Boy, the news is bad lately, huh?

I have never been so ashamed to be an American.

I thought now would be a good time to go back and write about a few climbs or adventures I kept to myself over the years.

This particular climb we did in 2021, just as the Covid-19 vaccines were becoming available, and we were beginning to feel a little hope about a bad time coming to an end. After a year of paranoia and discouragement, I was dating again. The most important factor, of course, was that she had to like climbing.

I met Madi on a dating app; her outdoorsy photos and genuine joy in nature made it an easy match. She was a relative novice in climbing, but no biggie. I had the skills to drive, and knew enough to impress—at least in this arena. Things went quick and smooth. One lunch date to feel each other out, some climbing afterwards. A second day out on the Bastille Crack, an easy multipitch near Boulder which I had wired to the point of disregard. She loved it, and surprisingly, so did I. We kissed goodbye in the parking lot, full of hope for the future.

I had the perfect next step: Rocky Mountain National Park. I’d been climbing there a lot the past two summers, and would impress her with a moderate route up an impressive and seldom-climbed feature. “Wham” it was called. A bulbous tower of granite, it sat right next to a popular climb, Zowie, which I’d done a couple of times already. Plenty of people climb Zowie; no one climbs Wham. Nonetheless, the route was in the book, and on Mountain Project. At an elementary grade of 5.7, it would be the perfect date climb. I imagined summit beers, making out on the belay ledges, and a fairy-tale haze of summer sun and optimism.

Years later, Madi tells me she remembers the sun and the optimism. I remember fear, engagement, and my heartbeat in my throat, not as I pulled in to kiss a beautiful woman, but instead as I unexpectedly ripped a microwave-sized block off the wall, 30-foot runout, with a belayer I barely knew.

The short version of this story, of course, is that we got lost.

Alpine multipitch climbing involves tricky routefinding even at the best of times. And if you are climbing Wham, you are not having the best of times. The tower is very scarcely documented, just a few sentences and a pretty inaccurate topo in the Rossiter book. The Mountain Project info is almost the same, with just a couple words changed. One lifted from the other, clearly, and probably neither of the authors ever climbed the thing.

So here’s a little more info, for the record.

Our troubles started almost immediately. We were supposed to go up the gully between Zowie and Wham, but since it was still early summer, the shaded gully was filled with hard snow. We did some up and down, searching for easier access to the rock, before deciding to gear up at the base of the snow tongue. As the leader and more experienced climber, I agreed to climb with a pack for water, food, and jackets. The other one, we left at the base. Surreptitiously, I took out a few canned beers and ciders, and buried them under the snow. A jaunt up a sunny alpine spire and a cold beverage at the end – I would kill this date, I knew.

Unfortunately, neither of us were very comfortable on the hard, slick snow. We made a sketchy traverse up and across the gully, cutting steps and using rocks as ice-axes (we had brought no equipment for snow & ice). Eventually we reached a steep scree ledge, where we uncoiled the rope and belayed. The climbing was easy but awkward. It followed an obvious fin of rock, but it was very loose and the general character was unpleasant, interrupted by trees, bushes and the like. There were no comfortable belay ledges for extracurricular activities, I noted with a frown.

Still, Madi seemed to be enjoying herself. “Wow, really reinforces that geologic time includes now,” she said as she pulled onto the triangular, slanted spike where i was belaying. She was right: the whole tower, rarely-visited by climbers, had stacks of loose rock and blocks waiting to be pulled out. We had both dislodged our fair share on the way up, and would continue to do so as the climb went on. So it goes in Rocky, when you venture off the classics.

Two or maybe three pitches of junky low-fifth class climbing led to a large flat ledge, filled with many trees and bushes. This was a nice spot to have a little bit to eat and drink. While Madi ate her sandwich and relaxed, I scouted the next vertical wall for the 5.7 “shallow left-facing dihedral with a hand crack” that the guidebook described. As far as I could tell, such a feature did not exist.

This would have been the smart time to bail, since rappeling off the side of the ledge and into the gully between Wham and Zowie wouldn’t have been too difficult. But, as I’m sure you can guess from how the rest of this story has been going, I did not make the smart decision.

There was a shallow dihedral feature on the face, but definitely seemed harder than 5.7. I climbed up off the ledge and back down several times, baffled. Continuing my recon, I followed an appealing slab to the right and around the corner, onto the Southeast aspect. Up, down, up, down, over… still no sign of the the dihedral. Madi later said she’d never belayed anyone in such a fashion. It didn’t really matter, I guess, since my rope wasn’t clipped to anything at that point, anyways.

