(in the order in which we climbed them)

The Black Snapper: 2 pitches, 5.9+

The Black Orpheus: 10 pitches 5.9+

Resolution Arete: 17 pitches+, 5.11 or 5.10,A0

Frogland: 6 pitches, 5.8-

Epinephrine: 18 pitches, 5.9

Levitation 29: 5 pitches, 5.11 (5.10 A0 for me!)

BEGINNING

In February 1996 I was in a terrible state: I'd been waiting for six months to defend my MA thesis, my longstanding job at the Portland State computer lab came to an end because I was no longer enrolled, I was flat broke and I hadn't done any real climbing for months. My roomate, McRee, was engaged in his own graduate program, leaving him no time to climb. My old friend and climbing partner, Chiu, had moved home to Taiwan, and I had no partner for the Yocum Ridge on Mt. Hood, the one route in Oregon that really captured my imagination...In short, I had no money, no climbing partner and no climb to plan or train for: I was 'in the pit'.

Over in Arkansas, McRee's brother Jamie began to send me email messages; he wanted to go to Yosemite in March for an ascent of the Nose. Ahhh...what an awesome prospect, a long, cold wall, snow, great preparation for Alaska. My bank account nixed that plan, though; I couldn't afford the extra Friends we would need, not to mention the other assorted gear...We finally decided to meet in Nevada, to climb at Red Rocks. I'd flipped through the guidebook a few times, and I had seen some really nice, long free climbs...it looked good. I committed to the trip and immediately felt the great satisfaction of knowing that I had a goal to plan for.

I now became motivated. I took a minimum-wage job at the donations ramp at the Goodwill in SE Portland:
. This was precisely one block away from the Portland Rock Gym. For six weeks, after eight hours at Goodwill I would step across the street for two hours of bouldering. At the Rock Gym there is one crack, a 5.9 hand-fist affair, about 40' tall and slightly overhanging and leaning at the top. This crack became the focus of my action in the Gym: I climbed it, downclimbed it, bouldered on it. I also worked hard on overhanging walls, building up the power I had lost over the months...I knew that after all these years of climbing, my technique was solid on all terrain -- I'd just lost the power to carry out the moves I knew so well...After the Gym, I jogged or walked across the Hawthorne Bridge, two miles home to the apartment for a meal of rice, beans and water. The occasional beer and pool game at the 1201 Club maintained my sanity...

A week before we were scheduled to meet in Las Vegas, my thesis committee set the defense date: a day before the departure date on my plane ticket. The day came...I defended my thesis, passed with no revisions required, went home, packed the bags, got some sleep and was on a jet out of Portland the next day. Two years of solid work on the thesis were behind me. I now faced 12 days in the desert. I had a bare margin of cash, arriving in the airport with only $15 to my name, but I'd get by...As a grad student and alpinist, what most people called 'scraping by', I considered living high on the hog...One of the most valuable aspects of my life as a student is that I have learned to appreciate the simple fact that I have some food, a shelter, a book to read...

I was somewhat apprehensive about the trip as I surveyed the crowded airport, looking for Jamie. This was a 23-year old red-hot 'nu-wave traditional' climber...He'd been training like mad, and his endorphin-saturated emails WRITTEN IN ALL CAPS TOLD OF HIS INSANE 5.11 GEAR LEADS AND EXPERIMENTAL AID CLIMBING WHIPPERS. Over the past five years I'd largely traded my rock skills for alpine climbs rarely topping 5.8. Though my old partner Chiu and I had for a while pushed to leading 5.11 cracks, that was at least a year ago... Could I reasonably do the 5.9, .10 and .11 climbs that Jamie and I discussed in frantic e-mail messages a week before we departed? Dogging a route is one thing, but could I lead flawlessly, with no falls? That's all I'm interested in, really... I'd spent several weeks at the rock gym, but the final stages of my MA work once again prevented me from total training...the day came, and away I went...

JOURNAL

Day 1: Arrived in Las Vegas to meet Jamie; I see him across the baggage claim area, the picture of youth, enthused, trim and smoothly muscular. But I retreat into my old shell, 'the old dog still has a few tricks'. I wonder what I'm thinking...I'm only 29 and I feel 99...We take the bus to Desert Rock Sports and then hitch a ride to the campsite. I have a haul bag and two backpacks: I'd packed every concievable item of gear, aside from axes and crampons. We're geared up for anything from from long free routes to hooking on desperate aid pitches...We set up camp, comparing gear as we unpack, talking over the routes to come...Though I've never climbed with Jamie, I'd met him briefly the previous summer when he and McRee had come off a climbing trip through the Tetons and the Wind River range...I was just back from my attempt on the Decil's Thumb in Alaska, and we had quickly agreed to rope up in the future...

DAY 2: THE BLACK SNAPPER 5.9+ R, 2 pitches

As I crawl from the tent this morning I am amazed at the beautiful sunshine, the heat...I've associated climbing with cold and misery for so long that this will take some getting used to!

We have awakened rather early for the hour-and-a-half hike up into Oak Creek Canyon...we plan to climb 'The Black Orpheus', a 10-pitch moderate route with a short 5.9+ crux.

Jamie and I make the hike in silence, just waking up as we hike...we arrive beneath a large rock wall, to our right, after thrashing through the canyon-bottom brush...

We solo up the 5.1 approach slabs, at least here I feel very comfortable, it feels a bit like easy alpine routes, not difficult but you'd better not fall...The sandstone is beautiful: solid, my old rock shoes (1986 Fire Classics) bite well. After 45 minutes we locate the beginning of the route. I rack up and tie in for the first 5.7 pitch. This goes easily with an enjoyable overhanging move or two, my hands lock in the crack with a very familiar old feeling...I know how to do this...

Jamie rushes up behind me, gives me the backpack and we swap gear for the second pitch. Jamie takes off into a 5.8 right-facing crack of sorts. Over the next 45 minutes he makes his way upward...I wonder what the heck is going on as I sit baking in the desert sun, surely a 5.8 can't be that tough?

Finally Jamie calls 'Off Belay' and I head up with apprehension, wondering what could slow down this 5.11 leader...Upward, and I immediately find strenous moves, delicate balancing acts and not much protection. I carry on, thinking "My god, if this if 5.8 I'm finished. I might as well go home!", but anyway up I go, finding myself after a few minutes beneath an overhang Jamie has protected with a small stopper, all he could get in. I bang on some large chopper flakes hanging precariously beneath the roof -- they tremble and sand pours out onto my rock shoes...God, 5.8X! Even MORE like alpine climbing!

Up I go, though, refusing to belive that this pitch is so hard. I pull the roof, then step precariously out onto the only avenue available, a flaky arete with no protection. More dicey moves, and I wonder again, "What the HELL is going on here?!?". I KNOW 5.8 is not this tough...

I finally reach the belay to find Jamie wearing a thin, stressed grin. A short discussion and we reach the conclusion that this is definitely not 'The Black Orpheus' -- we're off route! Upwards there is only loose overhanging terrain with more sandstone flakes ready to drop off...FORGET THIS!

We arrange a rappel anchor, a sling on a flake backed up with a good #3 stopper. Down we go, then we rap again, and again and we are on the ground.

