Red Rocks 2008

Dave takes the sausage

Dave and I have had mixed success in our travels together. Being related by blood, it seems, can be both a great advantage and serious handicap. It certainly makes it easier to communicate. For example, Dave often knows when I am looking for my beer. He doesn't even need to ask; it's like a psychic connection. Likewise, when we stop in a small town after a long day of driving, it takes no long conversation to understand that one of us must remain out of sight when booking the motel so that the clerk doesn't mistake us for a gay couple. And, although he has yet to acknowledge it, I know that he knows that when I am very quiet in the car it is because in my judgment he has just completed some maneuver that almost killed us.

In our first ever road trip in 1997, we drove a long loop around California, visiting mountains, valleys, rivers, and oceans. As a fledgling effort it wasn't bad-arguments were kept to a minimum and we managed to return in one piece. Less than a year later, we attempted to drive up the Pacific Coast from California to Canada. It fell apart in Oregon. Although people find it amusing to point out that I dumped my brother off at a bus station in the middle of nowhere the fact remains that we were both happier for the resolution to part ways. Like an amicable divorce, the separation was good for both of us. Since those early times we've survived many road trips together, exploring much of what the Western continent has to offer. Our first trip to Red Rocks was on that drive around California in '97. Somehow, we took a wrong turn in the middle of the Mojave Desert and ended up in Las Vegas.

Dave on Frogland

4th belay on Frogland

Although I was into climbing, I'm not sure that I even knew Red Rocks existed. In any event, we drove by it without stopping. A short time later I came to realize that Red Rocks was a world class destination for moderate classics. Duh... Three years later in December 2000, we came back with our good friend Tom Pypker and did the desert in proper style. We climbed quite a few classic lines, and Red Rocks forever became one of those places that I'll make an effort to go and visit time and again. Sort of like that great old neighbor-lady who gave you candy as a kid. On this trip, 8 years later, a few things have changed but, for Dave and I, more has stayed the same.

We agreed in advance to climb some moderate routes for a few days and then enjoy a good day in Vegas to sit down at a poker table. It was a great compromise of interests and held promise. The drive down was entertaining and we were in good spirits when we arrived at the ever destitute "13 Mile Campground". As a first day of climbing, I suggested Frogland. We started early, and turned along Hwy 160 in the first light of the morning. It became apparent almost immediately that my memory of the correct cut off for Black Velvet Canyon was incorrect. We spent roughly an hour creeping along and retreating up portions of shitty 4wd roads before stopping in a clearing well far away from the mouth of the canyon. I was flummoxed. Looking across the scrubby plain, judging the distance, I made a decision to lie. "Twenty minutes, Dave." He glanced up at me, and scanned my face. He caught the lie, but said nothing. He was building a case. "It's better than trashing your car" I offered. A stiff forty minutes took us to the base. No smiles from Dave, but he wasn't bitching yet. To my amazement, Frogland was unoccupied.

Dave squeezes under the chockstone

The summit of Whiskey Peak

Moreover, from the high flanks of the canyon walls, I could only make out two other vehicles in the entire area. This condition persisted throughout the day and I only saw one other party during the course of the day. Dave's demeanor picked up as we got on with the route. It went ok, but 5.8 felt harder than it used to. We blasted through the pitches quickly, and in short order we were on the summit. There were some good pitches, but my overall impression was that it was missing any of the classic features that might make it really memorable. At this grade, Red Rocks can seem a little rambly to me. From the summit of Whiskey Peak we could take in the full length of Black Velvet Wall and the classic Epinephrine. Knowing the answer he would give, I told Dave about my aspirations to scale this with him. Laughter.

Frogland was fun and gave us a calibration by which to judge our later objectives. it is worth noting that the most fearsome move on the route was a 5.4 rock-over in which a hold exploded in my hand and jolted me off balance. I regained my posture and gave a second look to the shitty #2 wire 15 feet below. Not a great place to be falling. Nature called hard on the summit and I left off shitting on a rock while Dave found the descent trail. In an attempt to be responsible for my excrement I hurled my rock platter of poo under a huge nearby boulder. It rotated in mid-air, caught an edge, and sprayed shit everywhere on contact. Shit! The journey back to the car seemed longer than the one in. Back at camp we downed dogs for a while before making a spread of quesadillas. The gaseous eruptions during the night were impossibly thick and inescapable.

I am man, hear me roar

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