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."