We rate the climb 5.9+, R, and Jamie calls it "The Black Snapper". I'm supremely relieved that the pitch was not in fact 5.8, and we tramp back to camp laughing at our mistake.

DAY 3: THE BLACK ORPHEUS 5.9+, 10 pitches

We awake early again, and this time make the approach hike up the canyon in better time, becoming familiar with the terrain; the canyon is actually a giant gully, a riverbed of enormous limestone and sandstone boulders, a trickle of water here and there, enticing pools, cacti, scrub oak, little animal life to be seen anywhere, at least without stopping...We find the real route this time, just a hundred yards up-canyon from 'The Black Snapper'. Again we ascend the easy slabs beneath the cliff and we rope up at the base of the looming wall which looks a bit like Yosemite's Washington Column from the base.

It is only 9am and it's already getting hot. I chalk up and head upwards on the first 5.7 pitch, a right-facing crack. Good holds, the occasional fingerlock, solid rock...beautiful. I finish the 150-foot lead in an alcove, set some anchors and tie in. "Off Belay!"

Jamie comes up with the pack...our aim is to see how quickly and efficiently we can climb together. Jamie looks at his stopwatch: 25 minutes. A bit slow ror an easy free pitch, but it's OK and I know we'll climb faster as we get accustomed to each other.

Jamie takes the gear rack and blasts off up the 5.8 above, the crack now arching left, a 5.8 move taking you around a horn to a 5.6 run up to the belay. As the rope runs freely and Jamie hikes up the easy section I begin to feel the calm and ease that come with doing something familiar.

As the hours tick by we make our way upward, now on easy broken terrain, now simul-climbing on large ledges, now placing the occasional bit of gear. We make good time and before I know it we are stationed under a small roof at the beginnng of the seventh pitch. I face an exposed traverse 10 feet leftward to a 5.9 crack. My apprehension is almost entirely gone, however, and I feel confident this will not be a problem. The day has been good so far and everything feels secure.

I take the rack and make a few delicate moves leftward. Beneath my shoes a two-hundred meter rock wall drops away to the canyon floor, and I take a quick look but the exposure doesn't bother me. Everything is good, the rock is solid, I just need a couple moves to get into the crack. I place a stopper and make the first move, then the second; it all flows naturally and I make a final high-step and the worst is over, I'm above the crux. The next 90 feet or so are 5.9 crack climbing and I feel great, every hand and foot jam locks beautifully, I start to realize I had nothing to fear, I'd been worried for no reason. I'm fine on this terrain and everything feels great. What a relief!

And once again Jamie races up the pitch after me. He tackles the next pitch which begins with a 5.9+ move. It's well protected and he gracefully moves up the rock. This leads to crack and face climbing which Jamie devours in minutes. Before I know it I am following the pitch, the pack tugging me backwards as I remove the protection and finger the crux holds. I pretend I am simply bouldering, make a couple of strenuous moves, and the crux is passed, again no sweat, really. I feel great, again: I had nothing to worry about!

An hour or so later we are two pitches below the summit. I ascend a right-facing crack with beautiful 5.7 holds, the sun is wonderful, the wind just a breeze, the day has been perfect. On the final rightward traverse from the crack out onto the face I am acutely reminded of a climb I did in Washington a year ago - the moves seem identical but at least this time my shoelace does not accidentally get clipped to the last piece of protection on the most delicate move! Jamie comes up raving about the quality of the route and the rock. I think he's also relived to see that I am not having any problems at all, it was all in my head. He will have a solid partner on this trip and I will not find myself lacking: I feel great.

Jamie leads the last pitch, an easy 5.5 face with a slight runout. Very nice. We charge up the last few hundred feet of easy terrain and find ourselves on top, unroping and enthused with the great route, ten pitches done swiftly and without incident. Relatively easy, but nice and long and we've done it in good time.

On the descent we make four rappels, the one act of climbing I detest...I back up my raps with a prussik saftey, pointing this measure out to Jamie who probably thinks I am being somewhat paranoid. I am simply not used to these conditions - alpine climbing has forced me to back-up and double-check everything. I spend a minute or so closely examining all the slings and anchors at each rappel station, and the way Jamie stands on the edge of a precipice to check out the rappel makes my stomach churn: I would never stand so close to an edge without being tied in -- to me, just holding the ropes isn't nearly good enough...

I'm always anticipating being hit in the head by a rock or pegged in the eye with birdshit -- surprised by something, somehow -- and I stay clipped in at all times, everywhere, without exception...the lessons of alpine climbing are not easily forgotten, each close call on some remote mixed climb teaches you a valuable lesson, something you will recall and never repeat if you can help it. In 1992 Chiu and I were nearly wiped out by icefall on the Eliot Glacier on Mt. Hood...We survived only by chance: we could just as easily have been killed outright, buried by tons of sliding ice...That experience flushed away my illusions and replaced them with a more conservative attitude. Though I even continued soloing afterwards, it was with the greatest care and was characterised by far more retreats due to imperfect conditions than modest 'successes'. As Chiu said, we were successful in that we were still alive...

We make the raps without incident and we hike out of the canyon. It is just getting towards dusk as we march on the dusty trail towards camp, we've taken our time on the hike and even stopped for a dip in an icy pool of water.

As I devour my dinner that night in camp we discuss the Resolution Arete with Karrie, another Arkansas climber here at Red Rocks, one of Jamie's friends who have just arrived. Also here are Jamie's friends Tony and his wife Susan.

As the night progresses and stars begin to dot the sky we agree to head for the Resolution Arete tomorrow, very early. The climb is 17 pitches long and a superb bivouac ledge is rumored to be found at pitch 11...we relish the thought of the night on a large, level ledge as we rack up by headlamp and prepare a backpack with water, food, bivouac gear and three cans of beer...

Day 4: RESOLUTION ARETE 5.11 or 5.10A0, 17 pitches

At 3am a persistent beeping noise easily rouses me from a light sleep. Jamie crawls from the tent and tells me he's had trouble sleeping, continually waking to be sure he doesn't oversleep! In the dark we pack the few remaining pieces of gear and make coffee, our headlamps playing over the various tents, stoves and bags. Karrie steps into the light suddenly and we quietly discuss final plans. We decide to leave one headlamp behind in favor of taking a camera. Our gear is roughly divided between gear slings and a single backpack:

CLIMBING GEAR:

2 racks friends to #4

2 sets stoppers and a few small tri-cams

assorted TCU's

1 pair aiders + jumars

20 assorted slings with carabieners

BIVOUAC GEAR:

1 bivvy bag + pile jacket (Karrie)

1 2-man bivouac bag (Cameron and Jamie)

1 electric-blanket-turned-bivvy-bag-liner (Cameron and Jamie)

FOOD AND WATER:

5 liters water

6 power-bars

1 small bag dried fruit

3 bagels

The approach hike takes about an hour, bringing us to the base of some large, steep sandy steps advancing up a narrow sandstone canyon. It is just getting light as we start our way up here, climbing the 5.3 terrain with caution; a slip would be serious. The ledges are sandy and brush-covered, dry thorns and prickers are everywhere.

At last we find ourselves facing the main wall, to the left of a huge ledge where we now stand we believe we should find the first pitch, described as a 5.9 chimney.

