The route
Rosy Crucifixion is a classic three pitch route on the Redgarden Wall in Eldorado Canyon, Colorado. Though relatively short by Eldo standards, it is famous for the intimidating exposure on its crux first pitch, which traverses horizontally to a hanging belay above large overhangs. The top two pitches are not much easier. The YDS grade is low or mid 5.10, sometimes with an "R" or "PG13" to signify the fear factor. Perhaps an E2 or soft E3 for Brits?
The context
In the summer of 1984, I visited the US for the first time. During the preceding winter, several second and third year students in the university club had discussed a group overseas trip but had eventually failed to decide on a common objective. The majority set their sights on Peru, to climb alpine peaks, while the then-president of the club, Phil Baker, and I were the splinter-group, favouring Boulder in Colorado. I guess we were heavily influenced by the book "Climb! The history of rock climbing in Colorado", published in the late 1970s and still circulating amongst UK climbers in the early 1980s. It was one of the first coffee-table style rock climbing books, with wild imagery of giant sandstone and granite faces that made UK climbing seem very tame. A similar book, Yosemite Climber, was also widely shared and made a persuasive pitch for Yosemite. We may have known that it would be too hot in Yosemite, though I suspect not (more on "conditions" in future posts); anyway, we chose Colorado.
In August Phil and I flew to the US on Virgin Atlantic, which had just begun operating two months before, with a service between London Gatwick and Newark. It was by far the cheapest way to cross the Atlantic. To get to Colorado from New York we had $10 per day bus tickets with Trailways. We had worked out that if we sat on the correct buses for 48 hours, we would make it to Denver for just $20 each. The only flaw in this plan was that the flight arrived in the afternoon and the bus left early the next morning. Spending money on a hotel was unthinkable, so we just walked randomly around Lower Manhattan with our large backpacks for hours until finally giving up and bivouacking inside the Port Authority bus station. New York had a bad reputation for street crime in those days and I later learned that the bus station was regarded as some kind of epicentre of sketchiness. Perhaps we looked too poor to mug?
The two-day bus journey was a great experience. The bus stopped periodically at fabulous old-school diners with wholly-un-British features like countertop grills and free coffee refill. I remember pulling out of downtown Chicago at dawn on the second day and being astonished by the vast skyscrapers around us. Then, as the bus gathered speed on the freeway, I looked back and saw the Sears Tower, then the world's tallest building, dwarfing them at twice their height. A moment of genuine awe.
From Denver, we used a regular bus to reach Boulder. It was, I guess, mid-morning. Initial impressions were very favourable: the sky was clear, sun shining, beautiful people roamed the sidewalks and the downtown streets lined with exotic cafes, bars and stores. I remember especially Alfafa's, a giant wholefood supermarket; a commonplace phenomenon now but then at least a decade ahead of its time. We walked into the first climbing shop we could find and asked the staff whether they knew anyone with floor space, who might like to accommodate us for free. I forget now if our budget was actually dependent on this massive assumption about Boulder generosity? Whichever, it worked, a name and phone number was suggested and we headed back outside to find a payphone. The initial call resulted in another referral.
Two guys, Strappo and Crusher - I assumed not their real names - collected us in a pickup truck. They were expat Brits, in their mid-20s, I guessed, working construction, or, at least, so the detritus in the truck suggested. Strappo had rockstar looks, perhaps Steve Tyler from Aerosmith; Crusher someone who might be nicknamed "Crusher". Both exuded cool and a confident air that they "owned" the town. Yes, we could stay in their apartment for a night or two, though they wouldn't be there as they were heading to Rocky Mountain National Park that night to bivouac then climb the Diamond the next day, in fact, they thought we should join them, but, before that, we should get lunch - vast quintessentially-american stacked sub sandwiches (how do you eat them?) - then drive to a friend's house, Phil and I riding in the truck bed - a first for both of us - then drink beer and smoke pot by the swimming pool for an indeterminate period. Plans seemed (literally) fluid. The diary mentions another semi-legal stimulant.
