Innocents Aloft

STUDENT EVAL Weekend #1 – the Joshua Tree

Mike Chen agrees to do my first of two evaluations to become a member of the Southern California Mountaineer and Alpine Club so we head for the club trip at Indian Cove in the Joshua Tree. The only catch is he’s instructing at the trad lead-climbing workshop on Saturday and can’t do my eval until Sunday. I tag along for the lead class, hoping I might be allowed to audit, observe and learn. Lead instructor Juan Carlos Marvizon eyes me suspiciously.

“You are a student?” he asks doubtfully in his Spanish accent.

It is 92 degrees and the glue holding my rock shoes together is melting.

“You are a jeem climber?” he continues, disgust indisguisable.

I lead a 5.4 on top-rope with “less than optimal placements,” but prove I know at least more than how to tie my Five-Tens, and am allowed to stay. Gary Embrey coaches me in hex placement, all the while spouting poetry about hardness, moaning, entry, and first times that he claims is about rock-climbing.

There is no campsite for Saturday evening, so I have secured a cheap hotel room just in case. Mike repeatedly suggests he and I should camp out on the BLM land, which he describes as barren and windy. I can’t wait. Juan Carlos and Gary are also staying through Sunday. I offer my hotel room for the four of us to crash in. Mike insists camping would be more pure, authentic, and true to climbing. We head for the hotel.

Once in the room, Mike takes a section of the giant king size bed, and asks whether we can turn up the air-conditioning and get more towels. Righteous Camper Dude has assimilated nicely.

On Sunday morning at 8am it’s in the nineties already, so we agree on Saddle Rocks in the shade for my eval. In the diner, I pick at my eggs and toast. What if there’s some horrific overhung roof I can’t navigate? What if there’s a piece of stuck pro I can’t clean, I’m branded a big fat loser, they won’t let me in as an Associate Member, and I become ostracized from all climbing society?

Mike calms me down, assuring me “Right On” is a 5.5 and if something gets stuck I should just take tension and hang on the rope. Juan Carlos and Gary decide it will be more fun to follow behind us so we’re all together. I am relieved.

Mike expertly moves above me on the route, meticulously placing pro that cleans easily. I sit at our first belay ledge, anchored to two bolts. A European couple climbs above us, shouting in German. Juan Carlos and Gary climb below me, swearing in Spanish. Juan Carlos emerges first, and we hear Gary below talking to another set of climbers. Juan Carlos leans his head toward me.

“He is always talking. Talking talking talking. English, Spanish, always talking,” he says. Then he turns his focus to me. “Watch while I show you how to build a solid belay anchor,” he instructs me.

I nod dutifully. Another learning opportunity.

Juan Carlos quickly places three pieces of pro and whips a cordelette through them. I ask a question about the direction of pull and he chides me.

“Now Ellen, I know I told you about this yesterday in class.” He answers my question anyway, and leans back so we might both admire his anchor. Then he looks up at me and at the rock over my shoulder.

“Why did you not tell me about the bolts?” he asks.

I look at him.

“You just sat there and let me go to all this trouble?” Juan Carlos laughs.

A disembodied voice travels up from below. “Juan Carlos, blah, blah, blah sur la ropa.”

Juan Carlos turns to me, smiling. “I think Gary meant to say pull up the rope,” he says. “But he just told me to take my clothes off.”

While Juan Carlos prepares to belay Gary, I study an old nut wedged deep in a crack.

“Hey, Juan Carlos,” I say, gesturing to the crack. “Booty.”

He eyes the nut and looks at me. “I am no longer a poor man,” he says.

“Ellen, you are on belay!” Mike calls to me from above, and up I go.

After several more fun and problem-free pitches, we are back at the bottom, collecting our packs. Mike pulls out the green eval form and smiles. One down.

EVAL WEEKEND #2 - Tahquitz

8 a.m. and I’m at the trailhead to meet Don Porter. I smile a lot and act energetic, attempting to disguise my fear that I might be tested on some knot from the NTC that I can’t remember or that since I’ve never been up Tahquitz, the fabled approach alone could kill me.

Don has come with John Gonzales, esteemed Safety Chair, whom I find friendly, but intimidating. Don I expect to be polite and kind, but with Mr. Safety Chair, there might be some kind of sadistic pop quiz. Climbers are pairing off in the parking lot and Don looks at John.

“If you have no specific plan today, why don’t you join us?” Don says to him.

I smile and nod, thinking, “Please say no, please say no.

“Great!” John says, and my adventure begins.

After piling ropes and gear into my pack, John leads us straight up what he refers to as “the old trail.” I feel like I’m on the stairmaster at my gym with the difficulty level cranked up to 10.

Don stops to remove his fleece and I’m grateful for the break.

As we continue on, John bounds ahead, chattering cheerfully about training for Mt. Whitney and the routes they are setting in Nevada. I try to pant as quietly as possible, focused hard on not puking up my Jan’s Kettle pancakes.

Lunch Rock emerges sooner than I had expected. Hallelujah. We hang our packs out of squirrels’ way, and continue upward.

“You know,” John says to Don. “If we’re going to do Finger Grip, we might as well start out on Shit For Brains.” He gestures to a smooth vertical hump to our right.

