"Canada "
It was a good thing that I put in my earring. I might have been asked to leave without proof of a piercing. I felt like I walked onto the set of Reality Bites. I was staying at the Cambie Hotel and Hostel in the heart of the Vancouver Gastown district. The bar was loud, raucous. Lots of facial hair, beer and body art. Basically a large-scale effort to stall the ever-pressing forces of responsibility, conformity, and mediocrity. Communal slacking, I guess. This is where I choose to write the travel essay to my well-known and eagerly anticipated Canadian climbing trip.
It’s no secret that all my friends, coworkers, neighbors, customers, family, pets, vendors, and parasites were getting pretty damn tired of a tense, uptight Jimbo who had been about as friendly as a snapping turtle on steroids. It had been said (more than once) that I needed a vacation.
I left for Canada on Saturday, June 25, 1999. I wasn’t planning a vacation to Canada. It just sort of fell in my lap when my friend Gary Henning, athlete, scholar, supplement junkie, Canadian native and rope gun, mentioned he needed a climbing partner. I, of course, never pass up a climbing trip if I can help it, and since I’d never been to Canada, I soon found myself watching Strange Brew and Kids in the Hall reruns as research into the Canadian culture and mentality. Ay, Hoser?
My flight was out of LAX on Saturday afternoon. My most reliable LA connection, Christina Shabaglian, generously offered to drive me to the airport and keep my car in her apartment’s garage, thereby eliminating my need to fork over $150 bucks to LAX to keep my car potentially, possibly, maybe free from theft while I was away. Christina, however, is a serious urban night owl - a regular Holly Golightly in polyester and Prada. My dozen attempts to phone her on Saturday morning proved thoroughly ineffective at waking my petite Super Shuttle savior. I sat outside her complex pacing like a stalker debating some less than legal methods of entry into the building. My seemingly inevitable felony breaking and entering conviction was narrowly avoided when the manager of the rental office offered a sympathetic and knowing ear to my plight and turned a blind eye as I bolted down the hallway to pound on Christina’s door.
I was soon en route to Canada’s great white, or more appropriately, wet north.
The flight itself was blissfully uneventful. I narrowly avoided sitting next to a 250 pound walking homage to the Fonz in black leather and boots when he graciously opted for the three vacant seats across the aisle allowing me to finally exhale and expand onto the armrest.
The connection to Calgary was short – and on the little jet. I suspect my left ear was no more than two meters from the turbine. Hell, it’s still ringing. My other ear, however, was only inches away from Jeanette, a stunningly attractive redhead with a flawless complexion, elegant smile, and eyes the color of Vancouver’s sky. Sadly, Calgary was not her final destination. I resisted a more primal calling to follow her to Edmonton, and instead left the airport in search of more adrenaline fueled desires.
Gary was planning to meet me in Calgary on Sunday morning, so I spent the night at Calgary’s downtown hostel, haunting Calgary’s limited nightlife with Eric from Vancouver and David from Scotland. The drinking age in Alberta is only eighteen. It’s a sobering moment when you walk into a dance club and realize that you have the one balding head in a sea of carbonated adolescent hormones and bubble gum. I had ten years on most of these kids. The generation gap was further illustrated when the latest single by the Backstreet Boys cleared the tables and packed the dance floor.
I felt like a member of the considerably less trendy Backhair Boys and soon tired of the Canadian Brittany Spears clones. Yeah, they’re fun to watch, but what do you talk about? “So, did you catch Dawson’s Creek last night?” “How did you do in trig?” We left to pursue other social opportunities. Little of interest was found and we wandered back to the hostel around 2AM.
Sunday morning Gary met me at the Hostel and we were off on our blitzkrieg Canadian rock tour. From Bamff, to the 22 pitch Chinaman’s Peak, to Lake Louise, to Revelstoke, to Skaha, and finishing on Squamish and it’s famous granite Chief. At least, that was the plan.
Unfortunately, Mother Nature and her ever-bitchy daughter, La Nina were none too cooperative. Western Canada is currently experiencing the wettest year on record – a rather damp encore to last year’s highly successful El Nino which left the region comparatively parched while drenching SoCal and most of the Southern Hemisphere.
Good thing I brought my Gore-Tex.
