Moving here:

http://brendanpleonard.wordpress.com/

Please feel free to join me.

Square Top Mountain, May 17

Nick's first ski day of the 2008-2009 season! After logging probably 40 days at ski resorts last year, partly for work, Nick managed to completely boycott the industry this year. So May 17 we picked Square Top Mountain out of a guidebook. Not in the guidebook: the fact that the Guanella Pass road was closed about a mile from the pass and we'd have to walk, adding about 700 vertical feet to the day.

That's the actual mountain on Nick's left -- we didn't ski the snowfield on this face because it looked like a huge pain in the ass getting down from it when the snow ran out. And we were scared it was too difficult. But it was a very manly, informed kind of scared.

It was apparently a pretty lean year for snow on Square Top -- we ended up just climbing the mountain and doing a partial ski descent down. Behind Nick are Mount Bierstadt and the very summit of Mount Evans, both 14ers. Square Top is 13,794 feet high, and according to my map-reading skills, we started bitching at about 12,400 feet, somewhere around where Nick is in this photo.

Nick on the final few steps to the summit.

Summit photo.

Holy shit, is it hard to jump with skis and a pack on when you're standing on flat ground. Nick did a pretty admirable job of snapping this photo when I was able to get some air under my feet.

Nick carrying his skis down partway. We did a lot of this -- ski down 200 feet, take skis off, walk, put skis back on, skid down 200 feet, take skis off, walk ...

Here's me crushing it as much as I am capable. Intermittently mushy snow + being a shitty skier = I'm happy we didn't go after something harder. Nick put together a few good tele turns, but I think for the most part we looked like The Golden Girls on skis. You know, if they had skied a couple times before.

Take skis off, walk ...

The longest run we put together. If you look about 8 turns above where I am in this photo, that's where I was whooping like a cowboy and hit some chunky snow and promptly cratered headfirst, probably vastly entertaining for the two hikers watching me.

Nick, almost down. After this, we still had about a mile and a half of hiking, with way too much postholing and mud.

My poles, donated to the cause by fifth-degree dirtbag Brian Williams as he was giving away or selling all his possessions before he left Denver to go teach English in China. I fear this might be their last outing, after I bent the right one falling. So long, old friend.

A couple walking in front of us on the way back to the car.

Welcome to The Black, May 9

Here's what the entry point to climbing in the Black Canyon of the Gunnison looks like: It's called SOB Draw, on the North Rim. Like "SON OF A BITCH." About the only thing that sucks worse than hiking down it is bailing off a climb and having to hike back up it. It's steeper than shit and has super-potent poison ivy. It drops 2,000 feet.

Here's Mark, a guide from San Juan Mountain Guides, about as close as I came to keeping up with him all day. I had told Steph I was going to buy myself a guided climb in The Black in 2009, but she beat me to it and got it for me for my birthday. The Black Canyon is notorious for long, hard routes, loose rock, poison ivy, weather you can't see rolling in on top of you, fire, brimstone, gargoyles, fire-breathing jungle cats, ugly women, and flat beer. Okay, not all of that stuff, but it's so notorious, I was scared enough to want a guide to take me there my first time. This is at about 5:45 a.m.

On the phone, I told Mark I'd like to climb a route that went as close from the river to the rim as possible. That's what I got. Well, what I got was an ass-kicking on the Russian Arete, a 5.9 or 5.9+ route. Here's the Gunnison River bombing past us at about 6:30 a.m. There's some quote everyone uses about the Black Canyon being deep, narrow and somber, but all I know is that it's so deep and narrow that satellite phones don't work in the bottom of it.

Sticks hand in river, 6:32 a.m.

I believe this is a shot I took from the bottom of the first pitch. We climbed so fast I didn't have any time to take photos, eat, or whine too much. Mark led all 6 of the pitches, which were 175-200 feet each, and I did my best to keep up. I flailed and flailed in a slightly overhanging hand crack on the second pitch for about 15 minutes, fell twice and was pretty sure we were going to have to rappel off and quit.

