Photos courtesy Reto

Why am I having a mental meltdown on toprope? Because apparently all the sunny days, bullet-hard granite, and gorgeous lines in the world aren’t enough if my ego isn’t being fed. Because Steven led it, because I fell following it, because I had to aid my pitch of 10, because it was already my third failed 10 attempt this trip. Because I have a gigantic, pushy ego and a mean competitive streak.

But I’ve always loved Squamish.

The first time I approached it with fear. The routes were long, the approaches complicated, the topos confusing, the descriptions full of unappealing words like “polished” and “gear to 4 inches.” Guidebook authors have been playing tricks on unsuspecting climbers since guidebooks were first written, but Kevin McLane deserves a special award for making heaven uninviting.

The second time I knew what I was getting. I knew that I could lead 10s. I didn’t expect to flash them – I had never led a 10 on gear cleanly before – but I knew I could try to flash them. The beautiful lines, the solid rock, the perfect placements, piece after piece. What’s not to try? And I flashed some and hung on others and it was all good because it was all I wanted.

But this time, this time, this time they would fall like dominoes, those 10s. This time I’d be a crack master; I’d venture past 10a; I’d take the hard pitches; I wouldn’t look at anything less than 5.9. This time I’d be queen of Squamish. All hail.

Ah well.

Enough drama. Let’s get to the climbing.

The first day was a warm-up cragging day at Smoke Bluffs. We went to Penny Lane and Pixie Corners and did the title routes in both places. I tried my hand at my first 10 of the trip, a very, very short route called Trixie, and ended up hanging on move four (out of five). Both Steven and the blonde Scandinavian boy we’d somehow picked up romped up the thing. In fact, Reto romped up everything in such a careless, breezy way that we eventually made him put on the rack and do his first trad lead, hoping to scare him into admiration of our mad tradding skills since we couldn’t stump him with difficulty.

Me leading Witch Doctor’s Apprentice, 5.9

“Don’t do anything hard,” I told him sternly as Steven scrambled around the backside to rig an anchor. “We’re counting on you to not fall off.”

You’d think that might have rattled him, but it didn’t. He found his stances and placed his gear, even at the top when we were thinking that he could solo those last fifteen feet and we really wouldn’t mind. By the time he lowered off we had a convert. When we last saw him, he was calculating how much gear he could buy and still make weight for the flight home.

Steven leading Joe’s Crack, 5.9

I wanted to do Birds of Prey, a multipitch 10c on the Squaw, but it was brutally hot. It seemed wise to wait for the heat to break so on day two we hiked up to Shannon Falls. I knew that Steven would love Klahanie Crack, the perfect 5.7 hand crack, and I thought I’d take a stab at Local Boys Do Good, described in the guide book as “a great example of technical slab climbing.” The first pitch was 10b and I’d TR’d it before. The second pitch was 11a and not out of the question, especially since the crux was near the belay.

Steven did love Klahanie Crack but the “Boys” and I weren’t so harmonious. After getting the first bolt clipped on rappel, I slowly made the moves directly below it (when leading, the route supposedly comes in from the right). With a combination of delicate footwork and severe breath holding, I made my way to the second bolt, hung the draw, and grabbed it. No freaking way I was pulling the rope up from that position. Then I climbed to the next bolt and hung on that one too. Yes! We’re doing soooo well. The problem from there is that the bolts get kind of far apart. Hanging wasn’t going to save me anymore.

“I’m not sure I want to do this,” I whined. There’s something wrong with Squamish. It all looks so short and slabby from the ground. Then you get up there and everything’s twice as steep and twice as far as you expected.

“You just have to move to there,” Steven said, pointing at a rail above which the next bolt twinkled.

I eyed the rail dubiously. It wasn’t clear. And it wasn’t true. Whoever bolted Local Boys Do Good could have put every bolt one move lower down. From the rail – part way up and way, way out – I had to make one more move up. From the end of the dyke – a long, long way up and a little ways out – I had to make one more move up. Even the anchor was one more move away than it needed to be.

