Mito 5.8, Mud Spring Wing

Climbed on January 1, 2025. 

Fun Rating: Quite Fun

I find myself writing this having finished another read of Mark Twight’s stellar Kiss or Kill: Confessions of a Serial Climber. The last time I read it I was stuck at a farm in Missouri wallowing in the end of a 10 year relationship I’d been in since I was a teenager. I find myself now struggling with different but similarly black thoughts, and the edge and punk of Twight’s words have provided me with both a balm to comfort and razor that I can use to dig at myself in equal measure.

Why bother writing about the tour? Certainly not for other people. So few even know about my vanity project, and even fewer care. I think I started it as an excuse to put “pen” to “paper” and flex my creative muscles in a discipline that I love but have only ever dabbled in. Over time the flowery prose and overwrought ideas have fallen away some and now I don’t really know what the point is anymore. I’ve been on a long break from writing about the JHAT, and it’s been difficult to inspire the momentum I need in order to overcome my tendency towards laziness and acceptance of a life that Twight would have very little but disdain for, I’m sure.

Zak after allowing me to climb the first pitch.

I think the phrase goes, “kill your heroes,” or maybe I’m conflating two messages to something that speaks to me a little better. Why Joe Herbst? Why his climbs? Why do this at all? At first I think it was because I liked the idea of styling myself as a rebel within a sport that I had come to late in life, and had been born too late to experience it when it was exclusively practiced by rebels. I came to climbing through a mega-gym in Chicago, after having been reintroduced to it by a friend who occasionally climbed sport in Boulder. I don’t think you can get much farther away from the likes of Twight or Herbst than that. As a frightened man in my late twenties who’d spent my last decade at the time wasting my life playing video games I wanted to be something more, something different. I wanted to be punk.

What’s punk in climbing these days? What was punk in climbing ever? I think Twight touched on an aspect of it in his writings, of going harder and lighter and closer to the edge than most were willing to and striving for that ethic above all else. I’m not as brave a man as he is, and I’m too soft for the type of suffering that he sought. With that knowledge, I tried to find my own niche, my own way to fight back against an imagined corporatization of what to me is just a hobby, not a lifestyle.

Dealing with tat.

Ask most climbers what they hate most in terms of style and I think you’ll receive two answers at a higher frequency than most: slab and offwidth. I took naturally to slab and far less naturally to offwidth, but the “punkness” of it was a lighthouse I couldn’t ignore. If people hate it then I had to do it, to prove that I’m different or better or something. Imagine that. Imagine nothing could be further from the truth.

Years of this passed, still in the gym and trying to get out to the Red and Devils Lake and Jackson Falls and Elephant Rock as often as I could. Eventually I made my way to Red Rock and climbed some sport, bouldered a little. Eventually I made my way to trad, as I’d always wanted to (another discipline more “elite” than the ones I had already been doing) and revisited Red Rock. I was already someone who “liked wide climbing,” seeking out bolted chimneys and offwidths where I could find them, but this opened up so much new ground.

So. Much. Tat.

So then came the first Herbst FA that I climbed, Group Therapy, a climb in which my much more experienced partner gladly handed me the wide pitches with a smile and a “have at it.” I remember being a little gripped on the runouts but with a mantra I’ve come to repeat often, “you like this,” I continued up and after an embarrassingly bad hanging belay in a chimney we were done. On to the next one, and the next one, and the one after that too. I’ve built a reputation amongst my friends as someone who legitimately likes the wide, as someone bold and brave enough to get in there and chicken wing my way up some stupidly moderate crack, as if wedging yourself in a crack required bravery or boldness. Still, each time, I have to remind myself “you like this.” If I need to tell myself that each time, do I actually? You’d think it would come more naturally, or eventually get easier, but it hasn’t yet and I don’t know that it ever will.

Zak on his aborted lead of the first pitch.

I’ve been so uninterested, or unwilling, to set myself to continuing this self-directed climbing therapy that I let my domain lapse. It started when I wasn’t able to get out as often as I’d like, a combination of poor weather and poor spirits, and deepened to something I have trouble describing still. For awhile I wanted to call the whole thing off. If I don’t care then what’s the point? No one reads these anyway (for the few of you who do, thank you and I hope you find value in whatever it is we’re sharing here). As it is, I’m still climbing, and still doing the tour, and here we are writing about it again, for as long as I have the motivation.

Oh yeah, Mito is a 5.8 that is pretty fun. Zak insisted I mention that he backed off the first pitch, so I will record it here but I will also note it was because we didn’t bring enough gear and he’s been recovering from a back injury. He doesn’t tell people how much of a weakling I was in the Epinephrine chimneys, so I feel unfair mentioning that without giving him his due. He also then led The Schwa so that I could toprope it so take that for what you will.

The JHAT is dead, long live the JHAT. Or whatever.

The Schwa, a sneak peak of a future post..

Tunnel Vision 5.7, White Rock

Climbed on June 26, 2022 originally. 

Fun Rating: Super Fun

One of the most recommended routes in the Canyon, and for a lot of folks the first tall route they do after coming to Red Rock, Tunnel Vision is solidly one of the “classic” RRC routes.Clocking in at a very manageable 5.7, with the crux for most people coming on the 5.3 tunnel pitch, this climb is a gem that is attainable for almost every person climbing in the canyon. That said, the last time I climbed this route (the upper pitches, at least, to finish up Sandy Hole) we witnessed a party back off of the first pitch due to one of the guided clients being unable to manage the traverse off the deck. Outside of that traverse, and the wide section on the third pitch, there isn’t much in the way of roadblocks to a smooth and relaxed day in the canyon.

Me in the tunnel, pre-sidewalk.

I remember this route, as I’m sure many do, primarily around the ledge just below the tunnel pitch, and through my first experience of leading the tunnel. After several moderate pitches, you are deposited on a large ledge that leads into an absolutely massive cave. Looking up and to the left into the dark, it is difficult to see a path that will lead upward at the extremely casual grade that is described in the guidebook and Mountain Project. After setting off, it immediately becomes clear that the pitch is, in fact, only 5.3 tops, and that there is a casual path upwards. I will not call this pitch well protected, but I do think it protects far better than many comments in MP would lead you to believe. If you’re reading a write-up of the route, I’m not too worried about spoiling the excitement for you, so I’ll mention to look behind you on the back wall for a few pockets and cracks that are protectable. This is a very frequently climbed pitch, and the rock feels quite slick in spots, but I don’t know how someone would fall here without actively trying for that outcome.

Josh at a ledge.

