearing distance about how he has seen and
done it all while climbing, refers to the legends of the sport by their
first name, etc… I really can’t accurately describe how loud
and grating this guy was, but imagine your least favorite uncle giving the
world a blow by blow of your honeymoon with a megaphone while sitting beside
the bed. By the time he showed up with his minions – two girls and
two guys with bright, snappy new gear – there were two other groups
on the wall with us. We were all privileged to hear the guy go on about
everything from the evil of Teflon coatings to the politics of oil to the
“proper” technique for this and that as he held court beside
us. This went on and on and on. Everyone on the rock was making cracks at
him and what he said. It was funny until I was on a route trying to climb
the thing with just a set of chocks and no cams. My belayer couldn’t
hear me and I couldn’t hear him over this guy’s constant drone.
I loudly exchanged unpleasantries with him over his sermons and was a bit
of a dick myself. I got to the ground and apologized to Brauning and Mitch
and the two other groups for my rudeness as I felt that I had out-dicked
the dick. I didn’t go so far as to apologize to “loud guy”
though; I may have been wrong in my reaction, but he was still a prick.
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The
preacher and his congregation left a short time later and we spent the rest
of the day enjoying the rock and the wind-blown quiet. We left the park
before sunset. Brauning and I talked that next day and he asked if I had
heard from Mitch. “No, why?” Mitch doesn’t climb that
often and we apparently bent him a little: He could barely move.
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Enjoying
good friends the Yosemite Valley: |
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was all set and planned out ahead of time: Mark Flood and I were to meet
in the Yosemite Valley on a warm summer night, say hello, eat, and find
a soft place to sleep before assaulting a long route up one of the Valley’s
walls EARLY the next morning. It sounded simple enough, but the implementation
of said plan proved problematic. Flood and his girlfriend Amy flew into
San Jose and drove to Yosemite one Friday morning. Laurel and I also started
our trip north on Friday, but got stuck in LA traffic for an extra 4+ hours.
I dropped her off in Oakland at a friend’s house for the weekend and
took off toward the park, hoping to be there by midnight. All was going
great until a “Road-Closed” sign started blinking at me. Highway
140 and the western park portal were closed due to a rockslide. Crap. I
had to drive back roads all the way to the southern entrance portal, getting
a speeding ticket along the way, and didn’t arrive in Curry Village
Campground to meet up with Flood and Amy until 3:20 AM (Although I did get
to see a blond bear on the road in!) After a game of cell phone tag we finally
hooked up at 4:00 – the exact time that we were supposed to start
the climb that morning. There was no way I was getting on an all day route
with absolutely no sleep. Flood seeing the benefit of having a partner who
was awake and alert agreed just as I fell into deep drooling sleep.
We climbed four or five single pitch routes the next day
in Tuolumne Meadows. As we were getting set up on our first route a small
garter snake tumbled from a crack in the rock about ten-feet up on the
face and landed at my feet. Oh, how I love snakes! After jumping a little
bit (nary a girly-scream left my throat as has happened on previous snake
sightings), I recognized the thing and just side stepped it until it slithered
away. We ate an early dinner and turned in just after 10:00. The alarm
on my cell phone started buzzing at 04:00 the next morning. I rolled over
and stared at my flashing phone and decided that it was just way too damn
early for a vacation wake-up call! After rolling out of bed, Flood and
I got our gear together and headed for the Ahwahnee Hotel parking lot,
from where the short trail to the base of the Royal
Arches route began. Flood and Amy (she wanted no part of Royal Arches
and went hiking in the Valley while we scaled the route) had scoped out
the start just after they drove into the park and we both had route maps
and beta from buddies that had been on the rock there recently. Flood
took it a step father and printed out the
route and rappel topo maps on post card sized sheets of paper, water
proofing them with packing tape. I cannot emphasize how helpful it was
to have those cards while on lead and while trying to find the route as
it meandered all over the rock face.
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A
shot of Amy looking out over the meadow from the top of one of the domes.
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The
snakes love me!
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My
bad road-tripping chariot! sleeps three, gets great gas milage, fast,
corners well, and has a DVD player in the dash! Notice the cargo box...
People asked us the whole trip about it and my site had 100's of new
hits while we were on the road.
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| I
took the first lead up a funky, slick, off width chimney. I suspect that
I was given this “honor” because Flood had tried it a couple
of days before and experienced its crappiness without being encumbered by
a pack and heavy twin ropes. I got two feet off the ground and had to drop
my pack down between my legs, anchoring it to my harness via a two foot
sling. Once free of that beast, I inched up the side of the crack, praying
that my sticky rubber shoes would hold and that I wouldn’t tumble
into Flood’s waiting arms or a big pointy rock. After 25 feet I reached
a tree growing out of the crack, which was my first good standing position
and from there, I kept going up and right, placing sparse gear, until I
ran out of rope 215 feet later. We were climbing on Flood’s twin 8.2mm
X 70 meter ropes and had agreed to use them as fully as possible. Flood
came up quickly after me and took off from my belay toward a series of water
falls and slimy off-width cracks. After getting though the worst of them,
he radioed back that I could tear down the anchor and we could start simo-climbing
(two people climbing at the same time, roped up with gear between them to
protect against a fall on easy climbing terrain). We simo-ed a rope pitch
and a half before we started getting into an area where we built anchors
and then leap-froged our way up the route. We had both been told and had
read that route finding on Royal Arches had been a problem from some teams,
but we didn’t have much of an issue and were able to follow piton
scars in the questionable areas. |
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For
me the hardest pitch of the day was the first, but Flood tackled a pitch
after the pendulum that he might argue with me about (see picture to the
left). It was a slick dirty slab to the right that he stayed on the left
side of and had to clean moss and mud out of the small thin pockets that
he placed micro-cams in. I went to the right on the slab after seeing
the crappy time he had on lead and had a much better experience on that
section overall. |
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made really good time that morning and afternoon with only the occasional
stop for a Clif Bar and a picture. We both ran the pitches as far as the
ropes would let us, breaking down a couple of anchors so that the leader
could have “just five more feet…” We talked back and forth
all day on Flood’s radios (I left mine sitting on the couch by the
door), which made a fast ascent even faster. Flood tried really hard to
lead the last pitch, but he came up seventy feet short of rope. I climbed
up to his position, grabbed the cams and took off for the rap ring anchors.
