East meets West

The world tour has almost reached the end of month 5 and 3 continents after a flying start in Italy and Spain in the summer we moved to New York. Tiring of the city, a futuristic nightmare about an overpopulated planet, we headed upstate to New Paltz and the glorious gritty rock of the Gunks. Imagine a 200-foot high Stanage without the people and with a 10 minute easy walk-in. There were easy single-pitch routes and extreme multi-pitch routes with every combination in between. The rock has fractured in planes; the crack climbs are awesome and the gear solid. Eddie led 5.10s and 5.11s; I started more modestly at 5.6 (about UK severe). Even the moderately graded climbs had hanging belays and these had heart-stopping views over hundreds of acres of woodland, just starting to turn red. Some days we climbed to exhaustion and then staggered back to the cool bars of New Paltz (and sometimes we just staggered back to the cool bars of New Paltz) where Eddie taught a succession of dizzy barmaids to make volcanic cocktails.

On the final day we stretched out the climbing as much as possible and then got lost in the back streets of Harlem, trying to return the (mysteriously dented) car to JFK airport. At midnight, mission accomplished, we found that, unbelievably, both the buses and the taxis had stopped running because it was Sunday night and we were stuck probably 30 miles away from Newark with no transport and a 6.20 am flight! With some help, we flagged down a stretch limousine and haggled until the driver agreed to take us to Newark for $75 my first ever ride in a stretch limo and I was too tired to enjoy it. I just went to sleep among the neon-lit champagne glasses and then Eddie was waking me up - what a waste!

The next day we flew out of Newark, then Dulles and Miami to Cancun. The date? 10 September. The next days were spent, like the rest of the world, in front of the TV watching events in the US and thinking about the people we met in the World Trade Centre 2 weeks before.

Mexico (a non-climbing fortnight) was a revelation as we visited the Mayan and Toltec ancient sites at Chichen Itza, Palenque and Toltehuacan. We came into our own as climbers at the Great Pyramid of Chichen Itza - steep and slippery limestone steps with a dubious and fraying rope as a handrail, leading to an open unfenced balcony with 360 degree views of the jungle. The ambulance at the foot was a real comfort to most people. Having established that most of the group weren't virgins (there were a few abstainers) and therefore were unlikely to be sacrificed to the gods, we felt it was safe to swim at the Agua Azul waterfalls. It wasn't. They're very high, very fast and have a very strong current. I managed about 10 strokes before battling out but Eddie kept going - nothing of course to do with the Mexican nymphettes frolicking in the shallows...

Deciding that we really should spend time climbing we moved to Las Vegas and desert sandstone. It was like trying to climb in an oven - well over 100 degrees and north-facing crags were hard to find. As on God's own crag, Harrisons, the rock was rounded and soft. A few experiments with cams showed that a healthy fall would flex the flakes sufficiently for the gear to pull out so bolted routes were favourite and we had a superb few days' sport climbing. Why only a few days? Well, we'd created a massive problem for ourselves by booking into the Tropicana on Las Vegas Boulevard. It had a huge casino; floor shows; 6 restaurants; a swimming pool; 20-minute room service; brilliant cocktails; The real damage was done though when we took gambling lessons (craps) and got sufficiently proficient (though not proficient enough, obviously) to join the tables every night. Yes, drinks were free to gamblers, and yes, the losses were less if you translated them to sterling but even with these economies it was obvious we were in trouble and, more importantly, not doing any climbing.

The Finance Director and the Operations Director had a free and frank exchange of views one evening and the FD prevailed - the budget was blown and the expedition would move to Yosemite. From hot and cold running chambermaids and the power of the credit card we moved to Camp 4, home of the Dead 'Ard, but largely unwashed climbing community of the West. The facilities were a cold tap and bear boxes. It was freezing at night and we didn't stir until the sun hit the tents midmorning.

Climbing started at Manure Pile Buttress - not a heap of sh** but a beautiful, clean, granite mound at the foot of El Cap. Our tick list contained only classic climbs - After 6 (5.6), After 7 (5.8), Nutcracker (5.8). After a few relatively uneventful but incredibly good climbing days we were at Church Bowl, another  crag with easy access and great rock, with Eddie leading and I seconding 5.10 and 5.11 single pitch climbs. A sudden crash, shouting and prolonged moaning sent me spinning off and the two of us racing uphill to take part in the rescue of a climber who had fallen 30 - 40 feet without gear - a classic case of "I'm on easy ground so I won't bother with pro". Physically he seemed OK apart from a possible broken collar bone but he had a bloody face and kept asking the same questions over and over again. What clinched it for the paramedics was that he didn't know the date, which bothered the two of us as we'd lost track of the days too. Deciding he was concussed, the medics called a helicopter and he was carried to the road. Funnily enough, we'd had enough of climbing for that day and we decided to drink beer instead.

The highlight of the Yosemite leg of the trip was a 150 foot route on El Cap - Sacherer Cracker to the Slack (or something). This was graded 5.10a and should have been well within my seconding ability ha, ha, ha. Eddie set off up the long, long layback, which led to a finger-jamming crack, which led to a hand-jamming crack, all of which he led quickly and with his usual style. The problem was when the hand crack led to a body-jamming crack ....from the curses above I gathered that all the big gear had been used lower down and he hadn't got enough extenders. The result was a precarious down-climb, collecting every other piece of gear until upward progress could be resumed.

My seconding of this climb was a classic showpiece of how to embarrass oneself in front of the assembled greats of the Californian climbing scene. The lay back was an anaerobic dash (hang off with one hand, yank the gear out, carry on with it dangling from the rope as no time to put it on the harness), the finger jam was a slow grumble about weight gain (and now-forgotten promises to reform the eating habits), the hand jam a long scream about crucified toes and slipping hands (I've never understood this technique) and the body jam, well, just that, a jam. I inserted the body in the crack as instructed but couldn't do the upward wriggle which was being demonstrated (out of sight) 50 feet up. The row which developed from "Put your bum in Jo, it will fit better" was entertaining for everyone but us but at least I was improving my jamming technique as "You were only on the rope 99% of the time for that one!"

We live and learn.

More news from NZ and Oz to follow!

Jo and Eddie