Stawamus in the Mist

We touched down in Vancouver early Tuesday evening, eager to embark on a twelve-day British Columbia road trip. We picked up the rental car; grappled with traffic through downtown Van; got lost; got back on route; stopped for dinner at a White Spot near Stanley Park; then over the Lion’s Gate Bridge at sunset, out of the city and jetting up the coastline where the scenery was ethereal in the fading light. By nightfall—which is 10:00 up here in July—we were in Squamish, knocking on the front door of LeRoy Russ’s bayside residence.

In terms of rock climbing, Squamish is Canada’s ground zero, the cat’s meow. Blackish gray monoliths rise out of a rainforest laced with cascading streams, the emerald waters of Howe Sound sparkling offshore. It is the climber’s epitome of Shangri-La in the Pacific Northwest. There are tons of routes here, and more being developed all the time. If the weather held—a chance of rain is always a factor in the PNW—we could get in three or four days of climbing. What better way to kick off a vacation?

Early morning, I rolled out of bed and peered out LeRoy’s living room window to the imposing hulk of the Stawamus Chief shrouded in clouds. Damn. Just as the weatherman had predicted, a front was moving in off the Pacific. Then again, that’s Squamish for you, where it can turn from sunny T-shirt weather to rain parkas, and then back again, in short order.

Our friends Ben Chapman and Pam Neal had arrived at LeRoy’s place a few days earlier—driving all the way up from Los Angeles in two long days—and they had already put in some quality time on the crags before the weather changed. Now we were all sitting around the breakfast table, surfing the internet on laptops, iPhones and crystal balls, looking for just One Sunny Forecast to hang our hat on. Surely the crud would blow over soon. Right? But it was not in the cards.

Since wet rock is not well-suited for climbing, the five of us opted to go for a hike and investigate some routes. First stop was Shannon Falls, where LeRoy led us into the woods along a faint but discernible footpath to the AMO Wall. Deep in the timber, a velvety stillness prevailed. Somewhere up ahead, as yet unseen, was the base of a 400-foot cliff.

We drove to the Smoke Bluffs after lunch, where the morning’s intermittent drizzle turned to rain. But deter us, it did not. Ben was determined to scope out some routes on the numerous crags here, and with guidebook in hand—a challenge to keep dry in the rain—he led the procession up and down the maze of trails that meander through the wooded cliff bands. At one point, Terry and Pam stopped at a short wall with two nice-looking hand cracks slicing up the stone (photo). They pondered the first moves; where to get a good hand jam; where to place that first piece of pro; strategizing and optimizing—in the rain. These ladies are climbers to the core. 

The next morning the Chief was still veiled in rain and mist. It struck a menacing pose, rising 2,300 feet above the shores of Howe Sound, dark and gleaming, and erasing all hopes for a climbing agenda. We were grounded for a second day.

LeRoy has made Squamish his summer home since about 2001, ever since retiring from the executive world and taking up mountaineering and skiing full time (yeah, it’s a tough gig, but somebody’s gotta do it). He and his partner, Margo Koss, are both founding members of the SCMA, and each summer they open their BC condo to club members who wish to venture north of the border. My own visits to climb up here with LeRoy have been quite memorable. He is the host with the most. 

The town of Squamish, named after the First Nation people who have lived in this region for centuries, got its humble start in the 1910s as the southern terminus of a railroad line that extended into the hinterlands of the province. Built at the head of an ancient fiord, it remained isolated from Vancouver until a highway and railroad could be carved and blasted out along the rugged coastline in the 1950s. Before then, the only way to get here from the city was by ship. The logging industry was big throughout most of the 20th century, but the last lumber mill closed in 2006. Today, with a population of around 17,000, Squamish is the fastest growing town in British Columbia. 

The 2002 crime thriller, Insomnia, starring Al Pacino and the late Robin Williams, was filmed in and around Squamish. Al Pacino’s character checked into the old Chieftain Hotel downtown, and a few scenes were shot in its lobby and bar. If you wish to have a drink in a genuine Canadian pub, go here. But if you’re looking for that generic SoCal sports-bar ambiance, then continue down the street to the Howe Sound Brewery.

On the third day, we awoke to blue skies. Yes! Ben and Pam got the drop on us and headed right out to the Smoke Bluffs. I assured them we would catch up. Unfortunately, Ter and I got out there later than anticipated and we couldn’t find them anywhere. It’s easy to get disoriented in the forested maze of trails. We passed one rock formation where I knew Ben had been assessing a route the other day in the rain. But no one was there. Finally we decided to just find something to climb, because it was late morning by then.  

