Webster Art

I have a long history with a climb called Battered Sandwich. I sent Alex up it on one of his first trips to Index. I’ve done it with my niece Pam and her friend Kena. My daughter got a cam stuck on it while following. When she lowered me down to retrieve the cam, I rubbed the knot in the chimney and core shot our brand new bicolor rope. I’ve hung all over the route in the 3 unique cruxes. One is off fists in the first 40 feet. At 50 feet it goes from fists to a body slot, but the body slot is smooth with nothing to grab. You’ve got pro at your feet, but nothing above you as you try and rock up into the bottom of the 8″ body slot. It’s extremely insecure.

Then the 8 inch slot gradually widens over the next 50 feet. You can walk a four and a 5 if you still have them. I only had a 5 yesterday. It’s a no fall situation. When you are walking your only cam for 30 feet you are risking a 60 foot whipper. So the move was: flex, push the cam up, unflex, wonk your way up above the cam, flex, reach down and move the cam up, repeat.

Eventually the slot opens up into a left facing flared chimney with hands in the back. It’s imminently climbable for 30 feet but then the hands turn into reds and greens. Which for my big mitts mean insecure again and I have to press my back against the flaring chimney since the hands are so strenuous. The chimney meanwhile is arching over towards less than vertical. At a certain point, right when the green cam sized crack becomes ring locks, you realize that you can sort of stand on the bottom of the chimney wall by pressing upward with your back. It’s steep friction, but just barely works.

A couple moves of that on increasing less steep footing, one more maxed out green or purple cam and you can reach a good hand hold and stand up. So for my hand size, it’s three cruxes: the off fists, the body slot, and the off hands at the top.

With all those challenges, I avoid it like the plague. Many people just top rope it. The party before us led up from the top of Wild Turkey and got a top rope on it. But Lisa G and I have some climbing chops and decided to give it a go. She got it clean with only minimal grunting. I was super nervous at the bottom, thinking all the worst case scenarios, including down climbing and going home.

But the terror starts slowly. After the runout start (bring extra reds just for that) it’s very solid hands leading into friendly blues. Just when you are getting comfortable (love my big hands) it gets bigger than steepled hands but not big enough for fists. So I was doing diagonal fists which is both painful and insecure. Right about then all the face holds on the left vanish into a blank vertical wall. But by committing both feet to the crack splitter style I was able to grunt my way past the bomb bay bulge in the crack. I slammed in one of my fours and the crack, even though it was bigger inside than fists, tapers at the outside to make perfect fists.

I happily walked my four up 10 feet and then arrived at the body slot…where there is nothing to grab but a rounded one by four inch ledge. I put my five in at the bottom of the slot, which was great. But then I had to climb above it into the body slot. I’m an old chicken and do not like climbing above my gear, but I manned up and made it work with a tipped out blue for a top rope piece.

A week later I did it again with Julia but brought three fours, so I had a much safer top rope piece at the body slot. A few days later Chris and I did Rattletale and Peanuts to serve you. I hung all over Rattletale pitch two. I’m blaming it on the heat. My hands were greasing out of what should have been secure yellows. She also had trouble on pitch three, so maybe it was just low tide. Couldn’t be that we are getting older.

The next day was my nephew John’s wedding, and then we followed Lisa and family to Leavy for Levi’s first birthday at 8 Mile campground. In the morning I led Lisa up Classic Crack. That thing is not getting easier as I get older. Maybe fresh from Indian Creek it would be a cruise, but I found I really had to focus on technique to get it clean, and that was just barely. The feet felt insecure, the good jams were over long reaches and I could feel my power ebbing. When I finally got up to the secure fists at the top I was breathing like a cart horse.

It was great to hang out as a family. As we walked from the campground to Classic, Lisa said she was having deja vu moments, remembering walking there with my parents, me holding her 5 year old hand. Now she was holding her own daughters hand, while I was the grandpa. It’s funny how age gives you this grand perspective back through time, looking down through the generations.

Speaking of grandparents, yesterday Clint had to work an unplanned shift. Sue went over at 6 to babysit. I pedaled over at noon to help. Rose was bouncing off the walls with Abby crawling under her. It was an accident waiting to happen. I asked Rose if she wanted to go for a walk. We walked down to the park together. I’d never taken her for a walk by myself. But there I was, an old white haired grandpa walking a three year old girl in a little white princess dress. Who saw that coming?

She reminded me of Wyatt, meandering along, stopping at every point of interest. But unlike Wyatt the dog, Rose could talk lucidly about the pretty yards, the fine old elegant brick houses. And she was so well trained, grabbing my hand at each street crossing, watching for cars. Getting old sucks, but there are these neat things that happen, like grandchildren.