DESERT A day @ 16z (Short Story)

DESERT A day @ 16z

    Mother's Day weekend. What better opportunity to spend some time with Mother Earth? We loaded up the Subaru, and headed west. Out of the chilly box canyon, and into the more wide open space of the high desert. Speeding down the highway, towards a weekend of camping and adventure puts excitement in the air. Discovery is the destination.

    The light snow that touches this area in the winter has long been dried up and evaporated. The morning is already feeling warm too, even the smell of the desert is different than the mountains. After over an hour of pavement we turn onto an innocuous dirt road, and head to discovery.

    "I've been here a couple times before, and never seen anyone outside our party. I'm pretty sure I know the way." I say with a smile. "The first time I came out here it was dark, and I wasn't sure if we were going to climb, or bury a body," words to certainly inspire confidence. The seemingly uninhabited grid of dirt roads we're on is a product of oil and gas exploration, which keeps them well maintained.

    There's a couple of turns we come to. Intersections to gated areas, managed under gas companies or ranchers. A couple of antelope in one of the fields fenced in barbed wire are spooked by our rumbling dust cloud barreling over the washboards. After over twenty minutes on dirt, out of nowhere appears a stop sign, and a four way intersection. The roads are mostly unmarked, except for one, we turn away from that one, to the left. There's no road signs where we're headed.

    This road is more narrow than the others. They were wide, and on the flats. This road heads into a shallow canyon. The road follows the canyon floor initially. Then the rock walls start. The road meanders along the base of the right wall before it takes a rough path down again into the main wash. This road is not quite as well kept as the others either. Although rough, it is passable by our little wagon. The dusty wash gives way to the climb out, along the left wall of the canyon, up to a clearer vantage.

    "We're just about there. Our camp will be about a mile up here, on our left.” As we approach the top of the final rise, there's a pullout on the left. A sandy, gravelly clearing yields to a selection of paths into the junipers. I drive the two different 'camping loops' each with a few suitable sites, and we choose our home for the weekend. We open the back hatch and start unloading gear.

    I'm out here to show my sister and her daughter some of the beauty I've found in the world. My sister has some interest in climbing, but rarely a partner or opportunity. Not only is this area beautiful, it hosts some great easy and moderate climbs. After we set up camp we begin to prepare for a small fire. We gather a pile of rocks, and I start to dig into the sand and dirt to make a nice, large area for the weekend's tales to rest after being given to the fire. After we've built our fire ring we start with small twigs and bark as tinder. It's dry as typical, and should burn well.

    Minutes later we have a warm crackling companion. "Well, home sweet home, now let's take a tour." I begin to show the ladies around the campsite. A little ways through the trees an opening reveals the rock outcrop, and cliffs we'll climb on tomorrow. We walk out toward the edge, and I show them a natural 'bathtub' in the rock. "Look, it's a recliner!" I say as I sit, and lay down into its contours. "We've joked about being able to sleep here. Not quite warm enough tonight!" Even though it's spring, the overnight temps can dip below freezing, even in these lower elevations. It shouldn't be that cold tonight thankfully, but still down into the 40s.

    From where we are, we're overlooking a series of rock formations in front of us, jutting up out of the canyon floor a hundred feet below. Tomorrow's spoils await. Thrills, and no spills getting up to 90 feet off the deck. The fire is crackling, making itself a bed of hot coals. The flames are low and the wind is calm. We head out of the immediate area, back out onto the road we came in on. I take them up the road, away from the direction we came in from, toward the top of a low rise. As we approach the top, the flats and valleys of the desert are overshadowed by the glory of snow capped peaks. Less than 20 miles away lie one of the last ranges that helps comprise the basins and ranges of the Great Basin desert. Although not one's typical picture of what a desert is, the Great Basin is that largest desert in the US. Extending far into the north, almost to Canada, and South to Arizona. From California to Colorado the Great basin is surrounded on three sides by lush forested mountain ranges.It's also broken by scattered dots of peaks, some soaring to almost 12,000 ft above Sea Level.

    The sight is breathtaking. The color of the evening sky provides a rich deep blue backdrop in contrast to the brilliant white of the snow. The forest green base of the mountains rest on the dusty orange of the desert rock. Above the nearly full moon is highlighted white against a dark night sky. The sun is gone to the west, behind these peaks. After less than half a mile we turn around and head to camp. Time for dinner.