My frustration was mounting, and I decided to keep climbing up, spying a RIGHT-facing corner which might offer protection. Of course, when I reached it, I found that like everything else on the tower, it was very loose, unreliable rock. Now I was in trouble, having climbed a little too far and a little too hard to easily reverse. The climbing only got steeper from there. I excavated a few placements, dropped in some nuts, and stemmed up the corner until the gear got better and I could make a decent hanging belay.

I was pretty stressed by this point, and fully aware that the situation was threatening to get out of control. I also knew that my climbing partner probably did not know enough to understand this. I brought her up to our awkward stance in the corner. “Having fun?” I asked. “Yeah!” she answered enthusiastically. “That was a lot more what I’m used to than below. Did you find the route?”

“I think so,” I lied. It wass at least a route, with an obvious path up the corner above us. The corner faced the wrong way, and was definitely harder than 5.7, but hey. Take what you can get.

I stemmed off the belay, carefully. There were several large blocks just above the belay, one of which I tested and found to be completely loose. If it were to fall out, it would land directly on Madi, trapped at the hanging belay. My heart beating fast, I very carefully released pressure on the block, making sure it was sitting in a balanced position. I placed a number three camalot on the other side of the corner, with no extension, to ensure the rope would not touch the block as I moved past. “Don’t touch this block,” I said, trying to strike a tone between casual and important.

The corner was actually fun, engaging climbing – solid 5.9/5.10 stemming, one of my favorite styles. I would have been be enjoying myself thoroughly if the protection was better. As it was, I was forced to move very carefully, testing every hold and trying not to commit too much weight to footholds which could potentially crumble under my weight. I was painfully aware that with my belayer tethered into the corner, she had very little protection from any rocks I might bring down upon her.

A small roof with a handcrack in it appeared. I placed a number two camalot and attached a double-length sling. “You can pull on or step in the sling to get past the roof, if you need!” I yelled down. I had little trust in my belayer, little trust in the rock quality, and this appeared to be the hardest climbing on the route so far. I considered stepping in the sling myself. In the end, the rock quality convinced me not to weight the cam. My follower would have the benefit of the top anchor; I could not risk it breaking and sending me for a ride. I thought thoughts of safe, happy Indian Creek climbs while I pulled through the only handjam on the whole route.

Above, the corner continued – runout stemming on rotten rock. Awesome. There was little choice but to keep going. With no good gear to lower off, reversing the moves would be just as tricky as going up. The climbing was physically within my ability, but my nerves were fraying. I climbed on.

Finding myself about equal with the summit of the neighboring Zowie, I spied a passage out of the shaded corner. It went hard left onto the sunny South face. Good holds led towards what looked like it might be a gear placement behind an obviously-detached block. I had been taught well enough not to place gear behind detached blocks, but I was quite runout. Desperate, my mouth dry from fear, the crack drew me like a parched man to a puddle. Maybe I can rejoin the standard route here… I tiptoed out on the traverse, leaving the corner for the face. As I got closer, the crack clarified itself: a perfect .5 Camalot placement.

Maybe it’s better than it looks, I thought to myself as I fumbled a .5 ultralight off my harness, shaking from fear. I placed the cam in the crack; it stuck. I gave it the slightest of tugs to check how secure it was, and the entire block detached. Thrown off balance, I dropped the cam and watched it fall straight through air to the big ledge, along with a microwave of loose rock and a smattering of gravel. “ROCKKKK!” I screamed. Far below, the rock shattered into dust and the smell of gunsmoke. Luckily, Madi was safely tucked away around the corner, and no one else is stupid enough to climb this thing.

I looked over to the summit of Zowie, where there were climbers silhouetted. They were shouting to me, some variation of “Are you OK?!” I couldn’t speak, let alone shout, so I simply gave them a thumbs-up with my left hand, the one with which I had attempted to place the cam. My right hand death-gripped the rock, while tremors shook my whole body. I felt sick.

The Colorado sun shone down on a perfect summer day.

Traversing onto the face was out. I calmed myself with slow, deep breaths, and slithered back into the corner, out of sight from the Zowie climbers. I could not see or talk to Madi, below the roof. There was no choice but to continue up the corner. A few more moves up the corner I found a good placement for a nut. The rock here was only kind of loose. I continued over an exposed bulge and landed on firmer ground – a slanting belay ledge, with a pair of huge bolts. Thank you sweet baby jesus.