Mark at the second belay, I think. It got a little better from here, but stayed pretty sustained, steep, exposed and scary for me. The Black Canyon is infamous for bands of pegmatite, a friable rock that sometimes basically disintegrates as you pull on it or try to use it for a foothold. Awesome. I also pulled off two plate-sized handholds while climbing and got to listen to them shatter on the rock below.

Ha ha, I sure am glad I don't have to lead a single pitch of this climb. At the belay at the top of the fifth pitch, I was standing on a block about the size of a refrigerator, waiting for Mark to finish the lead so I could start climbing, and I heard a whizzzzzzzz and then SMACK as a golf-ball-sized rock landed about 18 inches away from my left foot. I figured out it came from about 150 feet above me as I climbed the pitch and saw the rope running through a small pile of loose rocks.

After six pitches, it's just "a scramble" to the rim of the canyon. Like 700 feet of scrambling. Shit like this, which Mark basically free soloed, and I was sticking my hands in my chalk bag for as I followed him.

On the rim, 12:30 p.m.

I took this shot from the Chasm View Overlook later in the afternoon. The wall way in the back is the Painted Wall, and is about 2200 feet tall. I was chatting with a couple from Kingston, N.Y. at the viewpoint, and the guy said there was no way you could take a photo that showed how deep the canyon was. The Russian Arete is on the far right.

The Russian Arete is a little to the left of the dark gully in the right center of the photo.

Here, check out this fancy diagram I made of all the fun I had on Saturday. River to rim, Mark said it was about 2000 feet.

Mark wiped our names off the board before I took a photo. This is back at the North Rim ranger station, about 1 p.m. The North Rim is remote enough that the ranger station doesn't even have a phone.

Arizona, April 10-19

Every few months, I get a mandatory week off work at Big City Mountaineers. Steph and I left Denver at 5:30 after work on Friday to drive 15 hours to a relatively unheard-of mountain in the middle of nowhere to climb it with an old pal of mine. I guess that's a vacation. Even though the drive through New Mexico is long and tiring, you can't beat seeing signs that tell you when you're going to arrive at "Truth Or Consequences."

Finally.

After meeting Dustin in Tucson, we still had a 2-hour drive to the base of Baboquivari, a peak on the Tohono O'Odham Reservation west of Tucson. Babo is unique because it's one of the only peaks in Arizona that requires technical climbing to get to the summit. After about 8 miles of rough dirt road, we stopped so Steph could nail this sunset photo.

We couldn't actually see the peak until the next morning, because on Saturday it had been raining on and off in the area all day. Baboquivari's summit was covered in clouds, which we didn't know meant it was snowing up top. Here's one of the two trail signs we saw. The trailhead starts at about 3500 feet, heading for the 7,730-foot summit.

People have had some epics climbing Baboquivari, getting lost, etc. It's common practice to bring a gift for I'Itoi to ensure safe passage. I'Itoi is the Tohono O'Odham creator spirit, and it is believed he lives on Baboquivari.

Anybody else a little warm? About 2 miles into the approach hike.
(Photo by Steph)

Steph and Dustin take in the first view we had of the summit pyramid.

Scrambling up The Great Ramp, a 400-foot pitch of rock cutting across the peak's west face. The fun is about to begin.

The only technical part of the climb is an easy 5.6 pitch -- it's a lot easier when the entire pitch isn't covered in snow, ice and running water. Had I known it looked this bad from above, I wouldn't have led it. Of course, from the bottom, it just looked like a little snow. So I started up it, and my hands and feet were numb after about 20 feet of climbing. Every few feet, I had to stop and chip ice out of handholds with a carabiner. Steph got to the belay at the top of this pitch and I said, "Don't tell my mom we do this kind of stuff."

Scrambling up the gully to the summit. No one took time to put on different shoes after the technical pitch, so we're all wearing soaking wet climbing shoes here.
(photo by Dustin)

We all reached the summit at the same time.
(Photo by Dustin)

Coolest summit cairn I've seen. We're looking into Mexico, 19 miles away.

