Good chowdah, man.
I started writing this story in North Andover Massachusetts, just about as far away from the Sonoran desert as you can be, and still be in the lower 48. The leaves were starting to change and the early fall air was cool and crisp. And wouldn’t you know it; I’d got a bad case of the Tom Thumb Blues. As the heaviness of the work-a-day world was squeezing me to a singularity; I had long since abandoned the old saw about pressure turning coal into diamonds. I still pretty much was a just lump of coal.
I needed something to pull me back from the event horizon of corporate America. That something for the time being; was planning for a grudge match with Tom Thumb. For those of you who are not cognoscenti of remote and esoteric Arizona desert climbing or who have not read my previous inane ramblings on the subject, let me digress into a brief history lesson…
I first saw Tom Thumb on a week’s long desert climbing adventure with my old buddy the Desert Mountaineer. Now that was way back a good number of years. We espied it from a seemingly deserted village deep in the heart of the T’ono O’dham Indian reservation. From that distant vantage point it appears as a slender spire. The formation itself is actually not on the reservation proper, but on the Barry M Goldwater bombing range; but these are only lines drawn on a map, by them guv’ment fellas, technicalities really. So not only is it very remote it also has the added incentive of possible aerial bombardment and/or arrest by the military. Now that’s my kind of action right there. The DM had told me that some of his desert rat climbing cohorts had scoped it out up close and came back with the verdict: not doable. Whoa, Nellie. Now almost everything is climbable, and I do mean everything; by one devious method of cat skinning or another.
In the spring of 2006 while the DM and I were in the area on other climbing business we had decided to go in with some gear and have a little look-see. That escapade is, of course, well documented elsewhere. Suffice to say, that we tried and we failed. We did however get a very good look at it and got our grubby paws on it, and this is what we discovered: From that distant vantage point it looks like a spire, up close however it looks more like a bulbous….well…thumb. The whole crumbling edifice is a pile of shite. There are 3 noticeable weaknesses however. The first we tried to breach on that trip in 2006 but without any luck. The second two lines offered some promise to a very strong and bold free climber, or perhaps a screw-loose aid climber. As it turns out I am neither.
It appeared though, that we had to pick one option, and since I was not a good enough climber to free climb that festering pile of desert junkoid, it looked as if it would need to be an aid climb, which maybe, just maybe I could fake my way through. After all, I had done 13+ hour aid climbs in the past. (albeit on good rock)
My current thoughts were being safely contemplated over a fine French roast, and were running somewhat like this: We would drive in and camp overnight, opting for a very early start. It’s not very far in, but I knew the packs would be overly piggish, and awkward. We would set up on the most likely looking of the 2 crack systems, and just sew it up with all the gear known to the modern aid climbing man. I mean I am talking cams, hexes, stoppers, copperheads, pins, hooks, duct tape, bolts… everything man, everything. Well maybe not the bolts. We should try to preserve some sense of decency and integrity here. Some purity of purpose…
This is something that is very hard to really train for, especially in the flatlands of the mid-west. There are no real fitness bonus points to collect that are going to help you here. Gym climbing offers no preparation either. The skills required are really only collected by doing. Placing dubious gear in manky rock, high off the deck; it is more of a touchy-feely thing, a head game, or really a questionable lifestyle choice than anything else.
Time was marching on and I was no further ahead in planning this thing than I was months ago. Locked tight in the death grip of the ‘company’, all my struggling accomplishes is more suffocation, which results in more struggling, and so on…
There was no end in sight.
Been down a million gravel roads, carryin’ a heavy load…
– Black Oak Arkansas
Over a year later the much awaited day finally arrived. We drove the familiar (by now) gnarly road across the reservation and close to the bombing range where we camped. There was plenty of daylight left, so we gathered firewood and sorted the gear and loaded the packs for the next days grand adventure. It was great to be out in the desert again. We had a pile of good food, many bottles of good beer, some fine Tequila and lots of outrageous music. We took it easy on the adult beverages but spent a really nice evening around the fire, listening to tunes and swapping lies. This was one spot in the desert that really is far from pretty much anything.
