| On Wednesday: We Arrive
I don’t know why we started at SuperMini. I don’t think I’ve ever climbed here before, but other people in the group have so we should have been forewarned. I step up on the first moves of my first route in the waning hours of our first day in Mexico and watch my left foot skate out from under me on a hold so big I should be able to use it in my belay booties. Polished? Slick anyway. I thought I loved the feet here at Potrero Chico. “Find the foot that makes this easy,” was my mantra on my last trip. The foot that would make this easy is the one that would stay underneath me. I lead the two 10s that are our warm-up and re-introduction to Potrero Chico with a growing foreboding. If these are the feet, I’m in trouble. I’m not strong enough to climb without trusting my feet. But at dinner that night, comparing notes, I find that everyone was feeling the same way about the feet, that the problem is hopefully contained to that one wall. “I think I remember that from last year,” more than one person says, raising the question of why we’re repeating the mistakes of the past. Note to self: do not start at SuperMini next year. On Thursday: We Go Long I remembered Yankee Clipper as being super long with two pitches of 5.12. It turns out to be only 15 pitches, only one of which is 5.12. When did 15 pitches become not-so-long? And when did 5.12 become something worth looking at? Dan and I set sail on Yankee Clipper and are lucky to have an overcast day to do it on. By the time the sun breaks through, we’re most of the way up already. We ran pitches one and two together and three and four together, then belayed for each pitch up to the garden. The book counts the stroll through the garden as one of the pitches, so we’re at the end of pitch 9 before we know it. You hate to call a 15 pitch route in the bag when you’re barely halfway up it, but it’s in the bag. We run pitches 10 and 11 together and 12 and 13 and climb around a corner into the shade. Here the wind is blowing and we catch up to another party rapping down from having a nice look at the 5.12 pitch. Because the last belay is crowded and there’s nowhere to go from there but down (they having decided that looking at the pitch would be sufficient), we hang out and wait for them get back down to us. They get unlucky pulling their rope as it gets wrapped around a couple of flakes. Since I’m heading up anyway, I offer to free it for them. I don’t know whether it’s the cold wind that whips this belay ledge, the sudden influx of spectators, the prospect of leading 5.12, or just a long hard day without enough water, but suddenly I’m shaky. I try not to let on how shaky I am as I free their rope and finish the last 10b pitch but I feel tentative and weak. Belaying Dan, I look up at the 5.12 pitch with nothing like enthusiasm. It’s made of orange kitty litter. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen these exact holds in the corner of the ceiling of my room where the concrete didn’t set very well. In my room that night I try to figure out how to stem up the doorway to get to the undercling. Here, beneath a few bolts leading up to a bail biner then stretching to infinity, I cast my eyes in the other direction. We’re heading down. FYI, the summit register is at the end of the 13th pitch and the 14th pitch hardly seems worth doing if you’re not going to do 15. The belay is cramped and uncomfortable for even one person, so I lower Dan back to where he just came from and rap down myself, never having seriously considered that last pitch. Yes, leading my first 5.12 onsight at the end of a 15 pitch route would be way cool (way unlikely, but way cool), but it’s not going to happen today. At least our rope pulls clean. I’ve still got a run to do. I’m training for Boston and can’t afford to completely skip a week so I’ve got three runs planned while I’m in Mexico. Tonight I need to do 5 miles. It sounds like an idiotic idea as I lace up my running shoes, and I wonder how I could ever have thought this would work. But three or four steps into my run, I’m feeling great. Climbing, as graceful as it is, as much flexibility as it requires, is a cramped and limiting sport. All day I’ve been moving slowly, roped in and tied down. Now suddenly I’m free, flying down dirt roads at random in the growing twilight. My legs aren’t tired–they’ve just been along for the ride–and my feet think that sneakers feel pretty comfy after a day of hanging belays. I’m a climber who runs.
