"Owens River Gorge "
So I'm baaaaack from another climbing trip - just barely, and I'm spending another Monday morning at the office typing furiously away at a trip summary when I ought to be harassing the great migrating herds of science geeks that criss-cross the globe.
So where to this time? Owens River Gorge, a long, narrow gorge carved deep into the high desert plains on the east side of California's central Sierra Nevada Mountains. And like most trips, this one was filled with the bizarre, the ridiculous, and the exciting events only found when you combine rocks, ropes, tents, chest hair, alcohol, and sweet, furry, innocent, little bunny rabbits. But more on that later.
Who went? Well, That's the first interesting question. This trip was penned down by my friend Brent and I almost two months ago. Everyone was notified - all our climbing buddies. Gorge trip! Get yer groove on for da gorge! Twelve people confirm. Five people go. Five: Dan, Brianne, Brent, Leigh Anne and me, the Mighty Jimbo. I think some people need to really take a hard look at their priorities in life. Health, family, finances, career, or juvenile, hedonistic, somewhat masochistic, adrenaline fueled desires? You tell me: Which is more important?
Then there was the twelve hours over four days I spent trying to find people carpool rides for whatever silly-ass reasons. Let it be known: This was the last time I do such a thing. When you lose your job or your car, then you can come to me seeking a ride to the crag. Other than that, from now on it's your wheels, your climb. I ain't running a travel agency nor am I running a taxi service. And besides, you gotta have a death wish to drive with me or a fast car to pace me to the crag. All speeds under 90 are totally unacceptable.
I do recognize that one Sunday night I'm gonna share a late night cell with the infamous Kern County Goat Rapist because Officer Friendly caught me doing 120 in a 35 zone, but, I'll take my chances. Besides, I have all my rich climbing buddies to bail me out of jail, right?
So Brianne swings by Newport to pick me up at about 5:30 on Friday evening. Her car is already packed to the roof, and we still have not added the climbing gear or Dan, our third passenger. Keep in mind, Brianne drives a brand new Acura Integra. Not exactly a car made for cragging.
By the time we pick up Big Dan, we had managed to cram most of the gear into the car, leaving just about 2 and 1/2 cubic feet of space for both Dan and his stuff. I figure he is gonna be riding with his head hanging out the sunroof, but we are three industrious, college educated individuals. We'll find a way to make it work. The Acura was riding about two inches off the ground by the time we finished (must have looked like Fountain Valley gang members with the Acura riding that low). I suspect Dan was studying the intricate contours of his knees for five hours, but the car was packed and we were off to the Gorge.
After a sleepless night of cold feet in 28 degree weather (never climb into a sleeping bag with damp socks), we boogied to the Gorge at about 10 AM. We would have arrived earlier, but Brianne had to sort through the full dresser's worth of clothing she brought for the trip to find just the right climbing attire. FYI: Never bring a hair dryer on a climbing trip unless you want to be mocked.
We began the day at Negress wall, a steep black wall of volcanic tuff right at the bottom of the central gully trail. Dan and I lead "Babushka", a fun little 5.8 to warm up. Brianne flashed it on top rope - a great start for her next project. Her first outdoor lead: "Clip Jr.", a fun little 5.6 with a scary run out center.
How did the amazing climbing betty do? She sends the route without falling or weighting the rope, placing all the quickdraws and clipping the rope effortlessly as she climbs. A perfect red-point. Fabulous.
Dan was kind enough to shoot about 12 pictures of her finishing the climb. Here is Brianne starting her first lead. Here is Brianne two feet off the ground on her first lead. Here is Brianne making the first clip on her first lead. Here is Brianne climbing above the bolt on her first lead...
I swear, new parents have less pictures of their children than the boys at the climbing wall have of Brianne.
I think we need to get some more cute chicks climbing...
