the nostalgia project: Standing Rock, USA (2000)

The route

Standing Rock is a desert tower in South-West Utah, located in Monument Basin within the Island in the Sky area of the Canyonlands national park. More than any other in the US (except perhaps the restricted-to-climbers Totem Pole), Standing Rock exemplifies the classic desert tower shape: an implausibly-tall and slender 130m column.

The Regular Route was first climbed by the legendary team, Layton Kor and Huntley Ingalls, in the 1960s. It is de rigeur to repeat Layton's quote about Standing Rock in any account of climbing the tower: "We climb it not because it’s there, but because it won’t be there much longer.” Ironically it is still there, 50+ years later.

Standing Rock from Monument Basin rim

Standing Rock middle distance

Standing Rock - close-up

The context

In autumn 2000, Dan Donovan and I travelled to the US for a two week "holiday" attempting desert towers. Remarkably, nine were summited (full list below) and we managed cragging days in Eldorado Canyon, Maple Canyon and Indian Creek. Most of the credit belongs to Dan who was in excellent shape. In contrast, my trad skills were rusty and in the twelve months leading up to the trip had barely climbed at all (Leo was born in February 2000). We were lucky with conditions, experiencing mostly dry mild days. The word "desert" in desert towers suggests somewhere reliably arid but on a subsequent visit to the area in the same autumn season it was cold, windy and rained quite frequently.

We flew in and out of Denver, renting a vehicle at the airport. We lucked out by scoring an SUV - Ford Explorer - for a small supplement to the basic rate we had booked. In fact, having a vehicle with reasonable clearance proved essential for some of our objectives. We also discovered that it was roomy enough to sleep in the back and and took advantage of this on several nights.

Dan getting beta from Andy Donson in Boulder before we drove west

My diary notes from the trip describe Standing Rock as "probably the most exciting climb I have ever done". I am not sure if that is still true, but it was certainly the highlight of the trip, and the most committing of the towers we attempted. Even getting close to Standing Rock is an adventure. The Island in the Sky national park is a curious upside-down place, a large mesa surrounded by multiple tiers of eroded sandstone of different varieties delimited by the Green and Colorado rivers. The top layer is Wingate sandstone, forming fairly solid cliffs, in places eroded into towers like the Monster, Washer Woman or Moses. Below this is a terraced flat area of white rock - the White Rim - encircling the whole mesa. Below this again is a layer of the much chossier Cutler sandstone, which in one location is eroded into the Monument Basin, containing Standing Rock and other surreal features. Even the base of the Monument Basin is still well above the level of the nearby Colorado River, with yet another cliff tier in between.

In 2000 access to the White Rim required a mandatory ranger briefing at the Island in the Sky park office, and as far as I recall, some kind of permit application. Then we drove down to the White Rim trail and tortured the Explorer's suspension along fifty kilometres of stone-and-dirt track to our destination. Looking into the Basin from the rim that evening intimidated me. Standing Rock appeared dauntingly tall and slender and getting in and out of the basin clearly added to the challenge. I guess that anyone venturing that way now for the first time will come pre-armed with numerous trip reports from the web, but we just had a basic guidebook description. If we were to have an accident on the tower, getting any assistance appeared impossible. We had barely seen anyone else on the road. I was a new father with responsibilities; what the hell was I doing? I slept poorly that night.

Looking into Monument Basin
Standing Rock is not the prominent tower just left of centre - it is more distant and further left

Monument Basin rim rock weirdness

Camping in the Explorer near the White Rim trail

In the morning we made the discouraging discovery that we had left a light switched on in the car and drained the battery, raising the risk that we might be stuck in that remote spot for several days at least. However, about a mile away we could just see another group - mountain bikers with a support vehicle - starting to pack up their camp. After weighing our various unsatisfactory options, we decided to run in their direction in the hope of intercepting them before they left. Thankfully this worked and they had jump-leads. More of the day was then lost to idling the engine to recharge the battery.

