I really, really want to go to Indian Creek," Geoff emails me, inspired by the trip a group of rec.climbers has just returned from.

"I really, really want to go too," I answer.  We agree on Labor Day and start casting about for a rope gun.  Todd says he really, really wants to go too but Labor Day is out so we switch to Memorial Day, only weeks away.  Now all we need is a boat load of cams.

Todd and Geoff have nicely filled-out racks, each with doubles of many sizes and more than doubles in some.  I have nothing, so I bite the bullet and make my first cam purchase - a full set of Camalots.  Expensive, but it doesn't amount to much in sheer numbers.  Well, "borrow from friends" is the rule for Indian Creek, so I set to it in earnest.

"Where's your next trip?" my unsuspecting victim would ask.

"Indian Creek," I'd answer, hoping to hear "Don't you need a lot of cams for that?" in response.  Unfortunately, few of the climbers around Connecticut had heard of Indian Creek.  "So," I'd weasel, "Indian Creek is known for long, perfectly parallel cracks that are the same size all the way up."

"Cool," they'd say.  Clearly, I was going to have to be more direct.

"So, the thing is," I'd say, wading in deeper, "you need a lot of cams all the same size."  Pause while it sinks in.  "Sometimes people borrow them from friends," I'd add, getting closer to the point.  It turns out I have nice friends.

"You want to borrow my rack?" they'd ask, finally getting the gist of my roundabout request.

"I'd love to," I'd accept.  Thanks to Lisa, Dan, Mike and Gary, I manage to accumulate an impressive 50 cams.

The Rack of Ages

The Saturday before we leave it rains.  Todd and I had planned on working on getting my lead head (somewhat damaged by the fall on Honky Tonk Woman the week before) back into shape.  Instead we climb at a gym in New Jersey.

The Sunday before we leave it rains.  Todd and I had planned on meeting Thor to explore the cracks at Lost City.  Instead we find ourselves loitering around The Bakery, contemplating the drive back to Connecticut to climb at the gym there.  We run into Kent, someone Steven has introduced me to a couple of times.

"Any trips planned for the summer?" he asks.

"We leave for Indian Creek on Wednesday," we answer.

"Cool," he says.  "I just got back from a week there.  Need to borrow any cams?"  We're flabbergasted but not so much so that we don't accept.  He takes us to his car and hands us his set of Camalots.

"Wait," I say as he walks away, "Give me a phone number or something so I can get these back to you."  An absolutely astonishingly generous act - he gave his entire rack of cams to two people whose last names he doesn't even know - no questions asked; no bond required.

We take a tally that night at my house.  Between Todd and I and the various donors we've amassed 87 cams (and that was before we added Geoff's and Tom's - the total would eventually top 100).

Maple Canyon

Todd and I fly into Salt Lake City on Wednesday.  Thanks to a hideously early departure time we're in our rental car and on the road by 11:00 am local time - our destination, Maple Canyon.  Maple Canyon is a strange and interesting place.  The rock is composite.  It looks like someone took a cobble-stone road and rotated it to vertical - rocks cemented together with mud.  We head over to an area with a 5.8 and a 5.7, find them occupied, and start up Monkey Duodenum, a neighboring 5.9.  The bolts here are reassuringly close together but the climbing is steep and unrelenting.  You waste a lot of time figuring out which of those lumps above you are useful and which are just big slopers (although I didn't have to waste as much time as Todd since he went first and kindly left copious amounts of chalk all over the best holds).

Me leading Primate Grooming Procedures (5.7) at Maple Canyon

Next we do a pair of 5.10c's (Kissing an Angel and The Angel's Share), one of which I lead (pink-point) cleanly, the hardest sport route I've ever done.  There are frighteningly loud cracks of thunder as I lead the second one but by the time Todd has finished it the thunder has died down and the sky appears to be clearing so we move back to the 5.7 (Primate Grooming Procedures) which features a nice, pumpy roof.  Todd leads it first and I pink-point it.  As I'm cleaning the draws on the way down the thunder starts again, even more menacingly.  We pack quickly and end up making the last running strides to the car just as the rain starts falling.  The storm is sudden and fierce; the windshield wipers have slush accumulating on them and trees are down already as we navigate the one-lane dirt road out of Maple Canyon.  Turning onto the paved road at last we feel safe, but only briefly. 