The bolts turned out to be highline bolts, placed low on a slab in a spot impossible to belay from. They were used, at least once, to rig a highline from Wham to the summit of Zowie. I clipped one for protection, and built a belay on gear a little higher on the ledge. The presence of the bolts and the exit from the corner reassured me that we were back in civilization, and I could relax a little.

Madi screamed her way up the pitch. I could relate, as I’d been screaming internally. I was worried she’d hurt herself on the loose rock, but as I kept pulling in rope and the noise continued, I figured out that this was just how she expressed herself. Despite the screaming (or maybe because of it), she made the top without me needing to haul her up. “Did you pull on the number two?” I asked. “I pulled on all of it,” she said. “That was really hard!”

I agreed, both verbally and internally. This was far more than I planned for. We were now below the summit, which bulged out like a ball stuck on a stick. “You want to try and rappel from the bolts?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if it was even viable, but needed to check my partner’s pulse. “Can’t we go to the top?” she asked, disappointment in her voice.

I was happy to please. “That’s probably easier anyways,” I said. I scooted off up the final pitch, which involved some traversing back and forth under huge bulges, but in general, was much easier and better-protected than the previous horror show. Soon, we were both sitting on the summit.

There was no kiss. Or if there was, it slipped right over me. That version of the day was long gone, and I still had work to do.

We cut off the old sun-bleached rap tat, wrapped around a (what else) loose boulder on the summit, and replaced it with some new stuff. The boulder was wedged well-enough for me to trust it, and I went down first. I reached some grassy ground, and hollered for Madi to come on down. She descended and we pulled our rope without issue. Whew. We scampered down some steep grassy ledges, and did one more rappel to the col between Zowie and Wham. Here we were supposed to descend the gully, but it was full of the same steep, hard snow we had found at the start of the day – descending it without an ice axe would have been suicide.

Instead we were forced to bust a pretty sketchy traverse across the snow to the Zowie descent. Once off the snow, it was well-traveled terrain for me: down more steep grassy ledges to one final rappel, which deposited me back on the ground to the left of Zowie. I watched as Madi, unfamiliar with her third-hand rappel backup, descended slowly and jerkily.

One hand on the fireman’s belay, I lit a joint and took the entire thing to the face. Usually a light smoker, I was done with it before my partner hit the ground. I lit the second one off the end of the first, and we shared that one. I had not allowed myself to acknowledge the stress until we were fully safe, and now I felt it in my soul. We had survived.

I sent Madi back around the corner to her pack while I coiled the rope. The end-of-day ritual was relaxing, and a good chance for some alone time while I reviewed the climb and just how lucky we had been. I thought of the beers I stashed in the snow at the start of the day, and how good they were going to taste. I put the rope in the pack and headed down and around Zowie, back to where the day had started with such optimism. Of course, Wham had one final indignity waiting for me:

Rockfall had smashed our beers.

***

A few notes:

• This was a very intense learning experience for me as a young climber, and I do not think it shows me in the best light. There are a number of reasons I never shared the story publicly-one of which is I made many poor decisions on this day.
• My guidebook description: From the large ledge halfway up tower, climb slab up and right, around the nose of tower to SE face. Enter a right-facing corner and stem upwards for 1-2 pitches (hanging belay), much loose rock and dangerous. Pass a small handcrack roof before eventually corners terminate onto easier terrain with highline bolts. Belay. Continue upwards to summit with some traversing around overhangs.
• I have exactly one photo from this climb: Madi on the rappel off the summit. I had shot some more on a 35mm film camera, but the photos didn’t turn out. This one shows Zowie in the low background, and the Sharkstooth in the far background.
• I bet that .5 Camalot is still there on the ledge, waiting for an intrepid pirate. Probably a bit rusty by now. We also fixed a large Metolius curve nut right before exiting the corner towards the highline bolts. Consider that as proof we were there.
• Madi and I ended up dating for a while longer: a tumultuous on-again-off-again relationship which, in the end, spanned several years, with some very good times, and some very bad times. You could say this climb presaged much of the turmoil we experienced together – good intentions, bad decisions, and one following the other into questionable territory.
• I named our route Two Flowers in honor of our relationship. I’ll call it 5.10 R. But this was five years ago, and maybe fear and exaggeration have colored my memory. It awaits your repeat.