Descending into the basin required a short steep rappel. We left the rope in place with stashed ascenders, stumbled down some talus then then set off across the silent basin toward our tower. The floor of Monument Basin is almost wholly cryptobiotic soil: a living though dormant crust of lichen, moss and bacteria structured like a tiny fractal version of the towers and cliff rim around us. The ranger had spoken sternly about not disturbing the crust, without which the basin would be a dust bowl. We did our best.

Cryptobiotic soil, Monument Basin

Dan chilling in Monument Basin

The ascent

At the base of the tower, we took a break for a while. Dan happily puttered off somewhere to explore. My anxiety had escalated into an irrational certainty that I was going to die, not least as I had committed to leading the unstable-looking 5.10 first pitch. While sure that Dan wasn't watching, I recorded a short video message to Leo on my new digital camera apologising for dying plus some other platitudes that I no longer recall. (That the camera would somehow make it back home from Utah in the event of my death seems a major assumption in hindsight.)

As often happens in rock climbing, once engaged in leading the opening pitch, up a corner system, I felt much better. The rock was more stable than it looked and protection acceptable. The style felt recognisably similar to choss I had negotiated in the UK. At the end of the pitch there is a cruxy and exposed traverse rightwards out of the corner to a belay stance. Very exciting but still fine.

Dan then romped up a long 5.10+ crack pitch above. I followed this OK though it was strenuous. Pitch three is weird, and judging from more recent trip reports, may have got weirder. Dan led again. I remember a hard crux move (5.11?) and a very hollow flake on a steep bulge. I believe I managed it free but won't swear to that. The diary is silent on this detail. I led again on the top pitch, which spirals around the tower some more, out of sight from the belayer. Though easy (5.8 or 5.9?), it was runout, lonely and exposed enough to be intensely memorable.

On the summit we found an ascent register. Satisfactorily, it appeared from the spaced ascent dates that the tower was still rarely climbed. Then we rappelled, tiptoed back through the cryptobiotic crust and re-ascended our fixed rope to the rim. Dan, at that time a qualified vertical access worker, howled with laughter at my incompetent technique, especially when I got significantly stuck trying to pass a bulge.

The next day I assumed we would rest. Dan instead pointed out the relative proximity of the Washer Woman, and insisted that we thrashed six pitches up that - the diary records that I led nothing - and back down its somewhat notorious "arch" rappel. Washer Woman shares a col with the self-descriptive Monster Tower. Inevitably Dan then suggested that we bagged that too; I rebelled and we retreated to Moab for showers and beer.

Subsequent ascents

I have not been back to Monument Basin.

The tower ticklist

• Fine Jade, The Rectory
• Kor/ Ingalls, Castleton Tower
• Stolen Chimney, Ancient Art
• The Cobra (RIP)
• West Crack, Owl Rock [Dan only: he soloed while I took photos]
• Regular Route, Standing Rock
• In Search of Suds, Washerwoman
• Primrose Dihedrals, Moses
• Learning to Crawl, Thumbelina

Me on the Cobra

Dan on Owl Rock

the nostalgia project: Right-Hand Crack, UK (1999)

The route

Right-Hand Crack at Brimham Rocks in Yorkshire is a short unexceptional crack climb graded VS (~YDS 5.7 or 5.8). It is the second-from-the-right of a quartet of crack routes on the buttress. The route to its left is called Central Crack and is a tad harder. The route to its right is not called Even-Further-Right-Hand Crack. Guidebook length for these routes is forty feet or about thirteen metres, but I suspect that is slightly exaggerated. Brimham is a pleasant area of moorland, trees and eroded gritstone blobs, popular with tourists as well as climbers.

unknown climbers on Right-Hand Crack, Brimham © unknown
The fall described was from the wide section of the crack to the left

The context

In August 1998 Shoko and I spent a long weekend in Yorkshire intermingling gritstone climbing and sight-seeing (primarily the spooky ruins at Fountains Abbey). Shoko was pregnant with Leo but not yet showing it. The diary records that we stayed in a "nice" B&B in Grassington. We visited Ilkley on Saturday then Brimham on Sunday.