We didn’t do the 11.

It was at this point that we realized we hadn’t brought a second rope and that without a second rope there are only two routes you can do at Shannon Falls and we’d just done them. I was grumpy; we were both hot; the area was surprisingly crowded with almost more climbers than routes. It was only the morning of our second day and somehow we were already unmotivated.

“I’ve got an idea,” I said.

It was a crazy idea, a diabolical idea, a brilliant idea.

“Let’s do Diedre.”

See, it was hot (very hot) and Diedre, which is popular (very popular) is on the Apron which gets shade until 1:00. After that it would be hot (very hot). No other idiot would be up there post-lunch. We’d suffer, but we’d do it alone.

And so it was.

Steven doesn’t really like unprotected slab pitches (I don’t know why not) so I offered him the choice between the first 5.7 pitch, which you solo for the first 40 feet of 5.nothing, and the second 5.6 pitch which is described as “an unprotected traverse.” When he later complained that following the second pitch was the same thing as leading it, I pointed out that the words “unprotected traverse” include all the information you need to reach that conclusion. And besides, it’s not true. There are at least three moves off the belay that go up. Plus, I graciously didn’t protect the last ten feet of diagonal climbing, even though I could have. So by my calculation he had as much as 16 feet of toprope.

Then came the corner. Four pitches of corner. Four pitches of jamming your left foot into a finger pocket and smearing your right foot against the wall. Diedre is a classic but I wouldn’t do it again. Steven led the first corner pitch, then I started up the second. The second pitch is approximately one mile long. I kept seeing salvation ahead of me – a stance, a break – and thinking it was the end. But no. Everytime I reached “the end” and looked up, the corner continued, stretching as far as the eye could see. Steven kept asking if I was there yet and I kept futilely shaking my head.

It was at about this point that the other party caught up to us. Nice guy. Actually from Canada (most people in Squamish seem to be either European or American) though not from BC. They were in no rush, he said, although they planned to do the Squamish Buttress afterwards (2 pitch approach from top of Diedre, 7 pitch route).

Anyway.

Somewhere along the pitch I didn’t die, though I kept trying. My feet hurt too bad to stop and place gear and besides, I was out of gear, out of runners, out of energy. A long fall sounded fun – no weight on my feet, the wind in my hair.

Actually.

There was a lot of wind up there so climbing the route turned out not to be miserable at all (from a heat point of view), although the sun was so strong I actually got a sunburn through my shirt. Gotta check the SPF rating on my clothes more closely.

Steven’s next pitch was long too, but easier, and then I had an even easier corner pitch with a tricky top out. The Canadian guy told me to look for the pin and sure enough there was one. He said it was manky but I’m from the Gunks. I’ve clipped worse. There were other gear options there anyway and a lot of that last pitch is unprotected (low angle but the crack closes down), so the gear and the move felt fine and then I was at the top and I was sitting in a nice, shaded forest with my shoes off and life was good.

The thing was, Birds of Prey suddenly seemed ridiculously out of our league. I mean, I was hanging all over the 10s and we’d had this idea that we’d simply romp up Diedre whereas it had in fact made us both borderline suicidal. The Canadian and I discussed it and we agreed that perhaps the Smoke Bluffs Connection (no commitment, short and with fewer pitches of 10) was more our speed.

So on day three we were back at the Bluffs. I’ve done the Connection before but not in years and the plan was for me to lead the crux 10b pitch this time. It’s described in the book as reachy but I’d followed it cleanly the last time. So there were those expectations again.

It can be tricky to protect initially but I made it through that part, had good gear in overhead, and just couldn’t do it. Whether it was another few years of polish on the one foothold, the weight of the rack, or not having Todd’s route finding to follow, I couldn’t do it. Eventually I aided through the move. The rest of the route was challenging but doable and I was too frustrated with myself to not do it.

