My partner for this beautiful Saturday was Russ, a lurker who'd responded to my initial request for easy 5.9 recommendations; we'd corresponded a bit by email, bouldered together up at Flagstaff once and spent a snowy Sunday in the rock gym, but this was our first "real" climb together. People are often apprehensive about climbing with a new partner, but I knew right away we were compatible: we both wear 5.10 Vertical Classic shoes, we both belay with a Sticht plate but rap with a carabiner brake, we both get first-pitch jitters and think climbing feels harder seconding than leading, and we both coil the rope in a big loop instead of in one of those figure-eight-type coils. His one major oddity was his choice of cold pineapple-and-extra-cheese pizza as a climbing snack, but I was willing to overlook that in view of all our other similarities.
One of his original suggestions was the 5.9- direct finish of The Bulge, a rather runout 5.7 Eldorado classic pioneered by Layton Kor in 1957. He even offered to lead all the scary pitches, by which he meant all of them except for the direct finish; I checked the book and decided that I could probably handle the 5.4 runout on the second, so we decided that he'd take odd and I'd take even.
At 10 am, the sun was nicely shining on the south-facing wall as Russ started up. I couldn't really distinguish any natural line, but he'd done it many times before, so he confidently headed up to the headwall maybe 40 feet up, clipped a pin and placed a cam to back it up, then continued right and over the headwall. Pretty soon he called down that he was off belay, and soon I started up. Yikes! Not hard, but steeper than I would have felt comfortable soloing up for 40 feet -- not that there was any alternative. 30 feet past the headwall, with no intervening gear, was Russ, relaxed in a heavy-duty piton-and-bolt-and-chain belay (which he'd even backed up with some gear -- probably just so he'd get a chance to place *something* on the route).
The second pitch started with an undercling traverse right, and I felt pretty relaxed as I clipped the pitons and easily placed a cam in the crack at the back of the undercling. The crack gave out all too soon, though, and I headed back left and up a ramp; after messing around trying to figure out a way to coax any protection from it, I finally gave up, took a deep breath, and made for the belay on a long but easy run-out. The climbing resembled east face Flatiron climbing, but much steeper; ridges and shallow pockets, but no cracks.
Again, the belay consisted of two pins and a bolt, connected with massive chain. I guess the idea with this route was that even though any leader fall would result in a huge whipper, at least the belayer would be able to catch it! Of course, on the snaky pitch I'd just led, the second would take a big swing as well, but Russ followed it quickly and easily, and soon he had the rack and was headed for the crux.
"The secret," he said, "is not to get too high too quickly." In fact, he started by downclimbing about a foot, then traversing right until he was directly under the single bolt which protects the crux. He climbed up and clipped it, put a leg up and pulled over the climb's namesake bulge, thoughtfully got a big cam in above it for me, and then disappeared on his way to the next stance.
I followed his path and traversed rather than going straight up, as well. The bolt was shiny and new; the base of the old one was visible just below it. Apparently Kor came back the day after his first ascent and added the bolt, out of consideration for us mortals who might follow; that original bolt had been there until just last year. I traversed just a bit farther left than Russ had before pulling over the crux bulge, which I think made it easier, then headed up to join him at the belay stance (which again contained more hardware than could be placed on the actual pitch).
"The 9- direct finish is right above us," said Russ, pointing to a finger crack that split a short headwall. I love finger cracks; when you slot a good stopper, you *know* it. I started up, and within 15 feet had placed more protection than either of us had total on the first three pitches. The crux was short and only caused a moment's hesitation. Soon I was on easier ground, and ran it out to a good belay tree; Russ followed and "led" the short traverse to the walk-off.
We hiked back down to our packs, discussing our next route. It was just past noon, so we decided that the west-facing dihedrals on the Rincon Wall would be a good choice. We walked down to the car, stopping briefly to chat a bit with a woman Russ knew, Sharon -- special projects coordinator for the Access Fund -- at the base of Calypso, then drove to the west end of Eldorado Canyon to begin the hike up to Rincon Wall. As we hiked, the sun faded out behind a thin cloud, which didn't block it entirely but lessened its heat; this felt good, hiking up the steep trail, but we knew it would be chilly up on the rock.
We arrived at the dihedrals on the west face of Rincon Wall, which were surprisingly crowded. Two obvious beginners waited, tied in, at the base of Over And Out, a 5.8 I'd climbed earlier this year, and as we walked up to our target, Over The Hill, a lone climber looked up and said, "We're doing this one, I'm just waiting for the guys ahead to finish." I was about to be rude and suggest that since his partner was nowhere in sight, we could go first, when she walked up. "Hello, Marybeth!" said Russ -- apparently he knew her, too.
"Gee, it looks like you know every climber in Boulder," I said. Just as he started to deny it, the guy leading the two beginners rapped down next to us, and said, "Hi, Russell! Are you following me, or something?" Russ claimed not to remember his name (Scott) at first, and said they'd just met the previous weekend, climbing in the South Platte, but I don't know if I believe that. I think Russ just knows everyone!
We decided to wait for Marybeth and her partner Craig, since they were going to combine the first two pitches, and since the sky still hadn't cleared up. I nibbled on delicious fig bars, dried pineapple, and tamari almonds, while Russ pretended to enjoy his yucky cold pizza. They were pretty quick, and as Marybeth struggled with the second crux, high above, Russ started up.