At some point in the afternoon, jetlag combined with exhaustion, from the cumulative nights sleeping badly in a bus station, then a moving coach, started to kick in hard for me. I mentioned quietly to Phil that perhaps attempting a route on the Diamond, on our second day, at altitude with a long approach, was ambitious, possibly insane, and that staying in Boulder would be wiser. He acquiesced but I think that, swept up in the flow of this entertaining day, he was disappointed. Strappo and Crusher duly relocated us to their place, then disappeared to RMNP. The apartment was on the ground floor of a three or four storey building. I slept quickly but was woken in the middle of the night by what sounded like a fight erupting above us. A couple were arguing, then breaking windows, then hurling furniture into the street. It was too much to process; I went back to sleep.
In the morning, we remembered that we had a contact in Boulder, Pete, a post-doc chemist from Bristol who had found a job at University of Colorado. We tracked him down at his lab. He seemed reassuringly duller than Strappo and Crusher. We twisted his arm to let us stay. Accommodation resolved, we thought, it was time on focus on climbing some rocks.
In fact, accommodation was far from resolved and would remain an issue throughout our trip. Pete was in the middle of being evicted from his apartment. I had a notably challenging encounter one evening, about a week later, when I fell into conversation with a stoner on Boulder's downtown Pearl Street, smoked far too much of his pot, lost Phil, somehow found my way back to the apartment and ran into the landlord, who was significantly nonplussed to find an incoherent nineteen-year-old Brit in residence. Thankfully we were in liberal Boulder, not somewhere more redneck, so there were only stern words and no Second Amendment action. By the time I left Colorado, a week or so after Phil, nights had also been spent in a locked ski lodge, a disused goldmine, the south rim trail of the Black Canyon and a mesa-top llama ranch. In the interests of brevity, I'll omit the related stories ...
Phil wrote an article about our trip, which was accepted by a British climbing magazine but, strangely, not published until 1991! I kept a copy for years but couldn't find it when I started to write this post. Phil very kindly sent me a scan. This is especially helpful as my diary notes are terse. For example, for our first round of Eldo climbing I have just: "Yellow Spur - Green Slab Direct - Werk Supp - 1st pitch Tagger - Outer Space - Genesis - Rosy Crucifixion". Especially inadequate as some of these route names reference long multi-pitch climbs. Phil excelled himself on Yellow Spur, leading the massively-exposed and thin 5.10 fifth pitch. My big moment came on the equally exciting Outer Space, on which I somehow made a clean lead of the final 5.10+ pitch. Phil took a photo of me starting that pitch which made the magazine.
The ascent
Of the Eldo routes we did, Rosy Crucifixion left the strongest memories for me, and also received the longest description in Phil's article. Of the first pitch Phil wrote:
"After some soloing the first hard section is reached, a 40 foot traverse above the very lip of the overhang, providing 200 feet of instant space below. Unfortunately, the first move is very committing involving a fingertip layaway, left foot smeared out to hold the balance. Once accomplished, wild swings on good handholds (but no such luck for the feet) lead to a jug. I was so impressed with my position at this point that I posed for a photograph leaning out into the void. However, by the time I had explained the fundamentals of photography and the operation of a camera to my second, my arms were objecting and the rest of this superb pitch was accomplished with much cursing, lunging, sweating and shaking."
I don't remember the camera incident - sorry Phil! He continues:
"As I hung limply from the belay pegs I vowed to stifle my vanity for more important matters in future. Toby joined me in a similar style and we sat in harnesses swapping gear, enthusing wildly."
What I do remember is being very scared as I following the pitch - it may actually be more intimidating to second than lead - grabbing much of the gear to rest and arriving at the hanging belay in a frayed state. Phil's talk of gear-swapping infers that I led the next pitch. Maybe, but I am fairly sure I didn't do it clean. He definitely led the last pitch. Overall I came away quite frustrated by a flawed ascent of a route which the guidebook described as one of the "most aesthetic in Eldorado".
