I’ll go ahead and put the lesson we learned on the front end, in case you’re just looking for the take home and want to get back to your workout or making dinner or watching Netflix or arguing with your children, and maybe are in need of feeling a little snide and shaking your head and clicking your tongue and saying “there’s no way in Hell I’d be that foolish. At least I know that’s One way I won’t die!”. (We all need to feel a little snide at times. I’m not Judgin’).
Anyway here it is. We learned: If one is prone to climbing badly in the cold, avoid attempting to start a desert multi-pitch climb in the Dead of Winter on a Shady Aspect early in the morning.
There were, after all, several parties who had climbed the steep 1,300 ft gain up the valley, across the sketchy waterfall-polished slabs to the Rockafellow Group of Domes at the crest of the Cochise Stronghold Recreation Area. They had prudently chosen climbs in the sun. This being my husband and partner Danny’s first trip to the notoriously Spicily bolted with Thin Gear (aka Run Out as All Get Out) climbing area, he assumed we could handle a bolted grade 10 and brought but a few traditional pieces of gear. With only a few trad pieces, we could not hop on another sunny crack or face requiring “slinging of chicken heads”, a suspect protection technique unique to this area that quickly induced nausea and a nervous tick. We scoped a line some goofy Coloradan dudes were on, a flaring beautiful single crack that petered out 20 feet before the top of the spire-like dome, and saw in the book it was an 11+ R rating. The guy yelled from the climb, “Let’s not talk about the safety rating!” giggling, like he was getting away with something. We decided to brave the cold instead.
Three attempts to get on the first icy crimpy moves were alternated with breaks in the sun out on the slabs overlooking the valley, where we sat like marmots, warming hands and feet then went back for another try. Danny finally pulled the traversing moves out of the shady cave at 1 pm and onto the patina puzzled sunny face. I was then obliged to follow, to clean the gear. Cursing and two stepping for exactly one hour and 20 minutes, I tried to get myself to commit to the imperceptibly thin face holds and smeared feet with the potential of a cheese gratering sideways fall and possible decking( aka hitting the ground). I attempted to aid by pulling on one draw while reaching for another before unclipping but no dice. I had to do the moves or fall. I skittered across the slab with “screaming Barfie” hands and frozen feet, pulled out from underneath the cursed overhang and shakily found holds on the steep patinaed vertical face in the blessed sun.
It seemed every pitch had a traverse, which is always exciting for the leader and Second, since both will take a sideways fall if things go sideways, so to speak. We had four more Pitches to climb, and the sun started setting at 4 pm. As we topped out on the spectacular granite dome, the sun dropped behind the rocks in the distance, and the temperature immediately dropped considerably. We had both worn four layers in the sun all day, including heavy down jackets. Fortunately the hooded lifesavers mostly kept our heat in as we did four rappels to the now dark ground. Rappelling in the dark can be very dangerous and almost impossible at times to find the rappel anchors, but with waning light we managed to cleanly pull our ropes through each belay anchor and make it to the ground without incident. We did a little jig as the last light faded, pleased with ourselves for completing a late afternoon mulit-pitch climb without needing a rescue. We felt our way back to our packs, thinking it was over. We forgot that you haven’t climbed a mountain until you’ve descended it safely.
Descending in the Dark
We were unconcerned about desert travel in the dark, even though Danny had packed my headlamp but forgotten to pack his own. The afterglow of the sun setting on a sea of granite domes only began to wear off after our 15th failed attempt to navigate to the descent trail with one headlamp and an IPhone flashlight. As I attempted to reverse an ill fated crawl through what clearly appeared to be a mountain Lion den, fresh furry kill stash and all, and thrashed through a manzanita bush while getting stabbed ruthlessly in 12 places by a Spanish bayonet, I heard Danny yell “Help! Come quickly! I’m serious, I can’t hold this much longer!”
