I clicked the electronic lock to our black rental car in the
Oak Creek parking lot just before the desert sun faded into the evening’s blackness.
It had been twelve hours on the move when we finally were able to heave
ourselves onto the tail gate and pop open two of the most delicious brews we
could imagine (It’s a well-known fact that beer tastes better after a hard day
of climbing). Aside from the crunching of the blue corn tortilla chips we sat
in silence gazed back up the canyon at the ethereal memory of the day that now seemed
too short.
The night before we had brashly decided to tackle one of our
bigger objectives. We were revitalized from a forced rest day and ready to get
into some vibrant action. A couple years ago this seemed far from attainable. This
climb would be a memorable experience as I would spend the day with one of my
best friends and a gentleman who I have shared many years of adventure with
since our youthful days romping in the hills of New Mexico. Of course sleep is
difficult for me when I get excited about realizing a climbing dream but on days
like this, when the alarm rings to bring me from my dreams I exhibit no
hesitation in pulling back the covers and firing up the stove for a cup of
coffee dark as the predawn night.
A few bleary eyed preparations were made at camp and then we
joined the line of cars waiting for the scenic loop road of the Red Rock Canyon
to open. When the gate rose we negotiated the curving road as the electronic
thump of a Vegas radio station called the drunken pedestrians home from their
night on the strip. Downtown Las Vegas is only a few miles away but we may as
well have been on another planet.
In a blur of dust we slid into the parking lot, hurriedly threw
back some yogurt and then kicked into motion for the long approach. Some people
complain about the length and the challenge of difficult approaches like this
but the enchantment of the red and yellow canyons in the early morning light allowed
us to lose ourselves in introspection. Before long we had surmounted the
endless slab and arrived at the base of Eagle Wall.
So much hype had been poured into this climb that the energy
surrounding the route and a wall high up in one of the most cherished areas in
North America began to gush forth. Nervous but eager for the experience I
racked, stretched, yawned, scratched, and set off. The first pitch was good,
really good. The movement was the perfect combination between intelligence and
power. Jeff followed and we swapped leads until we had strung together the next
few pitches to arrive at the technical crux of the route.
We climbed fast and fluid up to this point so with little
hesitation I grabbed the rack and checked my psych. Unbelievable moves opened
the pitch up to a wide handjam that allowed me to pull into the corner above.
Above the buldge a tiny hold felt that felt like a jug compared to the
blankness surrounding it provided me with the security to move up try a few
things out and then come back and rest. After a few more trial runs I committed
to jogging left and throwing to a crimp I thought would unlock the sequence. No
dice.
“Shit!” I hollered as I swung back into the corner. I would
have to look for something else. Jeff held patiently as I evaluated a better
sequence. When I finally started moving again I found one of those moves that is
not at all how you had envisioned it and seems improbable in my recollection to
this day. With a small crimp for my left hand, I smeared my feet to the left
and pushed into the corner with my right arm. Desperate delicate foot
placements allowed me to inch slightly higher. Balancing and trying to maintain
some shallow breathing, my fingers crawled up the red glass until a crimp materialized
that allowed me to connect the sequence. With a whoop and a few more
beleaguered moves I hit the next anchor.
The next few pitches held some great climbing but the true aesthetic
of the route revealed itself more in the sweeping views down Oak Creek and
across at the striated canyons that fell off of Mount Wilson’s summit plateau. The
wind picked up and we became isolated to our own thoughts at the belays, but
every time we switched leaders we caught eyes and exchanged a smile that showed
our mutual exuberance for the challenge we had overcome and the strengthening of
our bond as friends.
It was bittersweet to hit the final anchor and rig the
rappels for our retreat. This was one of the climbs where you wished the
relentless pursuit of darkness would not bring the day to a close. We gave in
to the cycle of nature and threw the ropes to return back to the world of the
horizontal. Few words needed to be exchanged as we retraced our steps down the
slab. We lingered on our way out of the majestic canyon for the desert was rich
with pristine swimming holes engorged from a storm a few days before.
Eventually, we saw the dark shimmer of our car and we knew that the experience
was drawing to a fitting conclusion with those frosty beers awaiting our return.
The transient nature of the climbing experience is what
makes it such a profound experience. When you return to your car or your
campsite with a story, a couple of pictures, and a sweat stained shirt you have
created something memorable. The memories from this day I am proud to have
shared with a friend I know will continue to be there for me around every one
of life’s turns.
Levitation 29
March 2016
