Independence Monument
Day Five
Independance Monument
Otto's RouteThe trouble with conquering moderate classics with such reckless abandon is that one quickly runs out of easy routes upon which to avail themselves. Our solution was to leave the state of Utah for the pleasant pastures of Western Colorado and Independence Monument.
Otto's Route had been a consideration for our hit list and was a welcome alternative to getting bitch-slapped on Primrose Dihedrals which, on top of being desperate, is practically unreachable with a two wheel drive vehicle.
A pleasant morning drive from Moab (replete with bad gas station coffee) took us to Grand Junction and the side road that leads to the Monument.
A longish but straight-forward hike lead to the base of the distinct tower, distinct less for its physical form than for the crowds. There were no less than five parties on the route, in various stages of completion. This, more than anything, made me realize what peaceful bliss we had experience in the previous four days.
It was very helpful to our cause that we were followed up by two sisters from Nebraska who were most entertaining, competent, and agreeable.
The route itself, first done in 1911, follows a path of least resistance up gullies and short
chimneys. Of note and great entertainment are the giant and eroding "helper pockets" cut, drilled, and scraped into the soft sandstone by the first ascensionist. Pins, where placed, were pounded into pipes that had been slotted into drilled holes to (I assume) avoid the gradual wearing away of the rock and failure of the pins.
We spent a lot of time at belays watching the party ahead of us and talking to the Nebraskans about this and that. It was more like hanging out at a crowded picnic than being on a desert tower really and we enjoyed it for the easy spirit of the ascent.
The final pitch gives some excitement. As one nears the summit block, the route goes through a slightly overhanging lip. The moves, although well protected, have a disconcertingly sandy nature that no amount of scrubbing will fix. In fact, the scrubbing of thousands of shoes has had the effect of transforming the pockets into giant rounded pits that spit your feet off just when you start to find jugs to haul on. Spooky!
The summit was palatial in size, and we spent some time admiring summit etchings that dated well back into the 1920's and 30's.
The rappel follows the route in places, so it was a bit of a circus getting to the ground. After some celebratory libations, we hustled over to a local campground, butted up against a reservoir. The supersized (but really friendly) lady who whizzed about in a golf cart collecting obscene sums of money served to remind me of how preferrable it is to engage in free dirtbag camping.
We agreed to head home the next day, with the proviso to take a more scenic route back. We scooted up to the Grand Tetons for a look see and ended up, ultimately, sleeping in a ditch just inside the Oregon border.
Conversation did turn, at one point, to future trips to the desert and the building of a new hit list. For the first time ever, I think, I couldn't come up with a list of things I was super inspired to do. I'm not sure what to blame this on (for if I have learned nothing else from society at large, it is that there must be blame somewhere!). Certainly, things are getting busier at home. I don't like leaving my wife and kids for days on end. It makes me wistful. Maybe it was early onset trip weariness, like asking a person when the next party is going to be when they are still hungover.
Writing this now, four months later (blame the kids) I've made no additions to my hit list. There have been no furtive sessions of poring over guidebooks. Yet, I am already aware that the faintest whisper of interest is there. It doesn't have any form.
Am I done with desert towers? Not on your life.
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