climbing4PTSD

 The Sun sets early in the Potrero Chico winters, so by 6pm it is completely dark.  There’s not much to do on a bivy ledge in the dark. Charles read aloud for a little while, then read by headlamp later to himself. Allen just enjoyed staring up at the night sky, wondered how our ancestors made up constellations,  stars connected into shapes that look nothing like what they’re named after. Life must have been incredibly dull and boring at the dawn of civilization. Anyways, while we tired but not exactly sleepy, and with nothing to do we eventually passed out around 630pm. After sleeping for 6-8 hours we’d wake to find it still dark, go back to bed for a few hours again, wake up again and find that it was still dark. All this work of trying to fall asleep, stay asleep and actually sleep became exhausting. At the same time we spent so much of our time sleeping that we awoke that next morning feeling simultaneously exhausted and well rested. We left our bags and 35lb pack on the bivy ledge, and with some power bars, gels, sandwiches and about 2L of water  each we continued TWZ. We thought the first two 5.8 and 5.9 pitches would be gimmies, but instead of easy climbing, as with the earlier softer graded routes, the routes difficulty were more sustained. We knew that there would be three pitches that would really test us, Pitch 16(5.10d) Pitch 20(5.10d) and Pitch 21(5.12 or 5.10A if we used aid ladders instead of ‘free climbing’). Due to the intensity of the other pitches by the time we got to each of the harder pitches, we were feeling pumped out, tired. And by the time we got to pitch 21 we both had went through our 2L of water. Allen, for some reason, finds that when he lead climbs without taking a huge fall( AKA a ‘Whipper’) he begins to psyche himself out that a big whipper is coming, and when it doesn’t come the anxiety/anticipation builds and builds, and once he finally takes a whipper, which is bound to eventually happen to any climber, realizes he’s fine and continues to climb. Since the only fall he’d taken on yesterdays climb was pretty negligible, mentally, Allen kept on expecting the big one to come soon, and felt to timid to lead any of the three harder pitches previously mentioned. Luckily Charles, who hadn’t got a chance to lead at all the day before, jumped at the chance to lead these three obstacles. And by 230pm we reached the Summit, looked at the Sun and knew we didn’t have much time to enjoy the view. Charles and Allen both hold to the philosophy that when you reach the summit, you’re only half way done with your climb. There is an often-quoted statistic that 80% of all climbing accidents happen on the descent. We don’t know if this is true, but we sure as hell rappelled as if this number was from god himself. This led to a lot of redundancy in our safety precautions, which led to more time in descending. By the time the sun began to set behind the mountains in the distance, we had only reached the bivy ledge, and out of concern for our safety we decided to spend an extra night on the bivy ledge. We had plenty of food, but we knew this meant it would be a while before we’d have water again…

Our second, unexpected night on the ledge was warmer than the night before, and the skies were clear and star filled with a crescent moon tracing a slow arc before disappearing behind a ridge line. (insert profound or beautiful insight here, we came up with a lot of them that night, or at least we thought we did)

but the next morning we made it down safely, rehydrated after 19 hours without water, and rejoiced. Even though at first dehydrated Allen and Charles were a little grumpy, the victory steaks we cooked up for breakfast satiated any of our complaints….

Allen’s first glass of water….

We were convinced after our test run on the 23rd that a two-day ascent of Time Wave Zero was the surest way for us to not only get to the top and back down again, but also to do it safely. Over the days we’d been practicing simul-rapping, simultaneously rappelling side by side, each on one strand of the rope so as to save time – an important consideration when adding up the time it takes to rappel the twenty three pitches to the summit. However, all the climbers making it up to the top of El Toro and back in a day were also simul-climbing, at least for the easier pitches. In simultaneous climbing, the person seconding doesn’t belay, but actually advances at the same rate the leader does. This is a very advanced and risky technique we weren’t ready to learn and experiment with for this climb. Once we recognized the time limitations we were up against for a one-day ascent, the pressure came off, and we looked forward to taking our time to enjoy the climb knowing we’d be spending the night halfway up on the bivy ledge.

But the downside of a two-day ascent is that you can’t climb light. Now sleeping bags have to come up, as do additional water and food for the extra day. Instead of being able to climb light and swiftly, it’s a chore to climb at all with the extra weight. We didn’t have a haul bag, so instead we stuffed everything into a mid-sized climbing pack. The plan was for Allen to lead all 12 pitches and for Charles to second with the pack. Fortunately, the weather was perfect – not so hot that we’d be tempted to drink all of our water immediately, but  overcast and cool instead. We climbed to the top of the first pitch, 5.7, where we stopped to anchor for the 5.11a that followed. Allen had already worked the moves out after a few falls on our trial run, and this time, after leaving his hydration pack at the bolt below the crux, and taking one whipper, he nailed it. Pitch by pitch we made it to the 3rd class where we stopped to pick up our water stash and refilled our hydration packs, and then began the final push to our home for the night.

After traversing a fun and technical 5.10b dihedral (not so fun with the top of the backpack constantly hitting the outer edge), we were were happy and relieved to round out the last moderate pitches to reach the bivy ledge. To our delight, it was secured by brush and a tree on the fall side, making it safe to remove our harnesses and relax on the perfectly adequate, picnic table-sized flat piece of ground. After treating ourselves to one of eight peanut butter and banana and chocolate sandwiches on which Allen had labored in the communal kitchen the day before at Posada, we settled into our bags for bedtime stories from the Death of Josseline.

It was cold that night, with the weather calling for a low of 39. Thankfully, a couple of new friends loaned us bivy sacks for an extra layer of weather-proof insulation, and we slept well and warm. We breakfasted on energy bars, gel packs, and of course another PB and banana and chocolate sandwich, and we were off on the more difficult half of the climb under clear, blue skies……

Stay tuned for the exciting conclusion to Time Wave Zero

Got stuck on the mountain an extra night, just got back to camp safe and sound, going to hydrate and replenish, details and pictures to follow shortly….