On Friday: We Epic The Spires are only two pitches high, so this is an odd setting for an epic, surrounded by significantly higher formations. The first pitch of Aguja Celo Rey is only 5.9 but it’s also R. Christine says she hung on the first bolt last year but we’re quickly able to determine that she started on a nearby 11 and avoid that pitfall. I keep saying I don’t mind runouts, but I have no idea where that voice is coming from. I mind runouts very much. Indeed, I’m one of the most fearful leaders I know. But we’ve decided to climb this route and I can’t see making Matt lead the pitch. Besides, it’s bolts. I mean, come on. It’s bolts. Or it would be bolts if there were any of them. After a long walk to the first bolt (unless you take that 5.11 start), there’s another long bit–this one involving actual climbing–before the next bolt. Then there’s an ugly arm-eating crack and two bolts in quick succession, which you know can’t be good. I can’t decide whether to take the off-width crack or the overhanging face. The crack is slippery in that soapy way limestone sometimes gets but the face is steep and exposed. So yeah, I wedge whatever part fits into the crack and use some feet and hands to my right and worm my way gracelessly but securely up there. Then another long bolt-free jaunt. Just as I’m thinking that I’ve really had enough climbing without gear, another crack appears. This one’s a nice hand-sized crack with something like friction inside. A hand jam’s as good as a belay so I step up with confidence and cruise to the real belay. Luckily for Matt, this one has bolts. I was the only one of the four of us who chose to climb the ugly off-width crack. I may have been the only one to jam the lovely hand crack too. Although Potrero Chico is hardly a crack-climbing paradise, there are moves here and there where a jam is your best bet and I’m happy to make use of them. I’m also happy to let Matt lead the crux pitch. There are more bolts, but I don’t think much of where they’re placed. For us shorties, they seem always to be just above the hard move. Matt gets through with the help of my wildly incorrect beta (“Just sit on the ledge,” I tell him as he mantles onto a narrow sloper). Then Irene takes her first real lead fall as I watch from above, wishing I had her camera. She’s unharmed and undaunted and soon all four of us are on the ground. Now Christine is ready to lead the highlight for the day, an 11d called Pangea. Matt steps up to belay her and I, impatient as always, start eyeing the neighboring routes. There’s a two pitch route called Through the Looking Glass in front of me. The second pitch is 11a and says something about a roof but the first pitch is 10a and ends at a bolt anchor. I figure Irene and I can be up and down before anyone notices we’re gone. I wander up the start of the bolt line to the right, as advised in the guidebook, on nice jugs, and crawl through the feature they call the window. Here I was expecting to find a belay. I don’t know why I was expecting this because I’d just been through the window coming from the other side and there hadn’t been any anchor in there then. So I start climbing bolts on the other side of the window as the guidebook has said I would. It’s just that I thought I’d be down on the ground and ignoring these bolts by now. Eventually I arrive at a belay but the way down isn’t looking good. On one side, the ground slopes down too far. On the other, a sharp wall of rock between the anchor and the face promises for an ugly rap. Well, it’s not as if the book promised we could get down from here. So we’ll go up. There are bolts over my head, but I have no idea what route they’re on. I think my route goes to the left, to a feature that could be called a roof, though coming from Gunks-land I’d be more likely to call it a bulge. I start up that way, hang twice over the roof (climbing at the Gunks doesn’t give you rockstar roof powers at other crags, a fact I’ve noticed before) and then meander around looking for another bolt. I remember the book said something about easy climbing above but did it say easy soloing? After 30 feet or so with nothing more than old ring pitons, I decide to climb a different route instead. I get a bolt clipped, backclean the confidence-inspiring ring piton, and start face climbing. One move away from an anchor–in sight but not in reach–I can’t go on. My last bolt is below my feet and I can’t find a move I’m willing to make. I traverse to another bolted line and finish on it. I figure I’ve done three routes on this pitch alone. Irene also has the chance to climb a few routes on her way to join me. Since there’s nothing clipped above the roof, she takes a swing out and away from “our” route and just climbs the one she ends up in front of . I probably should have stayed on that ring piton line, because now we’re at the top and still don’t know how to get down. Irene leads through to an anchor she remembers rapping off of before and we do three raps to get down from what was supposed to be a single pitch 10a. Ah, adventure. From now on, I’ll bring the book and headlamp for all single pitch climbs. Now Irene and I get a chance to play on Pangea, which is really fun but sparsely bolted for 11d. We choose to toprope it. I only fall in a couple of places (just the crux and one or two extra spots) and feel pretty good about it. Christine says I climb smarter than she does and I tell her it’s my only chance. I’m sure not going to climb stronger than she does. She pulls the rope to go for a redpoint attempt. Problem is that she started the