Red Rock Radness

A cloud of dust contrasted the burnt sienna rock and the deep aqua sky. I dug into my bag, trying to get white particles of energy to attach to my fingers. I pinched the block as hard as I could—if only it were Green Rock. My thoughts were racing just as fast as my overworked heart; what if I fell? I looked down, looked up, looked back down. My arms weren’t getting any stronger. What was I waiting for? Once I realized it would be harder to down climb six feet to the last clip than clip the next bolt, I got myself together. Panicking wasn’t productive I told myself. Every muscle in my body was shaking as I let go with my right hand to reach down for the rope and make the clip. In through the nose, out through the mouth-it's so much easier to breath after clipping.

That’s a fifteen-minute snippet of my spring break. Red Rock Canyon, Nevada; a world class climbing destination less than six hours from school. The 15 does get boring at times but with enough chocolate and religious talk radio it goes by quickly. Rosie and I rolled into Vegas around 2pm PST. By four, we had the campsite picked out, the tent pitched, and our packs packed for an afternoon climbing session. What we didn’t know at the time was we were going to a very remote part of Red Rock. The drive in didn’t suit my urban vehicle very well. The skid panel on my car has some character but at least we arrived at the trailhead. The approach was beautiful and welcoming—maybe too welcoming. A cactus got really attached to my hand. It was painful to remove it. Rosie was a great wingman with pulling cacti out of my hand (I was busy filming) and navigating us to the base of the climb. The route sounded great, a 150’ 5.7. In reality it was quite different. After she tried it once, we did the right thing and enjoyed a spectacular hike back to the car.

Wednesday followed a similar theme of eating humble pie. We set off for more than either of us could handle by trying a classic nine pitch 5.8+ called Crimson Chrysalis. There is so much to be learned from experiences like this. We learned it’s always a good idea to check weather reports before climbing. This would have shown us a wind advisory with gusts up to 50mph. Winds like that aren’t conducive to any "fun having". Communication on the wall is impossible and more importantly, climbing is more challenging. That afternoon we went to a local coffeehouse to regroup [, check Facebook] and pick out more reasonable climbs for the rest of the trip.

Thursday was a great day of sending short, more manageable routes. Perhaps a bit superstitious but I decided it was best if I didn’t lead the first pitch or route of the day anymore. In the last year or so every day I’ve ever been first on the wall has turned into a less than awesome day. Rosie got us started on the right foot by leading a 110’ 5.8+ slab called Ultraman. Since the route was put up in the 70s it wasn’t as protected as a modern route meaning if you were to fall between bolts it would hurt. Luckily Rosie’s physically and mentally strong and got to the anchor without any issue. From there we set up a top rope to the left on a route called Clutch Cargo –a 100’ 5.9 slab.

The morning warm up came in handy for the 12a calling our name that afternoon. A crazy idea came over us that we should get on something stiff. Even though I was falling a bunch, working the 12a built up some confidence I was missing the first two days. The pinnacle of the day came when I attempted to “dyno through the crux” (dyno: dynamically move). I finally felt comfortable enough to be myself. Trying a move as risky as a dyno got the blood flowing through my body. I realized I was being overly careful: gripping holds too tight, over thinking strategy, moving slowly, and not trusting myself. All of those concerns were flushed out when I finally trusted the rope to do its job.

The rope did its job beautifully the whole trip. We made the most of our last day of full climbing by finding ourselves on an overhanging 11d. To say I was out of my comfort zone would be like saying Jesus was a cool dude—a slight understatement. Once again I gave the first lead to Rosie. She made the first two clips effortlessly but got stumped on a reachy side crimp. I got past the reachy move but didn’t want to commit to clipping the next bolt. If I clipped I’d have to keep going up the scary monster. I downclimbed to the second bolt and came down. Rosie got on again and couldn’t quite drop her knee low enough to pull through the crux. She rested at the bolt trying to cool the barrels of her guns but the move was still too reachy. Seeing her put a lot effort into the move motivated me to try it one more time. While clipping the third bolt I thought, what have I gotten myself into?

Saturday morning we woke up covered in a layer of desert sand. Neither of us were surprised—throughout the night large gusts of wind picked up dirt clouds and sent them under the rain fly. It was impossible to get the dirt out of our eyes because our hands were covered in the same stuff and we couldn’t wipe our hands off because every article of clothing in the tent received the same admiration. Outhouse sponge baths never felt so good.

Hiking around and exploring the canyon that last morning got me wondering if it really would be my last time. Would I ever get back to this gorgeous place? – is a question that I kept coming back to. During that final exploration we made many mental notes of “must do” routes for next time. I figured the more I said next time the more likely it would be that there would be a next time. Red Rock Canyon was exactly what I wanted it to be.

Until next time. Cheers,
Jonathan