The Priest
Day Four
The Priest
Honeymoon ChimneyI've made several trips to Castleton Valley over the years. To climb the Kor Ingalls, of course, as well as a handful of other incredible routes. It remains one of my favourite desert areas and I always, upon pulling into the primative camp, have the strange sensation of a child returning home. Castleton Valley, it turns out, was also the beginning of the end of a previous road trip. Standing below the infamous, imposing and spectacular Fine Jade, in 2003, Mark and I simultaneously experienced a psyche collapse.
After just one pitch, we rapped off, coiled our rope, and ran away.
When planning a road trip, makinig a hit list is something most people can relate to. Honeymoon Chimney on the Priest was without reserve my number one hit for several reasons. The grade was reachable for a washed-up weakling, and I had never ascended the Priest. Many descriptions of this route make mention of a runout chimney with a bit of offwidth to start. Although I am not likely to rip up A Belly Full Of Bad Berries, I have in the past applied myself rather well to wider cracks and small chimneys, so there was a serious possibility of hero points for taking on the early pitches.
Like most desert crack climbers like to mention, size is everything.
We set off on the fourth morning with a party in light pursuit, although they disappeared after following us partway along the long shaded slopes of the Rectory.
The route starts with a short layback and mantle to gain a wide pedestal at the base of the chimney. Like most photos you might find of this route will show, the chimney widens all the way up, cleaving the Priest into two seperate towers. Leaving the pedestal I was almost immediately able to employ a chicken wing. Features on the walls allowed easy footwork and in no time I was at the first drilled angle. The second bit of protection was an old bolt and I believe I placed a #4 Big Bro somewhere. If a person was larger, some histrionics might accompany this 25 foot section, but the slighter of the demographic will find it very secure and not requiring much in the way of technique or gear.
Within short order, the chimney widened somewhat and it was possible to worm up and in towards the peak of the chockstone rubble that fills the depths of the tower. It would be most accurate to describe this portion as swimming rather than climbing. Bring your old harness.
The second pitch is entirely within the chimney and quickly becomes back and foot. It really is runout 5.7, like all the guidebooks mention, the first bolt being around 30 feet above the belay. Having said that, its nothing like the sweaty exposure of a runout slab. If you go on a slab, you go. If you go in a chimney, its likely you could catch yourself on some other feature. Or rattle down the gap like a pinball. In any case, it didn't seem so bad and required none of the theatrics and heavy breathing that came later when trying to crawl along an easy but very exposed shelf higher on the route.
At this point, a cute bolt ladder makes it possible for less apt climbers to bridge the widening gap and step from the subsiduary summit onto the face of the higher peak. Several reasonable bolts lead to a belly-flop maneuver onto a narrow shelf. At this point the exposure becomes palpable, especially considering the preceding clausterphobic chimney action.
Can't say I was at my best here, creeping along looking for anything that might provide good gear without delivering a crippling amount of rope drag as I curved upward and clockwise around the tower. Some dry mouthed (and much deliberated) high steps led past sunfaded tat to a super duper crack and glimpses of the summit. I set an anchor.
Mark came up and zipped up the final pitch. The summit register was filled with the usual "who's who" of climbing, as well as a very artfully crafted, full page drawing of a giant penis enjoying the coitus routine with a pair of grossly enlarged breasts. Clearly some people spent more time up there than we did.
Rapping down, we opted to descend the opposite side of the tower, believing (for my part anyway) that the anchors atop the second pitch wouldn't reach the base with a pair of 60m ropes. The result was to rap off of what initially seemed like a dubious anchor made of two different rusty 1/4 inch bolts and a drilled angle. After some analysis we deemed it suitable and booted to the base without incident.
Summit posing taken to a higher art form; a dashing "tilted double overhead" is reminiscent of late 1970's/early 80's rock guitar bands at their best and celebrates our triumphant return to Castelton Valley.
Colorado River and Sister Superior in the background.
As another fine point of good road trips, we bought beer in a quantity that would make running out a practical impossibility. As a personal philosophy, I've always ascribed to the "buy lots, take some home" modus operandi rather than the doubtful "I'll just get a twelve pack". What if you twist an ankle, or your ropes catch on fire at the base and/or you drop all your gear down a giant hole? With a desperately compromised game plan and the day stretching out before you like a desolate, open prairie, won't you feel foolish, running out of beer?
Think about it.
Back to Utah 2009