    Just because you're outdoors doesn't mean you can't eat well. I like to pack a small propane grill. A fresh cut of meat grilled right on nature's front doorstep is the fuel I crave so I can make it up the wall. Steak is easy, flavorful and filling. A dry rub and on to the grill. With a sheet of foil, pat of butter, salt pepper, garlic I wrap some asparagus and throw it next to the steak.

    Fifteen minutes later it's all served up hot and delicious. I serve it up, hot on the plate and give it to the girls. “Umm, now what?” Asks my neice.

“Dig in!”

“How?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t cut it!”

“Shoot! Sorry…” I search my gear for the solution. One real knife between us makes for a true backcountry kitchen experience. Sometimes you can’t have it all, but there’s plenty to smile about.

    Full bellies make sleepy eyes. The brightness of the moon makes shadows in the night, playing off the dancing fire. Our minds fill with fancy and eager anticipation of tomorrow's bright sun, and warm stone. I choose to sleep in my bag under the stars. The wind is calm, and there's not a ton of critters around. "Good night ladies," I snuggle my face in to my sleeping bag, and am soon asleep.

    I roll over and open my eyes to a growing daylight. It's still chilly though. Time for more rest. I decide to get up, and take a leak. Might as well replenish what I lost, so I grab my water bladder and drink greedily. Hope to set myself up for a good day. I crawl back under the cover of my sleeping bag, reposition myself on the center of the pad. It's a pretty soft bed either way. The sand starts to conform pretty well after a bit.

    The next time I open my eyes it is to warmth. Certainly not hot but a welcome change from winter mornings. Breakfast is quick. Instant oatmeal. French press coffee, pack some snacks and gather the climbing gear. We're off up the road in the same direction we went last night. This time the goal is a faint footpath through the sand to the left of the road.

   

    "It seems like we've gone too far." I say after a short bit. As I turn around I notice the pile of rocks that marks our trail. Harder to see from the other direction… I did that last time too. We cut across a sandy patch, through a couple of junipers, then begin to follow the canyon's edge. There's a seam in the rocks that opens our way to the bottom. A couple of large steps bring us to the biggest drop.

    There's a rope tied off at the top of a ten foot boulder. Though worn and weathered it's a thick, trusty rope. It's been there for us in the past, and held. To make sure it is still a friend, and not foe I go first. The heaviest load should always test any line. If I had any doubt of its strength, I would certainly back it up with a rope I know. I feel secure. It's a knotted rope, so it's very easy to grasp. The descent is not much anyway, and the 'key' foothold would just barely be out of reach for me anyway. Why not take advantage of another climber's generosity though, and ease the stress of my load. My pack is filled with about 50 lbs. of nylon and aluminum, with some water and protein bars on top, definitely awkward.

    We all safely make that descent, then the path toward the canyon floor changes character. The steep-walled drainage we were in opens into a mostly loose debris field. In the dirt and rock a narrow braided path is packed in. It takes us down to a fragmented pile of sandstone from a collapsed pillar. Even the largest pieces appear to be unstable, although they haven't moved in years. Have they?

    As the trail winds downward, it becomes easier. It leads into the sandy wash below, and the shade of some large junipers. Not far down the trail we find a couple of trees at the base of a large boulder. Almost highlighted in the morning sun the canyon wall hosts an amazing bit of lower angle rock. On the left side it's nearly vertical. On the right slightly less than that.  As we all find a comfortable place in the sand and the sun, I take my shirt off to soak up some rays.

    "Here we are!" I shout with glee. I walk over to the stone wall and begin pointing out the way. The two routes here are short, and moderate. On the climber's right side is the easier of the two. About ten feet off the ground, drilled and glued into the rock is a bolt, and a 'bolt hanger,' that's an eyelet climbers use to clip the rope to the rock. I'm the leader of the group, meaning it's my job to get the rope to the top. At the top of the route, in this case about 50 feet up, there's a set of two bolts, with chains as an anchor.

    I sit down, and open up the pack to begin sorting through my gear. I know I'll need a rope and a harness. Climbing shoes, chalk, two locking carabiners, and six or seven 'quickdraws.' These are two carabiners with a pre-sewn piece of nylon webbing connecting them. One side clips to the bolt hanger, the other to the rope. I get my gear on, snug up my harness and shoes, then go through my rope. I want to pass it through my hands, end to end, ensuring no twists, knots or defects. My sister will belay me, basically using a friction device to be a weight on the other end of my rope, should I fall, or need to be lowered.