The ascent

I don't remember why we picked Right-Hand Crack as an objective. Perhaps I wanted to introduce Shoko to hand jamming - often a fraught exercise with new climbers. I also don't remember anything about climbing the route. I do know that I belayed from the top, despite the route's modest height, as is normal for trad pitches in the UK.

As Shoko began following the route, I noticed a middle-aged male climber advancing up Central Crack, just to her left. He had all the characteristics of what the Brits unkindly call a "bumbly": mildly-overweight, uncertain in his movements and possessing a rack of gear apparently chosen with little forethought. He was belayed by a younger man that I guessed was his son, who was standing too far back from the base of the cliff. It may have passed my mind to say something about this, but there were other climbers at the cliff-base and I probably felt that it was their responsibility.

Near the top of his route, the leader paused below an awkward-looking wide crack section, which I guessed was the crux. I watched him place a classic bumbly protection piece: an ancient hexentric nut threaded with an absurdly-long rope sling. Even before he attempted the hard moves, the carabiner on the sling was level with his ankles. I began paying more attention to him than Shoko, who was roughly level with him. They were both just three or four metres below me. It was soon clear that the guy was having trouble. He tried to reverse his last move but slipped. I had a bird-eye view of the arc of his fall. First the long hex sling snagged one of his feet and tipped him out horizontally. Then his belayer was catapulted forward, creating enough slack for a possible ground impact. The rope went tight as the guy hit a slab at the base and inverted completely. His head, thankfully in a helmet, hit a boulder with a loud bang.

The next few moments were very ugly. Shoko was in shock at what had happened and was almost unable to finish the last easy moves of our climb. The victim began making animal-like groaning noises. People rushed over but could do little as it was obviously unwise to risk moving him. The son was understandably distressed. It passed my mind that his father might die in front of us. Rescue services were called. The victim went quiet.

Wanting to help, but lacking any better role, I rappelled their route, cleaned the gear and coiled their rope. It seemed pointless but somehow respectful - signifying unrealistically that all might be well and that they could soon be climbing together again. The rescue team came quickly and thankfully confirmed that the otherwise-unresponsive victim was still alive. For reasons that were not explained - proximity, I assume - the stretcher was carried to an ambulance pick-up location different to the regular car park. However the son felt that he needed to retrieve the family car, which was parked there. Shoko and I walked him to the car park. I want to believe that we then offered to help him find the hospital where his father had been taken but that he declined - but I am not sure if that is actually true. For some reason, whenever I think about the incident, this detail troubles me. Could we have helped more? Was the boy safe to drive himself in his shocked state?

We never learned what transpired next, how serious was the victim's injury or whether he made a full recovery. 1999 was still a year or two before it would be normal for climbing accidents to be discussed on internet forums. The incident remains the worst climbing accident that I have witnessed. As my description demonstrates, I can rationalise it as a combination of avoidable errors - the poor belaying and the outdated poorly-placed protection - and so have shrugged it off. I even climbed the next day. For Shoko, the effect was more disturbing. She has only climbed a few times in the nineteen years since.

Subsequent ascents

I have been back to Brimham once, in 2003. I did not climb Right-Hand Crack.

And another thing ...

My impression is that this kind of climbing accident, a bad fall while climbing, is fairly rare these days; in Squamish, anyway. Protection and belay devices have improved and knowledge of how and where to use them seems to be better disseminated too. Anecdotally, the most popular way to kill yourself climbing now is to lead sport routes with a newbie or - less forgivably - a set-in-their-ways ageing traddie, especially an american. They will take you off belay when you reach the anchors, making the assumption that you are planning to rappel rather than lower, guaranteeing a ground fall unless you spot their error. (Famous example.) I try to make a habit of always checking tension in the rope before committing to being lowered. This actually saved my life about three years ago.