We walk left as far as the ledge allows, finding that it drops off abruptly. a huge detached rock leans against the wall, forming a wide chimney...thirty feet away on the main wall there appears to be a crack headed up towards other features which are definitely on our route. So, the guidebook is not precise. OK. For some reason I volunteer for the pitch: I want to see how it feels to wake up to an unprotected chimney traverse...who knows why?

I rope up, take the gear and squirm into the chimney. Karrie belays me and Jamie climbs atop the pillar to take photos of 'the scene of Cameron's last lead' as he puts it. Charming.

I deal with the exposure by not looking down a lot: after thirty feet of the wide chimney traverse I face a fall which would pendulum me sixty feet down and into the bowels of the slot below, where I would probably wedge in very nicely with some broken bones...Before making the transition from chimneying to climbing on the main wall I stop to place a small cam in a crummy hole...some protection..."Just pretend you're soloing," I think as I commit to the moves...I reach across the gap, grab the main wall...get my back off the detached pillar...traverse a few more feet...reach for the crack...slot my fingers and lock them...nice....easy....another move...and I'm in the crack.

I place another cam and start upwards. The faster I get up higher, the sooner I will get in more gear. The 5.9 moves are OK, I never feel like I'm at my limit and jamming hands and boots in the crack is second-nature: this will be with me forever, I think as I trek upward. A few feet higher I pull over a bulge, getting one perfect hand jam, which is all I need for this move.

A few minutes later I reach the anchors, a nasty old bolt and a useless old angle piton. I basically ignore these and set up my own anchor, four bombproof cams equalized and clipped to the fixed anchors just for the hell of it...I lean out of the semi-hanging belay and yell down, "Jug line is fixed!....Belay On!".

...and we're off! The first pitch is led, the climb is underway.

Jamie jumars up, his first real jumar on a wall, carrying the pack. Later he tells me me of his terror on that first true jug experience, the rope stretch, the cliff dropping off below...different from practicing on trees! He also shows me how he jugged the route by clipping into the back-up slings on my jumars, rather than the clip-in eye...I nearly fainted as I envisioned Jamie cranking on those 10-year old bits of half-inch sling...

After a while I find myself jumaring the third pitch, which Jamie has led: a 5.9+ thin dihedral with sparse protection. I weight the jug line, feeling the rope stretch like a rubber band, remembering my own first jumar experience in Yosemite in 1986...on that climb my friend Tim and I were complete amateurs -- we didn't even clip into our jumars! The thought of my jumaring up the Washington Column not clipped to my jugs gives me chills even today...

I bounce a final time, to be sure of the anchors. I feel slightly guilty questioning Jamie's anchor setup, but considering the consequences...to hell with that! I test them again, then finally start up.

Ten minutes later I am just below a chimney, the last few moves of the pitch. Jamie is out of sight somewhere inside the chimney. Karrie is fifty feet below me, climbing and cleaning the pitch.

I make the last jumar moves into the chimney and in senconds I am trapped, I've wormed my way in but the pack is wedged tight and I can't move any more. I can finally see Jamie, he's burrowed deep into a cave behind the chimney.

"Come on in," he says cheerfully.

"I can't," I reply. "I'm stuck."

"What?"

"The pack is stuck. I can't move."

"Take off the pack and give it to me."

I wrench myself sideways and back and forth; nothing. I'm wedged even tighter now.

"It is physically impossible for me to remove the pack."

"OK," says Jamie "I'll get it."...he ties off Karrie's belay and leans over to grab the haul loop on my pack. He pulls like mad and I tip forward, my arms rotating upward out of my control as the Jamie drags the pack off my shoulders. My head is turned sideways by one pack strap and my face is mashed against the rock.

More tugging...now my hips are wedged, and the pack suddenly snags on some loose flakes behind me. I hear pieces drop off and I yell "ROCK!" and at the same time I hear a startled "OW!" from below. Karrie has been nailed right on the crown by the loose rock! He's OK, though, the sandstone is brittle and not too dense.

Finally Jamie manages to rip the pack from my arms...I'm free. I squirm panting inside the chimney and Jamie him in the cave. It's cool and comfortable inside, while just a few feet away Karrie is making the last few moves in withering heat...

Karrie leads up this time, a 5.8 pitch, no problems. I jug this pitch as well, Jamie races up with his characteristic speed. On the large ledge above we assess the next pitch, a 5.7 face, rated R for lack of protection...My lead...

I take small gear and set off, scared but at the same time exhilirated by the exposure and the risk. 30 feet up without protection I realise that if I come off I will hit the small ledge Karrie is belaying me from...I'd surely break something...

I force myself to maintain control on the sloping sandstone holds...I concentrate on every move, taking my time and calling on all my experience. I tell myself I can do this easily, that 5.7 is not hard...I pretend I'm soloing again. I recall the two-pitch face 5.7 face I soloed in EB's in Yosemite a few years back (temporary insanity) and rationalize that I can do it again...I find a shallow groove and place a TCU which wiggles to the edge of the groove even as I clip in. Sand trickles out from behind the cam as I wiggle it. I put it out of my mind and head upwards: One lsoper follows another until I find I am fifty feet above the belay ledge...Finally I come to a little ledge. I step up to it and come eye-level with a wide horizontal slot. I carefully place a good cam in the crack, not wanting to wipe out on this last easy part...No problem, I clip the rope, take a deep breath, lock in my fist and relax and take a rest...

I look up but I see no anchors...where to go? Jamie shouts "Go right!', I see nothing up and right, just more of what I've just done...after a brief and heated debate I agree to go up and right, and I'm soon traversing thirty feet away from the last piece, and going up more of the 5.7 terrain...no pro...a small stopper...a little cam...then easy terrain, some big holds...over a shelf...and I'm on a ledge! I move carefully onto the ledge and then set some anchors.

Karrie comes up next, carrying the pack. I feel good at having made the lead, but I'm worried we're off route. I can't see the 300 feet of leftward 3rd class we are supposed to do next...I begin to feel slightly nauseous with the thought that I've led us off route...How much time will we lose trying to fix this mistake I've made?

When we're all gathered at the ledge Karrie takes off, exploring around the corner. He soon locates the traverse and we happily head off on the inobvious terrain...I'm relieved that I haven't made a mistake...

Two hours later I am watching from the jumars as Karrie attempts to free the 5.11 roof, the free crux of the climb. I'm not really concerned...I don't care if we free it or aid it...Jamie has already tried the roof but found it too hard. Karrie gives it a shot, then another, then grabs a sling and aids it. "Right on," I think, "Let's just get to the bivvy ledge!". It's getting on and we need to keep moving.

A while later Jamie disappears over the roof and I am left at the belay station with the pack and my jumars. Now begins the ordeal...I plan to just aid the moves till I reach the lip of the overhang, then start jumaring normally. Considering the roof, this is the best way to go. The first few moves are easy but as the wall retreats beneath me and my feet have nothing to counter-balance against, the 40-lb pack starts tipping me backwards, forcing me to hang nearly horizontally before I can catch myself with my arm... I rig a chest harness with an extra sling but with the weight of the pack it starts to crush my ribcage when I'm forced backwards...I can't breathe and I have to take it off...I curse and get frustrated, realizing too late that I have made a terrible mistake by not having them just haul the pack up before I started the jumar. As I struggle from one piece to the next, everything starts to go wrong, things get complicated with a mess of bieners and slings and ropes, but at least I'm so focused that I don't even think of the thousand feet of air dropping away beneath me.