My favorite part of the tunnel pitch isn’t actually the part where you’re climbing upwards. You eventually pull onto a small sidewalk ledge that drops away to your left, but with the walls close enough to reach out and touch both sides. This is one of the wildest and most unique places I’ve been in Red Rock, and feels very much like it was designed to wow and excite. I felt like I was in a children’s museum exhibit or something similar, very reminiscent of the St. Louis City Museum, with all its wild weirdness. Even better, once you’ve made your way to the end of the sidewalk, you’re greeted with a set of perfect hand cracks to climb at a lovely low-angle to the next ledge. From here the climb turns into the same white sandstone top out that almost everything in Red Rock finishes with, runout but easy slab and a topout with a fun little scrub oak anchor spot. 

Megan and I at another ledge.

The Angel Food walkoff is one of the more typical RRC walkoffs in my mind. It’s long(ish), requires no rappels, and has a couple fun improbable moments where you think you’re ledging out but then suddenly a natural but exposed staircase, or slide between boulders, leads to more casual walking. If you feel like you need to rap, and you’re at that one slung boulder anchor, you’re in the wrong part of the gulley.

It’s been a rough spring for climbing for me. Weather, partner availability (and stoke), and a niggling shoulder injury have conspired to keep my pitch counts low recently. It’s remembering routes and fun days like this that keep the engine running, and push me to keep going when I’m losing my mind doing autobelay laps at R2C2. Luckily, the rock isn’t going anywhere for the most part, and the JHAT is a constant siren song enticing me into wide cracks and awkward roof pulls. The only route left to do in White Rock is Healy’s Haunted House, so keep your eyes peeled for a writeup of that at some point in the future. 

Classic booty shot.

No pithy finish this time, just looking forward to more Herbst-style climbing soon.

A very uncharacteristic Josh photo.

Pillar Talk 5.7+, Willow Springs South

Climbed on February 9, 2022 initially, many times since. 

Fun Rating: Quite Fun

Folks, it’s been rough the last couple months for us weekend climbers. I have some friends who have work schedules that are friendly to mid-week climbing, but I am very much a weekend warrior during the months with shorter days. Of late it seems to be raining nearly every Friday, which effectively bars me from climbing any Herbst Tour routes (or any other sandstone) on the days that are normally available to me. I mention this only to say that it is difficult to find inspiration to write on the nuances, motivations, and interesting moments in climbing when you’re not actually doing much climbing. 

A quick tangent, as this blog is not designed as a platform for me to complain, but gosh it would sure be nice for one of those big expensive megacorp gyms to open a location somewhere in Vegas, maybe on the northwest side of town, maybe by Lone Mountain. I am thankful that there are gyms in town, but anyone who’s climbed in a city with a modern and diverse gym scene knows what I’m talking about. Where are my 80 foot walls? Where are my sketchy 18 foot slab boulders with topout cruxes? WHERE IS MY YOGA STUDIO? Enough yuppie complaining, though, I suppose we should get on to the actual Herbst Tour stuff.

Megan in the OW pod. 10b roof variation visible above.

Pillar Talk is visible from the scenic loop road, a beige monolith surrounded by the gorgeous chocolate patina that makes up the majority of the Willow Springs area. The area is lush, wet by the standards of Red Rock, and absolutely chock full of 1-2 pitch moderates. The parking lot is absurdly close compared to much of the traditional climbing in the canyon, only a 5-10 minute walk depending on which of the many braided trails you end up following, and the area is home to classics like Ragged Edges, Left Out, and Chicken Eruptus. Even more exciting is that the aspect of the wall in summer leaves it in the shade for the entirety of the afternoon, allowing a great deal of climbing in summer temps with a minimum of effort and a very short hike in the sun.

Vibes at the top of the first pitch.

The route itself is 2 pitches, with all the money in the first. It starts to the right side of the pillar formation in a 3.5-4 inch splitter crack. The face to the right is mostly smooth varnish with an occasional divot for a foot, and the face to the left is poorly protected plates and edges. The most fun path, and certainly the Herbstiest, is to stay in the crack as it gently slants up and right, though an overlap pushes you farther into the smooth varnish wall than you’d necessarily like. About 30 feet up, the crack contorts itself into a pod/squeeze section, which I find to be an absolute delight. Offwidth, crack, face holds, there are so many options that you’re absolutely sure to find a way to proceed that you enjoy, or at least doesn’t frighten you much. Above that another 30 feet or so of hand crack await you and then you are left with a choice. To your left is the main route, a 5.7 hand traverse that is quite sporty for the grade. Not particularly hard, but very airy and with a feeling of commitment as there’s no reasonable gear until you finish the traverse of about 10 feet. The other choice is the 10b variation that takes you straight up through the imposing roof using a wide crack. I have not yet tried this so cannot speak to its difficulty, but it looks quite hard.

The hand traverse.

Once through the traverse, a bolted anchor awaits as you suffer through the rope drag belaying up your follower. Above you is a full pitch of reasonably protected white sandstone slab. Nothing to write home about, you’ve climbed this pitch on probably half of the multipitches you’ve done in red rock. You know exactly what this pitch is like and it’s fine. The 30 foot runout at the top is expected, understood, and easily surpassed without issue.

Above and to the left of Pillar Talk is a beautiful varnish face that contains a few climbs of very high quality that are easily linked and make for a lovely day out in the park. I highly recommend both Chocolate Tranquility Fountain and Above and Beyond, both are fantastic with bomber rock and great movement. There is another cliff above this with a couple of 5.9s of lesser quality, but still worthwhile for extra pitches or if you like awkward crack climbing.

The second pitch meanders up and right to the top of the pillar.

Descent is easy from any of the cliffs. The crags above the second tier have easy walkoffs back around left to return to the top of Pillar Talk, and a tree above Sleeper makes for a mellow and pretty rappel on a 70m rope. Combined with the easy walk back and great view, this makes for one of my favorite afternoons of climbing, which is part of the reason I’ve gone back to it so many times. A route worth climbing seasonally, and one that gives you access to another few really excellent pitches. I can’t recommend this one enough.

Nothing pithy to wrap with this time. I just really like this climb and think everyone comfortable at the very attainable grade of 5.7+ should go have a great time on this.

One of the Willow locals.

Black Track 5.9, Hidden Falls Wall

Climbed on June 13, 2022. 