Brent and Leigh Anne met us at Negress, and jumped on a few of the climbs. Jimbo decided to chase Brianne around the trail with a piece of rattlesnake skin. Love these quick regressions into my oh so glorious childhood. Dan and I led a fun 5.10b, followed by Dan's run up a 5.10a, and we left to chase the sunshine to the east side of the Gorge.
Brianne and I went straight to the Solarium Wall to tackle one of the best climbs in the Gorge: The classic "Sendero Luminoso". Sendero is 125 feet, rated 5.10b, and very exposed. It follows a pocketed arete up to a polished slab ledge about 100 feet off the deck. It has nine bolts, and one death fall run out in the beginning. But the slab on top....SCARY. Jim, consistent in his two month downward climbing cycle, failing to get a clean red-point on anything harder than a 10a, flailed miserably at the top of Sendero as well. Sometimes it seems like I must have left my balls in the car. After twenty minutes of frustrating my generously patient belayer, I managed to squeeze out enough testosterone to finish the climb and set anchor to belay Brianne up to me.
Brianne, already fatigued from her three prior climbs, struggled a little up the long and pumpy Sendero, but soon greeted me at the start of the slab section. She was none to happy about this and began to swear and plead and spit and struggle her way up this polished rock until she nearly collapsed at the anchor next to her somewhat amused and very proud partner and climbing coach.
Brianne and slab climbs do not get along very well.
After lowering her off and rappelling down, I led a fun 90 foot 5.9 on the Great Wall of China, but Brianne was finished for the day. Dan had been climbing some brutal 5.10s and 5.11's with Brent, and they meet us on the trail.
We head up the gully to stuff like circus clowns into Brianne's Acura, and we raid Sizzler for many repeat trips to the salad bar. The rest of our evening: Following Dan around the Bishop K-Mart so he can pick out the best color pattern on a bath towel for his shower that night.
Sleep never sounded so good.
Woke up again at 7:30 AM. Scurried out of the tent to make some breakfast (don't tell Brianne I left her car unlocked that night....oops). Got bored at about 8 AM, so I decided to pounce on Brianne. Brianne is a bit of a slow starter in the morning. But let me tell you this, try to drag her out of a warm sleeping bag and that 5'2" woman can fight like a demon. I'm still nursing the bruises. In the end, I won the battle, but it took some cold hands placed on strategic body parts to do it.
We broke camp, repacked the car and made it to the Gorge by 11 AM. Dan and Brent jumped on some tough routes near the El Dorado roof. Brianne and I went back to the Negress Wall so she could lead again. She flashed a fun 5.7 and then made an on-sight attempt at "Crowd Pleaser", a classic five star 5.8. Crowd Pleaser is a bit scaary in sections, and Brianne got a shaky little "Elvis leg" on this one. I was pretty impressed with her terrified ten foot down climb from a thin and sketchy section at the top. But she reached deep and soon found herself hanging exhaused and elated from the anchors at the top of this classic climb. We have another twelve pictures of these leads as well. I swear I must have five rolls of film dedicated to Brianne's butt hanging off various rocks in California. Not that this is a bad thing.
We went back to meet with Brent, Leigh Anne and Dan, and I made a feeble attempt at leading a 5.10c. Bailed at the second clip. Too tired and just not feeling the groove. We packed and headed up the gully to the parking lot and the long trip home.
Now this is where things get...interesting.
It seems Dan brought a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the trip, and while we were packing the car, we discovered the cork was leaking. Dan's solution: Drink the bottle. Dan, Brianne and Brent all polish off a bottle of wine after a weekend of climbing. Now Brianne is our resident lush (lots of training in that sorority and those three months in Europe), but Danny-Boy is like Jimbo - a consummate lightweight. In no time at all we have two fairly intoxicated climbers stuffed into an Acura, bouncing along to the Sprung Monkey CD and laughing to Dan's impromptu karaoke of John Cougar Mellencamp.
The buzz begins to wear off at about Lone Pine. Dan's drunken solution: Buy another bottle of wine.
No shit.