There is, oddly, a roof blocking the road, just a frame and sheeting type roof, the sort that top the turkey houses everywhere, but a strange sight nonetheless.  A pickup truck is stopped already and two guys are looking at the situation.  Todd puts on rain gear and goes to help them.  Before I can finish zipping up my rain shell he's back - running.  The truck drives up and around the downed roof.  Todd goes to follow it and the guy behind us (who made no attempt to get out of his car and help) actually cuts him off.  Cuts him off and then stops dead when he sees what he has to do.  Todd is extremely nervous, shouting at the driver, who can't hear him anyway, to move.  When our turn finally comes and Todd drives around the roof and through a growing stream, he points out the problem to me.  There's an open gas line.  Safely away, we find a spot where Todd's cell phone gets reception and call 911.  Later we learn that a tornado came through the area.

Wall Street

Thursday we wake up in Moab and head for Wall Street where Tom and Geoff will meet us.  Todd leads Flakes of Wrath (5.9), a crack to some strange roof moves.  The jams are butter-smooth and I'm amazed at how soft the rock is.  "This isn't going to hurt at all," I think as I flail my way up the crack, "except that I don't have any technique," I add as I hang to clean gear, unable to hold myself in with just one hand.  The strange roof moves make me pause long enough to fall off, even though I know they're just like Inverted Layback at the Gunks.  Well, I didn't like the inverted layback move when I did it then either - the key is getting the second foot up, but it's a leap of faith.

Me on Flakes of Wrath (5.9) at Wall Street

We TR Flakes of Wrath Direct from the same anchor.  Todd moves through the crack section easily and eventually figures out a way to handle the crux bulge.  I, however, find the slightly overhanging, leaning crack overwhelming on the first try and only barely doable on the second try (the fact that I have to be lowered to the ground after a fall gives me the motivation to pull through it the second time).  The upper moves are way over my head and I come down feeling demoralized until a glance at the guidebook reveals that Flakes of Wrath Direct is 11a/b and is therefore supposed to be over my head.

Geoff shows up just as Todd is contemplating leading Bad Moki Roof (5.9) nearby.  He does and Geoff and I both do it on toprope.  By this time the sun is well overhead and we're roasting.  We decide to take a siesta, so we put on our bathing suits and wallow in the cold Colorado River then lounge in the shade along the bank and drink beer from Geoff's cooler.

Siesta over, we start with Seibernetics (5.8).  I had planned to lead it but since Geoff hasn't gotten a chance to climb much yet I offer the lead to him.  He starts up but, after scoping out the thin friction moves above the first pin, gets sketched at the idea of me belaying him without an anchor and comes back down.  We switch places.  With the first pin already clipped I don't have to face any ground fall fears so I move quickly through the face moves and up to what had looked like a crack.  In fact, it turns out to be more of a groove, a groove that accepts neither protection nor jams.  I climb the route using a sort of chimney maneuver - butt-scooching and stemming between sections where the groove becomes an actual crack.  As I near the top a sudden sharp wind rises.  The air is wild and heavy.  I feel electrically alive as I make a quick dash for the anchors.   Geoff climbs and cleans the route just as quickly, fearful that another downpour is about to start, but by the time he lowers off the whole thing has blown over.

Geoff on Seibernetics (5.8) at Wall Street

Todd climbs the route and we look at setting up Scratch and Sniff (5.11) which requires a long traverse from the Seibernetics anchors.  We'd watched the guy on Seibernetics before us execute this maneuver.  He spent a long time just below the Scratch and Sniff anchor, obviously scared to make the last move, and finally made a lunging grab for the chains.  But that guy didn't appear to be as strong a climber as Todd, so I don't expect Todd to have any trouble.  I'm wrong.  He spends a long time just below the anchor too.  There's no easy way down from his position and a fall means a long pendulum back into the corner.  He's just decided to jump and hope to control the impact when he suddenly makes a quick move up instead and is safely at the anchor.  We all breathe a sigh of relief.