Subsequent ascents
Early in the 1990s, a climbing friend from Bristol University, Andy Donson, was offered an oncology research job in Denver, close enough to Boulder that he could live there and commute. I was extremely jealous but psyched to be able to visit him in Boulder in 1996 (en route to sport climb at Rifle), 2000 (heading to the Utah desert) and 2004 (ditto).
By coincidence, in between the second and third visits, Andy had become a lodger with Crusher, still resident in Boulder. He in turn had become a respected climbing writer and had married Fran, an astrophysicist at University of Colorado. So, twenty years on, I met Crusher again; reasonably enough, he didn't remember his fleeting encounter with Phil or me. However, it was really helpful for my climbing partner, Duncan Critchley, and I to have the opportunity to talk with him, as we had an ambitious project in the desert - climbing the Titan - and we knew he was a guru of that area. In fact, Alpinist magazine had just gone to print with a large article on the Titan, which Crusher had authored. (In 2010, Sharp End published Crusher's large-format book "Desert Towers: Fat Cat Summits and Kitty Litter Rock", about the history of climbing towers in Utah and other western states; an extraordinary and scholarly work which every climber should own.)
For many reasons, some weather-related, some climbing-deficiency (mostly mine), our foray west was not hugely successful. We returned to Boulder two weeks later via a nerve-wracking snowstorm on the I-70 highway through the Rockies. On the positive side, we had two days available to climb in Eldo. From the diary, Saturday 23rd October:
"Went for breakfast at Lucilles (excellent spicy sausage and hash browns). Set out quite late to Eldo. Had some queue issues with people for Rosy Crucifixion ... Route was very straightforward for me though Duncan uncharacteristically climbed badly on the higher pitches. A 20th anniversary ascent for me. Easier than when 19."
"Uncharacteristically" is an understatement in relation to Duncan. I don't know any other climber as capable of pulling amazing performances out of a hat, even after months of alleged injury. Too many hash browns for breakfast, perhaps? More Duncan (and Andy) in future posts.
And another thing ...
A notable occurrence in the lead up to the trip was finally graduating from the EB rock boot. From the diary in May 1984: "Physiology shock today. Bought Firés as compensation.". I had skipped a full year of Physiology lectures on the mistaken assumption that there was no need to pass the end of year exam. The "shock", which required retail therapy, was that I had just learned that this was incorrect, that I would have to repeat the entire academic year if I failed and that I only had three weeks to cram the syllabus. I still have occasional nightmares about this. Boreal's Firé was the first climbing shoe with a sticky rubber sole. Radical at the time; now standard.
 |
| The 300m Redgarden Wall, Eldorado Canyon. © Mountain Project Rosy Crucifixion starts high on the ramp to the left and traverses right into the middle of the face |
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| Unknown climber finishing pitch 1 on Rosy Crucifixion, October 2004 |
In the summer of 1984, I visited the US for the first time. During the preceding winter, several second and third year students in the university club had discussed a group overseas trip but had eventually failed to decide on a common objective. The majority set their sights on Peru, to climb alpine peaks, while the then-president of the club, Phil Baker, and I were the splinter-group, favouring Boulder in Colorado. I guess we were heavily influenced by the book "Climb! The history of rock climbing in Colorado", published in the late 1970s and still circulating amongst UK climbers in the early 1980s. It was one of the first coffee-table style rock climbing books, with wild imagery of giant sandstone and granite faces that made UK climbing seem very tame. A similar book, Yosemite Climber, was also widely shared and made a persuasive pitch for Yosemite. We may have known that it would be too hot in Yosemite, though I suspect not (more on "conditions" in future posts); anyway, we chose Colorado.
 |
President Phil, left. I forget the proud minibus driver's name
UBMC in the Lake District, December 1983
|
The two-day bus journey was a great experience. The bus stopped periodically at fabulous old-school diners with wholly-un-British features like countertop grills and free coffee refill. I remember pulling out of downtown Chicago at dawn on the second day and being astonished by the vast skyscrapers around us. Then, as the bus gathered speed on the freeway, I looked back and saw the Sears Tower, then the world's tallest building, dwarfing them at twice their height. A moment of genuine awe.