Fun Rating: One of my favorite climbs

The longer I live and climb in and around Las Vegas, the more I am convinced that the true climbing season is through the summer. Yes, of course everyone loves the months of perfect temps and sunny days that come in the winter, but who has the time and energy for the crowds? Not the writer of this blog, that’s for sure. The last couple of sunny weekends in February of this year (2024) have been so wild you can’t get a reservation before 1pm same day, and I have to say I’d much rather throw a sun shirt on and climb shady stuff than deal with the loop when it’s as crowded as all that. 

All of that is to say that I do a lot of my favorite and best climbing on the Herbst Tour during the summer months. So much of the good trad in RRC is oriented in a shady aspect, and with a little practice and acclimation the walks in aren’t really that bad. For the low, LOW, price of 100+ degree days you too can climb alone in one of the country’s premier climbing destinations, not a soul to be seen except for the birds and lizards and jumping spiders that you’ll be sharing your belays with.

Getting ready.

We went for Black Track dead in the middle of June, on a day with a balmy high of 97F. Having climbed in Willow many times before, we knew that we’d be deep in the shade at the Hidden Falls wall. After a bit of bushwacking and getting lost on the “Children’s Discovery Trail” we found the short hill that led to the base of the wall. 

On arrival at Hidden Falls there are two routes that immediately grab your attention. On the far left side of the wall is Left Out, another Herbst route that I have yet to get on and looks incredible. Dead in the center of the wall, splitting it in half, is Black Track. Beautifully varnished in its upper 2/3rds, and with an interesting white sandstone flare to gain access to the crack at its base, the route is obvious and undeniable in its presence. We did our little rituals at the base and racked up and then it was time.

Zoe just about to gain access to the crack.

The base of the route is deceptively smooth, polished by water and primarily slopers surrounding a flared and only marginally useful crack. There are some huecos and jugs farther to the right but not really within reach or reasonability. After surmounting the initial weirdness, you’re met with the first and largest of the offwidth pods. Big enough for chicken wings but surrounded by edges and small holds, it’s fairly easy to navigate up into where the crack begins to thin out. 

For the remaining 50-60 feet or so the climb is made up of variable sized rock pods breaking up what is predominantly a hands and fists crack. With some body english, offwidth technique, and one uncomfortably thin layback move the route was climbed, an anchor was established on the bolts at the top, and I was back on my way down. I would come back a couple of months later and climb this again with some friends, and I had even more fun on it the second time. This is a route I highly recommend everyone getting on, there are good sizes for everyone and just enough awkward to keep things interesting.

Offwidth section.

Normally I wrap up with some pseudo-profound statement or natural imagery, as I think about that a lot while I’m climbing and that’s usually on my mind at the end of days out. This time I’ll leave you with my actual thoughts after climbing this route:

Can you believe they did this on passive gear?

Spinach 5.10, Chocolate Rocks

Climbed on January 28, 2024. 

Fun Rating: Fantastic

Chocolate Rocks is an interesting crag, particularly in regards to the majority of JHAT crags. It has the standard long approach, remote location, and quality climbs. What it is missing, however, is multipitch routes. One of the rare single-pitch cragging spots on the JHAT, Chocolate Rocks is a small and dumpy-looking outcrop of beautiful chocolate varnish right across from Potosi. The approach begins after parking on the side of the highway as you hop a wildlife fence to gain access to the trail. After following a mountain biking trail into the wash, you are greeted with a long and merciless uphill trudge reminiscent of the more mean-spirited Indian Creek approaches. Luckily it is fairly well cairned, so the cardio component is actually the toughest part of the hike. 

The terrace containing the climbs is guarded by a couple of 4th class moves with some minor exposure, lending a feeling of seriousness and remoteness to the crag that the climbing doesn’t really back up for the most part. After the scramble, you are dumped onto a generally unfriendly terrace, but for the far right where it actually flattens out into a halfway-decent staging area. Acacia and scrub oak abound, and are fairly large nuisances while ambling from climb to climb, but given the amount of limestone we’d been climbing recently and the abundance of velcro plants at the local limestone crags I was more than happy to put up with a few thorns and pokey leaves.

Hiking up.

On the day, we’d been bopping around and hitting a variety of the climbs available to us. I wrapped up Potso’s, Zacker Cracker, and Combination Corner already, and it was finally time to hop on Spinach. I’d looked over this route last time I was at the crag, and earlier in the day, and it was looking extremely exciting and way up my alley.

A couple of awkward moves low gain you access to a beautiful offwidth crack for 8 feet or so. Once established as high in the OW as possible, helmet bonking where the crack pinches into a roof that forces the climber left, you are met with the fact that the crack is just a little too wide for fists. Squatting on my heels, toes cammed in the pinches of the crack below me, I evaluated my options. I’d seen a couple of my companions climb this already, and both had taken different approaches through the crux moves. I opted for a couple of thin crimps on the face, with a high step and stand up into the beginning of the hand jam section. With a small amount of effort I was in the jams, leaned back at 30-40 degrees, and staring up at the twin cracks that led above this bulge and into the more moderate terrain.

Myself on Combination Corner, just to the left of Spinach.

Hand size, any trad climber will tell you, is a very important variable in crack climbing. Just an inch’s difference in how big you can make your hand will dramatically increase or decrease the overall difficulty of a climb, depending on the size of the crack you’re trying to squeeze said hand into. I have fairly hefty hands with sausagey fingers, tight 3s to tight 4s are my favorite sizes generally, and these cracks were almost made for me. The right side crack was around 2.5 inches and the left a bit wider than that, giving me a great feeling of security as I made the steep jam moves through the crux. As I reached the top of the bulge, the cracks ran out and I was forced into another high foot, hip-into-the-wall move. Once I was stood up I could breathe a sigh of relief, finally past the crux and ready to romp to the top.

After another 20-30 feet of casual climbing I topped out on the huge sidewalk at the top of these climbs and the few to their right. I brought Zak up after me and we rapped down the face that Shortcake and Minute Maid share, two climbs for another writeup. Before we walked out we decided to hop onto the Gallows, another JHAT route that Herbst put up with John Long back in the day. Once we’d both finished that, it was time to pack up and ship out.

Shadows up high.

The walk out always seems so much easier than the walk in, particularly when you’re going downhill for the vast majority of it. We picked our way down the switchbacks, careful not to kick loose rock down on the rest of our climbing group. After a few minutes we were back at the wildlife gate, scaling it like some overloaded burglars trying to sneak their way out of a museum heist. 

Grades are funny. I’m always surprised by what climbs demand the most of me, and the fact that it’s usually not the ones with the highest difficulty grades. There’s something to be said about subjectivity there, but I’ll leave that for someone more eloquent and, frankly, more talented in both writing and climbing. I’ll just wrap up by saying, “eat your spinach, it’s good for you.”

