. . . 5 partners, 10 weeks, and a belly full of optimism . . .

Mike at the first belay

Here's the step-by-step history of a new slab route in the Adirondacks. The route isn't too bad, and time will tell if it's got star quality. One thing is certain--getting there was half the fun.

Step 1
Partners - Sam, Ryan

A couple routes on this Southern Adirondack slab are already in the books--well OK, they're in MY notebook (see It Ain't Over for some history). Here I am again in mid-July with some new partners, and after repeating some pitches, we started looking for a new line. The slab is 400+ feet tall and 1000+ feet wide, so there's lots of potential. The problem is finding clean, attractive rock, and the base is generally somewhat vegetated. A few hundred feet right of the current routes, which are both at the left end of the face, we found an attractive pillar. It offered a clean "blue Camelot crack" its entire length, so up I went.

From the top of the pillar, an easy slab led up to some trees. The pitch went about 150 feet, and we agreed it felt like 5.5. It was fun so we wanted more.

A short distance above us the rock opened up to seriously blank slab, but a ledge ran up and right to more 5.5-ish terrain and a cluster of birch trees we called the "tree island". There was open slab to the left and to the right of this island. The right-hand option looked really hard, with steep slab falling away below the tree island, and an "overlap" (overhang common to exfoliation slabs) blocking the view above. I didn't want to go there. I wanted to go up and left, above the traverse I'd just made, because that's where the slab rolled off to a clear skyline, without major overlaps. Directly above where I stood a pair of inside corners rose into some nasty looking brush. I took the left of these, and it was just deep enough that I could peek over it onto the slab, but couldn't see a way to get out there.

It's not THAT vegetated: the dirty corner above the tree island belay

I had to dig the moss out of the crack here to get handholds to layback and place a couple TCUs. It wasn't very aesthetic, and I planned to lower off the little evergreen tree up ahead. When I reached it, it felt like a stout pull would uproot it. The whole tree, while it was growing upright and vertical, hung down from a couple spindly roots that were anchored in the moss a bodylength higher. There was a second tree a few steps to the right so I traversed over there, hands in the grass for balance, feet smearing reasonably surely.

Unfortunately, this second tree was worse than the first one. I needed a tree that I could belay from, and bring a partner up to clean the mostly-traversing pitch. So I spied yet another tree further right. The rock to get there was a lichen-y mess, however. But what choice did I have? So with two worthless trees behind me slung for pro, I kept going. I got to the third tree; it was solid and I tied in.

Sam followed as far as the first wobbly tree, didn't like the scene and lowered to the tree island. Ryan, now climbing barefoot because his Zen's were too tight for this multipitch stuff, followed as far as the second tree then took a little tension to reach me. We quickly joined Sam at the comfortable tree island, and rapped to our packs.

What I'm thinking afterwards: There's a lot of beautiful slab up there, but what I've seen of it looks serious. When I peeked out from the dirty corner, I could see no protectable features for a LONG way. Yet that looked to be the first clear shot at the top of the slab that I've found here. I need to reconsider what I'm doing here. Unlike the other two climbs I've done at this slab, this one is not going to be a straightforward "see it, climb it" affair.

Step 2
Partners - Sam, Nathan

We all hate to alter the rock, but this puppy made it all possible

Two months have passed. I have a hand drill and some short 5-piece bolts. Two hand drills actually: one modern one borrowed from a friend and an old one from my Father-in-Law's toolbox that takes obsolete tapered shank bits. The modern one is, well, modern. But the carbide bits I found for the old drill have been diamond honed and are really sharp. A couple exploratory holes in my backyard boulder convince me that this makes a significant difference in the effort needed to drill a hole. But I have only a single 5/16 inch bit, so if I manage to break it I'm screwed.

I also have a spiffy new ball peen hammer, a brush for the hole, and a blow tube. I don't know how to carry all this assault gear. Especially the drill, which clearly could puncture any number of critical organs in a wild tumbling fall. Best not to think about it.

