The Google search I did before leaving for DC wasn’t very encouraging. When someone says “by almost any criteria imaginable, Great Falls sucks” it doesn’t leave much room for hope. But the advice to drive the extra three hours from DC to Seneca isn’t for me. Tanya and I might be able to sneak away for a half day of climbing, but Seneca is out of the question.

I almost say the hell with it altogether. The east coast is in the grip of the worst heat wave I can remember and just the thought of leaving my brother’s air-conditioned house is unattractive enough. Add an 8:00 am start and the summation “short, crowded with bodies, ropes, and sweat, and often hot and humid” and the temptation to pass is strong. But some of Tanya’s friends are going and I won’t be back this way again soon, so I stagger out of bed and into the 100% humidity like a trooper.

The funny thing is, with everyone scurrying around the top attaching static ropes to trees and unfurling miles of webbing, and after Tanya has introduced me around as her sister-in-law and someone has responded, “Oh yeah, the one who climbs a lot”, the funny thing is, I’ve never set up a top rope before. Not as such. Not by myself. Not exactly. I might normally play the newbie and “assist” someone else’s setup but everyone else is busy doing their own thing and Tanya is looking at me expectantly. She’s waiting for me to combine a couple of trees, her rope, the handful of static rope and webbing I’ve borrowed from Todd, and the locking biners from the daisy that I keep girth-hitched through my harness into something we can climb.

The trees are sickly looking and about 50 feet from the edge. There’s a great looking crack at the top of the route I’ve been assigned. If you gave me a rack, a few draws, and a cordelette, I’d have the rope down in five minutes or be apologizing for taking so long, but I don’t have a rack with me. I ask around tentatively and one guy tells me that he has a few nuts with him but “I’d never use gear in a TR.” This is either baffling or frightening, I don’t know which. Is it that he’s afraid the top-roping will hurt his gear? Baffling. Or is it that he trusts his placements so little? Frightening.

It turns out that there’s a history of gear being taken from TR anchors at Great Falls. OK, I can understand that. You don’t want either your gear or your anchor to disappear. So it’s the trees then. I just posted the FAQ entry on setting up a toprope for heaven’s sake. I remember particularly liking Dave Fasulo’s elegant solution. I can handle this.

A ridiculously long time later, though still quicker than my co-workers, I have an anchor. Tanya and I scramble down the steep but short downclimb. “I’ve led stuff harder than this,” I mutter as I grope my way down, “and I was placing gear on it.”

Bravely, I climb on my own rope first. We’re in the Cornice area, but I never get to try Cornice itself. It looks interesting but a pair of climbers not in our party have it and they take turns not climbing the route, proving that a party of two on one rope can be just as big a hindrance as a large party with a lot of ropes. Amongst our own party there’s always a rope open somewhere.

Tanya on Darius Green’s Flying Machine (5.10)

I try a variety of routes, struggling on the 10s and mostly not getting them, then finally blasting up a 5.7 to finish the day in style. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, cooler finally today but even more humid if that’s somehow possible, I enjoy myself. The climbing is interesting and varied. It reminds me of Potrero Chico except that all the sharp, little flaky holds are turned sideways. With all the small sidepulls, body tension is supremely important.

Tanya on our variation of First Blood (5.10-) which none of us could do

We’re only able to stay a few hours but at the end of that time I’ve climbed four routes and thoroughly trashed my arms and fingertips. I leave happily, knowing I’ll always have a place to climb in Virginia.

Me on Conroy Wasn’t Here (5.7)