Watch out for the locals.

Arm Forces 5.9, Illusion Crags

Climbed on December 26, 2022. 

Fun Rating: Superb

My wife and I moved to Las Vegas from Chicago a couple of years ago, and for a long while the cost of plane tickets were outrageously expensive, particularly around holidays. The side effect of this is that we were left to ourselves over those holidays for the most part, and given how lovely the winter months are most of the time in Vegas, we had a lot of time to get out and on the rock. We made our way out to the Illusion Crags the day after Christmas in 2022. It’s not the longest hike out to the wall, particularly in Red Rock when you compare it to something like Buffalo or Eagle wall, but as referenced in my writeup of Chameleon Pinnacle, the terrain involved in getting there is mild but quite unfriendly.

Megan at the crag.

Still comparatively freshly burnt at the time of our trip out there, the hill leading up to the wall was indistinct and lifeless-looking. We lost our way up multiple times and spent a good deal of time looking for nonexistent cairns before finally committing to a more direct trudge towards the end of the wall. After a somewhat miserable slog, we finally made it and had our customary pre-climb reverie while we figured out our bearings. Illusion Crag is a long wall that covers a couple of terraces, both in the sun and out. Being winter in Red Rock, we knew that we would be sticking to the sun, which gave us the far left end of the crag as the only reasonable option. 

I climbed French Bulges, the 5.7, first to get a taste for the rock and style of climbing. I’ll leave any details for that route’s future writeup, but after a delightful romp up to the top of that and a simple rap down, we committed one of the RRC cardinal sins, we pulled the rope without thinking

Fixing my mistake and freeing the stuck rope.

About a third of the way up on Arm Forces is the first of its 3 roofs. This particular Roof tightened down to an insignificant seam at its edge, and the rope had doubled over and pinched itself deep in this seam. No amount of pulling from below could dislodge it, and so there was just one course of action left to us. I tied into the other side of the rope, eyeing the roofs with some trepidation, and I set off with a fair amount of certainty that I’d have enough cord even if I was somehow unable to free the stuck portion.

The route starts as a finger crack before transitioning into an awkward but fun corner leading to the first roof. I managed to scuff and stem my way up to it and set myself to the task of freeing the rope. Despite not really caring about onsights or flashes or redpoints when it comes to the JHAT, it felt like it would be a bit gauche to not at least try to climb it clean even with the hassle and difficulty with the rope. Luckily, it came free without too much difficulty after I climbed another couple of moves above it so that I could pull upward, and with that we were on for the remainder of the route. I finished pulling the first roof and made my way to the second, the finger crack layback of the first giving way to a delightful hand and fist crack. I made short work of this overhang and then suddenly the only thing between myself and the anchor was the last roof, the offwidth.

Megan above the first roof and next to the rope-eater.

I had been most looking forward to this one and so was somewhat disappointed when it offered the least resistance of the three, meekly giving way as I bypassed it with a chicken wing and kneebar combo before jogging up the remaining low angle crack to the top. I brought Megan up with a complete lack of difficulty or hesitation on her part and we rapped down exactly where we had before. This time we were careful to hike out a hundred feet or so from the wall before we pulled to make sure that the line didn’t get caught in the same place. With the rope safely pulled and us safely on the ground, we discussed whether we felt up for climbing any of the routes on the shady side of the crag. The wind was quite chilly that day, and so we decided to leave those for another time, reasons to come back next time the scenic loop was too busy to be worthwhile. 

We made our way down the winding hill and found our way back to the animal gate that you need to scale in order to get to the crag from the road. With some mild shuffling we were back on the roadside and making our way to the car. The Potosi crags were across the road in all their gray ignominy, promising to be there for us next time the rain forced us onto the limestone. For now I ignored them as hard as I could and savored the memory of the beautiful patinated corner we had just climbed. Roofs, corner climbing, crack, and a beautiful remote arena in which to enjoy it all. These are my favorite kind of climbing days, remote-feeling and quiet with no one but Megan and the birds and the braying of burros.

As we walked out I felt like I was getting a taste of what the canyon was like for Herbst and the other early pioneers here. We were the only climbers around, but we had the wind and creosote for company and that was more than enough for me.

Lotta Balls 5.8, Lotta Balls Wall

Climbed on March 15, 2022 and November 4, 2023. 

Fun Rating: Very Fun

Maybe this is just a me thing, but I’ve frequently noticed that my second time on a route tends to feel much more serious and scary than my first. I assume this is something to do with the expectation that my previous experience should make things easier, but in actuality I often find myself wondering at how much more effort I seem to be putting in than I expected. Surely not all of these routes have had key holds break (despite the prevalence of that happening in the lovely but frequently soft sandstone that makes up the majority of Red Rock.) With that surety in the back of my mind, I am left with the assumption that there is something about the way I’m experiencing these routes that is creating this sense of disparity.

Pitch 1.

My recollection of a route is predominantly made up of the quiet moments I spend at belays looking out over the canyon, watching birds go by or following a jumping spider as it explores my belay area. Breaking up this undertone are snatches of memorable bits of climbing like a unique hold or a section that felt notably runout or crispy. All of this is to say that I rarely have a defined plotline to follow in my remembrances of routes, and instead make up my memorializing from my feelings about these brief windows into the experience that I take with me.

Lotta Balls is a great route to have repeated, and to have two sets of experiences to compare with one another. My main memories are from the balls section of the second pitch, as I’m sure is the case for a majority of folks who have been on the route, and I was surprised to have experienced the reverse of my usual modus operandi the second time out. Lotta Balls was one of the early multipitches that I climbed in RRC after moving to Vegas from Chicago (my first was Group Therapy, real tone-setter of a climb,) and I remember being absolutely gripped with the second bolt below my feet, balancing on horrible tiny little nubs that I was sure were going to break at any moment. The feeling of relief when I got to the jugs at the base of the corner crack was immense, and I felt like I had gotten away with something. 

Looking down at the balls pitch from the belay.

In a pleasant and surprising contrast my second time on the pitch was shockingly pleasant. I still enjoy the second half of the pitch far more than the balls portion, but I feel like I got to have the experience that is expected when you see the grade 5.8 next to the name of a climb. Flowing from tiny nub to tiny nub, toes perched on balls smaller than marbles, everything felt solid and fun and smooth. I wish there were a 100’ sport pitch identical to the balls section, but I doubt you’d ever find it without a line if it existed, such is the quality of the climbing in that section.