I might have been OK . . .

I might have been OK if Steven had led the normal 5.9 finish to the Connection. I might have been OK if he’d had to hang leading the 10b corner above instead. I might have been OK if I’d followed it cleanly. But he didn’t, he didn’t, I didn’t.

Crying on the belay ledge, telling Steven I’d rap so he didn’t have to wait for me to finish, I knew I was wrong. I should be happy for him. What kind of friend am I? An emotional, dramatic, competitive friend who just wanted a bit of success for herself too. But Steven knows that.

So I said I wasn’t leading anything harder than 5.8 anymore and we walked out to the far, far reaches of Smoke Bluffs to Octopus’ Garden which was supposed to have shade and sustained 5.8s. It also had wide 5.8s which led to the St. Vitus discussion again.

We’d been having the St. Vitus discussion for a couple of days with whoever wanted to have it, like the clerk at the A&W. The question at issue was exactly how much big gear we needed, because Steven had offered to bring the big gear but I’d said no, no, we never used it last time. We had one #3 and nothing bigger. Which most people were telling us was fine. It’s not what the book said. It’s not what the lone person in our ability-range said. But it’s what everyone else said.

We borrowed a #4 and agreed that Steven would lead that pitch. He likes wide. I took the direct start (this was after we climbed a pitch of moss, downclimbed the pitch of moss, found the correct tree-climbing pitch which is much cleaner by comparison, and climbed that). The direct start saved us a second pitch of grubby tree climbing and was 10a.

And I did it! It was by far the easiest of the pitches of 10 we’d climbed, but looking back in review, all the other pitches were 10b. Apparently there’s some huge technical gulf between 10a and 10b I’ve yet to step over. It was a fun pitch and played more to my strengths in that the two harder bits were power cruxes and once I’d started them there wasn’t much choice but to keep pulling. The green Alien I’d placed not knowing it was my last piece was far away (and slung too short) as I made the last hump to safety.

Steven did a fine job leading the wide first pitch of the regular route. It’s a long pitch and slow going as he had to keep downclimbing and back cleaning. It turned out that he could have placed any number of #3s he’d happened to have had on him (and I think he said 3.5 also, but the 4 not so much). He led it in his approach shoes and I followed the same. He was right – it definitely helped. Arm bars, fist jams, and other wiggly, uncomfortable maneuvers feel better if at least your feet are tightly jammed. The only downside is that approach shoes can jam so hard you can’t get them free again. I made frustratingly slow progress, my feet aching. I could only imagine how Steven must have felt.

The second pitch was more my idea of fun with some wild sideways moves and a final bulge that you climb inside of. The crack in the back fit my hands perfectly and I’d even put tape on, so my hands were willing to go in there. I plugged in more of that wide gear at the top (I think I needed the #4 more than Steven did) and made a final grunty exit move to freedom.

The last real pitch (the final pitch is a slabby scramble) had one spot of climbing on it, but it was a doozy – overhanging fist crack. Again the #4 was key and again I was glad it was Steven’s lead.

Above St. Vitus I led Karen’s Math, another 10a, deceptively simple looking. It’s a pretty flake. Flakes are easy – pump and go. I was so fooled. First of all, the step across moves you do to get to the flake are hard and committing (and the #4 goes in great!). Next, the flake takes like #2, #3 all the way up. I’d already placed the #3 somewhere on the step across and although we had two 2s, I’d only brought one. I didn’t know it, but I was carrying one piece to protect 40 feet.

I started up the flake, placed that #2 about 10 feet up, did 10 more feet and freaked. The climbing was easy. I knew I should just pull and go but was I really willing to solo the whole thing? The flake was thin and creaky. I didn’t know if I’d trust any piece to catch me and I was sure I didn’t want to take a whipper on the one piece between me and the ground.