Despite the gathering dusk I am sweating freely, my t-shirt is soaked, my hair a lanky mop flapping in my face. The pack tips me over backards...again. I reach for a piece of gear...tip backwards again...and again.

I feel like an incompetent as I thrash around, dangling under the roof. Jamie and Karrie are becoming impatient, for good reason, but all I can do is testily reply that I don't like it any more than they do, and I'm doing all I can...no truer words were ever spoken...

Finally I am completely wasted, the pack has won the battle. It tips me backwards again and I have nothing to balance my feet against, just dangling at the end of the rope which is now wedged in the crack above, jugging past it will be murder...I snap...I drop away my last shreds of self-respect...

"Hey you guys," I croak, "drop me a line and haul up the pack...."

I should have asked at the start: now I have wasted our time, it's getting dark and we're three hundred feet below the bivouac ledge...Stupid, stupid, if I'd just had them haul it up in the first place...

It's dark when I finally drag myself up onto the perch where Jamie is already belaying Karrie up the 5.10 pitch above. They have little to say to me...I don't blame them. I've made a stupid error and I'm to blame...Karrie aids up the corner by headlamp. A while later Jamie heads up with the headlamp...I am relegated to the crummy position of last man, jug-pig, the human mule. I jug up in the dark with utmost caution, but the thought of making a mistake in the dark is never far from my focus on the mechanics of ascending the rope...The bastard pack continues to tip me...I'm furious at myself for the whole mess...

The ledge I find Jamie on is enormous, but there's no way we want to sleep there...it's exposed and windy. Karrie has already started up the next pitch, the last 100 feet to the bivouac ledge. I can see his headlamp up above, on some indistinct ramp...it's rated 5.8 but we hear thrashing and scrambling, as well as rockfall followed by indistinct, soulful curses. Karrie is hating life.

I untangle the jugging hardware and soon Karrie reaches a belay and Jamie heads up, this time taking the pack. I keep the headlamp. I wait on the ledge in silence, crouched low like a dog to shelter from the wind and my own self-loathing...When it's my time to follow up I findthe pitch almost unclimbable. Loose rocks, a left-sloping ramp...the headlamd batteries die as I try to remove the gear...it's pitch black and I'm freezing in my soaked clothes. I can't see anything, several times I feel like I will slide right off the ramp to the left and take a monstrous fall, it would be a whopper of a pendulum...I grope at the gear with fingers slick with blood from the odd jams I have to make...Finally the pitch goes straight up, I ascend and I find Jamie wedged in a chimney belaying me, Karrie is nowhere in sight. Jamie directs me to tunnel the chimney behind him and I emerge on a small ledge, ten by ten...Here's Karrie, uncoiling his own mass of hardware and rope...so this is it, the bivouac ledge!

I've apologised several times already, and now I do so again as we all unwind. Since we're finally at the ledge and there's no more work to do today, Jamie and Karrie brush it off, "Well, what the hell. We're here now, forget it." I'm so wasted from dehydration, embarrasment and anger that I am actually able to forget the whole thing as we drop off our gear and slump on the ledge, opening the pack to crack open our three beers...what ecstacy, a cool beer on a dark ledge after a gruelling day in the baking desert heat...

Life does not get better, we all agree, three little humans crouched like parasites on the dark, unmoving bulk of a mountainside, the incredible black dome of sky all around us, our little headlamps only a spark amongst the stars, comets, galaxies...

Day 5: RESOLUTION ARETE 5.11 or 5.10A0, 17 pitches, CONTINUED...

At 2am I give up trying to sleep and wriggle free from my crazy nest: I've spent the last few hours with my face or side mashed against the cold rock wall, fighting Jamie for part of the electric blanket his girlfriend modified for him to serve as a two-person bivvy bag...Ignoring the desert chill I stand up, stretching out my limbs, just glad to be away from the rock wall and the confines of the bivvy-bag for a moment. I remember years before, on the Liberty Ridge of Mt. Rainier, when I became claustrophobic in a bivvy-cave, popped my head out for a breath of fresh air and ended up with wet snow blowing into my sleeping bag...Well, at least here that is just not going to happen...

I hear Karrie engaged in his own wrestling match, fighting his inadequate bivvy system; Jamie stirs also and after a few minutes we are all awake and gathering twigs to make a fire. To hell with this sleeping business! We pass the hours, huddled on the tiny ledge, waiting for dawn, trading climbing stories, tall tales and the like...

As soon as it's light we rack up and head off, Karrie leading the first easy pitch of 5.8 to a large ledge. It's cold, but we can see the glow of approaching warmth. After a few minutes we are all assembled on a large and confortable ledge - sunlight!

Jamie is now committed to a 5.9 hand-traverse which ascends leftward. Away he goes...

As I belay I can smell the accumulated grime, sweat and oils of the past days matting my hair, my t-shirt. With cracked lips and my hands battered and blackened, running the second day of a wall climb on two hours of half sleep and dehydration, I relish the pain, the discomfort, the deprivation. It makes me appreciate life so much more, it keeps me more honest than I might otherwise be. People say 'You need to climb to appreciate life? Do you really have to face danger to see just how wonderful life is?' and I have to reply, yes, that is the way it is, I do find that when I am being lazy and comfortable and content, I become greedy and forget to appreciate the simple facts that I am alive, I have a warm place to sleep, food to eat, clean water to drink, books to read. Good god, I even have television and radio to bring me information from other places, cultures...I have so much, and yet I am living at a level even most graduate students like myself find 'poor'. They need more time outdoors...We Americans are living like kings, the most privelidged on the planet....Climbing -- any deprivation for that matter -- reminds me how well well off I am, perhaps to an extend that non-climbers don't realize...but everyone has their way of achieving bliss, and this, for me, is IT...I don't feel I need to question it so much any more. In my scientific endeavors this attitude would be disastrous, but here I have a chance simply to exist and relish the fact that I am ALIVE.

I'm shaken from my musings by the cry of 'off belay' -- I gear up and second the 5.9 traverse, the whole thing is overhanging a bit, there's some loose rock and I'm quite impressed by Jamie's lead. As Karrie comes across I sit in the cool of the belay niche with Jamie. We're looking forward to summiting out and heading to camp for a beer -- but that's a long way off yet...I take the next lead, an easy 5.7 chimney.

As I emerge from the confines of rock onto a huge ledge I get a look at the summit -- it looks close, but I know there are at least five pitches to go. I arrange a quick belay and bring up Karrie and Jamie. The lead rope we're using, Karrie's old 200-footer, is fuzzy and saturated with dust. My hands are black from the carabieners and cuts, the nicks are dots of blood -- I know I've been having a good experience.

A while later Jamie is leading a bizarre and indescribable pitch, a 5.7 crack of sorts with a wierd roof which requires strange twisting contortions.... I follow, the pack again making my life hell as I pull through the overhanging moves. I find more loose rock here, like stacks of china. The route description is wrong but what the hell, it hasn't been right since the first pitch!