Scratch and Sniff is true friction climbing, following a zig-zag line across the rock with little to no hands and the tiniest of feet.  Both Todd and Geoff take their turns on the delicate moves, testing first the rock straight up and then the rock to the right and then back to the left again.  As Geoff climbs a man comes by and asks if he can take pictures.  Sure, we shrug.  He snaps a few of Geoff and then, when my turn comes, asks if I'll put my helmet on.  I don't usually wear my helmet on toprope but I put it on to oblige him and start climbing.  It turns out that he's taking pictures for a German travel guide to Utah.  (Why he wanted the helmet, I have no idea.)  It also turns out that I'm still wearing my bathing suit, with just a t-shirt thrown on top of it.  I'll bet those are some interesting pictures.

By changing my position on the rock each time I fall (let's try this section of rock, no this one, or maybe this one), I eventually end up at the top of the route, just below the anchors.  My heart nearly stops when I see the move Todd had to make to get to the anchors:  thin, almost to the point of non-existent, it was a hell of a move to make 25 feet out from the corner you're going to smash into.  Tom drives up as I'm lowering off and we make plans to rendezvous again at the campground in Indian Creek.

Thanks to beta from Kent, we know about a great, hidden campsite.  Private, shady, and sheltered from the wind, it is, as promised, a most excellent campsite, even if there aren't any amenities like picnic tables and outhouses.  Geoff makes us a great dinner and we settle in for the night.  Tomorrow is the big day.

Indian Creek

Geoff leading an unnamed 5.9 at Indian Creek

Friday morning we head straight for Supercrack Buttress, figuring the crowds will show up the next day.  Geoff leads a tricky 5.9 which we all use for a warm-up and then Tom leads Supercrack (5.10).  Once he gets through the difficult move to the top of the ledge where the crack actually starts, he shows good form, stopping twice to hang but appearing calm and in control the whole way up.  That is until he lowers off and immediately throws up.  "Welcome to Indian Creek," I think, "this place is going to kill me."  I had already been nearly done in by the unnamed 5.9.  I'd put on tape gloves before climbing it (Indian Creek rock isn't nearly as soft as Wall Street rock) but they'd shredded almost immediately thanks to my bad technique (whether it's bad jamming technique or bad taping technique I leave for you to decide).  Now I set off to try Supercrack untaped.

The moves to claim the initial ledge are indeed tricky, the hardest moves on the route in fact since the rest is just jam, jam, jam.  I struggle my way through them to get my first up-close look at the monster that is Supercrack.  If you ever try this route, here's a piece of advice:  don't look up.  The route isn't bad at first, then comes the lip.  I flail my way over the lip, slipping and sliding, but pulling it.  Then the crack gets wider.  It's fists or forearms most of the way for me, a struggle with every move.  I set my sights on the anchor, just visible way above me.  Each time I stop to rest I look for it.  (Did I mention that you shouldn't look up?)  At first it doesn't seem to get any closer, then finally it's a manageable distance away, and then I'm there.

Ooops.  It isn't the anchor.  It's the first of two pieces of gear that have been left in as backups to the anchor.  There's another 15 feet or so of crack above me and gear in my way besides.  I move my high jam over the first piece, contemplate moving up on it, and just let go.

Geoff on Supercrack of the Desert (5.10) at Indian Creek

"You can let me down," I tell Tom.

"Are you sure?" he asks.  "You're almost there."

I take another look at those last 15 feet of crack, so identical to the seemingly hundreds of feet of crack I've just fought my way up.  I think about being able to say that I made it to the top of Supercrack and I look at my arms.  Blood is oozing from multiple points on my hands, wrists, elbows and forearms.

"I'm sure," I say.  He lets me down.