I imagined he was hanging on a cliff edge with one hand, having thrown his backpack down The aforementioned waterfall in an attempt to keep hold of his iPhone flashlight in His other hand. This wouldn’t be the first time, since he once was descending a steep ice gully holding onto trees, and threw his skis down, only to realized he couldn’t get down to them below a steep cliff. At the time I was 7 months pregnant and our 2 year old was back at the ski resort day care, and I had to find my own way down, alone. I was none too happy.
I backed awkwardly away from the Asshole bayonet trap, slid through a mile wide pile of either rat or bat dung (I didn’t feel inclined to do a closer inspection) and moved through some tenacious mesquite towards his voice. I found him hanging between two large Boulders, having tried to shimmy down between them but underestimating the width and/or compatibility of his backpack, got stuck and appeared to be attempting a hang-glide takeoff without any wings.
I promptly grabbed his pack and, as he wiggled out of it with legs swinging, he was swiftly released into the darkness below. (Clearly, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea when it comes to rescue squadding). Fortunately there was ground below, covered in a sea of deep leaves, and eventually he stopped sliding (and I stopped laughing).
After regrouping, we regained the edge of the cliff base, traversed back the way we came, timidly crab walked and reversed down a few more suspect slabs that appeared to drop into a never ending abyss, and, as our lights began to dim, decided we were just going to have to go down.
Bush Bashing
It occurred to me that if these mountains were still inhabited by Native warriors hiding out from the intrepid US Calvary, we would certainly not be sneaking up on Cochise and his crew, as we thrashed through all manner of spiky desert foliage, getting up close and personal with the local flora and fauna as Danny’s bloody face and my scraped hands reflected. It’s not an epic after all, if your clothes aren’t torn to some degree from the flesh.
After several hours of bush bashing in the Dark, I heard the chimes of my phone ring tinkling in my backpack. I answered and my dad, back at their trailer with the kids, asked if we’d be back soon for dinner. I said, “I can see the road where the car is, we just have to get to the bottom of the bloody gully. Should just take another half hour. We’ve just found the trail!”. We had just crossed yet another slab and thought we were past the hardest section which gave me hot sweats in the daytime. Crossing it in the dark, I had waves of nausea as I gingerly balanced my heavy pack while stepping sideways on small ledges above a steep drop that appeared to go on forever in the darkness.
As it turned out, we didn’t find the trail for two more hours. The descent got steeper and steeper, and we slid between and navigated around giant boulders while holding onto trees and shrubs. When it seemed we might have to get the ropes out and start rappelling off trees (it wouldn’t be the first time), the grade finally let up, and we found ourselves following cairns, or little stacked rock trail markers, in every direction. It became clear that a Cairn in the desert doesn’t necessarily indicate there is a trail there, just that someone has been there at some point. We decided to ignore some cairns and follow others in the general direction of the car down valley. When it seemed there was no way to lose the path and we could finally breathe easy and walk jauntily instead of crawl, it didn’t take Danny long to cheerily start planning our next desert adventure. He can be annoyingly optimistic at times, but at least he’s not deterred by a few cactus and boulder encounters.
As we rolled into the campsite after executing the four hour descent of a 1.5 mile trail by my GPS reading, Danny pointing out we could have crawled faster. My hips seized up with the cold as my legs shakily carried me into the trailer. My parents handed us warm bowls of something delicious and hot teas and I sat by the heater next to my sleeping son on the bed. There is no undervaluing the uplifting feeling of having home fires burning for intrepid travelers return. We plan to leave gummy bears at the key descent turnoff next time, so we can get back to the home fires a little sooner.
Thank you for Reading! Please Comment and Share at the links below!
Author Erin Newton and Danny Inman have been adventuring together, mostly copacetically, for a decade. Erin's passion for the outdoors began when her parent enticed her down snowy trails amongst California Sequoia trees with Kit Kats. Danny's passion for the outdoors began when his father, who had learned from his father, introduced him to kayaking on Tennessee Rivers. Having recently purchased the Forest River No Boundaries 19.8 travel travel trailer (#diggintrailerlivin) with Erin's parents, who purchased another Forest River Trailer, they continue to adventure with three generations including their 4 and 7 year old boys.