From Denver, we used a regular bus to reach Boulder. It was, I guess, mid-morning. Initial impressions were very favourable: the sky was clear, sun shining, beautiful people roamed the sidewalks and the downtown streets lined with exotic cafes, bars and stores. I remember especially Alfafa's, a giant wholefood supermarket; a commonplace phenomenon now but then at least a decade ahead of its time. We walked into the first climbing shop we could find and asked the staff whether they knew anyone with floor space, who might like to accommodate us for free. I forget now if our budget was actually dependent on this massive assumption about Boulder generosity? Whichever, it worked, a name and phone number was suggested and we headed back outside to find a payphone. The initial call resulted in another referral.
Two guys, Strappo and Crusher - I assumed not their real names - collected us in a pickup truck. They were expat Brits, in their mid-20s, I guessed, working construction, or, at least, so the detritus in the truck suggested. Strappo had rockstar looks, perhaps Steve Tyler from Aerosmith; Crusher someone who might be nicknamed "Crusher". Both exuded cool and a confident air that they "owned" the town. Yes, we could stay in their apartment for a night or two, though they wouldn't be there as they were heading to Rocky Mountain National Park that night to bivouac then climb the Diamond the next day, in fact, they thought we should join them, but, before that, we should get lunch - vast quintessentially-american stacked sub sandwiches (how do you eat them?) - then drive to a friend's house, Phil and I riding in the truck bed - a first for both of us - then drink beer and smoke pot by the swimming pool for an indeterminate period. Plans seemed (literally) fluid. The diary mentions another semi-legal stimulant.
At some point in the afternoon, jetlag combined with exhaustion, from the cumulative nights sleeping badly in a bus station, then a moving coach, started to kick in hard for me. I mentioned quietly to Phil that perhaps attempting a route on the Diamond, on our second day, at altitude with a long approach, was ambitious, possibly insane, and that staying in Boulder would be wiser. He acquiesced but I think that, swept up in the flow of this entertaining day, he was disappointed. Strappo and Crusher duly relocated us to their place, then disappeared to RMNP. The apartment was on the ground floor of a three or four storey building. I slept quickly but was woken in the middle of the night by what sounded like a fight erupting above us. A couple were arguing, then breaking windows, then hurling furniture into the street. It was too much to process; I went back to sleep.
In the morning, we remembered that we had a contact in Boulder, Pete, a post-doc chemist from Bristol who had found a job at University of Colorado. We tracked him down at his lab. He seemed reassuringly duller than Strappo and Crusher. We twisted his arm to let us stay. Accommodation resolved, we thought, it was time on focus on climbing some rocks.
In fact, accommodation was far from resolved and would remain an issue throughout our trip. Pete was in the middle of being evicted from his apartment. I had a notably challenging encounter one evening, about a week later, when I fell into conversation with a stoner on Boulder's downtown Pearl Street, smoked far too much of his pot, lost Phil, somehow found my way back to the apartment and ran into the landlord, who was significantly nonplussed to find an incoherent nineteen-year-old Brit in residence. Thankfully we were in liberal Boulder, not somewhere more redneck, so there were only stern words and no Second Amendment action. By the time I left Colorado, a week or so after Phil, nights had also been spent in a locked ski lodge, a disused goldmine, the south rim trail of the Black Canyon and a mesa-top llama ranch. In the interests of brevity, I'll omit the related stories ...
Phil wrote an article about our trip, which was accepted by a British climbing magazine but, strangely, not published until 1991! I kept a copy for years but couldn't find it when I started to write this post. Phil very kindly sent me a scan. This is especially helpful as my diary notes are terse. For example, for our first round of Eldo climbing I have just: "Yellow Spur - Green Slab Direct - Werk Supp - 1st pitch Tagger - Outer Space - Genesis - Rosy Crucifixion". Especially inadequate as some of these route names reference long multi-pitch climbs. Phil excelled himself on Yellow Spur, leading the massively-exposed and thin 5.10 fifth pitch. My big moment came on the equally exciting Outer Space, on which I somehow made a clean lead of the final 5.10+ pitch. Phil took a photo of me starting that pitch which made the magazine.