In the meantime, Geoff has been aiding Fingers in a Light Socket (5.11+).  Todd really wants to try this route but none of us were about to lead it.  Hey!  Geoff had brought his aid gear.  He could lead it.  After we've all had our turn on Supercrack we try Fingers in a Light Socket.  Tom goes first, looking strong and balanced as he executes a sort of froggy-style layback the whole way up and falling only from the last, tricky move.  I go next.  I try Tom's frog strategy but find that it requires much more strength than it had appeared when he was doing it, so I switch to a straight layback and make quick progress through the first two rests before slipping off.  The last move is too much for me until I use my best trick of putting all my hands and feet in the right places while hanging from the rope.  How one is supposed to get into that position without hanging from the rope, I don't know.  Todd climbs through the route cleanly, including the finishing move, and Geoff decides he's already done the route - he doesn't need to do it the "other" way.

By now the sun has pulled over the top of the cliff.  We've been in strong sunlight for hours and we're trashed.  Todd and I decide to drive into Monticello for cold drinks and Geoff and Tom head over to Donnelly Canyon to get some shade and climb some 5.9s.  Todd and I come back to find them just pulling the rope on Chocolate Corner (5.9).  This was a route that I would possibly lead at some point during the trip.  Just as a climber we'd met earlier in the day had said it would be, the crack is a good size for my hands.  With my hands still sore and bloody and with my tennis shoes on, I tentatively try the first couple of moves.  "I can do this," I think, but I'm scared thinking it and glad I don't have to do it right now.  The sun is setting so we hike down, back to camp and to another one of Geoff's gourmet meals.

On Saturday we want to do Incredible Hand Crack (5.10) but we get off to a late start and find it already occupied by a group of three women.  Their leader moves smoothly and efficiently, reaching the anchors in what seems like minutes.  I take a long, hard look at the bulge in the middle.  Overhanging jamming.  Ugh.

While we wait for the route, Tom leads Gorilla Crack (5.10b) and Todd leads something to the right of it that isn't in the guidebook but which he figures is about 5.10.  Tom doesn't have much trouble with his route but Todd is cursing and flailing up his.  It seems the crack above has turned out to be much wider than it looked from the ground.  Well, he'd been saying he wanted to try an off-width.  He anchors in and sends down the rope for bigger gear, then goes back to cursing and flailing.  When he sets up to belay me, he pulls out his Gri-Gri.  This pisses me off as it indicates that he doesn't think I can get up the route without an awful lot of hanging.  I'm determined to do the route cleanly and I do - right up to the point where he spent all that time cursing and flailing.  So, OK, he was right.  No matter how much I struggle I can't make progress up this horrible off-width thing.  Eventually he pulls me through the hardest moves and I lower, stomping mad and hating Indian Creek and all things crack-related, particularly off-widths.

We switch routes and I belay Todd on Gorilla Crack.  He moves quickly, then stops.  "Wide," he says, sounding desperate.  "Wide again," he says a bit later.  Neither section stops him for long though.  The first one stops me - I have to take two tries at it - but I get through the second wide section OK.  Then it's just a long stretch to the anchors, jam after same-old jam again.  As on Supercrack I let go before I reach the top.

"I want to come down now," I say

"Why?" Todd asks.

"Because I do," I say definitively.  He lowers me.  I had tried taping again but had once again ripped through the tape before getting very far.  All of the previous day's sores had re-opened and the off-width thrashing had added new ones.  I was an oozing, bleeding mess.

We move to Pringles (5.11+) which can be TR'd from Gorilla's anchors.  This is a thin layback corner.  I try it, since it doesn't involve jamming.  It has a sharp, sharp edge, very nice for holding onto but not comfortable.  I go as far as I can before falling and then lower off before reaching the really hard section above.  I kind of enjoy laybacking.

By now the sun is over the cliff again and another party has snagged Incredible Hand Crack while we've been busy.  We discuss our options and I insist that I'll belay as much as anyone wants but I'm not sticking my hands into another crack for anything.  Eventually Todd and I decide to run into Moab to see if I can find Spider Mitts.  I'd been warned against trying to use them at Indian Creek but the situation is now desperate.  If I don't find some way to keep a layer between me and the rock I'm not going to have any skin left at all by the end of the trip.  What I'd really like to do is wrap my entire body in foam covered with steel.