An hour later we are only fifty feet from the last belay spot: Karrie has gone up what we expected to be a 5.6 face, but for the past 45 minutes he has been inching up the rock...Jamie and I wonder just what is going on...We're standing in another chimney while Karries is up above, we can only see the rope feeding slowly upwards our of the darkness of our cave to the brilliant sunshine on the red sandstone above. Occasionally little flakes rain down...Finally Karrie is off belay...Jamie goes up and out of sight...I follow a few minutes later, finding the face Karrie had led tobe at least 5.10, there's little pro at all and the two TCU's that Jamie left in place in order to protect me from a huge pendulum are, in fact, a joke; the pro was awful and Karrie has led a 5.10X, deathfall potential. It's a sobering moment -- I wonder what he must have been thinking, but then of course I remember so many of my own close calls through the years, and I know that there was nothing for him to do but go on...sometimes backing down is just too dangerous. At those times it's a mind game, no doubt.

I arrive at the ledge and call Karrie a superhuman; it really was a superb effort.

It's later than we'd like now, but only a few pitches more...We sip the last drops of water and stow the water bottles in the pack. I'm given the role of human mule, haul grunt, and I slip on the pack and I even enjoy its weight, the necessity for myself to fight and deal with it. I enjoy the struggle. I'm not interested in anything easy.

An hour later we are just below the summit. Jamie and I are crouched under a thin wisp of a scrawny tree, trying to take advantage of the few lines of shade it has to offer, while Karrie goes on up the last 5.6 pitch. I'm almost dozing now, from boredom and exhaustion and lack of food -- the bagel for dinner wasn't enough -- and I begin to peer intently at odd shapes in the colorful rocks around us. Jamie and I have a giggling fit after I positively identify one rock as none other than the cartoon character, Snoopy. We are getting wierd and a little funny in the head from the 100-degree weather...

Some time later I am up on the lead again, fourth-classing on large ledges, dragging the rope up the slope behind me. I come around a large boulder and suddenly I can see the summit just two hundred feet up and left. I grab a large branch to use like an ice axe, and start picking my way up the field of shifting boulders. Each step is like pulling a sledge because of the rope drag......Finally I run out of rope and I sit down in a bush, panting, and start hauling up the green line. Jamie and Karrie arrive, they go on up as I use just a hip belay, and in fifteen minutes we are all assembled on the summit of Mt. Wilson. We've done it! We feel great and we want to enjoy the moment....but first, we need water!

Fifty meters away we spy a patch of snow under a shady tree on the sloping south side of the mountain. We each take turns scraping up snow and cramming it in our mouths. I crawl at the edge and eat like a dog...God, what a find, I'm slowly becoming human again, rehydrating after the delectable, dehyrated suffering of the past two days.

With water, food, and the cheer that we are off the wall, we begin joking and laughing freely...We direct most of our thoughts to the highly erroneous route description printed in Todd Swain's 'Red Rocks Select'..."Our mission," deadpans Karrie, the crewcut ex-ROTC candidate, "is to find and kill Todd Swain."...but it's good-natured...The adventure was good, and I'd rather just leave the description for others to battle with.

After a while we've recovered enough to head down, we're desperate for a beer, anxious to get back to camp, but all slightly apprehensive of the descent route. We know only that there are a few rappels involved, so off we head, trudging downslope as quickly as saftey allows, heading south and west for the steep gullies of Oak Creek Canyon, watching the time...Two hours later my sneakers are literally falling to pieces, we've made two rappels and down-climbed a bit of fixed rope hanging from a tree. We reach a point where it's clear we will make it back to camp before dark, and for the first time in a couple days it is nice to know there is virtually nothing to worry about. Jamie and Karrie have a dip in a pool of water in the Canyon, I'm happy to just laze on the rock to the side.

At dusk we are trotting along on the road leading to camp, finally we round a corner and find the tents, then there are Tony and Susan greeting us...I smell FOOD! Susan has prepared black beans, salmon burgers, potatoes -- and there's cold beer, wow, as I sit here writing now I can taste that meal again, I can feel the creak of my bones as I sat back on my therma-rest and cracked open that wonderful cold beer and started eating the salmon and beans. As usual after a good climb, the feeling that life was good was supreme...I probably grinned all night while I slept....

DAY 6: Rest Day and Night in Las Vegas

We spend the day eating and drinking; none of us can get enough water. Karrie actually goes climbing with Tony, Jamie and I are happy to sit at camp and take it easy. All day we spend sitting in the shade, reading, eating, drinking water, trying to soak up as much moisture as possible. After draining a litre flask I immediately reload and begin again -- I simply cannot get enough to drink. I read my Greg Bear science-fiction novel, some of my favorite Hemingway, and then a history of Arkansas Susan has brought along. It's a fascinating book, covering important episodes of the history of the state and its surroundings from the time of the natives, to Desoto, and on up to Bill Clinton. During the night I've had a recurrent tooth abcess flare up, there's a big swelling and I take two penicillin and try not to move, let my whole system attack the bacteria...

That evening I am healed and we all feel like a trip into town. We drive to the Las Vegas YMCA for showers...what luxury! In the showers we're surrounded by water...a paradise! At the YMCA I weigh myself on a scale in the weightroom...I've lost 14 pounds in the last six days! I'm convinced most of it was sweated away when I was dangling beneath the roof on Mt. Wilson...

Somewhat cleaned off we head for the casinos, with a stop at the supermarket for a bottle of victory wine and some beer. "You just can't take Vegas straight, you know," says Tony. He's serious -- and he's right. We head into the throng of the Strip, it's a dizzying mob...we witness a bizarre animatronic orgy at Caesar's Palace, then make our way into the guts of the whole operation, the casino. Insane, crazy...

We position ourselves in front of a quarter slot machine and begin feeding it nickels, hammering on the control panel and yelling 'BIG MONEY! BIG MONEY!'...this is Jamie's plan to get free beers...suddenly I'm astonished to find an attractive waitress at our side, asking what we'd like to drink. Jamie orders beers and we go back to work on the machine...the beers come, the waitress slinks away through the crowd and I'm left gaping. I've never heard of such a thing! Just before leaving, Jamie feeds the machine another nickel and rather than yelling BIG MONEY I yell "EPINEPHRINE!" for good luck...And Jamie wins $5! Perfect.

The night progresses, Karrie and Jamie begin bouldering on all available surfaces, I just try, unscuccessfully, to take it all in...The lights, the angles...the charades, the Disneyesque characatures...Triumph! We can trivialize anything!

The most disturbing sight that night is two white tigers imprisoned some interior designer's warped conception of the ideal tiger habitat...People crowd forward to take snapshots of these doomed beasts...then, like Zombies, turn and enter the adjoining Souvenier Shoppe to buy key-rings and other crap. You just want to erase the whole scene, there is nothing of value here...

Later that night I call back to Portland to talk to a girl I know here...but she's gone for the weekend...I'm slightly depressed by this news and the gluttony of the Las Vegas night...We assmble back at the van and drive the 20 miles back to Red Rocks...

In the back seat I lean my head against the window and stare at the stars, feeling as though I'm an alien just leaving Earth after a strange visit...