 |
| Leading the top pitch of Outer Space, 5.10+ in 1984 © Phil Baker Scan of a photo in the article Phil wrote for Climber and Hillwalker magazine |
Of the Eldo routes we did, Rosy Crucifixion left the strongest memories for me, and also received the longest description in Phil's article. Of the first pitch Phil wrote:
"After some soloing the first hard section is reached, a 40 foot traverse above the very lip of the overhang, providing 200 feet of instant space below. Unfortunately, the first move is very committing involving a fingertip layaway, left foot smeared out to hold the balance. Once accomplished, wild swings on good handholds (but no such luck for the feet) lead to a jug. I was so impressed with my position at this point that I posed for a photograph leaning out into the void. However, by the time I had explained the fundamentals of photography and the operation of a camera to my second, my arms were objecting and the rest of this superb pitch was accomplished with much cursing, lunging, sweating and shaking."
I don't remember the camera incident - sorry Phil! He continues:
"As I hung limply from the belay pegs I vowed to stifle my vanity for more important matters in future. Toby joined me in a similar style and we sat in harnesses swapping gear, enthusing wildly."
What I do remember is being very scared as I following the pitch - it may actually be more intimidating to second than lead - grabbing much of the gear to rest and arriving at the hanging belay in a frayed state. Phil's talk of gear-swapping infers that I led the next pitch. Maybe, but I am fairly sure I didn't do it clean. He definitely led the last pitch. Overall I came away quite frustrated by a flawed ascent of a route which the guidebook described as one of the "most aesthetic in Eldorado".
Subsequent ascents
Early in the 1990s, a climbing friend from Bristol University, Andy Donson, was offered an oncology research job in Denver, close enough to Boulder that he could live there and commute. I was extremely jealous but psyched to be able to visit him in Boulder in 1996 (en route to sport climb at Rifle), 2000 (heading to the Utah desert) and 2004 (ditto).
By coincidence, in between the second and third visits, Andy had become a lodger with Crusher, still resident in Boulder. He in turn had become a respected climbing writer and had married Fran, an astrophysicist at University of Colorado. So, twenty years on, I met Crusher again; reasonably enough, he didn't remember his fleeting encounter with Phil or me. However, it was really helpful for my climbing partner, Duncan Critchley, and I to have the opportunity to talk with him, as we had an ambitious project in the desert - climbing the Titan - and we knew he was a guru of that area. In fact, Alpinist magazine had just gone to print with a large article on the Titan, which Crusher had authored. (In 2010, Sharp End published Crusher's large-format book "Desert Towers: Fat Cat Summits and Kitty Litter Rock", about the history of climbing towers in Utah and other western states; an extraordinary and scholarly work which every climber should own.)
For many reasons, some weather-related, some climbing-deficiency (mostly mine), our foray west was not hugely successful. We returned to Boulder two weeks later via a nerve-wracking snowstorm on the I-70 highway through the Rockies. On the positive side, we had two days available to climb in Eldo. From the diary, Saturday 23rd October:
"Went for breakfast at Lucilles (excellent spicy sausage and hash browns). Set out quite late to Eldo. Had some queue issues with people for Rosy Crucifixion ... Route was very straightforward for me though Duncan uncharacteristically climbed badly on the higher pitches. A 20th anniversary ascent for me. Easier than when 19."
 |
| Duncan following the first pitch of Rosy Crucifixion in 2004 |
And another thing ...
A notable occurrence in the lead up to the trip was finally graduating from the EB rock boot. From the diary in May 1984: "Physiology shock today. Bought Firés as compensation.". I had skipped a full year of Physiology lectures on the mistaken assumption that there was no need to pass the end of year exam. The "shock", which required retail therapy, was that I had just learned that this was incorrect, that I would have to repeat the entire academic year if I failed and that I only had three weeks to cram the syllabus. I still have occasional nightmares about this. Boreal's Firé was the first climbing shoe with a sticky rubber sole. Radical at the time; now standard.