All too soon, the pitch was done and then shortly after that we were at the top of the climb. I had been atop this formation with Justin and Megan before, as detailed in our near heatstroke experience on Trihardral, and it was a great feeling to top out casually in beautiful weather with more than enough water to go around. Three short, but very awkward, raps later we were on the ground and sorting our gear in the small flat section just below the belay area for the climbs. I reminisced on how much more crack climbing there was than I remembered, and how enjoyable the Herbstier parts of the route had been. We’d even found someone’s lost phone in the chimney section of pitch 3. I always try to savor a climbing day where the vibes are consistently good and everything seemingly goes just right, especially given how rare that feels, and this was a great example of those kinds of days. 

A classic Will belay spot.

We walked out amidst the cholla and browning grapevines next to First Creek, and I was thinking back on our encounters with burros and bighorn sheep, wondering when I might be favored with another moment shared with the true denizens of the places I hold so dear. Maybe next time, or the time after that. Either way, I can wait.

First Creek.

Echolalia 5.9, Angel Food

Climbed on July 1, 2023. 

Fun Rating: Quite Fun

Zak and I had been talking about this one for a while. It was fitting that we finally got to it over the course of a 7 day stretch in July over which we made our way up three fantastic Herbst routes: Atras, Community Pillar, and Echolalia. All great routes, and all with that classic JHAT spice. To us, the climb was legendary, in the same way that ancient cities swallowed by the desert are legendary. Echolalia is a route that embodies the parts of the JHAT that speak to me the most. With just a few sentences written about it in total between the Handren guide and Joanne’s Red Book, and no photos of the route by itself anywhere at all, even finding the climb felt adventurous. Echolalia is located on what is now known as the Seraphim wall, once part of Angel Food but now deservedly separate thanks to a small group of climbers I am fond of and climb with as often as possible. Luckily, my partner Zak is one of the folks who was putting all of the climbs on Seraphim up, and so had intimate knowledge of the best way to scramble up there. I’m not particularly bold when I’m not roped up, and without him I would have certainly felt a little spooked in navigating the 4th+ class to get up to the base.

Pitch 1, the red tat was just below the tree.

We survived, surprisingly, and once we were able to suss out where we supposed the route began, we were immediately met with some Herbstiness. The first pitch can begin in one of two spots, depending on your level of tolerance for unroped chimney climbing. I am significantly more comfortable with my back against a wall, and Zak is a monster, so we opted to solo up the chimney to a small ledge below what we consider to be the true start of the route. We were buoyed in our choice by the discovery of the only sign of other humans we ran into the entire day: an ancient and crispy bit of red tat, wrapped around a block exactly where you’d want to rappel after looking up at what was in front of you.

From that small ledge, an imposing 40-50 feet of overhanging fingerlocks, in a corner absolutely covered by flakey and dry lichen, loomed over us. I was immediately thankful that Zak had this lead, as it looked quite hairy. I find partnerships operate best when the individual members within them are allowed to do the things they like the most, and, while Zak is certainly game for the wide, I am definitely the offwidth fiend of the two of us. He made his way up the first pitch with only a small amount of difficulty and very little flailing, and I was able to enjoy the (for me at least) bomber fingerlocks and wild stemming on toprope. This pitch was one of the highlights for me, and other than the lichen cover that would clean up with more traffic, the rock quality was as good or better than any single pitch I’ve been on in Red Rock.

Licheny, overhanging fingers.

I arrived at the “belay,” which consisted of Zak having wedged himself into a lower angle wide crack and a couple of questionable pieces. Not a great place to hang out, we quickly swapped gear and I set off on my lead. The second pitch, as we did it, begins with a squeeze chimney formed by a detached block. This was probably the worst quality rock on the route, and there was no reasonable gear to be had until I got about 30ft up and encountered the roof. A thin hands to fists crack lead out a nice 7-8ft overhang that looks much more frightening than it ended up climbing in the end. With a cheeky kneebar and some clever wide-crack technique, I turned the lip and was greeted by lovely crack climbing to a large and cryptic cave formation. I created an even more marginal and sketchy belay, and once Zak made his way to me we began to discuss our options.

What seemed to be the best protected and most obvious route led up a strange ramp into a corner. Normally I would have suggested that as the best option, but the shed-sized mount of guano blocking off the corner crack would have proved a dangerous, gross, and unhealthy impediment to upward progress. There was another corner that looked possible, but involved some really strange stemming and a roof pull that looked well into the 5.10 range. The third option, and the one that Zak ended up choosing to lead, was directly above our heads. The walls of the cave formed a wide chimney that led straight up for about 50ft before widening too far to use both walls. I have “special eyes,” and could see no obvious gear placements before the lip pull at the top of this section. Needless to say, this was frightening to me. I situated myself in as helpful a place as I could and watched as Zak began his adventure. Luckily, nothing broke on him and after a good amount of time he radioed down to let me know that I was on belay and could climb whenever.

The pitch 2 overhang.

My nervousness was mostly assuaged by the fact that I was on toprope, but only mostly due to the fact that my “special eyes” had been right. There was no gear at all for the entirety of the visible section of the pitch. I was at least 60ft off the belay before I found the first piece, which was a suspect small cam in a horizontal. This was by far the most objectively dangerous part of the climb, and were it not an old and seldom-climbed route I would strongly advocate for throwing a bolt or two onto the face to reduce the you’re-gonna-die level of that particular pitch. A proud lead, a scary lead, and I am hugely impressed by Zak’s nonchalance about it to this day. 

We knew there couldn’t be too much more of the climb left, as the formation is only so tall and we’d already gone through 3 nearly-full rope-lengths on the pitches we’d done so far. The next, and final as it turns out, lead was mine. Lower angle and lower difficulty terrain led to a short and friendly offwidth. Perfect chickenwings and solid heel-toe cams for a good 30-40ft led to a final cherry on top, a unique and interesting traverse from the crack onto prototypical runout white sandstone slabs. Half the traverse was covered in thick moss, yes actual moss, and added some interest and spice to the climb, and after having avoided it adroitly I was rewarded with a 40ft runout to the top.

The last offwidth before the top.