“What’s that rated?” I ask psuedo-nonchalantly.

“10b,” John says, smiling but not catching my eye.

I look at Don.

“That might be, um, a little over my, um, head,” I say.

“Oh, we can hoist you if you get stuck,” John replies, readying ropes. “Have you ever climbed with two ropes before?” He asks. “This will be easier and faster as two of the three of us can simul-climb.”

10b? Double ropes? Simul-climb?

“Sure!” I say, as though I have ever done even one of these things.

John sets out toward the first bolt, with Don belaying, and I tie in. It’s a short pitch, and John makes it look easy, quickly cruising to the belay ledge, and then I’m on. I hesitate at the beginning, looking back hopefully at Don who nods encouragement. I slip once, but manage to clean both quick-draws and join John. I’m grinning. My first ever 10b slab. John just nods and tells me to check out his anchor. Don is quickly behind us and John sets forth on a pitch of Finger Grip.

I follow; cleaning pro while Don climbs a few moves behind me. The first couple of pieces come out easily and I manage to keep my pink rope disentangled from the blue one attached to Don. Then I come upon a nut that was clearly embedded with a sledgehammer. I sweat, huff, tug, and pry to no avail. Maybe this is the pop quiz! My leg starts chattering up and down like a sewing machine and my fingers begin to sweat.

“Do you want me to take a look at it?” Don says gently from behind me.

“Yeah, I guess,” I say. “It’s in there pretty good.”

He takes over and I climb on, successfully cleaning the remaining pro. Just before I reach “the Jungle,” I hear Michael Gordon’s voice yell, “Falling! Falling! FALLING!” and I look up to see him, over on Coffin Nail, cart-wheeling sideways across the sun. A heartening sight if ever there was one, and I scramble quickly to anchor in on the ledge in the shrubbery.

Don is soon with us, saying, “I left the stopper. It’s in there good.”

My hero. Maybe I’m not such a pro-cleaning loser after all.

Don lowers a disgusted John back down to the piece, and once reclaimed, we focus again on our journey upward. Don leads this time, and John and I search for comfortable perches among the trees and shrubs of the Jungle.

“I hope Michael’s all right,” John says, moving under some branches to better manage Don’s rope. “He said something about his ankle..Ouch!” A broken-off stub of branch has caught him in the head.

“You OK?” I ask. “How come the Safety Chair doesn’t wear a helmet?”

He looks at me, then pulls in rope and moves back across the tree.

“Because…Ouch!” he says, whacking his head a second time against the same stubby branch.

I smile into the hose of my Camelbak.

“Ellen, you are on belay!” Don’s voice comes from above.

For this next pitch, I must climb through the same offending tree.

“Climbing!” I yell, and take a step toward the face, shifting my weight. SNAP! The tree branch I’m standing on goes, and I crash three feet down through bark and leaves, bruising my left leg and mildly puncturing my right thigh.

“Are you all right?” John says.

I nod. We look at each other and the tree and start cracking up. I won’t even be able to say I have these new battle-scars from some awesome whipper on a 5.10b. No. I fell out of a small tree at the belay station.

Finally, I clean the pitch and join Don in a tiny cave of a belay station. The views of Suicide opposite us, and the Moreno Valley below are spectacular and I’m beginning to relax and enjoy myself. The worst is over. Then John joins us, saying,

“You know Don. I was just thinking we could traverse over to El Camino Real and top-rope the 10a crack section.” His head goes up over the cave as he scopes it out.

I stare at his knees in my face and take a deep breath. 10a crack section?

“Yeah,” Don says. “I haven’t done that one yet. It’s on my list.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John continues. “We could traverse over and rappel down and…”

He ducks inward and sees my expression.

“Look at Ellen,” he grins. “Our little victim here in the cave.”

They both laugh.

I think, 10a crack! 10a crack! Face climbing I have a prayer, but a 10a crack?

John and Don disappear, and I psych myself up while cleaning the anchor and setting up my rappel. Approaching the Jungle again, I gingerly avoid Mr. Attack Tree.

Don heads up the 10a crack. I watch, thinking it looks strenuous but not impossible. As he rappels down, they decide I’m next. I take a deep breath, lock into lie-back mode, and go. Much grunting and snorting ensues, but I realize resting would derail me for certain. Somehow I make it to the top, grateful for John keeping me tight on belay.

John makes short, impressive work of the crack, and we prepare to do our third pitch for the second time. The next three pitches are enjoyable and uneventful. At the top, we coil ropes and quickly descend to Lunch Rock. I thank them for doing my eval and for what turned out to be a pretty cool day.

“You were a good student,” John says to me.

A good student? Really? Perhaps after seven pitches, my first 10b face and 10a crack, I might be about to receive a word of praise? My ears perk up hopefully.

“What exactly do you mean by good student?” I ask.

John and Don look at each other.

John speaks as Don nods in agreement. “You didn’t cause us any trouble,” he says.

Smiling anyway, with the satisfaction of being done with eval number two, I turn back to look at the routes above. As the fading sun burns orange against the granite, I realize I learned a lot, had a blast, and would climb with any of these evaluators again, anytime.

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