COLUMN: Failure for a friend
It was a good thing that we weren’t in Provo solely for the dance party. Compared to the Dirty Thirties that I had attended at my friend Jake’s house back at USU, the awkward shuffles and half-hearted motions going down in this house blocks away from the BYU campus could hardly be called dancing or a party. It was only a matter of minutes before we bailed out of the door and into the night, making our way back to the house where we were staying. Definitely a good thing we weren’t in Provo for the dance party.
We made our way down the street and the light pollution from the sprawling suburbia subtly illuminated the reason that we were there. The limestone faces of Squaw Peak seemed to glow a pale yellow. A 22 pitch sport route, three years in the making, had recently been established, allowing an ascent from the base to the peak. “Squawstruck,” a fourth-class climb rated 5.11, crept its way up the vertical portions of the mountain. With 12 pitches at 5.10 or above, this was a reason to be in Provo.
The alarm sounded, waking us from where we were sleeping on my friend’s floor. It was six in the morning, and though the sun has not yet risen, we staggered out into the Provo morning. After a quick breakfast, we steered the car towards Rock Canyon, where we filled our packs with gear, water and food, and set off for the base of the climb. We gained light during the 30-minute scramble up the scree slope, which was much more difficult than we had expected. We were already winded by the time we reached the base of the climb, where to our dismay, we saw a pair of climbers racking up to start their own ascent of the climb. Our hopes of being first on the wall shattered, we took our time in putting on our harnesses and tying in while the first pair worked their way up the first pitch. As we waited, another climbing pair appeared at the base of the climb and queued up behind us.
With our climbing team of three roped together and Paul on belay, I set off up the first pitch. The fresh limestone was sharp and despite the early hour, I felt alert and ready to climb. Then, as I went to place a draw on the fifth bolt, my right foothold, which was supporting the majority of my weight, suddenly gave out. After climbing for only a few moments, I found myself taking a fall, sliding down the sharp limestone. My belay dodged the rocks that fell from above and I felt scrapes on my hands and legs begin to bleed. Regaining my composure and wiping my bloody fingers on my t-shirt, I pushed through the rest of the pitch, wondering if we were in over our heads.
Soon the three of us were on the first belay ledge. Paul was cursing the team which was behind us as they had begun to climb while he was only a bolt above them. As his colorful dialogue continued, the first climber of the team appeared on the ledge. Not even pausing to ask permission, he scrambled past us mumbling something about “linking pitches”.
The three of us waited in frustration while the team that had cut us off went up the second pitch. After waiting what seemed like forever for them to clear the second pitch, we once again set off.
The beautiful day and the rhythm of climbing soon restored our high spirits. We moved up the next eight pitches as the day wore on. There was more loose rock, but the climb was beautifully bolted, and followed a line which presented us with a variety of roof pulls, slabs and crimpy faces.
After finishing pitches 9-11, which were extremely loose, we were faced with the most difficult portion of the wall. It was now 1 p.m. and we had been climbing for five hours. After a short break where we shared cliff bars and sandwiches, we were ready to set off again. The next five pitches were all rated at 5.10 or higher and included the 5.11 crux-pitch.
I replaced my climbing shoes and prepared to start the next pitch when Paul said, “Hey Adam, take a picture of Dusty. He will want to put this one in the paper.” I heard some rustling as Adam begin to look through the pack, followed by a muttered profanity. “Wasn’t it in the mesh pack in the front of the bag?”
I felt my stomach drop. I had borrowed the camera from a friend, not wanting the bulk and extra weight of my DSLR on the climb. Coming back off the wall, we tore apart the packs to ensure that the camera wasn’t in any pocket. We had somehow lost it. We had taken one other picture four pitches back. It was either at the base of that pitch or lost somewhere else along the wall.
We now faced a choice. As it was already 1:30 p.m. and we had only finished half of the climb, we couldn’t go back to look for the camera and finish the climb without running out of daylight. We were left to decide if we would push on for the peak or pack up and retreat.
I was torn. We were still climbing strong and we were pretty sure that we could finish. The thought of accepting defeat on the climb left a bitter taste in my mouth. I guess it wasn’t as bitter as the taste I got when I thought about making a phone call to explain that the camera had been left behind. I cast my vote that we turn back. After a moment of hesitation, Paul agreed, and so it was decided that we would turn back.
We spent the next couple of hours scrambling around on scree slopes, rappelling and backtracking to try to find the camera, but to no avail. We searched what we thought were the likely locations, and some unlikely ones as well. Still, the location of the camera remained a mystery. By now it was 3 p.m. and we had to start to search for a way off the mountain. Consulting the topographical map of the climb, we found a pitch down we could walk off by accessing a trail on the upper shelf. We hadn’t found the camera, but at least we had looked. We hadn’t finished the ascent of the mountain, but at least we had failed trying to fulfill a promise to a friend.
Several hours later, we had reached the car and sorted the gear out. I picked up the phone and I placed the call. The conversation went something like this.
“Hey, what’s going on? Yeah the climb was great … No, we didn’t finish, but I really liked your camera. Yeah, I think I might buy one like it … to replace the one that we lost … .”
– dustin.nash@aggiemail.usu.edu