The walkoff is more involved from Seraphim than Angel Food proper, but is significantly more straightforward and less sketchy than a large number of descents tend to be in Red Rock. We deftly made our way down, ogling at the untapped route potential in the walkoff gully as we went. I was struck by the fact that we’d climbed something that was so seldom repeated in the last 50 years, and were walking by huge and beautiful patina faces that weren’t in any guidebook I’ve read. I wondered how so many people could climb in this beautiful place every year, every month, every day, and how so much of the canyon was still waiting for the right people to put the time, effort, and money into development. I’d just climbed one of my favorite routes on the JHAT, and it might be one that’s seen less ascents than you can count on both hands. How many other routes of this quality are out there waiting, and how many more are still waiting for even their first ascent? The amount of potential, and amount of forgotten gems, is profound in its breadth. I could be here for the rest of my life and I won’t touch even a fraction of what’s out there to be seen and experienced. 

If you’re looking for a proper adventure in Red Rock that doesn’t require a 3 hour approach and 4 hour walkoff, and are someone interested in the wide, weird, and varied you need to go climb Echolalia. I’ve never more felt myself in Herbst’s shadow, and have never more felt like the Tour was the right thing for me to be doing. I need more Echolalia’s in my life, and I’m looking for them every time I’m in the canyon.

Chameleon Pinnacle 5.5, Illusion Crags

Climbed on November 24, 2023. 

Fun Rating: More fun than you’d expect.

I find it a lot easier to write about my experiences on multi-pitch routes, I think for obvious reasons. There’s just a lot more experience to write about, for one, and the added requirements involved in a long day tend to leave a more varied impression. It’s much easier to find a specific story to tell when there’s so much to draw from. Single pitch climbs tend to fade away in my memory much more. Perhaps it’s the nature of getting into a flow state, or simply the brevity of the experience, but the actual retelling of a single pitch climb tends to be a much bigger challenge for me than I’d like it to be. 

The day we went out to the Illusion Crags was the weekend following Thanksgiving. We had a couple of friends in town from Oregon, my old main climbing buddy Colin and his partner Zoe. They’d just bought a farm up near Bend and had been doing chicken stuff for the last three months. The ambiance was very much one of delight to be outside and responsibility-free, but very low on climbing stoke or objectives.

Mood.

We’d been trying (and failing) to avoid the crowds all week, and so we decided to go for a crag we were sure no one else would be at. Funny enough, there was a pair racking up for Adam’s Rib at the pullout we stopped at, but no one else in sight. We had a brief conversation and wished them luck before we set off on our own journey. If you haven’t climbed in the southern outcrops before, the atmosphere is very different from the rest of Red Rock. Open, exposed, and with a long uphill approach, getting there requires some small effort. In addition, there was a fire some time ago in the region, and the plant life hasn’t fully recovered, which leads to a sort of blasted moonscape vibe as you slowly trudge up an endless loose dirt hill. 

As there are so few parties going to the crag, there are no real established trails outside of the few burro and sheep paths that make their faint way across the landscape. Dozens of cairns, in no discernable order or actual trail, dot the hill as well with encouragement to keep going up, as if you could really get lost. After making our way across 3 or 4 washes, we reached the last straightaway and trudged our way up. Once at Illusion Crags, you find yourself on a lovely hangout ledge. To the left end of the crag are the fantastic climbs French Bulges and Arm Forces, both climbs that would be classics if they were at a more approachable venue. To the right, the ridgeline continues out of the sun and down for a ways. The day was sunny but quite crisp, and we were planning on sticking in the sun as much as possible.

The pitch.

Having climbed the leftmost pitches before, and with no real desire from the rest of the group to climb…anything really…I racked up for Chameleon Pinnacle. From the ground it looked like a mostly unremarkable pitch of mixed rock quality, with a fun looking varnish section in the middle. I began climbing and was immediately met with a fun little boulder problem off the deck to get established. I think the easier way would have been to go to the left and climb closer to the arete, but the direct start was quite pleasant, if out of character with the rest of the route in terms of difficulty. The rock quality was great for the most part, and when I reached the varnish patch I was met with climbing reminiscent of and at the same quality as the star pitch on Armatron. Slanting, slick, and bomber varnish plates with climbing surprisingly steep for the casual grade. Once past this section, there was a blank steep bit to navigate and then some 30 feet of slab to runout to the webbing at the top.

I was struck by how similar I felt about this route as I did Tonto when I climbed that. For the grade of 5.5, there was a bevy of quality climbing, mixed with a bit of seriousness and weird gear for spice. I’d definitely climb this one again when I’m back at the crag, which isn’t something I say about many climbs of this grade. Additionally, just like Arm Forces and French Bulges, if this crag were in the first pullout I feel these would be fairly well known pitches. More fuel for the truth that you only need to deal with crowds in Red Rock if you don’t want to walk. With a bit of hiking you can find climbing of superb quality while still feeling as if you’re the only one in the canyon. 

The Pinnacle was the only thing we climbed that day. We spent some more time having a drink and hanging out in our coats on the ledge before we packed up and did the long walk out. I had time to reflect on the day and had a strange peace with the group’s absence of stoke. I love a day where everyone is on it and trying to get as much ground covered as possible, but it had been so peaceful and refreshing to just go out, hang out, climb one thing, and casually head home from there.

Time to go.

I think I’m getting old.

Epinephrine 5.9, Black Velvet Canyon

Climbed on October 20, 2023. 

Fun Rating: Very Fun.

I struggled with this writeup, as what more needs to be said about one of the most climbed routes in one of the most popular climbing destinations in the country? Epinephrine is the main reason a good number of people come to Red Rock Canyon to climb, and is currently #3 on Mountain Projects “20 Classic Climbs” list. Larry and Bill have an entire chapter in Red Rock Odyssey dedicated to the climb, and are much more eloquent in their descriptions of the challenges and triumphs of climbing than I can aspire to be. So, instead of detailing an epic we didn’t experience, waxing lyrically about how meaningful a route it was, or giving yet another pitch-by-pitch rundown no one needs I submit to you the following stream of consciousness:

Blast-off.

It’s been a long time since I’ve asked for a take while climbing on gear, and I was going to be damned if it was going to be in the middle of the long chimney pitch on Epinephrine. What would I tell all of my friends? The ones who know me as a chimney guy. The ones who know about the Herbst Tour and my quixotic dream to have climbed all of the same pitches as one of the great founders of the place I’ve grown to love more than any other. Shame, and rising panic, were beginning to fill a familiar space in my chest. 

This was supposed to be fun for me. I wasn’t supposed to be scared and tired like so many other people had described in the posts and comments that I’d read, scouring them for information like some ancient augur hoping that day’s flock of birds would tell them something no one had been told, or something no one had listened to yet.

Some concern.