I scurried back downwards, whiny and annoyed. Damn it, this was a flake climb. I was supposed to romp up it. I’d romped up the Beast Flake but I’d known I had to solo that one. And it was easier, thicker, more places for feet. This wasn’t hard but it was pulling and smearing the whole way and who knew what happened at the top.

There was no way I was even hanging on that #2.

After a lot of shaking and grumbling I made it to a small tree between the step across moves and the start of the flake. I anchored in and Steven sent up the other #2 while I reached down and back cleaned the #3. Now armed with two extra pieces of protection, I started back up.

After a few attempts at back cleaning (poor stances and overcammed cams in dimpled rock made this difficult) I finally stuffed in the #3 and committed to the top. I was getting pumped trying to climb safely. It would be easier to just climb. And the top was so close and the flake started to curve left so I’d be able to stand on it. And then the space behind it got narrower and I placed two smaller cams, standing with one foot on something besides a vertical wall, feeling like I was done.

Not.

I’m not going to spoil the Karen’s Math surprise completely but the stuff you can see from Broadway is the least of the climbing. The flake is beautiful and fun, but not hard. The rest of it is hard, but not beautiful or fun. Well, that’s not quite true. The step across moves are grunty but the stuff at the top is great climbing, just unexpected. Oh, and look for the bolt at the top of the flake on the headwall before moving left. I only found it because I’d seen something shining up there from Broadway and wondered if it was a bolt. I thought it was weird that there would be a bolt at the top of this flake when all you had to do was make an easy move left and be off, but now I understand. Thank you, nice bolt. Thank you, person who placed nice bolt.

Now that I’d done two whole pitches of 5.10 (10a only) and we’d climbed a multi-pitch 5.9 quickly and efficiently (except for that moss pitch), I was starting to rethink Birds of Prey. Maybe we could do a 10c route. But we did Cream of White Mice instead.

It’s the perfect cure for what ails you at Squamish. A 5.8 bolted arete, a 5.4 dyke. Both could have gone on forever and we wouldn’t have complained. Then more dyke to a friction traverse that was much easier than the book suggested (thankfully) and a final corner, not hard, with a final exit move, hard. Aside from one, not-so-helpful hand jam below that final exit move, I don’t think I stuck my hands or my feet into a crack all day. Which was exactly what they were asking for.

The next morning we woke up to ominous skies. But we were going home. Nyah, nyah. I laughed when it drizzled on the windshield as we drove out of Squamish. Three trips, fifteen days of climbing, not one drop of rain. Take that, Pacific Northwest!

P.S. It’s been suggested that I rent myself out as trip insurance. I’ll take care of the weather; you buy the plane tickets. This offer good for Squamish only (my Red Rocks record is unimpressive).

Sunday:
Penny Lane, 5.9 (Dawn)
Quarryman, 5.8 (Steven)
Popeye and the Raven, 10c (TR)
Witch Doctor’s Apprentice, 5.9 (Dawn)
Pixie Corner, 5.8 (Steven)
Trixie, 10b (Dawn)
Davy Jones’ Locker, 5.7 (Reto)
Joe’s Crack, 5.9 (Steven)

Monday:
Klahanie Crack, 5.7
Local Boys Do Good (P1: Dawn, 10b)
Diedre, 5.8 (P1, 3, 5: Steven; 2, 4, 6: Dawn)

Tuesday:
Mosquito, 5.8 (Dawn)
Phlegmish Dance, 5.8 (Steven)
Jabberwocky, 10a (Dawn)
White Rabbit, 10b (Steven)
Octopus’ Garden, 5.8 (Dawn)
Edible Panties, 5.7 (Steven)

Wednesday:
approach pitch, 5.7 (Steven)
St. Vitus Direct, 10a (Dawn)
St. Vitus, 5.9 (P1, 3: Steven; 2, 4: Dawn)
Karen’s Math, 10a (Dawn)

Thursday:
Cream of White Mice, 5.9 (P1, 3: Dawn; P2, 4: Steven)