White Zinfandel this time. A nice vintage bottled just that afternoon and procured at a Shell station located next to a stable with a Lone Pine resident complete with ten-gallon hat, fatigues and a shotgun. We pile back into the zippy mobile, and hit the road. We've gone barely a mile before Dan begins to struggle with the cork, breaking the cork screw in the bottle. Oh the horror!
Never deny a drunk his alcohol. Never knew that Dan, deep down, was a wino at heart.
So we stop at the Texaco - a Texaco often frequented by California Highway Patrol - where Dan gets out of the car, bottle in hand, walks up to the counter and asks to "borrow" a cork screw. Big Billy Ray, Lone Pine native, doesn't have one to lend, but is more than happy to sell Chesty a new one for a buck twenty five. Dan can't refuse such a generous offer, and, holding his shiny new cork screw, heads back to the car beaming like a child with a new toy.
By the time I manage to pull out of the parking lot, Brianne and Dan have sucked down the last drop of this Night Train wanna-be, and Dan is busy licking the rim to savor any rogue alcohol molecules he may have missed.
Now the fun really begins.
Can you say munchies? Dan immediately goes to town on all the food he can find in the car. He is throwing Rice Krispy Treats around and Junior Mints are randomly tossed into the front seat. At least he was sharing. Wheat Thins, Fig Newtons, nothing was safe.
I'm doing 90 down the freeway, Dan is rocking the whole car to the sounds of "House of Pain", and is poking his head up front wearing various food items and camping gear on his head. When "Right Said Fred" hit the speakers, the shirt started to come off, the chest hair was being rubbed seductively, and at that point I knew I had a great tale to spin on Monday.
Meanwhile, Brianne is nearly crying at Dan's oh-so-intoxicated behavior. I think she ruptured something she was laughing so hard.
Me, I'm just trying to keep the car on the road, and am praying that Sheriff Bueford T. Justice isn't lurking around the next bend to catch me flying at warp speed in a dangerously overloaded Integra complete with two open containers and two joyously inebriated passengers.
We reached Mojave at about 7 PM. Brianne is shaking like a puppy that needs to be walked, and I am passing every gas station just to see how long before she grabs the wheel and forces the car into a parking lot so she can empty her wine saturated bladder.
We raid Taco Bell, and drunken Dan buys an extra spicy bean burrito. Yes, a bean burrito. And we still have to spend two more hours stuffed into the Integra with captain flatulence on a taco turbo charger.
God help us.
Thankfully, the alcohol started to lose it's effect, and Brianne and Dan begin to doze off. It's always during these serene, quiet moments when tragedy strikes. Little Peter Cottontail decided to play chicken with an Acura Integra doing 90 MPH down the 14. He lost. I heard him bounce up underneath the undercarriage. Integra 1. Thumper, 0. Brianne is horrified and is beating the crap out of my arm now that I just snuffed a fluffy little bunnywabbit. Dan is screaming something about me killing the Easter Bunny, and I am just amazed at the total absurdity of this moment in my life. Call me Elmer Fudd. Kind of ironic for a vegetarian.
Brianne, still horrified, seeks a solemn moment and plays Sting's "Fields of Gold" in memory of Thumper. I immediately follow her lead with a quick sample of George Thorogood's "Bad To The Bone". Sorry Thumper, Jimbo Andretti doesn't swerve for anyone.
Tragedy hanging over the car like a cloud. Brianne and Dan find solace in a nap, and I manage to avoid killing any other critters all the way to Dan's house in Newport Beach.
I get home about 9 PM, and offer to wash off the 13 million bugs that peppered the once green hood of the car (although I suspect it might take a "Brillo" pad to do it completely). Brianne, again in an exhausted stupor, declines and heads home, her new car covered in gorge dust, Rice Krispy Treats, red wine, insect intestines and rabbit fur.
I washed the layer of dirt and sweat off my skin, crawled into bed, and dreamed of drunk bunny rabbits, booting me off desert cliffs.
I better get back to work.