It rained most of the way to Bamff. Thankfully, La Nina eased up with her blubbering for a few hours and I got the chance to wander around town in the sunshine and do some gear shopping. Gear is cheap in Canada when you consider that one US dollar is worth 1.42 Canadian. 42% off is good motivation to shop. I picked up a new helmet and some Petzl ascenders for only $110 US. Can’t argue with deals like that.
With sunset at around 9:30PM (try adjusting your internal clock to that), Gary and I hurried to Grassy Lakes to cram in a short climbing session. After just two routes, a fun jug filled, pump-fest called Touch (11b) and some unknown 12a, La Nina got all emotional again and sent us packing for Lake Louise.
Lake Louise is a stunning emerald lake overlooked by an elegant and opulent hotel. The rock surrounding the lake looked tremendous – and tremendously wet. The five-day forecast only called for more of the same. The famous Chocolate Bunnies from Hell (11b) would have to wait. Gary and I drove back to Bamff for food and the 7PM showing of Austin Powers, and planned to leave in the morning – chasing whatever sunshine we could find. I saw my first herd of caribou (basically big deer) and witnessed an amazing sunset over the Canadian Rocky Mountains.
Monday – more rain. Gary and I left our illegal campsite outside Lake Louise and headed West through Yoho and Glacier National Parks. More Rain. Revelstoke? Rain. We headed on into the Okanagan and to Skaha.
Yeah, we drove seven hours through some of the most spectacular country in Canada, and yeah, I saw a bear, an elk, a moose, more caribou and some deer. However, I’m sure both Gary and I would rather have been hanging onto some rocks in some summer sunshine than sightseeing while strapped into a trailer towing Honda struggling to do 40 through the hills.
We finally stopped in Penticton, a quaint lakeside town and home of the Skaha crags. Penticton is thankfully in the rain shadow of the mountains. No one told that to La Nina. It was raining there too.
At about 5PM, the skies cleared and we decided to give the crags a try. Fortress wall is just a short but decidedly uphill hike from the parking lot. We found it in the sun, dry, and free of climbers. We began on Plum line, a classic 5.9 – the best of the grade in Skaha. We soon followed it up with some classic 5.10 routes further down the wall. Minor Skirmish is a terrific 10b, with a technical arete at the start leading to a balancy finish. We finished with Mortal Kombat (10d), a long route with a tricky traverse and a recently bolted, unnamed 10d full of scary crimpers and welcome jugs just to the left of Mortal Kombat.
Skaha is steep, hard, and wonderfully featured Gneiss. The routes are balancy and exposed with solid edges and seemingly chiseled holds. The fingery, edgy style of climbing is similar to Owens River Gorge – but in an environment that is undeniably more attractive with rock that offers considerably more variety. The rock supports abundant lichen, and in the right light glows yellow. Dusk over Penticton and Skaha is truly extraordinary. It’s like walking through a painting.
Even in Skaha, wildlife is abundant. Swifts dart between the cliffs. Red-tailed hawks circled over head (one with a recent reptilian prize dangling from his talons), and a five-foot gopher snake silently crossed our path.
At Fortress Wall we met Aaron and Jo, a couple from New Zealand who were climbing across Canada for the summer. The pointed us toward a campground, complete with showers at the base of the hill. The Skaha campground was home for the next six days.
Tuesday morning, Gary and I hiked up to Doctor’s Wall (almost tripping over one of Skaha’s many rattlesnakes on the hike). Doctor’s Wall is in an isolated little enclave of trees and boulders, surrounded by steep rock on three sides. A resident great horned owl watched us from various boulders throughout the day, occasionally gliding to a new perch when one of the invading humans climbed too close for his wide-eyed comfort.
We began our climbing on Doctor Crow, a surprisingly technical 5.10 crack with a stiff 10d start. I fell on the start and threw away the on-sight. We followed it up with Naturopath, a stiff 11b. A wonderful route, Naturopath was ultra thin and exposed.
We moved on to Malpractice Crack, a technical and acrobatic crack up a blocky corner system to a rather prominent roof. The finish pulls you around the roof onto a sloping rock face – in the rain. Gary did an excellent job of leading the climb – with a limited rack of nuts and two cams no less. Me, I got shut down on the lead and struggled through two transitions and the roof. With a little rest and coaching, I was able to climb it clean on TR. I finished with Grin and Bear It – a rugged, brutal 11b that just worked me over. I was done for the day.