I remember looking down at my partner, embarrassed that I wasn’t living up to the story I had for myself. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. My foot had slipped on my first step off of the belay ledge, and that sense of insecurity had plagued me for the entirety of the pitch so far. I found myself pressing my left shoulder a little too hard into the back wall, and my feet a little too hard into the front. My sun shirt, unneeded so far, was sticking to the rock and making progress more challenging than I’d hoped as well. The excuses and little anxieties were building up faster than I could stop them. “Zak, take,” it would be so easy to say, “take, take, take, take…” and so on with rising volume and need until I felt the comforting weight of safety pulling up at my hips and sucking me towards my cam. 

The sting of tears in the corner of my eyes began to blur the rock in front of me. “Fuck, fuck this, I fucking hate this,” and with that mantra I scraped higher. Shame and embarrassment were anger now, and I was going to be damned if I was going to make more of a fool of myself than these pauses and deliberations had made of me already. The rest of the pitch went by in a series of vague curses, epithets, and minor slips. By the time I made it up the last small stretch of offwidth I was truly exhausted, perhaps more emotionally than physically. I had almost thrown up at the top of the Fox when I had done that pitch, and I felt similarly thin and used up now.

Zak above the chimneys.

We climbed fast from there, trying to make up the time I had lost during my tribulation in the climb’s maw. I hated how much fun I was having now that we were face climbing again. This wasn’t the part of the climb I was supposed to be enjoying most. Pitch after pitch of lovely terrain gave way to scrambling and then suddenly I was giving my partner a hip belay under the famous pine at the top of the route. A woodpecker gently tapped above my head and provided a kind of metronome for still meditation. As it hopped from branch to branch, quietly and softly knocking at the wood, I realized I had lost something on the route and remained unsure of what it was precisely, but keenly felt its lack. As Zak made his way up the long ramp that led to the emergency cache next to me at the top of the route, I screwed on a brave face and pushed that feeling down for later. We had another couple hours of hiking before we were back at the car, and I’d have more than enough time to wallow on the trudge back. 

As we hiked past a series of peaks, the broken and sun blasted tops of this desert alpine world lulled me into a sort of trance. Other than the occasional moment of confusion as we ledged out or chose the wrong side of a cairn, the miles quickly passed and suddenly we were approaching the parking lot, shared laughter in the air as a kind of balm against the various scrapes we carried with us both physical and esoteric. I still felt that heaviness in me, deep down and waiting for its opportunity to strike again. I may not have found precisely what I lost in that pitch, swallowed by stone and birthed alive but diminished at its end. Something else was in its place, though, quiet and small but unmissable when sought.

Zak towards the top.

Fun has three types, as it is commonly described amidst climbers. Type 1 is fun in the moment, type 2 is fun after the fact, and type 3 isn't fun until enough time has passed that you’ve convinced yourself it was actually type 2. I think that personal growth has those same three types as well, and I experienced the second kind on that pitch. I’m glad for having done it, and how it changed me, but I think I’ll follow on that pitch next time.

Happiness pre-walkoff.

Trihardral 5.8, First Creek Canyon

Climbed on July 24, 2022. 

Fun Rating: Quite Fun.

Climbing through the summer in Las Vegas is much more tolerable than many climbers are led to believe, looking at the triple digit temperatures on weather apps from their shady belays in Squamish. It does, however, require cultivation of a sufficient quantity of desert experience, carrying a sufficient quantity of water, and with the knowledge that “comfort” is not the goal. With all those things in my mind, and with my main desert creature Zak busy with work, I swindled my wife, Megan, (ever patient and with saintly tolerance) and my erstwhile protege Justin into a thruple attack on Trihardral.

A rare selfie.

I had been looking at this one for a while as the FA party was the stuff of legend. The history would have called to me even if it weren’t described as a “giant, right-facing corner” and “shaded from the morning sun.” A perfect target, in my mind, for a quick romp up and somewhat toasty walk out. There was no one else in the First Creek lot as Megan and I met with Justin, perhaps we should have taken this as an auspice and called it there. Justin, I noticed, was in a t-shirt with no hat. I had some small concern about this, but given how much water we had and that I figured the whole climb would be in the shade I made the internal call to go ahead with the climb. In hindsight, this was a mistake.

Justin climbing out of the sun.

The hike to the wall was warm but bearable, and after some water and snacks we set off. As with many of my experiences on climbs, I remember it mostly in snapshots and at calm moments at belays. The corner itself was fantastic, and when I offered the decision between the 5.6 slab and the 5.9 crack variation in the upper pitches, my partners decided on the slab. This was easily my least favorite part of the climb, not difficult but a good runout to the first solid placement, and while I can slab fairly well I am not a man who typically enjoys it.

We made it to the top in a few hours, longer than I expected. This was another mistake, as I know that when this particular climbing group is together we move fairly slow. It was past noon by the time we started hiking off, and basically as soon as we finished rapping off past Atras (coming for you soon, baby) we were in full sun. Megan and I retreated to the safety of our sun hoodies, but Justin did not have anywhere to flee. Thus began the Great Trudge.

Megan at a prototypical Red Rock tree belay.

About a mile into the hike, Justin started feeling unwell. Over the next 45 minutes we were able to find him a small bush to hide behind, have me hike our packs back, get water, and cool him off enough to make it back to the car. This was by far the most dangerous moment I’ve had related to climbing (writer’s note: this is no longer the case, unfortunately), and it had nothing to do with the climbing itself. I had climbed in the Vegas summer a great deal before this, and have taken this moment with me on my climbs since. 

Justin has, in fact, continued to climb with me. I know, I’m surprised too.

The true denizens of the canyon.

Sandy Hole 5.7, Angel Food Wall

Climbed on November 12, 2023. 

Fun Rating: Fun but Fucky.

I’ve titled this vision quest that I’m currently on the “Joe Herbst Appreciation Tour,” but for a long while now that’s been shortened in casual conversation with friends to the “Herbst Tour.” It’s a lot easier to abbreviate things when you’re saying something like “I think I need to take a break from the Herbst Tour for awhile,” or “Oh, this is a Herbst Tour climb? I’m out,” or “Yeah let’s climb, just not anything on the Herbst Tour,” and so on. While this is the side effect of an overly long name, the result of this is that I’m also considering Betsy Herbst’s FA’s as a part of the overall JHAT. Sandy Hole is one of her routes, put up with the Uriostes in 1977, right in the heart of the early RRC heyday. 

Megan shivering at the first pitch anchor.