DAY 7: Frogland, 5.8-

We wake late, feeling relaxed and happy with our climbs so far and still dazzled by the crazy night in Vegas. We decide to make an easy ascent today, a 6-pitch 5.8- route called Frogland. Tony climbs with us today, he's enjoying himself -- we all are -- and it's a great day out, the kind of climb I know I will be able to do for the rest of my life...even if everything else goes down the tubes, I'll know that I can pack off and head for some 5.8 routes, long routes in the Alps, wherever, all over the world -- long, easy routes, emphasis on the long....what a joy.

We climb easily and smoothly, and at the top we pause to look at the route just up the canyon -- Epinephrine! We study the lines of the buttress before heading to camp. That night, Jamie and I decide on an attempt at Epinephrine tomorrow: as we turn in that night we both, I suspect, feel some apprehension...it is a big route for a single day...

DAY 8: EPINEPHRINE, 18 pitches, 5.9

Jamie and I awake well before dawn to the icy desert cold. A gentle but ceaseless and icy cold breeze has flowed across camp all night, occasionally slipping into my sleeping bag at the neck, waking me with cold fingers...I've had little sleep, with the breeze and the lonely sound of sand hissing on my bivouac bag -- but also thoughts of the climb to come have kept me from sleeping.

I'm excited about the prospect: the ultra-classic Epinephrine, a route climbed first in the 1970's and since translated into symbols printed on paper and passed into my consciousness through the pages of guidebooks. Jamie and I have spent weeks thinking of the climb, he in Arkansas, myself in Oregon, poring over the same symbols, each with his own mental concept of the route...

There are 18 pitches, maximum 5.9, and three consecutive pitches of 5.9 chimneying. I'm looking forward to these, though I expect the worst. When did I last lead a long 5.9 chimney?

We prepare our gear by the light of our zipping and flashing headlamps. We will take a 200-foot lead rope and a 7mmx50m rope, slung on Jamie's back, as a reserve. We abandon the daypack and take just a buttbag, into which we put two bagels, a powerbar, the camera, a space blanket and a pack of matches. We will just clip our shoes to our harnesses when we start up, and we rack all gear on the comfortable double gear harness I constructed from spare backpack straps several years ago. The rack is light: a full set of Metoilus cams, an extra very large cam, an extra medium cam, a set of stoppers, seven slings and fifteen carabieners. The rack feels light as I sling it on and clip the chest strap, a comfortable and familiar weight, the tools of our trade.

We set water on the stove to boil, and for a moment I switch off my headlamp to turn away and look out at space. The sky is hard and black and clear and stars twinkle as if I'm looking through a trembling obsidian lens. I think of the reports I read several months ago, where astronomers had confirmed the detection of at least one planet orbiting a star in a solar system beyond our own. I think of the way space appears to shoot away from us, making us feel as though we're at the center of it all. The space, the beautiful void, is somehow oppressive, and I simply give way to the thankfulness that I am alive, existing, conscious, able to act, to forge my own way through the cosmos...to an extent.

These are my scattered thoughts just before we depart.

An hour and a half later we are deep in the underbrush crowding the gully below Epinephrine. We solo some easy rock to reach the rope-up point. We've hiked about two miles by headlamp, mine dimming and flickering just as the sky is beginning to lighten around us. We stow our headlamps in the buttbag, then clip our sneakers to our climbing harnesses and put on rock shoes. Roped up, we head off in silence and darkness, simul-climbing the first two shadowy pitches, over easy rock followed by a few moves of 5.7 where we stop for a scant but better-than-nothing belay.

We are at the base of an enormous black slab, in the chill half-light it looks like Yosemite's Sentinel Rock from right at the base, an enormous tombstone that leave little sky visible above...It seems incredible that we are pitting ourselves against it -- our relatively tiny fingers are our advantage. To overcome this we will creep up cracks which are not 'flaws' but features of the ever-changing monolith. Jamie takes an early first lead up into the main chimney system. I follow up easy terrain, then enter an easy chimney, three to five feet in width, parallel, and the obvious line of ascent here. It's choked with brush and I clear my way, careful of cactus.

The wind is rising, I can hear it outside the chimney, curling round the sharp edges of rock as I shuffle upwards. I reach Jamie's stance atop a flake in the chimney and we quickly switch gear. I plan to combine the following two 5.9 pitches into a single 200-foot marathon lead. Just imagining the suffering I will soon be experiencing gives me a grim smile and the satisfying knowledge that I am doing all I can with my existence, that I have faced diffiulty and ease and have chosen the difficult way as my path: I prefer hardship to relaxation, cold to warmth, suffering to comfort; at least to an extent. I am not entirely selfdestructive, but I do prefer true terror to simple entertainment and I find danger to be the ultimate stimulus.

With a word I head off upwards, first stemming, then using classic chimney technique as I move up into the ever-narrowing walls. I place plenty of gear and eventually reach a spot where the chimney pinches down to body-width, and I use the cliched and moves I remember from so many old adventure movies...It feels great, here, having our own adventure -- so, it can be done! Quit the job, pack up and leave...I did the same to go to Alaska last summer -- what a wild trip that was...

After a while I am grunting piggish in the slot, cool and dark while across the canyon, outside, it looks like the rock walls are melting in the gooey heat of sunrise: there's no delay here, as soon as the sun hits you, you begin to cook. My red pile cap is creeping down over my eyes but there's nothing to think of just now except the arc of rope dangling down below me...I haven't found a placement for some time and I'd like to get a piece in. I find a slot and cram in a Friend, then grunt some more until I suddenly find a belay bolt. I'm not tired or particularly scared, it feels good. I clip it and carry on, now starting up the second 5.9 chimney. This is much narrower than the first and soon I find myself wedged up in a body-width bottleneck with a giant rock flake jammed in the chimney above me. The only thing to do is to struggle up and out from the chimney towards the rock wall outside, climb over the flake blocking my way, and then re-enter the slot.

I shout down for Jamie, "Here I go, man. Watch me!". My fingers seek high, find a good jam and in one quick move I pull myself up and out of the comfort of the slot (thinking, 'this must be the 5.9 part') both my feet smearing on the rock walls, and I emerge onto the exposed rock where wind is now more than just a breathing noise, it's trying to whip my cap off...I make a few face-climbing moves, out of the chimney completely now, then I find a sort of groove, place my smallest TCU, clipping it with the same 'click' sound and springy metal feel of the carabiener that is so familiar after all these years.

I am finally thrashing upwards, overjoyed, feeling like Ulysses on some demented adventure, this is the life for me...Jamie is at least 180 feet below me, out of sight. All I can see beneath my legs is the rope dangling down over the rock and then disappearing into the chimney.

It has been years since I have fallen on a serious lead. Here I feel comfortable and just challenged enough to keep me on my toes, and I know - feel - that I will not come off. Still, the final moves to a large ledge are easy but I move carefully, systematically, and clip a final piece of protection, just in case...out of the blue I could be hit by rock, or a bird and that last piece could save me...I know that my alpine climbing adventures have instilled that sort of caution in me, and I'm grateful.

The rope drag is enormous at this last move, and I heave upwards and finally flop onto a ledge like a seal. Jamie has been forced to simul-climb up fifty feet or so from his stance, so this has been a long, long lead!