We quickly repeat the first pitch and find it enjoyable again. Sam has work to do back in town, so he wishes us luck and raps down after that one pitch. Nathan and I do a short second pitch and establish advanced base camp in the shady comfort of the tree island. I go up the dirty corner again, thankful for the slots I dug out of the moss last time. Once again the slab out left is calling, and that is the plan for this attempt: to get out there and look around. I can't step up onto the slab from the corner, so I pull on and then <gulp> step on the wobbly tree. This sad thing has no business holding me up, but I treat it like a loose block and load it downwards, not outwards. Now I can contemplate a high step up/out left onto the slab. But not before I de-lichen an edge for my fingers with the toothbrush.

Pulling a "Watch me--I don't think I can reverse this" move, I make the awkward move onto the slab and find a sweet little stance. No gear to speak of, just a stance. Well OK, I can fake a TriCam next to this flake, but it'll probably break in a fall.

The slab above is clean. Long. And totally featureless for the next 50 feet. I'm looking at the potential for a 100 foot fall onto a rattly TriCam. Gulp. I have the sudden urge to urinate.

I see a shallow scoop a couple body lengths up. I don't know if I can climb any higher than there, and downclimbing looks improbable at best. So in the greatest spirit of adventure, I step up into the scoop and get the drill out and start tapping. And tapping. And more tapping. Light and fast. Then slow and heavy when I get tired. I've got one foot up high in front of me, and the lower leg goes Elvis. Eventually that foot goes numb. I take breaks and clean the dust out of the hole. I do what I can to shift my weight around and give my feet a break. Eventually I have a hole. The bolt goes in and I tighten it up without dropping the wrench. It's beautiful, all shiny and new, and I immediately clip a sling into it and hang. It's taken just over 30 minutes.

At this point I lower down to the tree island to relieve my turgid bladder. On the way down I see a totally dirt-choked crack running up otherwise clean granite. It lies on a direct line from the second pitch traverse to the stance below the bolt. I quickly clean out some of the crack with my nut tool. Once I can breathe fully again I ask Nathan for a belay up this new possibility. Yea, I know my top rope anchor is a single bolt. But it's my bolt, and I have complete faith in it. Besides, I'm thinking that I don't know if I'm up to the runout above it, and if I don't go any higher then I'm at least going to have some fun up here. So I'm going to check out "this here direct variation".

Dawn coming up the friction runout. The tree island is directly below her.

I can barely see any edges to get to the crack. I try a move, not because I think I can do it, but because I have nothing better to do. I hold my breath and manage to step up. Another ludicrous move follows. This isn't smearing any more, it's too steep; this is just wacked out edging on tiny little bumps. I manage to reach the bottom of the crack just as the bumps disappear. The jams in the crack are pretty good, and soon I'm back at the stance below my bolt.

The runout above the bolt hasn't gotten any shorter in the last 20 minutes, but in my joy to have made it up here again, I stand tall on the slab and drop my hands to my sides. I feel 100% more comfortable now. The slab doesn't appear as steep. I take an exploratory step past the bolt, then another. I've blown the cobwebs out of my lead head, I guess, because this doesn't feel so hard. I can do this!

Thirty feet of blank slab becomes twenty, and then ten. I can see a ledge up there. The next few steps are decidedly harder as the angle increases a bit, but I get to the ledge and stand up. OK, that was a bit scary but a couple easy moves lead to a flake, and I get a pair of bomber nuts in the crack under it. Now the angle lessens a bit and I can continue. Twenty feet of fun slab leads to a belay at the base of a wonderfully featured dihedral. This is starting to look like fun.

Nathan finishes the 3rd pitch. It's as good as in the bag at that point.

The next pitch is simply a joy. The climbing is stress-free compared to what it's taken to get here, and the pro is great. The rock is striated and pink. And then it's over. The trees ahead are in fact the top of the slab. We've done it!