    After I'm tied in, my gear is all checked: Harness double backed, knot properly tied and  backed up, helmet on and fastened, belayer's carabiner locked, belayer's harness double backed. All of these things are safety precautions every climber should check, before every route or pitch they climb. With that, I'm off, up the rock. I spot my first footholds, and handholds and step onto the rock face. I feel instant exhilaration. Even though I'm mere inches off the ground the feeling of the vertical world is amazing to me.

    I begin to gain progress, until my feet are 4-5 feet off the ground. Progress is made here with large but sloping hand and foot holds. As I move my feet up I use what were my handholds. As the first bolt is easily within arm's reach, I reach to my side, and remove a quickdraw from my harness. I clip it to the bolt hanger that is fastened into the rock. I reach down and grab an arm's length of rope and clip it into the quickdraw asking "On belay?"

"Belay on!" replies my sister who already has the rope properly connected to her harness. Now, if I fall, there may be something besides the ground to stop me. That's not really a sure thing though until I get up to the second bolt. As I progress up the wall and put a bit more air under my feet I try to relax. The climbing is easy and I’ve done it before. Each time though is a new test of courage. Even roped in, nobody wants to fall on a sandstone slab. Think sliding on sandpaper- not fun.

At the second bolt, I know I’m protected from the ground. I am also almost halfway up the short route. Several moves and a couple bolts later, the anchor chains are close. Not quite an easy reach though. Careful attention and pressure on my toes help me decipher the ancient braille. The wall is less steep here, but almost featureless. Friction and confidence bind me to the rock. I shift my weight, lean toward my goal and reach it at last.

Safely anchored to the chains, I am lowered to the ground and the route is ready for the girls to take a lap or two. Over the next hour we enjoy the increasing warmth and sunshine. We try out both routes on this slab and prepare to move down the canyon and try some different styles.

A couple hundred yards down slope we come to a pair of formations called the bread loaves. It kind of appears that, a giant baker trekking across the desert lost a couple of his goods. Two rounded, towering outcrops are sort of tilted up against each other, set apart from the rest of the stone in the canyon.

In between them there is a corner. Where the corner meets is a wide, featured crack that angles about 80’ up to the top of one of the ‘loafs.’ I find all my widest gear, and prepare for liftoff. In this case, there are only a few bolts fastened to the stone. A pair for the anchor, and one about 50’ off the ground. This style of climbing is more traditional or ‘trad climbing.’ I carry my protective gear with me from the ground and place it into a crack, notch or other feature in the rock, then attach my rope and climb on.

The first moves are easy and help get my first piece 10-12 feet off the ground. Next I climb above that, and place the next piece of protection only about a body length above the first. Now, if I fall I am protected. Several moves and a couple pieces later I come to the bolt.

The crack system I had been following closed almost completely. It started as both my pathway, and my protection. With it gone I am using the features on the rock face for holds and will clip the bolt for protection. Higher up the crack begins again. I can use it for one or two more placements until it widens to a chasm between the tops of the bread loaves. At that point, I am fastening our rope to the top anchors.

This climb is in the shade. Although not cold, the breeze is picking up. Mom climbs to the top, and her daughter gives it a strong attempt before being lowered to the ground. Gather our gear, and we continue our explorations!

Further down the canyon the terrain changes. The slope begins to fall away, the canyon walls lean back. Through the wide mouth of the canyon you can see the dusty valley floor hundreds of feet below. This canyon cuts through the edge of a Mesa and overlooks miles of dry winding creek beds. Evidence of the forces that shaped the landscape. Hard to believe with the grit of sand between my teeth.

We climb down through a section of the path that’s narrowed by ancient rockfall and low outcrops. In about 10 more minutes of walking we arrive at our next goal. One of the canyon walls veers itself to stand away from the rest. Next to it stands a pillar. Between the two are created some fun, climbable features. First is the chimney formed between them. Ranging from about 3-4 feet wide, at the bottom, and widening to over 10 feet at the top it starts out as a chimney (one foot on the wall, the other on the pillar) and ends purely on the face.

It is a fun, easy climb. Today it is no more difficult, only more intimidating. The breeze howls past, turning the constriction into a wind tunnel. Although not strong enough to truly affect my balance or grip, it is strong enough to affect my head and nerves. Nonetheless, I make it to the anchors. After a short wait the wind died down a bit. Each of the girls had a lap on it. Now the question: What next?

Nature always has a way of challenging a person. With technology and innovation we can overcome previously insurmountable obstacles. We cannot control the world. Do we attempt to climb the multi-pitch tower? This means we climb to a set of anchors, regroup, and head higher yet again. The climb is technically easy. The wind did not affect our ability to climb. There is something about the wind though. It disturbs thoughts and attitudes. It’s relentless, making a person feel insignificant, like they must give up. Even weather worn mountaineers know their limits physically and mentally. The girls had felt enough wind. We gathered our gear.