Wall Street, Part II

Geoff and Tom go to do The Naked and the Dead, a two-pitch 5.10 while Todd and I drive into town.  There are no Spider Mitts to be had there (you'd think they'd have them at Indian Creek if anywhere).  Rested and with daylight to burn, we stop back at Wall Street where Todd finds a nice friction climb for us.  It's a bolted 5.11R called The White Way but the book claims that you can avoid the 5.11 moves by starting to the left.  It rates this variation at 5.6.  The R is a "60 foot runout to the anchors with one bolt in the middle" or a 30 foot runout to a bolt followed by a 30 foot runout to the anchors, to put it more sensibly.  That's on the upper part of the route though, well out of ground fall range where it kicks back to a gentle angle.

Todd pulling the Bad Moki Roof (5.9) at Wall Street

The idea is for me to gain some confidence and do something more my style.  I climb the opening section to the left, avoiding the very, very hard looking face below the first bolt and even placing some pro along the way.  I make a dicey step across onto the face and clip the first bolt.  Hmm.  This is a hard move.  "Must have to do one hard move, bolt right there, and then it'll be 5.6," I think.

I can't make myself do the move, bolt or no bolt.  There aren't any feet.  I know that if I step up my foot will blow and I'll slide down the slab and it will hurt.  I step back across to the 5.6 bit off to the left and try climbing that section some more but soon I've reached the second bolt and there's no chance of stepping across there.  I'm unreasonably freaked and want to come down.  I have to downclimb back to the first bolt and I hate that - 5.6 or not.  Shaking, I arrive back at the first bolt and step back onto the face.  I still can't make the move.  Todd offers to come up and try it and I almost let him but then I know that I have to try the move before I can go down.  I put my hands on the holds.  They're good holds, for a slab, one way out left and one way out right so that I'm in a sort of iron cross position.  Logically I think I have a chance of staying on even if my foot does blow, but emotionally I'm not able to believe it.  Finally I step up, way up, and stay up.  Tentatively I reach for the next hand hold and get it.  I stand up.  I step up again.  Next hand hold.  Repeat.  I'm at the second bolt.  I clip it and let out my breath.

"Good," Todd says.  One of my little foibles is that I hate it when people say "good" or "nice" when I do a hard move.  I think it makes me fall off, although it's possible that I'm just not very good and it's the hard moves themselves that make me fall off.  Todd thinks I should get over it but in this case he's remembered to be quiet and has let me do the entire sequence in silence, not distracting me until I am well and truly safe. 

The angle kicks back a little from there and I'm feeling good.  My lead head is back together.  I'm concentrating on the moves and not the fall, moving from bolt to bolt slowly but calmly.  I clip the fourth bolt at a nice stance and look up.  This is where the first 30 foot runout starts.  The angle does indeed kick way back, but I'm in for a bad surprise.  There are absolutely no hand holds here - nothing to do but palm the rock, step up, and trust my feet.  I make the first move and am almost surprised that it works.  I keep going.  Ten feet later I spot holds to my right.  They're too tempting and I traverse over to them, clinging to them, relishing them.  Unfortunately, there are no more holds above them - they're an aberration.  Besides that, the angle on the right-hand portion of the slab is much steeper.  I need to move back left.  I make one move back left, then step up and left at the same time.

Whether the rock is simply sandier there or whether it's the lessened friction from not being directly over my feet, I don't know.  But as soon as I commit my weight to the foot it starts to slide.  The three-points-of-contact rule is all well and good when it's feasible but on a slab with no hands you have one point of contact and that's the foot you just weighted.  When it goes, you go.  I say something stupid like "this is it" and then I'm tumbling down over the rock, flipping across the rope, banging my head twice, and taking the final impact hard on my side.  Luckily I make contact on my butt, where there is plenty of padding, and sustain nothing worse than a bruise.  I'm seeing stars, glad I wore my helmet (although Todd claims I didn't hit my head at all, it was not his head that got hit, was it?).

