A memorable attempt on Tunnel Vision at Red Rocks, Nevada with Chris, Andrew, and Erin, 7 January 2001
Saturday was mellow, we hit the Panty Wall and toproped a couple of things. Sunny and 68 degrees, no problem.
Sunday we went to climb Tunnel
Vision, a six pitch 5.7 chimney route, as two teams of two (Chris and me
leading). As we're sorting gear at the base, Fred Beckey and a younger
couple show up to climb. We let them go ahead, since they'll be moving
faster and splitting off to another route after the first pitch. So the
first guy leads up like a lightning bolt, gets his woman and Fred on belay
on two different ropes. Fred's not liking the setup, not liking the moves at
the start, or the rock, so he just says (and i quote) "I don't want to climb
this fucking route. Fuck it. I'm not going up". So the other two shrug their
shoulders (well, i couldn't see them but I imagine that's what they were
doing) and rapp off and they all leave, with Fred swearing he won't climb
there again. "Told myself years ago I wouldn't climb this rock again". So we
gear up and go, Chris leading up first, Andrew (Erin's boyfriend) following,
then me leading, Erin following. Chris and Erin climbing with backpacks
(though it's a chimney route). First few moves of first pitch are
unprotected and invigorating. Phew! I led a pitch that Fred Beckey backed
off of! Erin takes a fall when her backpack gets caught on the roof and she
pendulums, a bad scene since she drew the short straw and was climbing
without a helmet. No problem though. She wrangles her way up the first
pitch, happy to be at the ledge.
I'm feeling pretty good, leading on gear for about the second time, I've
got Chris's placements to look at before I head up, and his anchors to use,
which is nice. Next pitch ends at a chimney belay, barely room for two, so I
wait until Andrew is off the anchor before getting there. Climbing the
second pitch is easy, though awkward, especially with a backpack. Erin
finally makes it up, it is now getting late. Erin and I are at the bottom of
the third pitch, Chris and Andrew at the top. Third pitch is 5.7, chimney,
unprotected for the first forty feet. Hmmmm. Chris swore a lot leading it
with a pack. I'm feeling a little uneasy, less confident. Erin and I _have_
to climb this pitch, as we need to rapp off from the top of the pitch, and
not down the chimney we're in. Chris tosses an end of his rope down to see
if he can give me a toprope. I jam myself far into the chimney to reach the
rope before it slips further away, and Phew! again, I tie in and am no
longer leading. I climb the rest of the chimney like a madman, (did I
mention that faulty or absent reasoning led me to wear shorts for this
shaded chimney route?) and it's almost dark when I get to the ledge and
Chris starts belaying Erin up. She struggles, as she's now climbing in
approach shoes (her climbing shoes hurt her on the first pitch, they're
better for edgy sport climbing) and her pack is getting hung up. She leaves
two big hexes at the belay, because she can't see them. By the bright light
of the moon, we all end up at the top of the third pitch. I've been belaying
Erin on a Munter because we have only three ATC's. Hmmm, rapping off becomes
interesting. Also have only one headlamp (fresh battery, praise Allah). Moon
is bright and we have a phenomenal view of Vegas from our elevated vantage
point. I keep the headlamp to clean the anchor and rapp off last, Chris goes
first to set up anchor at next rapp station. There's a weird traverse just
off the ledge so we don't get funnelled into the chimney we came up, and
Andrew has never rappelled before. (!)
After much coaching, we get him down and over the next ledge where it's
straightforward and Chris can see him. Erin goes, and I'm left with the
anchor, the ropes, a headlamp, and a bunch of biners with which to fashion a
rappel device. After much experimenting and cursing, trying to remember the
picture on page 168 of "Freedom of the Hills" of the carabiner rappel brake,
I fashion something I believe will work. Manage to clean the anchor without
benefit of a nut tool, instead poking feebly at the hexes with a wired nut.
There is so much drag on my rapp device that I have to use both hands to
feed the rope. I get through the traverse with some grunting and swearing,
but even on the thirty foot free rappel I cannot feed the rope smoothly
enough to keep from bouncing on the rope, all the time picturing the one
cordilette strung through a sandstone "tunnel" that serves as our rapp anchor.
Big relief as I get to the second rapp station. But it's not over yet.
Long story short, ropes hopelessly stuck, Chris ascends them on prussiks (we
have to cut a long cordilette in two to make them) and after much ado frees
the ropes. We play the time game as we wait for Chris. We guess 6:30pm, 7pm,
7:45. The watch reads 8:30. It's Sunday night and I have class on Monday.
The rest of the rapp goes without incident, I've resorted to rapping through
a locker at my harness and over the shoulder. We rejoice and book down the
steep loose slope to the trail to the car, getting back at around 11pm to a
$50 ticket for being on the loop road after dark. Small price. In discussion
over welcome beers and burgers in Vegas, (I've decided to stay the night and
fuck classes and meetings on Monday), we decide that we all deserve gold
stars for our individual and team efforts, but also that the gold stars
should be taken away for not heeding Fred Beckey's carefully worded and
prophetic message: "Fuckit".
Cheers
Justin