We awoke in the pre-dawn chill, gagged back some oatmeal gruel, washed down with some French Press brew, and set about the business at hand of humping the loads up the hill. About an hour and a half later we found ourselves sitting at the base of the route. The area’s that looked dodgy on the photo’s looked just as dodgy up close. We did a quick refresher in rope management for aid climbing and talked through various ‘what-if’ scenarios.
Eventually, loaded for bear, I cast-off. The rock was extremely friable, and scary, and the weakness I was following varied wildly from an offwidth to a thin seam. It’s hard to imagine but, I used a #6 Camalot and a #0 Camalot in the same pitch… There were several overhanging bulges that forced me to use up a lot of gear in a very short space. Aid business is slow, hard, and frustrating work. The rock was loose and unconsolidated in many places, but actually surprisingly good in others. I was making reasonable progress, all things considered, until the crack petered out in a small alcove. It would be a difficult move from the aiders into the alcove, and once in the alcove, the crack doesn’t start-up again for some distance. No place to sink in any gear. There was no work-around on either side of the alcove either. I suppose if we had bolts it would’ve be possible to veer off to the left via a short bolt ladder to circumvent the alcove, and gain the crack where it started up again. But, no bolts were to be had. And although I had a few hooks, I was just too chickenshit to use them.
This was all very deflating. A lot of mental and psychological capital had been invested into this venture. It really was such a beautiful day. Clear, silent and warm, even in the perpetual shade of the north side of the pillar. I was reasonably secure with my last several placements, just hanging back in my aiders and harness, staring out across the desert and the serene blue sky. Unfortunately, I just couldn’t (or wouldn’t) make it work. Maybe, someone else could somehow free climb up past the alcove, through all of the deadly loose stuff, to where the crack started again and gear would be possible; just not me, not on that day. A lot of negativity…and that wouldn’t pull me through. Eventually I needed to descend. I opted to down-aid as much as I could. Once low enough I left a small manky stopper and used that as a backup top rope belay as I continued to down-aid. This actually worked surprisingly well. All the gear came out without too much arguing. Except for one stuck cam. No problem however. A slight tap on the side of the crack with my trusty hammer disintegrated the rock around the cam in a puff of smoke and out it popped…
Back on the ground, I was feeling pretty dejected. Climbing is hard. If you’re going to be dumb, you’d better be tough.
We took a few minutes to walk around to the other side to look at it for possibilities. It’s certainly lower angle, but devoid of sane opportunities. Just for grins, I tried to tap a pecker into a thin seam, the rock just crumbles…
We had another silent trudge back out to the truck, and I contemplated another line of work…
When you’re lost in the rain in Juarez
And it’s Easter time too
And your gravity fails
And negativity don’t pull you through
Don’t put on any airs
When you’re down on Rue Morgue Avenue
They got some hungry women there
And they really make a mess outta you
Now if you see Saint Annie
Please tell her thanks a lot
I cannot move
My fingers are all in a knot
I don’t have the strength
To get up and take another shot
And my best friend, my doctor
Won’t even say what it is I’ve got
Sweet Melinda
The peasants call her the goddess of gloom
She speaks good English
And she invites you up into her room
And you’re so kind
And careful not to go to her too soon
And she takes your voice
And leaves you howling at the moon
Up on Housing Project Hill
It’s either fortune or fame
You must pick up one or the other
Though neither of them are to be what they claim
If you’re lookin’ to get silly
You better go back to from where you came
Because the cops don’t need you
And man they expect the same
Now all the authorities
They just stand around and boast
How they blackmailed the sergeant-at-arms
Into leaving his post
And picking up Angel who
Just arrived here from the coast
Who looked so fine at first
But left looking just like a ghost
I started out on burgundy
But soon hit the harder stuff
Everybody said they’d stand behind me
When the game got rough
But the joke was on me
There was nobody even there to call my bluff
I’m going back to New York City
I do believe I’ve had enough
– Bob Dylan
Soundtrack:
– Bob Dylan
– Black Oak Arkansas
– Billy Joe Shaver
– Roger Alan Wade
– Los Straight Jackets
– Townes Van Zandt
If winter was but a dream ‘til now,
it is a meteor tinged reality today,
as the snow sparkles its dream,
of the sureness of the futures of happy magic.
– Titanium Girl
Postscript
Years later the DM was able to enlist a bolder, better climber than me and they managed a free ascent