I immediately ask to be lowered and give in to the now-familiar urge to cry.  One of these days I'm going to have no choice but to go up and try the move again after a bad fall, but luckily today isn't that day.  Todd can finish the route or we can leave a bail biner.  I have a spot of dizziness on the ground, probably more emotional than physical, so Todd breaks out the Gri-Gri again, this time for me to use on him.  He takes a quick look at the 5.11 moves under the first bolt and then heads for the 5.6 variation.  At the bolt he tells me I'm crazy.  "This isn't 5.6."  I tell him that if there's any 5.6 climbing on this route he's already done it.  While the moves above the first bolt aren't 5.11, they're a long ways from 5.6.

"I'd have backed off right here," he says, but I don't believe him.  I've never seen him back off anything.  He does the move, looking much more smooth than I felt, and keeps climbing until he reaches the bolt where the runout starts.  There he swaps out the lone, unlocking biner (my shoe biner, in fact) that held my 24 foot fall for a draw and contemplates the long stretch of holdless friction climbing above.  Suddenly I'm nervous about the possibility of catching a 60 foot whipper.  I know the Gri-Gri will auto-lock but I'm wondering how far up I'll go flying.  He tells me that there'll be so much friction I won't get yanked at all and I try to believe him.  I'm silently urging him to come down.  I want him to say that it's too hard up there, to validate what happened to me.  Then he says it:  "I'm coming down."

"Yay!" I exclaim, although I'm sure he's doing it mostly for me.  He leaves a locking biner and lowers off.  In the car I tease him that he only put me on an 11R because Steven put me on a 9R.  He says that I need to get on a 10R now to fill in the gap and I say that maybe I'll just avoid R routes for a while, since I seem to fall off them.  We eat a huge dinner in town to cure what ails us and get back to camp late.

Indian Creek, Part II

Sunday morning we learn that Tom and Geoff have plans to do Sunflower Tower.  Luckily we have enough gear to equip both them and us.  We head, once again, to Incredible Hand Crack.  Even though we've gotten an earlier start, it's already taken.  Our choices are to stand in line or to do it during the off-hours.  We move over to Generic Crack (5.10) instead, already baking in the heat.  Todd leads it with only the occasional "Wide!" squeak.  Apparently leading the off-width the day before has traumatized him for life.

Generic Crack is the longest route we've done at 120 feet.  And I haven't gotten to the top of anything yet, I think to myself, looking up at it with dread.  Todd tapes my hands for me.  His taping job is more secure than mine and, hey!, it turns out I've actually picked up a little technique along the way.  I'm using my feet more and rotating my hands less.  The tape job holds and my stamina holds and I arrive at the top - no falls, no hangs, no squeaking.  Lowering off I'm as excited about it as I've been about any of my hardest leads.  Maybe I can climb cracks.

Starting up Generic Crack (5.10) at Indian Creek (the bruise on my arm is from my fall on The White Way)

With one whole route under our belts we take our ritual siesta drive into town for air conditioning and cold drinks.  We stop at some of the lakes on the (scenic) way to Monticello and enjoy the day, cooler at these higher elevations.  Then it's back to Indian Creek for my big challenge.  It's time for me to lead Chocolate Corner.  I've been running through it in my mind since the first day.  I can image the first few moves.  I can do those.  I've already done them.  Then I'll place a piece and do a few more.  Then I'll place another piece.  Then I'll be fine.  I have crack technique now.  It's a comparatively short route.  I know I can do it.  And I'm scared out of my wits.

We sit in the car in the parking lot.  The sun hasn't moved enough to put that side of Donnelly Canyon in the shade yet but Chocolate Corner, because of the way the corner faces, should be shaded.  Still we sit.  I'm afraid to make the first move - opening the car door.

As we sit there, Geoff and Tom pull up.  They've already climbed their route but they've got a rope stuck on the summit and have come back for more water and gear.  We give them the extra water we're carrying and they drink an amazing amount of it faster than we can believe.  Then they head back to camp for yet more water and we head up to Chocolate Corner.

Todd tapes my hands again. We gear up, flake the rope.  I've got all the #1 Camalots we have, some #2 Camalots, some Friends that are in between the two size-wise, and a #3 Camalot.  Each is individually racked on a biner.  Todd gives me a couple of draws to use if I want to hang but mostly people have been clipping straight into the piece.  In some ways, this will be the easiest lead I've ever done - pull the next cam off the rack, stick it in the crack, clip and go.  No thinking involved.  With one last warning that I should hang rather than fall ringing in my ears, I start up.