On the hike back to Fortress wall, we couldn’t resist running up Ridiculous, a terrific and technical 10+ with a nasty looking 25’ run out about 3/4 of the way up the wall. With gelatinized muscles from the Doctor’s Wall, I opted out of the run out, and retreated to the relative safety of terra firma. Gary promptly flashed the route.
Gary’s confidence on the rock is truly amazing, rivaled only by his extraordinary athleticism. I have rarely seen Gary fall off a route – even sustained, difficult cracks or brutal overhung faces - and “take” is not part of his vocabulary. If Gary thinks he MIGHT be able to make the move, then he believes he CAN make the move. More often than not, he is right.
I still lack that confidence on the rock. When tired, scared or unsure of the route, I’ll call for a take rather than pushing the on-sight. I know this fear handicaps my progress in climbing, but I have not found a way to hurdle this mental block and fear of falling.
On Wednesday, Gary and I decided to take a rest from climbing – heal our already peeling finger tips and inflamed tendons. We went to the Penticton Community Center for a weight work out instead. Most people just prefer beer on a rest day. Gary? Moving a ton or so of iron plates. Personally, I love the training and was looking forward to a good workout.
Gary was a professional body builder in the 80s. I forgot what it’s like to train with someone so intense. Eight sets of bench press later, I had to ask a little Penticton retiree to help me since the lactic acid pooled in my pectorals wouldn’t allow me to push open the door.
The weather that afternoon was just wonderful – sunny and warm all day. We left the community center for the lake, and I was lucky enough to talk Eric, a Penticton local, into taking me for a few water ski runs behind his boat. Skaha was glassy and cool - about 64 degrees. Nearly ideal ski conditions. I had not been on a water ski more than twice in two years, and my balance on the ski was long gone. It’s not like riding a bike. After two passes across the lake I was just beginning to find my balance in the cuts, but by then my legs were already jelly as a result of my regular hiking sessions to the crag.
I thanked Eric profusely and returned the ski to Kim at the marina, a very attractive Penticton local and 21 year-old college student in Vancouver. I flirted for a while and eventually rented a Waverunner to tour the lake at 60+ MPH.
I finished reading Don Juan in Hell by Bernard Shaw, dined on some Ives veggie dogs, and fell asleep. Yeah, it wasn’t much rest, but it was a damn fine day off the rock.
Thursday I woke up to splendid sunny morning, and Gary and I were off to Great White Wall. We got lost somewhere along the way, however, and ended up at the Euphorium, a dramatically overhung jungle gym of rock overlooking Skaha’s Grand Canyon.
We started the day on Broken Blade, a short and awkward 10d with no room for a rest. I missed the on-sight and went for a second attempt. And flailed at the crux again. Red point snatched away. Lots of swearing. Attempt three: Same conclusion. Lots more swearing and a few kicked rocks. I gave up on Broken Blade. Wasn’t a fun climb anyway – and did it ever piss me off.
We moved on to Fourteen Shutouts, a Euphorium classic 11c. This steep and pumpy route climbs out and over the Euphorium roof through a series of blocky holds and “thank God” jugs to a crimpy vertical crux. Gary flashed it on his second attempt. I was shut down at the crux. I lowered off and worked the route on TR.
Gary went to work on Hotel India, a nasty 11d, and I moved over to Vertical Addiction, a terrific 10d. I finally picked up an on-sight at Euphorium with this route. Since we had the rope up on Vertical Addiction, we did Dredge, a new 11a/b, on TR. I ran the route twice until I had it clean. After eight climbs, Gary and I decided to call it a day.
On the hike back to the car we passed an interesting crag called Grassy Glades and it’s gorgeous Grassy Glades crack. We figured what the hell, and geared up to lead the thing. Turned out to be the most enjoyable climb of the day, a beautiful 10a (more like 8 or 9), long and graceful. Right next to it we ticked off an equally enjoyable 10c (more like 10a) called Brilliant Pebbles. We both found them to be easy on-sights but a perfect way to finish the day.