Jamie cruises up: we exchange grins and then head off immediately, simul-climbing an easy pitch to the top of a pillar. This massive pillar is a giant slab tilted against the main rock buttress, and we have been climbing with our backs to the main wall and feet pressed against the slab, facing out and away from the main wall. Now atop the pillar we turn to face the rock wall We start climbing up th' face, making quick work of several easy pitches.

It is just 7:30am and we are on the eight pitch....ten to go; we can make it, we think, but we don't dwell on it or discuss it - we just keep moving. At the belays we simply trade gear and move on; right now it is all business...

After a while I'm wandering around on a large ledge of 4th class terrain, searching for a belay bolt I know must be here somewhere.--I'm wasting time, can't find the bolt, and I start reeling in the rope on a hip-belay as Jamie races up the rock to help me look. The sun is high enough now to blast the whole canyon. We are in sunlight and I'm baking in my pile layers -- it's at least 90 degrees but to save weight, as well as keep warm on the hike in that morning, I only brought this pile sweater, reasoning that I'd definitely want it if we were forced to bivouac...

We finally agree that I need to get going...I rush up a sparsely protected 5.5 face to where it 1ooks like there is a small ledge. I grab some small bits of gear and head across the ledge, then up the face and I'm now looking at a massive unprotected drop if I come off...but I feel so good here, nothing is going to happen. I creep upwards past more unprotectable grooves, ten, twenty, thirty feet, feeling and looking like Gollum on some dastardly mission by moonlight...finally I find a bolt on the main wall.

I test it, don't like it, clip it, back it up with a stopper and two Friends and bring up Jamie. He arrives grinning, we trade gear and off he goes, flying up a 5.9 finger crack/face pitch protected with bolts and the occasional stopper. It's a fantastic sight to see Jamie cruising upwards, trailing the rope and just making his way along on a steep pitch...I lean in close to the rock wall, trying to take advantage of a small patch of shade I find there...In my pile shirt and thin capilene sweats I am broiling under the sun. Yesterday from another climb, Frogland, we watched two climbers on this point on the Epinephrine: the sight reminded me of a picture in Harrer's 'The White Spider', where you see a steep wall and on it, connected by a slender rope, the forms of two men...they work like machines to advance; now we're there, we are the two nameless figures high on the massive rock wall....it's a great feeling.

The day and the pitches pass in a blur: even today, writing about it just four months later, I can't remember the exact sequence of pitches or their ratings...I can look at the topo, but it means little to me...Only the few photos of our ascent really hit home...We climbed steadily and efficiently and rapidly, but it may have cost me memories...I wonder how much in the future I will be interested in 'lightning' ascents...perhaps a bivvy would have made the experience more enduring in my mind...Well, no regrets: that is the goal.

At some point later I am following one of the best rock pitches I've ever climbed. The holds are right where you want them - they feel easier than 5.9, but whatever, who cares what it's rated....I'm energized by the climbing -- suddenly I reach the belay and again with little more than a grin and a grunt (there's not much to say) and shaking my head in wonder, Jamie hands me the hardware rack and away I go...Up an easy 5.8 pitch with beautiful hand jams in sandy cracks...The pitch seems to pass in mere moments and I continue far up past the fixed anchors to a decent stance before my rope runs out...Like many times this day, the 200-foot rope has allowed us to link pitches...I arrange a belay with my last pieces of gear and call down for Jamie to come up.

I'm panting in the blast of sunlight and heat, leaning out from the bombproof belay, listening to the creaks of nylon and the click of adjusting carabieners... and staring down at Jamie as he swiftly ascends the ramp system. I look at my blackened hands, the dark, dry skin chipped and dotted with blood - my own little sacrament to wonderful life. I blink away sweat drops and shift sideways as Jamie pulls himself up onto the stance, his bits of hardware glittering in the sunlight. "That's it, man," he says, looking up at the last few pitches, seeing the large ramps we plan to follow for the last 700 feet to the summit. I look down at the canyon below...we've come a long way since dawn... "Yeah. We've got it.".

We pause for a moment and drink some water. It's luke-warm in the Nalgene bottle and I can smell the soft plastic and taste it as I drink.

Jamie leads again, disappearing above...then I follow and lead the next easy, final technical pitch, ending on a beautiful 5.5 move to a large groove with a perfect stance. I plug in three friends and lean out to photograph Jamie as he ascends...It's another pitch done...the day so far has been one quick pitch after another, always reeling in rope, feeding it out or climbing...there's been no waiting or hesitation.

In just a week of climbing Jamie and I have meshed pretty well. We move smoothly at this point, knowing just what the other will do next. It's a great feeling, one of those I live for, the total devotion and commitment of a good climbing partnership. With this sort of intensity, it seems no wonder that I can't ever manage a decent relationship with a woman back home. What's always lacking there is focus...Of course, other people do it...so, I'm back to square 1. Why does it never work out? I just don't know...But I do know that here I feel challenged and fulfilled, and that makes things more tolerable...

Fifteen minutes later we are hiking up slabs just below the summit...still roped, we scramble up some 5.0 terrain, emerging from shadow to glaring sunlight, the hard blue Nevada sky like an unbelievable, enormous gem above us.. .The tilted slabs of red and orange and yellow rocks all around seem to writhe with the heat, a whip of hot air flicks up sand to grit my teeth. As far as I can see there are ancient rolling hills and rocky outcrops like slabs tilted from the earth or stone javelins stuck in the sands.

Dots of brush are scattered in a pattern, following seasonal waterways. Some black bird speeds past us and disappears down into the shadows of the canyon below and behind us. Jamie and I nearly jog to the top. We can see a cairn there and we're excited to be so close...

As I step on the summit I look at my watch: 12:30 pm. Unbelievable! We've moved quickly, doing our 18 pitches on sight, without falls or incident, in seven and a half hours...it has been a great day of life.

Jamie and I are elated. I'm even happier knowing that we face few dangers on the descent; no rappels, just a hike, and mind the cacti. Two hours later we are briskly trotting down the trail despite the heat. We wear wide grins as we round a bend and see the vans at camp. A few more minutes and we arrive: we drop our gear and ropes and collapse on our sleeping bags, laying back and laughing, having a cold beer...Eating dinner, we revel in our climb, our success and our lives, the moment...

Later that evening I stand in the campsite and look out at the rocks. ..I'm free, alive, charged, exhausted but crackling with electric activity; my nervous system is still vibrant, everything seems to resonate, humming at a low, low frequency. Am I hallucinating? No...I'm in tune with something...the beer...yes, but also with my life, I decide...this elation comes only, for me, after a challenge taken...success or defeat means less than the efforts involved....it is those desperate efforts that make life worth living for me.

I think about Alaska, how just over a year ago I was there, stranded on a glacier with my friend Chiu, trying to contact anybody with our puny radafter an aborted attempt to sledge in to climb the Devil's Thumb. That was a different adventure altogether, but similar in that we were totally committed for a time...totally committed...I'd never felt as alive as when Chiu and I were on the glacier, dragging our sledges toward an unseen goal, crossing territory I'd never seen before... I want that again, and more intensely...I know that it is possible...Alaska was a lesson: that what you want to do, you must simply plan and execute, but you must do it now before it is too late...