trip sick and has been getting sicker and although she put the rope up in the first place, now, only two bolts up, she looks dazed and tired. She’s having trouble at one of the spots where I didn’t fall, and I know that’s not a good sign. I tell her if she’ll come down I can rescue her draws by climbing up the side of the spire on what looks like 4th class rock. Thus begins Dawn’s Exciting Adventure. I can’t claim a first ascent because I did clip a ring piton I came across. In fact, I left a biner on it as I wormed my way back down after going high, going low, going across, and generally going nowhere trying to get to the anchor for Pangea. When I finally got close enough to see the anchor, I realized that it was in the middle of pretty inaccessible rock. Everything at Potrero Chico looks closer than it is. I was sorry not to have gotten the draws. It was a waste of everyone’s time to watch me try and, although I never felt like I was taking an unacceptable risk at any given moment, there came a point where I realized the cumulative risk was unacceptably high. I was climbing on very loose rock, so I wasn’t just putting myself at risk either. I’m happy to report that Christine and Suzanna had no trouble getting her draws back the next day, which was probably the sensible call to begin with. Don’t send a 4th classing trad climber to do a 5.12 sport climber’s job. On Saturday: We Seek Shade Lucky are we all that there’s only one day with so much unrelieved sun on our trip, and lucky am I that crowds chase me off my initial objective, Jungle Mountaineering. As Barry and I make our way up Dope Ninja enjoying the shade, we can watch our compadres suffering in the sun across the way. Dope Ninja, in addition to being shady for a large part of the day, has luxurious belays. Barry leads a crazy-long pitch of 5.10. Yes, we’re really carrying 20 draws without any plans to run pitches together. His pitch is that long. Then I lead a shorter, cruxier 5.10 pitch and we cruise casually to the top. As the sun seeks us out, we dodge around a corner and find relief again. The only part of the day that’s full-on sun is the rap down the other side of the formation. Barry wants to simul-rap to save time. I’ve only done this twice: once with a guide the first time I ever rapped multi-pitch, and once with Jim the last time I was at Potrero. That had been a bad experience because I hadn’t used a backup (as I usually don’t) and fishing rope out of cactus with only one brake strand was a strain. Barry talks me through it, I use a backup this time, and after a small snafu on the first rap we develop an efficient pattern. I could get used to this. On Sunday: We Celebrate “Because it’s your birthday,” Chris says when I TR Pangea clean today. “Because my birthday’s not until tomorrow,” I correct her. “Tomorrow I’ll be too old to climb this hard.” I feel good about my last day as a 43-year-old. I led two pitches of 11a cleanly, got up my first outdoor 11d, flashed another 11b on TR, and outlasted the kids. For some reason my fingers and toes aren’t killing me the way everyone else’s are. I’ve brought two pairs of shoes and my painful shoes have gotten me up the hard stuff while my all-day trad shoes have saved my feet on the rest of the routes. I’ve used my trad tricks to stay comfy at belays and sneak in an occasional arm-resting jam. I feel like I’m just getting warmed up. Give me another two days here and that 12 would happen. When everyone else is too tired to climb, I go running. I didn’t get in all three workouts while in Mexico, but this is two out of three. I run up into the canyon, past the end of the climbing, as far as the dirt road goes, uphill all the way. I’m supposed to be running 5 miles and at 2.48 miles the road ends. Serendipitous. I turn around and run back, all downhill now, so fast I get a stitch in my side. I’m surrounded by green hills with the rock ridges looming up before me as I head back into the park. The temperature is perfect and the sun is behind the ridge-line. Looking at the satellite picture on my GPS from home later, I’ll be even more impressed by how much untouched territory surrounded me. In the dining tent that night the lights go out unexpectedly. Before I can grumble about unreliable electricity, there’s a dish of cake and ice cream with a lone candle and a tent full of people are singing “Happy Birthday, Dear Dawn. ” It’s a special end to a wonderful trip. I remember the first time I went to Potrero Chico. I was struck by how lucky I was: lucky to be American and have so much I take for granted; lucky to climb mutli-pitch trad frequently and know the tips and techniques you learn from doing it; lucky to have good friends and good partners. Now I can add: lucky to still be doing this and even luckier to still be getting better. I’m not a strong climber, not a fast runner, but I’m still working my way towards being a stronger climber and a faster runner, and at 44 that feels pretty lucky. Wednesday SuperMini Thursday, Yankee Clipper: Friday, Spires Saturday, Dope Ninja Sunday, cragging |
 Finishing by moonlight at the SuperMini crag  Teeny weeny people on Yankee Clipper and Space Boyz  Me leading P1 of Aguja Celo Rey  On top of the smaller spire  Irene right after her lead fall, with Christine belaying below and me hanging out above.  P1 of Through the Looking Glass  Irene following Through the Looking Glass or one of the "bonus" routes we were on  Christine leading Pangea  Me leading 31 Foot Smurf  Happy Birthday to me |
The 2010 gang
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