I move high enough that my ego tells me I can place a piece.  I stuff in the first cam - it feels good - and try to clip it.  The biner keeps hiding in the crack.  "Relax," Todd tells me, "you've got a great jam."  It doesn't feel great from where I'm hanging but I try one last time to fish the biner out of the crack and manage to get the rope through it this time.  I climb.  I place another piece.  I climb.  I'm jamming it straight in, although it's a corner, because by now jamming is starting to feel good to me, but at some point I stop and put a foot out onto the wall.

"You have a crack for your feet," Todd chastises me, as he has done throughout the trip whenever I try to bail out of the crack for those beckoning face holds.

"I'm resting," I snap at him.  "Is that OK?"

"Is it a good rest?" he asks.

"It's OK," I tell him.  "There's a better one in five feet or so."  That motivates me and I put my foot back in the crack and move again.  The crack mostly fits me well, although it gets too small for my feet at some points and gets a little wide for my hands at another point.  "Wide," I think to myself and plug in a piece of gear even though I have one only a foot and a half below.  Todd tells me later that he thought I was going to hang when he saw me placing another piece so soon, but I'm only thinking of protecting a move that's a little harder than the rest. 

I'm breathing heavily, tired and scared, but not thinking of falling, feeling in control.  Then the anchor is in sight.  Then it's in reach.  I place a draw on it because they're closer to the front of my harness than the slings and immediately clip the rope through it.  I relax and breathe.  Todd cheers.  He's been blessedly quiet since telling me to put my foot back in the crack.  I add another draw into the anchor and lower off.  The second my feet hit the ground I'm bouncing back up again, excited, like a little kid.  I want to relive the entire experience with him, minute by minute.  It seems that leading Chocolate Corner cleanly is the most excellent thing I've ever done.

Todd makes little whiny noises following the route which pleases me even more.  It's true that the crack is too small for his hands almost the whole way up but I like to think that it's just very, very hard.  I also get the chance to tell him that there's a crack for his feet when he stops to rest with a foot on the wall.

"Point taken," he says.

Tom on Fingers in a Light Socket (5.11) at Indian Creek

Now we have only one more route left on our agenda - the elusive Incredible Hand Crack.  Supercrack Buttress is dead-on in the sun but at least it's later in the afternoon.  The sun is a little lower.  And the route is empty.  We scramble down one side of the canyon and up the other.

There are no whimpers of "wide" on this route, although Todd complains about the opposite - the crack is a little too narrow for him just over the bulge, but he leads it with only one hang and then it's my turn.  This route has intimidated me since I first saw it but I have new confidence now.  Todd suggests that we pull the rope so I can pink-point it but I decide I don't have that much confidence and elect to toprope it.

I clean as I go, cleaning the last piece on the bulge just as I realize that I can't possibly hang off my arms for another second.  But with the last piece removed, letting go means swinging and not being able to get back on.  I have no choice unless I want to climb the whole route again.  I remember what I've learned - push with your feet, use your abs to pull yourself up, don't rotate your hands.  Fighting desperately I use my last ounce of strength to get to the rest at the end of the bulge.  From there it's easy climbing to the anchor.  I am elated with my day, my first good day at Indian Creek.

We get back to camp to find that Geoff and Tom haven't returned yet.  Calculations determine that it's too early to be worried about them but not too early for dinner so we head into town for the second time that day.  On the ride back we talk about what steps we ought to take if they aren't at camp when we get there but fortunately they are and with all their gear besides.

Little Cottonwood Canyon

The next morning, Monday, we sort gear.  The mountain of gear is enormous but when it's all separated into little piles we have the right number of each tape color.  Todd and I say good-bye to Geoff and Tom.  Geoff is starting his drive back and Tom is going to see if he can hitch a ride on Incredible Hand Crack.  We decide to do most of the drive back to SLC that day and hit Little Cottonwood Canyon, where we pick a three pitch 5.7 crack climb.