All three of us on top. Dustin is holding one of our gifts to I'Itoi, a dollar I had in my backpack. I also gave up the yellow bandana behind him.
(photo by Dustin)

And, in the summit register, Dustin found a bag containing about an eighth of weed, a pipe and a lighter. Among other things.

Steph and me in bare feet at the summit. That whole drive was worth it.

Starting down.

This is usually just a scramble down, but with all the snow, we decided to rappell.
(photo by Dustin)

Dry again, heading down the Great Ramp.
(photo by Dustin)

Dustin sees no need to carry around a big heavy camera when he can take photos like this with a little point-and-shoot. We're about a mile from the car, just before the sun went down.
(photo by Dustin)

Steph does the dishes after dinner.

Done with that. Baboquivari is the tall peak to the left of the photo. Please note my Climb Iowa T-shirt. People out West love a good Climb Iowa shirt.
(Photo by Dustin)

Border Patrol checkpoint outside Sells, Ariz. The area around Baboquivari is Tohono O'Odham reservation land, but is a hot spot for illegal immigration, and sometimes drug traffic. The Lobo told me a friend of his once found a backpack at the campground, and thinking it might have climbing gear in it, he opened it, finding it full of cocaine. He wisely left it there.

Dustin took us up to Mount Lemmon, outside of Tucson, the day after climbing Baboquivari. Nobody was really motivated, but nobody mentioned that. Here's Steph cringing at the arduous approach to Hitchcock Pinnacle, nearly 150 feet of hiking from our parking spot.

Chimneying the start. Of course, looking at this route, I asked Dustin if he wanted to lead it, which started the "I don't care" "yeah, I don't care either" discussion. Which led to me leading it. Which was not enjoyable.
(photo by Steph)

Dustin seconding the route -- there are two bolts, and remnants of two bolts. I'd say it's conservatively bolted. When I got to the top, Steph yelled, "Nice job," and I said, "My butthole hurts." It was a little tense.
(Photo by Steph)

Steph cranking it.

Dustin and I goofing off on top of Hitchcock Pinnacle.
(photo by Steph)

Our heroes up top, following a discussion of how many climbing photos are taken of people with crooked helmets.

I met up with El Lobo Grande on Tuesday morning, and extended our play date for two extra days. Here he is taking a photo of his new pal Chappy at a gas station outside of Rock Springs.

Things that happened with the Lobo/in the Lobo's presence this week:
1. I got splashed by a pit toilet
2. Immediately following that, I took a bath in the creek
3. He took me on a hike up a place called "Wet Beaver Creek."
4. We wrote a press release about him attending his 500th concert
5. He made me come up for one-liners about his new clothing company, Canyon Tough
6. Farts
7. Stories

The Beav. As soon as it was deep enough for me to get into, I bathed.

Looking out of the canyon.

The Lobo above Wet Beaver Creek.

My fearless co-pilot after Steph left. Those are my bananas, not his.

I went for a hike by myself in the Superstition Mountains on Wednesday, taking in some nice desert scenery on the Dutchman Trail. Last time I was in this area was on Christmas day 2004, with Nate Finden, when we both couldn't get time off work for the holidays, so we did the Superstition Ridgeline traverse.

Looking east.

A forest of Saguaros in Bark Canyon.

Time it took me to drive across a strip mall parking lot in Scottsdale: 3 minutes, 13 seconds.

Super cool: It was windy in Phoenix on Wednesday, but Dustin said he wanted to go climbing, so I met him at Camelback Mountain, right in the middle of the metro area, and we did a quick 5.8 climb on the same wall where he tried to teach me to climb about 4 years ago. I'm a little better climber now. Here we are at the top of the second pitch, looking west.

Dustin hiking down from the Headwall on Camelback.

The Lobo and I hiked up Camelback Mountain on Thursday afternoon, taking some time so he could tell me stories about growing up in Reno and cathouses and the like, and at the top, this lady was sitting on a rock, just waiting for someone to take her photo. Last time I was up here, Jason Richard and I were on the first of our "Seven Summits of Phoenix" day.