I put in a piece about ten feet up from him and that was the only one I
had in for the whole seventy feet. I came over and around a small rise and
stood on a triangular flat patch of dirt about the size of a dinner plate.
Up and to the left on a slabby face I could see the anchors. I glanced up
just before I started moving and almost had a heart attack!! Not five feet
from me and headed my way via a mossy crack was a three foot long black
and white banded snake. I screamed my little head off! I didn’t know
what it was and if it had fangs and if it had hate in its heart for me.
Mark “it’s docile” Flood rambled on about it being OK
and that it was more scared of me blah, blah, blah... His reassurance didn’t
help as the foul thing inched closer to me. I found out after the fact that
it was a harmless California
Common Kingsnake, but I didn’t know it at the time. I could have
stayed there, run back to Flood, or cross the unprotectable slab hoping
for the safety of the anchors. I chose the slab. Once anchored in, I stopped
screaming and started yelling into the radio to Flood about the snake. I
may have used some naughty words during my rant… During a momentary
lull in our one-sided conversation about what the black-souled beast was
doing on “MY” route, the radio cracked with the sound of a woman’s
voice. She had a van full of kids in the park and had been enjoying the
free entertainment of listening to the climbers as they ascended the valley
walls. Freedom has its price. Her bill came due when her impressionable
children heard my reaction to a snake 1,600 feet off the ground –
not a family friendly show! I apologized and was nice from then on, but
I have the feeling that she switched radios off just in case. |
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Taking
a break and getting a sip of water just after the "pendulum pitch."
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There
was so much snow in the Sierra that winter that even in the middle of
Summer the waterfalls in the valley were going full-force. This is Upper-Yosemite
Falls and we could hear it ROAR all day while we were climbing.
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| Have
you ever known someone that you can’t take fishing? A person that
no matter where you take them there are no fish to be had: even if the day
before and the day after you catch your limit in the very same spot with
the very same bait, but in their absence? A person that seems to produce
a substance or aura that repels fish from 500 yards away? I have come to
believe that I have the opposite affect/ability on snakes. I attract the
damn things where ever I go. Running at lunch, walking trails, driving down
the road, riding my bike, thousands of feet up the side of a mountain, etc…
I know in my heart of hearts that if I were to vacation in Hawaii or Ireland
or even Antarctica that I would find snakes there. It is my curse. |
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rappel off the route was trickier than the climbing in a lot of ways. We
ran out of water about halfway down. I figured we would be on the ground
soon and just suffered a little. After fighting his way down a tricky section,
having to ascend the ropes back up because he had done the wrong “tricky
section” as he got off the rap route, and trying to keep the ropes
out of the trees Flood was parched. The face of Royal Arches is a series
of waterfalls in the Spring, but by late June when we were there they had
all subsided into a trickle here and there. Once Mark got to firm ground
on a wide ledge he bent down and took a drink from a natural catch basin
full of questionable water on the ledge. When I asked if he was worried
about parasites he said matter-of-factly that it would take a couple of
days for those to get him and he was thirsty “now.” By then
he would be back at work and could take a sick day. There is no arguing
with that kind of logic. I radioed that he would probably be OK anyway because
the source of the trickle filling his trough was most probably the spring
that we walked over on the last pitch. Upon hearing that, he looked up at
me and smiled his big, happy grin and went back for seconds and thirds.
About thirty minutes later we passed a team backing off the route. Flood
got a rope unstuck for them and they stared at him in horror as he took
a drink from yet another pothole on the way down. (While
drinking unfiltered water is not something that I recommend, Flood didn’t
get sick at all from it. Someone who knows him though might argue it was
because his intestines were already so foul that any waterborne nasties
felt right at home or were devoured by something primeval living in his
gut.)
The two long ropes that we used that day were great for
climbing long pitches, but it sucked pulling all that extra rope length
through the rap rings and it was just as much of a pain trying to keep
the ropes from tangling as they fell. That small detail aside, we rocked
on the route and did it in eight hours. No other group passed us or even
got close. Two groups of friends that have done it took 16 hours each
and one group ended up bivouacking on the summit because it was too dark
for them to rappel off. Where most people climbed the thing in a series
of fifteen pitches, Mark and I climbed it in five, plus our simo climbing.
Flood and I have very similar styles and have climbed together for years.
It had been 12 months since we had been on a rock together, but all the
experience and shared ascents/cold ledges made it so we just slipped right
back into our usual climbing rhythm. I had been dreading the climb a little
in the months leading up to it as Flood had mentioned that he didn’t
feel strong, my own doubt, a mention of climbing in the dark, and a crazy
plan to bivy on a ledge half way up, etc… My anxiety was completely
put to rest once he charged up to me at my first belay looking strong
and like a kid with a new toy. I had a hell of a weekend largely because
of Mark’s planning and personal will to climb that certain lump
of earth. THANKS, MARK!!
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.JPG)
My favorite shot of me and Flood - taken
in 2005
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