Since the sun was mostly hidden, I took my sunglasses off in order to watch him better as I belayed. This proved to be a mistake. On The Bulge, I'd quickly discovered another difference between Russ and myself; I usually chalk up at the beginning of each pitch, then entirely forget about my chalkbag, while he seems to climb with at least one hand in his chalkbag at all times. This hadn't been much of a problem before, with the sunglasses to shield my eyes from the constant shower of chalk dust, but this time I ended up having to close my eyes and belay by feel. (Well, a slight exaggeration. But only slight.)
He made quick work of the pitch and I started stemming up. From the ground, it looked pretty easy, less steep than even the adjacent 5.8 dihedral, although rated 10a. But when the finger crack at the back suddenly faded away at a pin, I started to worry that Over The Hill was Over My Head. After a few tentative explorations into finding a place for my right foot, I finally took a deep breath, smeared it on some junk, and weighted it just long enough to grab for a small edge high left. No problem! After the first crux, the rest of the pitch was more of the same -- wide stems with hands pushing on small edges -- but only moderately difficult, and very fun.
The second pitch was the route's crux: 25 feet of steep right-facing dihedral with three fixed pitons. Russ swung up into a stem and headed up. In the corner, just below the topmost pin was a small, chalk-covered pedestal; he pulled up on it and maneuvered his body until he had his left foot on it, right foot smearing out in space, and clipped the pin. "Ok, watch me, this is the crux." After a couple of false starts and five or six dips into the chalkbag, he stepped up with his left foot onto a little edge on the right wall of the dihedral and made a few, quick delicate face moves, grabbed a comparative jug in the apex of the corner, and returned to a stem for the last move in order to exit the dihedral to the left.
He put me on belay and I started up -- and immediately fell, cursing. A week before, in the gym, I'd mantled with my right arm straight and behind me, and pulled something in my shoulder; it had been bothering me a little, feeling weak, but it hadn't really stopped me until I tried to use the exact same move to get into the upper dihedral, and my shoulder simply failed. I rubbed it for a few moments, until it stopped hurting, and then used a different tactic to get into the right position.
The stemming was elegant and ruthless; there were always things to push against and things to step on, but nothing big, nothing too positive, nothing easy. It wasn't desperate until I got to the pedestal at the crux and discovered there really wasn't anything out on the right wall for my right foot. That's ok in a stem, but my left foot was on the pedestal in the corner, so my body weight wasn't holding my right foot onto the wall very well. The handhold by the pin was just a teeny edge; somehow, Russ had gotten his entire body weight on that edge while moving his left foot up. I thought about grabbing the pin -- from the belay, Russ probably wouldn't be able to tell -- but I decided to save that as a last resort. So I sucked it in, smeared the foot, tightened the fingers on the edge, and stepped up with my left foot. And fell.
As I hung in space, I looked again at the right wall of the dihedral. For stemming it was adequate, but there wasn't much there for face climbing. Then I looked at the left wall. It was slightly overhanging, but there was a big rectangular hollow way out to the left, and several small undercling ledges nearer the corner -- and they all had chalk on them. Hmm. I returned my feet to the pedestal, fingers on the teeny edge, and this time moved my left foot way back to the hollow before smearing my right foot. In this wide stem, I felt pretty solid. By pushing down with my left hand on the edge Russ had used for his left foot, I managed to move my feet high enough to go for one of the undercling edges on the left, and then it was possible, with a little care, to stem up and out of the dihedral.
"Wow, that was definitely a different way to do it," said Russ as he belayed me up the easy stuff above the dihedral.
"Well, it seemed a lot easier and more sensible to stem than to try to hang onto those itty bitty edges. Of course, I might have cheated getting into position for it, since I was just hanging."
"Want me to lower you down so you can try it again? We've got plenty of time," he replied.
So down I went, to just below the pedestal. Linking the moves from there proved to be challenging but doable, definitely solid 5.10. The tricky part was the foot-switch on the pedestal so I could get my left foot back while my right foot was still somewhere solid, which required a good lock-off on the little finger ledge. But it worked, and I topped out with a big grin.
The classic last pitch of the route, a steep and aesthetic face split by a 5.9 finger crack, was my lead. Longer and more continuously harder than the other 5.9's I'd done, it was my testpiece for the day. I nearly flunked right at the start; the very first part of the crack quickly narrowed to less than finger width, and the obvious face holds were just out of reach. My legs were doing the Elvis thing as I repeatedly stepped up, panicked, and stepped back down. Finally I stepped up a little further to the left, enough that I could touch a toe to the left wall for balance, not quite in a stem, and it gave me enough stability that I could reach up to the face hold. (Below me, I could hear a sigh of relief. I think Russ was worried he'd encouraged me into something over my head.)
Above the early crux was excellent climbing: 10-foot sections of finger crack alternated with diagonal ledges. From a solid stance on each ledge, I'd reach up as high as I could to place a stopper, then quickly ascend through the delicate moves to the next bomber ledge. Near the top, I was briefly stymied as the crack thinned again, but as I stopped to consider my next move, Russ called out, "If you're at a big diagonal ledge near the top, you need to move right." I looked right and I saw a wide edge heading up, bearing the chalky evidence of prior traffic. Moving over to it was tricky, as I couldn't see my feet under the ledge, but once I gained the right spot it was easy going to the top. (I checked the guidebook later; the "direct finish" crack is rated 11-.) I topped out with a silly grin and a loud whoop.
I set up an anchor and belayed Russ; amazing how looking down on a climber, seeing the air between his body and the rock, makes a pitch seem much scarier and steeper than it did while I was actually on it. Or maybe it's just that I was so busy thinking about what I was doing that I didn't notice anything else. As he reached the top, the sun finally peeked out from behind the cloud, illuminating the distant snow-covered mountains with a soft light, shining on us and the rock we'd just scaled, a perfect ending to a wonderful day.