“I’ll say this, I don’t give a damn about your dreams…”

-Thunder on the Mountain, Bob Dylan

So there’s this expression, I think its an old military saying born from the many harrowing sorties flown by the Army Air Corp. during the European campaign in world war II. Occasionally, the aircrew got to fly easier missions to restock, without risking life and limb they’d go fly and return with supplies, food, milk, etc. These coveted operations became known as milk runs…

Building off our recent success of 11 pitches on Estrillita, Charles and I decided yesterday to attempt a ‘milk run’ on Time Wave Zero. The mission would be plain and simple, we would run up the first 12 pitches of TWZ and leave a crap ton of water on the bivy ledge that sits at the 12 pitch. No grandiose dreams of summiting El Torro, just an easy in and out, with the added benefit of gaining some beta (climbing term for knowledge) on the first half of our climb. So we wake up early on December the 23^rd and head out to the start of our climb, which after getting lost and bushwhacking through some nasty half-shrub half-cactus flora we arrive at our climb with a clear sky and sun shining on us. We begin our climb, make good time and arrive at the9^th pitch, being a 3^rd class this offers us a nice break from climbing, 3^rd class is kinda like walking up hill. It’s here, on this hill, out of no where we hear, BOOommm, thunder, or at least what we think is thunder, but we look around, the sky is still blue and the sun is still doing that shining thing.  A few minutes later we hear it again, BOOOMMmmm, but it’s louder and in the distance, the peaks of the other Sierra Madre Mountains begin to disappear beneath menacing dark clouds that slowly ascend and then swoop down the mountaintops. Charles looks at the clouds, considers the thunder, has a look on his face that says in my head I’m doing a very logical and calculated risk benefit analysis and I have come to the conclusion that we should abort and head down. I on the other hand, heard the thunder, and internally kinda lost my cool, having one of those cliché epiphanies about the insignificances of ones mortality in the eyes of Mother Nature. My only thought was, we need to bail… And we did, leaving the water on the 9^th pitch instead of the intended 12th… and after ~900 feet of rappelling we came back down and the sky was still clear and there was no rain, we had been tricked. While bad weather was coming, the mountains in the distance had slowed it down enough that we could’ve made it to the 12th pitch and come down dry and most importantly safe. Walking back to camp and looking back up at Time Wave Zero, it felt like the mountain had just nonchalantly spit us off.

Today we took it easy. The menacing clouds (now of course less menacing, just grey, cold and a little wet) finally arrived late last night early this morning. We got a few more supplies from town, enjoyed a very Felice Navidad dinner at La Posada. Tomorrow morning we’ll attempt a two-day ascent of Time Wave Zero, (glasses raised), here’s to good weather and clear skies… Merry Christmas.

Just a few pictures of other nice dogs we’ve met while hitchhiking into town.

Day 4 saw our first big, big-wall experience since arriving and we climbed 11 pitches to 1,100 ft to the top of Estrellita. We spent an hour at the summit listening to stories of Erik’s climbing trip through Argentina and Chile, which he took after I’d met him here last year. Erik caught up to us while rope soloing, essentially having to climb each pitch twice. But then again he’s been a Yosemite climber since the womb.

While we were on Estrellita, Dave and Carter made it as far as pitch 16 on Time Wave Zero. We spent some time talking to a climber who made it up a few days ago in one day, but he and his partner simul-climbed several pitches, which allowed him to take several hours off his climb. Simul-climbing is an advanced technique that we’re not quite up for. Instead, we are now favoring a bivouac on the 12th pitch so that we can break the climb into two days. We will take a practice run up to Pitch 12 on Fri and leave some water up there.

On Day 3, Ramon protected us from cows on our way to climb Will The Wolf Survive, a great, moderate 4-pitch route with cracks, laybacks, and a really exposed start at the crux of the fourth pitch. It ends on top of a terrific razor ridge, where we relaxed for a bit before rapping down. Dave and Carter had started the climb while we were well on our way, and we shared a belay station with them as we rappeled down.

Afterwards we had just enough light to walk the scree approach back down to the arroyo for a try at Pepe y Lupe. With headlamps on we started up what we thought was the first pitch. It seemed pretty tricky for a 5.7/5.8, but I wrote it off on the darkness. It turned out we were on an alternate start at 5.10b. Rather than wrestle with the 5.10c dihedral that followed, we played it safe and came back down.

After taking it easy the first day nursing his pneumonia, Allen couldn’t stand the cabin fever and got his first taste of big walls on a three-hundred footer. And he loved it! He is much less phlegmy than he was yesterday and can’t wait to tackle Will the Wolf Survive? and Pepe y Lupe tomorrow after we go to market-day in the morning.

Our first day here the cloud cover was really low, and it wasn’t until later in the afternoon that the fog lifted. As the summit of El Toro revealed itself, we were able to see what we were up against. Allen described it as something from the Land Before Time. I have no doubt that he’ll be back to his strong self in time to lead the harder pitches.

While Allen convalesced, I went climbing with new friends, Carter and David, from Colorado. We got a late start and the sun had set by the time I seconded the third pitch. Being famous for chastising anyone who forgets to bring his headlamp, I was really embarrassed to have left mine behind. Between the three of us we only had one, which made rappelling to the bottom really exciting.

Allen named him Ramon. And despite the mange and obvious dog-fighting tendencies as evidenced by his limps, wounds, and scars, he’s a very sweet dog and deserving of a good home.  He follows Allen around everywhere and even waits in his tent vestibule until Allen gets home at night. By the end of the trip I’ll convince Allen to adopt him.