Starting just left of Tunnel Vision, a trade route that Joe had put up with Grandstaff a few years earlier, and sharing a grade rating of 5.7 on Mountain Project nowadays, Sandy Hole begins with some easy climbing up broken terrain before you’re faced with a roof and squeeze chimney. I am somewhat notorious in my group of friends for wacky and inefficient beta, I’m unsure what my deal is but I find more often than not that I did it “wrong” when there is a wrong way to do it (having seen photos of Joe on Nadia’s Nine after my ascent, I realize that I was facing the incorrect way in the first pitch chimney, as an example.) I wanted to get that out in the open and clear, because I want to believe that I pulled the roof incorrectly. I just don’t think that squeeze chimney to chicken wing to fully cutting feet on slopers to a slab mantle is a very 5.7 sequence of moves, and as such I feel I must have done something wrong. Once I finished with that rather exciting bit of beta and could see what I was in for above, I scoffed and got on with it.

One of the coffin-spaces in the chimney pitch.

A good portion of the pitch was on some really dire varnish plates. Nothing broke on me while I was climbing, but I was avoiding putting my feet on anything that wasn’t a really solid looking smear. I was very pleased when this section finally ended and I could get back to the crack. It was probably about 20-30 feet before the entrance to the massive chimney and the anchor area that I was really missing my forgotten hand jammies that had been left in my pack when we had stashed them in the wash. I love a good jam, and I’m a fairly competent crack climber, so when I say that the back of my hands were bleeding, that should give you a decent idea of how sustained the crack climbing was and how long this pitch went on for. After almost the entire length of my 70m rope I was in the chimney.

It was quite a balmy day in the sun with a mild breeze, but with no light hitting any portion of the first two pitches I was shivering a little in my windbreaker. By the time my wife met me at the anchor with the words “so far I’d give this climb 0 stars” I was fully in sufferfest mode. After a moment of snuggling to warm up at the belay where we discussed that it would actually be more miserable to try to bail from here, I set off into the void for the second pitch.

Safely ensconced in the chimney-tomb.

If this isn’t your first time reading this blog, you’ll know I’m a man who loves a good squeeze. Offwidth, wide crack, and chimney are very much my bag and that type of climbing is where I have my most fun. The second pitch of this climb was a 4 star pitch for me. It was a series of extremely tight and claustrophobic squeezes, each ending in a coffin-sized space where you could rest (uncomfortably and contorted) before committing to the next unobvious and frightening squeeze sequence. Each of these was framed by ancient and massive piles of guano far enough away you weren’t afraid of accidentally getting it on you, but left you wondering where all the bats were. At its top, the chimney ends and you’re left with a mostly unprotectable traverse out a slabby hallway above the void of the pitch you’ve just climbed. It is incredibly unique, a little serious, and absolutely wild terrain and reminds me of the best parts of Community Pillar all combined into a single pitch. This was very much a type 2 pitch for my wife, who’s chest and butt are bigger than mine and contributed to a really frightening experience on follow. If you’re a curvier climber, or weigh more than around 180 lbs this will be a very challenging pitch. 

From there we climbed straight up the crack system and met up with the tunnel pitch of Tunnel Vision. This was my second time on the tunnel pitch and I was just as blown away by how wild and fun it was. The sidewalk at the top leading to the hand crack wall is still probably my favorite terrain in RRC, and makes me feel like a kid in a children’s museum. A couple hundred feet of mostly mindless but entertaining climbing led to the top of the route and the lovely but deceptively long Angel Food walkoff. My wife and I had taken some elopement photos in the park over by the Running Man wall the previous day, and my connection with this place had never felt stronger to me. We spent the walk talking about how wild that climb had been, and how hilarious the original 5.6 rating seemed to us now after having been on it. Betsy and the Uriostes didn’t fuck around, and once again we found out

Back to the bag stash

Atras 5.9-, Icebox Canyon

Climbed on June 29, 2023. 

Fun Rating: Very Fun.

Climbing in Red Rock Canyon is often profound, frequently moving, and almost invariably enjoyable. It is my favorite place on earth thus far, and I wouldn’t change a thing about it (except maybe opening the gates earlier.) For all the joy and triumph, however, the desert requires something in return. In the canyon this often takes the form of long and strenuous approaches, or longer and more strenuous descents. On Atras, and many other climbs that Zak and I seek out, the price to be paid was in the form of bad rock. 

Zak on the first pitch.

After the immaculate varnished corner of the first pitch, full of pods and offwidth and even a hands free kneebar or two, I stood at the belay looking up at the two routes to enter the squeeze section and was displeased. To the right a small corner that petered out into a roof that looked potentially layback-able. To the left, an exposed and unprotectable face of questionable rock quality. I believe it is in these moments that we find the gray area between good and bad experiences, exultation or disappointment or worse. Which way to go? On such infrequently climbed rock there is no trail of previous climbers to follow, guiding chalk or rubber stains wholly absent from the twenty feet or so of rotten-looking white sandstone. Choose right and the day continues on its trajectory of fun and fulfillment. Choose wrong and suddenly it’s a one star climb, if you’re lucky. Always choices to be made, and all choices have consequences one way or another.

Myself starting pitch 2.

I chose left and after a blank-faced moment shared with my partner, I set off and upward. The rock was predominantly the type of soft sugary white stone that acts as a kind of Schrodinger’s hand or foothold. That being, there is an equal chance of it holding or breaking, and you won’t know until you’ve fully trusted it with your weight. I carefully picked my way through microflakes and slopers that more resembled sandboxes, the frown that had begun at the first few moves deepening with each subsequent lack of protection opportunities. Suddenly I was there, a frightening mantle into a shouldery move and the comforting cool of the squeeze chimney was against my shoulders and neck. I took a moment to catch my breath and steady my nerves before looking up and evaluating the tunnel above me. Finally, I was thinking, I can have some real fun. 

Safely below the squeeze.

Helmet off and safely stowed, I entered a tight hallway barely big enough for my chest and harnessed hips to pass. For a while the only thing that existed in my personal universe was the rock cold against my cheek and the steady sequence of breathing out, shuffling upward an inch or a few, and breathing in to stop myself and rest. At the top I turned the roof and finished the route up the easy final offwidth. Belaying my partner up, I settled into my customary quiet enjoyment of where I was and my place in the grand scheme of things. With the swifts diving in turns, and a solitary raven calling to anyone who would listen, I reflected on the climb and smiled at what I had called out to my partner while in the chimney:

"There's a lot of Herbst routes where I wonder, 'why don't people climb this more often?' This isn't one of those routes, I get it."