"You know," I tell Todd, "for a climb called Crescent Crack this has an awful lot of chimneys in it."  Pitch 1 - chimney.  Pitch 2 - chimney.  Pitch 3 - chimney.  We figure it's OK - 5.7 and no mention of any R sections.   The first pitch is mine.  Funny, this should be easy.  The rock is solid, with an amazing amount of friction.  In fact, if you touch it wrong, it draws blood.  My pitch turns out to be steeper than it looked and I have no choice on lead but to stick my hands in the crack for security.  I haven't taped up and I'm regretting it but my newly discovered technique sees me through and I don't re-open the wounds on my hands, only some on my knees and elbows.  Above the crack I find the promised chimney - fun and easy.

The second pitch is Todd's.  He looks dubiously at a move around a block and places two pieces before pulling it and moving out of sight.  The rope doesn't move for a long, long time.  I start running through self rescue techniques in my head.  Finally I call up to him and he answers.

"I'm going to bring you up here," he says.  "You'll see why."  I climb up to join him, pausing at what seems like a pretty burly move for 5.7 around that block, and take a look at his chimney.  It's more of an off-width, or maybe a squeeze chimney, and he's already managed to get a couple of pieces in it.  I put him on belay and he moves back up to his high point.  He gets in a piece higher up and comes back down.  Repeat.  I'm starting to wonder if we'll ever get off this bit of rock.  It's a 5.7 already.  The sun is hideous.  I can feel the sunburn on the back of my calves deepening and my rock shoes are melting onto my feet.

"Just squirm and push," I tell him impatiently.  Much thrashing that results in mere inches of movement at a time later he finally pulls through the chimney.  He puts me on belay.  Thank heavens, I think, confidently moving up to the chimney.  Where I get very hopelessly stuck.  I squirm up and slide down, squirm up and slide down.  I have the pack hanging below my harness (where I swear it's ten times heavier than if it were on my back) but at least I'm not wearing a rack.  I'm stuck and not having fun.   Didn't we learn our lesson about off-widths at Indian Creek?  Why is it that the rock everywhere else is sharp enough to cut through skin and so smooth in this chimney that your feet just slide off?  Finally I take tension on the rope and pull around into a layback position from which I quickly walk up to the anchor.

"I should have placed more gear," Todd says, jokingly annoyed that I got to bail out of his nightmare.

"All right," I admit.  "It was hard."  The last pitch is mine and it's a snap to lead - harder to follow since it ends in a down-sloping ramp where I get a toprope and Todd has to down-lead.  Then the walk-off through the gully, a steep slope of loose rock and gravel intermingled with bits of pure friction.  We're hot and tired and feeling whipped.

"You know," I say when we finally gain the safety of the trees at the bottom of the gully, "it's one thing to have your ass kicked by Indian Creek.  It's another thing entirely to have it kicked by a 5.7 at Little Cottonwood Canyon."  We laugh and vow to learn some off-width technique in the near future.  I ask, as someone was coincidentally doing at about the same time on rec.climbing, if there's any way to learn off-width technique other than climbing off-widths, but we can't think of any.  Oh well, my brand-spanking-new #5 Camalot will get some use, I guess.

Tuesday morning we fly home.  I look like something from a freak show, scabs running down the backs of both forearms and covering my hands, wrists, knees and elbows, a big bruise on my arm where the rope flipped me on The White Way and a bigger one (that no one can see, thankfully) on my butt where I hit, plus miscellaneous bruises scattered throughout.  I'm sunburned in strange patches and I have a tape glove tan line on one arm.  I'm thoroughly beaten, thoroughly exhausted, thoroughly pleased with the trip.

A Postscript

I'm writing this on June 1st, 2000.  One Saturday in June of 1999 I spontaneously drove to a local climbing gym and purchased an hour of belaying and equipment rental for $20.  I climbed my first wall, heart pounding and pulse racing, with barely enough strength to make it.   From the top of that 30 foot wall I saw a whole new world opened up beneath me, a world I don't ever plan to stop exploring.