DAY: Levitation 29

I've heard the name of this climb, heard it's a classic...everone seems to agree it's a Red Rocks 'must-do' route. Fair enough. I feel good after our ascents so far - very good, actually -- and Jamie is frothing at the mouth over this climb. I'm not quite as excited...the topo showsa lot of bolts; I'm not really that interested in clip-ups. Also, my interest is in leading pitches without falling (because I consider rock climbing as practice for alpine ascents), and I'm not that interested in pushing 5.11, especially bolted 5.11. Back in Portland, when I was climbing with Chiu, we had reached the point of leading 5.11 cracks...I managed one, as well as a slew of hard 10's, on lead, without falls. Then I had to work on the thesis, full-time...

So this morning we wake late. The hike in is familiar now, about three miles or less of canyon and desert. We hike past the Resolution Arete on Mt. Wilson...we stop and excitedly point out features we encountered on our climb...there's the bivvy ledge!...my 5.7R face pitch....the roof where I dangled helplessly...Jamie's amazing 5.9 crack traverse pitch...We laugh at the memories and press on up the trail...

I'm catching energy off Jamie now -- his enthusiasm for the route has me fired.up. We nimbly hop our way up the canyon, after a while passing a pair of climbers on their way up. They are the first we have encountered today, and they ask if we're headed for-Levitation 29. As we pass them we reply that we are...We don't want to stop and we don't want to talk to anyone.

Soon we arrive beneath the 2,000 feet of low-angle slabs that lead to the base of the route. We can see the line of the climb above...up a shield-like headwall of the same reddish sandstone we've climbed for so many days now, there lie deep, roughly vertical and parallel scoria, appearing as huge scratches in the wall as if someone had used a rake on wet cement and then tipped the cured slab upright.

Jamie and I start up the slabs. The sun is already beating down intensely, burning my scalp at the the crown of my skull. We pause once for water, but the slabs are not as bad as people say... We're used to them after our time here, and we move quickly towards the base of the climb.

On my way up I begin to feel a growing sensation of....something. Something is not right..suddenly don't want to climb this particular rock face.. There is a chill wind blowing down the canyon now, and despite the withering blast of sun we occasionally shiver with goosebumps as a breeze passes over us. Odd.

Some time later I am perched half way up the first pitch. A reachy and commiting 5.10 move well above my last piece takes my total concentration. It feels good, and I continue up easier terrain to a good ledge. Secured to my belay and bringing up Jamie, I take a moment to look upward...I see the first crux, a 5.11 roof move above some easier climbing.

Soon Jamie is up there, dangling by his arms, legs flailing as he makes a desperate bid to fire the roof...he makes a lunge...and suddenly I am holding his weight -- he's come off and he furiously reels himself in to the face again for another go.

This time he moves more quickly and with more confidence, knowing the moves and wanting to save his strength for them...the grip, the lunge....and he's off again...Too bad...I'd hoped he'd make.it, for his own satisfaction. I'm not really interested, for myself...I figure I'll just aid the roof...

Later, coming up, it is amazing that I manage to pull past the roof on my first try without incident; HOWEVER it's a wild lunge move and there's now way I'd have done it on lead. Not my bag: I just can't help but thinking of the dangers of alpine climbing, thought I know here I am pretty safe. Anyway, up we go...

The wind is increasing but we ignore it; it's impossible to imagine conditions here becoming too cold to climb! I lead another unremarkable pitch, a crack where I find little protection because of the sloping, shallow nature of the trough I am jamming up.

I don't like the last few runout moves...Still, I reach anchor bolts, hitch in and up comes the lightning bolt, his mirrored punker shades flashing crazily in the sun. He leads a short 5.10 face pitch, I follow bu just grabbing slings...I'm becoming less interested in this ascent...bolts everywhere. Just not my scene.

I join Jamie at the belay stance, a nice little ledge. He's jazzed and hopped up for the upcoming pitch 5, the killer 5.11 face/finger crack. Away he goes, racked up with bieners and slings and a few stoppers...

During his ascent the wind continues to build and it is bizarre but, despite the blasting sunshine, it is intensely cold. My hands are numbing in the wind as I look up at Jamie with his long hair blown straight out from his head by the stiff wind. After a while he clips in to somes sort of hanging belay and I can just make out his words as he cries for me to come up.

I am in no mood to climb now...I grab every sling and just basically aid the whole pitch. I arrive at Jamie's hanging belay station. He's frozen, his thin cotton sweats and tank-top have been useless...after a quick discussion we decide to head down...he's happy to have made this great lead, I just want to get down; I'm happy with our accomplishments on this trip and I don't want to end with a crummy, contrived climb. Many would call me a heretic, but I just found nothing in Levitation 29 to 'flip my switch'.

Down we go...Jamie will go first. We arrange the rappel, tying together the 7mm and the 1mm ropes...the wind takes them and hooks the 7mm on a flake far to the right...I have to remind Jamie of the danger that the 7mm might slip through his rap device too quickly, and could lead to disaster...I suggest using a prussik backup, but he's not interested...I am angered by this, I feel he should listen to me; I have rapped with this setup, he has not, and I am not just making things up! For the first time on our trip there are brief, tense words of friction...I remind Jamie that he MUST tie the ropes off to his harness when he reaches the ledge, to prevent the 7mm from zipping through MY sticht plate...Down he goes, I am angered by his ignoring my suggestion here, on the most dangerous aspect of any climb...

After a while I am down on the ledge with Jamie, we have both rapped safely but we are now croweded on the ledge with the two guys we passed in the canyon on the hike in. One of them is pretty cool, not too bothered by our delaying them with our retreat. He's a bit older than the other guy, who is a COMPLETE BASTARD...his comments range from "I though you'd climb as fast as you hiked..." to "What are you carrying cams for? I just use nuts on this route.". Was I supposed to be insulted? Impressed? By the time I am ready to rap off, I am ready to push this bastard off the ledge...What a child. As I back off the ledge I tell the jerk to screw off. I have never had any sort of run-in with another climber, and I hate him even more for tainting what I generally consider an international pact...that climbers help one another, should support one another...My own adolescent insult is a lame comeback to the jerk, and I feel stupid to have even responded to his half-baked attacks. But that is hindsight, and at I had to do something, and it was all I had the energy to do.

Soon both Jamie and I are on the ground, reeling in the last of the rope. We're happy to be off the face, Jamie is happy with his lead, I am happy we have come through the multiple raps with the 7mm and the wind and our anger and have had no incident. We pack up and head down the slabs for the canyon and the trail back to camp. It is our last climb at Red Rocks, and on the hike we recall our climbs here: it has been a fantastic experience. It was nice to have met such good people and climbers on this trip...

***

A few days later I arrived at Portland International Airport with five dollars in my pocket and no checkbook, no credit card. I paid a dollar to take the bus downtown, hiked a few blocks to my apartment, staggered up the stairs with the haulbag on my back and two backpacks in my arms, and collapsed on my bed...After a shower I put on jeans and a sweatshirt and walked to the 1201 for a beer...I spent the last $4.00 I owned, reflected on our trip, headed home and woke the next morning to look for a job.

Back to the 'normal life'...but with the great experiences in Nevada, with Jamie and Karrie, now a part of my mind, my life; there to motivate me on future climbs and to recall with happiness and satisfaction when the spark of my life life begins to dim...

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