I met up with Jarrett and Angie (and Jack) in Chandler on Thursday night, and Jarrett and I took off for the 6.5-hour drive to Canyon de Chelly on Friday morning. We took the scenic route, over this confluence of canyons above the Salt River, which is also a nice place to write your name if you're awesome.

We got to Canyon de Chelly just after thick ceiling of storm clouds had passed over the area, and as the sun was going down. Jarrett's standing on the south rim of the canyon, at the top of a 400-foot high cliff.

Jarrett checking out the canyon in the last light of the day.

Okay, I'm going to jump in the air, and all you have to do is click this button on the camera ... perfect.

Spider Rock -- 800 feet tall, and home of the Spider Woman, who lives on top, according to Navajo legend.

"It's only a model."

Sign at the Ledge Ruin Overlook, Canyon de Chelly.

Antelope House ruin at the bottom of Canyon de Chelly. You can see a Jeep parked next to a trampoline at the bottom of the photo -- Navajos still live and farm at the bottom of the canyon, at the base of 700-foot walls.

Some more folks at the Antelope House Overlook on the North Rim.

Shiprock Peak in New Mexico. David Brower, the first executive director of the Sierra Club, actually led the first ascent of this peak in 1939. It's on Navajo Nation land, and is sacred to the tribe, and climbing it is now illegal. You can probably take a lot better photo of it if you have a bigger lens and you're not standing next to your car urinating on the shoulder of the highway while shooting photos, like I was.

Home sweet home, almost -- the west side of the Sangres along Highway 285 north of the San Luis valley in Colorado. 2,500 miles of driving, 3 states, 5 Indian reservations, 13 friends (11 human, 2 canine), 3.5 gallons of coffee, 3 blisters, 100% fun, 0% drama.

New Era, Feb. 28

I talked Chris into driving down to Garden of the Gods, also not so much affectionately known as "Garbage of the Gods" by some climbers (ahem, Lee) for its not-so-great rock. To my knowledge, there are a few good lines in the whole park, and if we got up this one, I'd have two of the "classics" ticked off my list.

The climb, put up in 1959 by Harvey Carter, goes right up that there obvious crack. The beta on Mountain Project says ""P1 climb jugs and pigeon shit to a thin layback crack just before the cave belay." I started getting nervous about two feet off the ground, then scared, then tired, then to the point where I didn't know if I could hold onto the rock. Everybody said they combined the first two pitches -- I thought that was a good idea until about the 80-foot mark, when I realized I had no stamina.
(Photo by Chris)

Here's a shot down from the belay at the top of the second pitch. There wasn't so much pigeon shit on the route, but the cave I'm sitting in was covered in it. Now I know how shithouse rats feel.

These little dudes were scrambling up the hill to the base of the climb the whole time I was leading the first two pitches, and they were doing a running commentary -- "Look, there's a free climber!" "Is he free climbing?" "No, he's got a rope!" Cut me some slack, fellas, it's actually pretty goddamn scary with a rope.
(Photo by Chris)

Chris following the second pitch, about to start the crux section. That's a good time for me to put down the camera.

Every sittable or leanable surface in this little cave was covered in dry pigeon shit. Hey Mom, just out here in Colorado having a great time climbing up some rocks.
(Photo by Chris)

Chris: "I didn't have to lead those two pitches. Sweet."

Looking north from the first belay.

I was really trying hard for a self-portrait at the belay. This was shot 9 of 10, I think. Notice that I even took my helmet off.

Here's Chris leading the last pitch, which I think I mentioned was 5.4, but I'm not sure I mentioned was pretty runout and exposed. It was a little spooky, to say the least.

Roped climbing over, just a short scramble to the top. I tried to make something out of this photo by turning it to black and white.

This is the actual summit, also covered in pigeon shit. Those pigeons love this place.

Yar, hero shot on the summit.

Chris on the summit, with the rest of the Garden in the background.

The downclimb is no joke, as you can see here. Pretty ridiculous.

That's Grey Rock, with Pikes Peak in the background. We went up this face, to the left summit.