Another installment in the Adventures of the Twenty-nine Palms Gypsies….
We were very reluctant to emerge from our warm cocoons, but the lure of coffee, and of good climbing won out, as it always does, and soon we were making our preparations for both.
Today we were headed to Intersection Rock, home of the legendary Left Ski Track. Although this climb was certainly not in our sights it served as an inspiration or perhaps specter to us all. It was starting to be another perfect day though. The weak winter sun, hanging low in the sky only teased us with any real warmth. We went our separate ways. The young lads went off bouldering. Renee and I chose to rope up. We picked a route that in all normal circumstances should have been well within our ability. It turns out it was 3 number grades harder than we thought.
We scrambled some easy third class to a small perch where a meager belay was set. Renee eyeballed the route ahead and her well-oiled spidey senses opted to turn the lead over to me. The climbing started out with a delicate steep slab move or two. This was followed in order: by a flaring off-width, a flaring fist crack, and some flaring water runnels. Detect a theme here? There were plenty of places for pro, just not very good pro. At least one section offered real potential for decking on the belay ledge if the move was blown. I hesitated, and waited at the second crux… a long time. I think that I was mostly questioning my belief systems. That and thinking about John Long, and thinking about Left Ski Track…. Ha, what a joke of a comparison. I was tied in, and on a way, way easier climb. What a wanker. Relax. Breath. Calculate.
A warrior is a hunter. He calculates everything. That’s
control. Once his calculations are over, he acts. He lets go.
That’s abandon. A warrior is not a leaf at the mercy of the wind.
No one can push him, no one can make him do things against himself
or against his better judgment. A warrior is tuned to survive and
he survives in the best of all possible fashions.
– don Juan
I just needed to move; As well as trust that the pocket way up ahead would indeed take the number 2 Camalot. And it did. I relaxed and breathed some more, but only for a few heartbeats. Then I ran it out to the top, fast.
Maybe I chatted with a young Peter Croft on the summit. There was some soloist up there that I discussed the descent with. He was there one minute and as quick as wink he was gone and I was alone again. Or was he ever even there at all? I am not so sure now. Maybe it was Coyote playing his usual tricks, or the magic of the desert. There wasn’t any real good options for a belay, so it ended up being another meager anchor that I brought Renee on up without event. The descent was not at all obvious, and both options we had heard about seemed to offer more difficult down-climbing than we had climbed to get up. (Well… not really, but who wants to take the chance on a coin toss like that?) So we hunted around a bit and eventually found some tatty old slings and rap rings part way down. It was from here that we actually did spot a coyote trotting along on the ground at the base of the formation. Maybe that was who I had talked with on the top. We added to the tat, and uneventfully rapped to the ground. Right into someone’s campsite actually! I hobbled back to the car in my too-tight rock-shoes with the gear and waited while Renee hiked around the formation and retrieved the stuff we left at the base of the climb.
Playlist:
Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts – Bob Dylan
The Music Never Stopped – The Grateful Dead