Friday brought rain through most of the morning, so Gary and I were in no hurry to race up to the crags. We went to town and bought some books at the local used bookstore. I picked up a copy of Flowers for Algernon – a 1960 classic I hadn’t read since high school and Gary added a book on stretching to his bag of books already in the trailer. Gary reads several books a week. Often while driving. I never did get used to this habit, and Gary was kind enough to refrain from satisfying his bookworm instinct while we drove across the Canadian mountainside in the rain.
By 2PM the skies had cleared, and Gary and I were back at Fortress Wall. We started the afternoon on Treading the Minefield, a fun but short 11b. I picked up the red-point on my third attempt. I on-sighted Undermined, an easy 10+, and struggled a bit on The Plague (10d), a poorly bolted, but excitingly edgy face climb. I called for two takes – but inevitably finished the moves exactly as I had started them before that silly fear thing took over. I should have had the on-sight. I did, however, pick up an on-sight on Special Forces, an easy one-move 11b with a strange traversing start.
Gary decided to try Disemboweled, a long 11b with a dramatic crux pulling around a roof. This route had perhaps the worst bolt job at the area, and once Gary pulled the roof he found himself saddled with brutal rope drag – on thin face climbing. Gary had to balance on thin edges and pull the rope with both hands to move from bolt to bolt. The route shared the finish of another climb, but Gary accidentally found himself climbing off route. This extra distance prevented me from lowering him to the ground. From about 25 feet off the deck, he lowered himself off as I climbed up, and soon I was on my way to finish the route on TR.
The route was relatively easy until the roof. I was just completely thrown and hung there scratching my head trying to figure out how to pull around this thing. I have to give Gary proper kudos for this climb. He did fall once at the roof, but I found it to be outside of my climbing abilities. Gary thinks I was just missing a key handhold. Perhaps, but I was lost none the less.
After one more climb for Gary, we were headed back to Penticton.
Saturday we will blessed with a morning free of rain. We decided to give The Great White Wall another try in order to climb Wings of Desire, one of the best routes in Skaha. Wings of Desire is a solid 11b crack, blessedly bolted for soft and weak climbers like myself.
Great White Wall is undeniably the most dramatic and beautiful wall I saw in Skaha - tall, steep, and covered in yellow lichen. The famous Wings of Desire is a 15 bolt route, but the crux 5.11 moves are all at the first five bolts. The crack moves from a series of flakes and edges to a prominent roof. After pulling the roof, you find yourself back on balancy face climbing for another 15 feet to the anchors.
I was hoping for an on-sight. But after six days of climbing, my endurance was lagging, and I was exhausted by bolt five. From there up I was hanging off every third bolt. Twice I almost pitched off the route from fatigue. But what a climb! One of the best lines I have ever experienced.
Gary promptly flashed his red-point attempt and left the rope up for me to TR the route. I managed to climb it clean on TR – after a considerable rest. I would have tried for a red-point, but I simply didn’t believe I had the energy for a clean climb.
We moved over to Logans Run, a fun 10b up a series of blocks to a small roof. I thought the climb was no harder than 10a, but missed the on sight when I clipped only one of the chains. I didn’t see the other around the corner of an arete. I lowered off and ran up it again to claim a clean red-point. We finished the day on Mrs. Palmer (now that doesn’t sound right, does it?), an interesting 5.9 crack directly to the left of Wings.
We drove back into town, picked up dinner and went off to see Big Daddy at Penticton’s one theatre. Our plan was to do one more half day of climbing on Sunday before heading West to Vancouver. Sadly, La Nina who had graciously left us with at least some sunshine throughout the week turned on the tap and drenched the rock all that night and the following morning. A seventh day of climbing was not in the cards. We packed up the tent, said goodbye to Aaron and Jo and drove to Vancouver.
After a quick visit to Mountain Equipment Co-Op, Gary dropped me off at the Cambie Hostel to visit with its chain smoking, tattoo sporting residents and left for Squamish.
I spent the next day wandering around downtown Vancouver, spending lots of American dollars on gear, clothes, food, more gear (I just dig 42% off), and flirting (unsuccessfully) with the city’s wide variety of artsy, urban young women.
My last day in Canada? Sunshine. Not a cloud in sight. Sqaumish? Clear as a bell. Alberta? Sunny and warm.
California? Expecting rain.
Figures.