This formation rested near the ‘breakover’ in terrain, and was particularly exposed. Lower down the canyon, the atmosphere was more calm. The objective here was a selfish one. The girls were feeling just about done for the day. I had one more thing in mind. Less than a few inches wide, parallel sided, barely big enough to jam a hand into: this describes what climbers refer to as a ‘splitter’ crack. Literally formed by drying large deposits of sandstone until they split, it is a phenomenon that rarely occurs, as geologic conditions need to align exactly. In this region of the world, there are more than anywhere else.

One such of these cracks had been calling my name. In a corner, or dihedral, there’s room to utilize more technique. A splitter crack on a face requires grace and power that, on this day, I may not have been able to summon. This last 70’ of climbing is for me. I’ve shown these two ladies a part of my hidden gem. Now I will try to bask in its sparkle.

I had climbed every other route we were on today. In a case where you’ve never done the climb, some planning is involved. Some is based on experience, the rest is largely guesswork. Does the crack appear to get bigger? Smaller? What size and types of gear do I have? How many of each? Guidebooks have been written, and give an idea what someone once used, years ago. Has the crack changed? Sandstone with a lot of traffic wears bigger over the course of decades. 

After I had sufficiently answered all these questions for myself, I am ready. I approach the base of the climb. I attempt to calm myself, not from self-doubt, or fear… More of a performance anxiety at this point. I’m the climber of the group. Wouldn’t it feel silly if I couldn’t get up this cleanly? The stone doesn’t know. It doesn’t feel bad for me. It won’t care if I embarrass myself in front of my sister.

Off I go. Up, about a body length, and in with the first piece of gear. Placements are more frequent here, on tougher terrain. That’s the irony of life: When it is easy, it is so because of confidence. When it is difficult it is because we chose to make it that way. If I spent more time climbing, and less time placing gear, I would have more energy for climbing. The gear won’t get me to the top. It will only catch me if I fall. I do not plan to fall.

Near the top, I can barely feel my hands. The work up until this point makes my forearms throb. Fingers are hard to manipulate. I see they are still attached to my hands, but are barely responsive to my intentions. I shake out my hands. I breathe. Deep, forced breaths. I see the ledge, near the anchors. I begin a guttural groan that evolves into a scream. Part fear, part exhaustion; part desperation, part elation. I grunt my way onto the ledge, and disappear from my sister’s sight. Not an easy feeling for a belayer: Where did my climber go?

“I’m safe” I yell. This tells her she can take me ‘off belay’ and that I have protected myself. Either I am on ‘safe’ standing terrain, or I have clipped into an anchor. Both are true in this case. I rig my rope through the anchors, and my sister lowers me as I clean the route. That means I am taking back all my gear. I will leave the rock just as I found it. “Any interest in giving it a go?” I ask both ladies.

“Umm, you didn’t make it look or SOUND easy!” replies my sister.

“Oh, I was just sandbagging it… It’s not that hard. I’m weak” I reply in the typical self-deprecating ‘modest climber’ moniker.  Regardless, time and energy are both beginning to wane. Back up the canyon, to the ‘climb out’ and another night of fine high-desert camping ahead.

As we wind past the detached tower, cross the canyon, and wind back up over the breakover we come to a strangely unfamiliar point. “Is this the right way?” asks my sister.

“I’m pretty sure” I say, and look around. She’s right. Something is different. There is no path. Instead, we climb up on top of a large block of light-colored sandstone. Most of the surrounding rock and sand is sort of a reddish hue. This is the lighter ‘caprock’ color. As we are standing on top of it, we see the trail. The same trail we came down just hours ago.

The rock we’re standing on was not there just a few hours ago. A pit simultaneously forms in each of our stomachs as we discuss this realization. We quickly move from on top of it. We step back, and examine the area. Looking up, at the canyon rim above it is obvious: Discoloration shows where the stone had fallen from. A 3’-5’ thick by 20’x30’ section of cliff had fallen squarely onto the trail. Nature has her way of challenging you.

When did this fall? I am sure it was today. I remember the trail. We stand staring, up at the cliff, and back at each other. There are undeniably great forces in our lives and our world. Let’s not dwell on those we cannot control, in favor of harnessing the forces we can generate. We have permission to live another day. Let’s embrace that!

If you liked this story check out others by John Lutz: The Mountain, The Desert, The Rescue, Backpack to Pass run