Episode 7: The Return Of The Jedi

Episode VII

THE RETURN OF THE JEDI

On a cloudy Monday morning, I pulled onto the ramp of Pipeline. A trail of chalk breaks left here, following the popular route Birds Of Prey. Roger and I were moving right, continuing along the wide ramp. I looked up. The ramp was like a giant granite sickle; it narrowed and curved upwards, becoming steeper and steeper until it came back on itself in an overhang. The sickle hung detached from the headwall on the left, creating a gaping wide crack from top to bottom. This was Pipeline. I could see the next belay station a short way ahead. I padded up the curving ramp, easily at first, with more care as it narrowed. It was equipped with bolts and heavy rappel chains. Clipping into the exposed stance, I got my first good look at the business above. It was awesome, and much happier looking than I could have expected. While Roger came up to join me, I decided for the first time that I might be able to have fun while doing the route.

PART I: GET TO THE BOLT

The crack ahead steepened to vertical before reaching a distant alcove and a happy, shining bolt. I retied my rope onto the left side of my slim harness, and rotated my chalkbag to the right. Setting off with much happy encouragement from Roger, I was instantly confronted with the reality that my body would not fit in the crack. Nor, as it turned out, would I be able to use a happy heel-toe lock without years of breaking, rebreaking, and binding my arches.

Yours truly, getting to the bolt

My practiced arsenal of technique was desperately compromised. Luckily, reasoning under pressure has never been my strong suit, so I resolved to set off anyway. Initially, I made progress using rather largish footholds on the lip of the crack, beginning what would be a right foot marathon. All the while, my #6 Wild Country cam provided overhead joy, sliding along ahead of me. The crack steepened. Footholds disappeared. I became keenly aware of the vacuous space between me and Roger. Nervously seeking purchase, I ground the living fuck out of my left ankle. I found a great chicken wing and popped in a #3 Big Bro. I inched up to reach the alcove. With every great lock I could feel the wall eating my arm and ankle. The bleeding had begun.

PART II: GET THROUGH THE OVERHANG:

I have a confession to make. When I first saw the bolt on Pipeline from the incredible belay stance of Fray Ends... I was disgusted. I vowed then and there to spit on it as I went past. But now, seeing the hanger come to Papa, I pretty much slaughtered the finest lamb and threw a party. Leaving the alcove was a struggle. After the wideness, the crack returns to a one-leg squeeze overhang. The mystery is how to get your feet from the no-purchase wideness back into the right-foot rand smear. (It is rumored that one person laybacks through the ensuing 15 feet, as such avoiding the problem). After some puzzling, I produced a grunting sound that somehow propelled me to a happier place, established in the crack once again. I gave Roger the signal and began to move with alacrity. I found it difficult to secure good locks with my right foot and six inches of upward progress were followed by 4 inches of slipping and grinding. I began to bleed heavily from the back of my left arm and the occasional good locks were accompanied with gruesome pain. I became acutely aware of being pushed outward by the overhang. I tried to imagine what I would look like from the ground, seemingly climbing outward at 45 degrees. Bad move. Bahoooooga! Bahoooooooga! Battle stations! I set another Big Bro. I groveled onwards and, reaching the lip, I became sure that I would not make it over. I began to panic and tremble. I swept the walls for features. Yea verily, on the face was a perfect foothold, placed there by sweet Jesus himself. Swinging out of the crack, I stemmed across, smearing on the headwall for an unlikely rest. The exposure was incredible.

PART III: FIGHT OFF THE PUMP GOGGLES

A quick step up popped me over the lip and into the final 20 feet of vertical punishment. My spirits were lifted by the reappearance of features on the lip of the crack. With the hardest work done, I struggled to keep moving. In places, my cam rattled around uselessly. I left behind my largest tube chock, and focused on the blowout above. Groveling up, my Music Building rehearsal in full affect, I completed a wobbly mantle into the wide groove. I instinctively turned and yelled at all the people down in Valleycliffe.

PART IV: DON'T FALL OFF THE FINAL RAMP

The work was done. I felt like a superstar. Roger shouted all manner of praise and happiness. I set off up the ramp, which was dirty and rather more steep than I had anticipated. It was with much trembling and relief that I reached the top. An hour had passed. I fell to the ground and removed my shoes. My feet ached. My spit was like putty. I felt awesome. Roger joined me in short order. Communication was surprisingly easy, given that the pitch is a full fifty metres. I could see him throughout the climb, his face dipping in and out of the other side of the fissure. As he came on to the final ramp I began laughing uncontrollably. I couldn't help it: I have never experienced such a sense of release, joy, and accomplishment.

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