The name "Bees Three" is in my head, in recognition of the three angry ground hornets that stung each of us on the approach. Three of us, three of them. Ouch.

What I'm thinking afterwards: I'm awed by the sweetness of the direct line that avoids the tree island, the dirty corner, and the wobbly tree. Could I lead that? Probably not--there's crux climbing well out from gear, with a nasty drop over an overlap, and more broken rock below that. But with a bolt on that blank face between the overlap and the crack, maybe.

It was a notion that wouldn't let go of me for the next two weeks.

Step 3
Partners - Dawn, Tim

This is starting to feel familiar. Except that it's been raining for the last three days, and even though it's clearing this morning, the corner of the first pitch is soaking wet. The light layer of pale green algae that was always there is now a source of major concern. The granite is still nice and rough, but stepping on the green stuff could spell trouble. I put in more gear than before.

As soon as I'm above the trees, it's a different story: the sun is out and it's warm. The Adirondack High Peaks are visible off to our right, and I can pick out the summits with ease. Tim and Dawn follow the pitch with just the right amount of grumbling about the wetness, but we're all in good spirits as we fire the easy second pitch to the tree island belay.

The dirty corner is still dirty, and that's not a problem. But it is also wet, and that is a problem. Nevertheless, I thrutch up to, and then past, the wobbly tree. I finagle in the blind nut placement behind it, just like last time, and confront the high step onto the slab. What's this? A two-finger pocket? I didn't see that last time, and it takes the move down to maybe 5.7. Hey, I'm cruising this route today.

Here's my bolt. And there's the runout that I know is easier than it looks. Besides, I've got my best smearing slippers on today; this is gonna be a piece of cake.

Dawn below the dihedrals of the last pitch

Wrong! Fifteen feet out from the bolt and I can't find anyplace for my feet. A few steps further and I know they're gonna slide. What am I doing here? I'm gonna go shooting down this thing and it's gonna hurt. Ah, here's a crystal for my left hand. Oh no, that was a mistake; now I'm stuck here mantling on this crystal. I can't do this. Why is this so hard today?

The only reason I was able to get up that runout is because I had done it before. Without that knowledge, I'm sure my head would have exploded up there. Once I got to the next stance and got those wired nuts in though, everything was fine and I was loving life again. I brought Tim up, and clearly he didn't find either the wobbly tree or the friction moves to his liking. He said the tree had maybe two more ascents in it before it unplugged from the moss.

Tim put Dawn on belay while I rigged the lead rope and started to rap down for the real business. Today wasn't about repeating the climb, it was about finishing the route. While Dawn made quick work of the corner, the high step, and the slab, I hung from a hook and drilled another hole. I didn't know if I would be up to leading the direct line, but if I couldn't it wasn't going to be because of the potential for a 50 foot fall.

Dawn led the last pitch and seemed to like it. I had the bolt in and was waiting at the first belay by the time she and Tim rapped down to join me. By now the sun was off the face and it was getting chilly. We had a snack and I trimmed the rack, and off I went for the first FA of the new and improved second pitch.

The delicate crux moves on the smooth face of the direct second pitch

I guess I could have put the bolt six inches further to the right, but after that one dicey step on the blankish face I was clipped in and feeling better. The moves to the crack felt much more reasonable than I had remembered. So maybe this is just 5.9 after all. The crack absolutely eats pro. Most significantly, the combination of the clean edging and the friction runout above--which we opted not to do considering the hour, hopping instead on the rappel ropes still hanging down the pitch--had me bubbling with satisfaction. Dawn cruised the crux, and pronounced it no harder than the friction climbing of the runout. OK, we'll let her lead them both next time and see what she says then!

What I'm thinking afterwards: We've built a righteous route. A little brushy at times on the first pitch, but then 300 feet of stellar granite. I gotta do this one again. Maybe doing the technical crux first will help my head on the psychological crux.

I wonder if there's another line a little further to the right . . .