We settled on Tunnel Rock for several reasons: 1) The trail we were on just ended there; 2) we had the crag to ourselves, and; 3) we wanted to go climbing NOW. All in all, we scaled five routes. Pictured here is The Constant Gardener (5.8), a delightful crack with a tricky start and perfect hand jams up higher.

Erin is a yoga instructor and lives in town. She rendezvoused with two of her Vancouver friends at Tunnel Rock and they climbed next to us in the afternoon.

One of the Vancouver guys was kind enough to snap a photo of us together (a rarity, except for the occasional selfie). The furry brown mass at Terry’s feet is Erin’s wooly mammoth dog, who adopted us for the afternoon.

When Terry volunteered to lead Easy Skankin' (5.8), I was all for it. I’d watched the Canadians struggle with it earlier, which didn't shore up my confidence much. The technical crux is a slippery off-width crack at the bottom. But the psychological one is near the top where the crack/corner terminates (triangular pod above Terry’s head) and one must step out right, onto the exposed face, and run it out to the chains. Long story short, my wife crushed this route. I followed it, and fell at the off-width. Twice.  

Marc and Jillian Cyr joined the crew on Saturday. LeRoy and Ben had picked them up at the airport in Van late the night before, and they were all smiles at the base of the Stawamus Chief the following morning, in the queue to climb Rambles (5.8). Ter, LeRoy and I trailed them as a party of three. 

LeRoy cruises up the first pitch of Rambles.  

All smiles on Pitch 2 of Rambles. Is she flirting with me?

The usual suspects.

After Rambles, we swung by the Smoke Bluffs to hook up with Ben and Pam. And once again, they were nowhere to be found. We were deliberating in front of the Burgers & Fries Wall, when Marc got the yearning to climb the super-classic and popular Burgers & Fries (5.7), a sweet hand crack up the middle—and there was NOBODY on it. What the heck? Isn’t that why we’re here? Marc racked up while I flaked out the rope. I gave him a belay. He led it in style.

Meanwhile, Pam and Ben, and their cute little dog Sophie, were also climbing at Smoke Bluffs. It would be a couple more days before I finally figured out that my text messages were not being relayed to my phone. Once I changed the settings, a slew of them came in. All along, Pam had been texting me where they were climbing: first at the Neat & Cool Wall; then Fern Gully; then Ronin’s Corner… Jeez. My bad. In the photo (shot by Ben), Pam prepares to send a route, and that’s Sophie belaying her. Sophie can catch a whipper, no problem—just don’t forget to anchor her down.

Returning to the car at the end of the day, we munched on blackberries that grew in thick brambles along the trail. The ladies had a particular knack for picking the sweetest ones. We dropped Marc and Jillian off at LeRoy’s place, where they would spend the night and climb with the rest of the gang tomorrow. As for Ter and I, it was time to move on. We pulled onto Highway 99 and drove deeper into the mountains. Next stop: Pemberton.

MORE PHOTOS 
For the entire photo album of Squamish, go here...
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Three Days in Tuolumne

Only three days. That was it. A five-day getaway had been the original plan, but then a day had to be lopped off due to my work, and then another one got nixed by Terry’s work… Clearly, work is getting in the way of the essentials in life.

But it would be rash to throw the baby out with the bathwater: Even three days in granite-domed, alpine splendor was worth packing the van and heading up 395. It had been seven years since we climbed Cathedral Peak, which was the last time we were in Tuolumne Meadows. So we were overdue for a reboot.

It was an SCMA club trip and had I signed up to be the co-leader. I don’t recall leading a trip in two years, so I was past due to step up and volunteer. As it turned out, my biggest contribution to the trip was imparting the Park rangers with my diplomatic charm (my wife is laughing now) and getting them to exchange the campsites they allotted us (they sucked) for more spacious accommodations. All sites are not created equal by any means.

We were the first to arrive Friday morning, having driven as far as Bishop the night before. After negotiating and securing two primo sites at Tuolumne Meadows Campground, we went exploring. It was a marvelous day for a hike. The Pacific Crest Trail passes through the meadows, and we followed it out to Parsons Lodge before moseying over to Lembert Dome to check out the route Northwest Books. We haven’t been climbing much the past year, but this route looked doable. Then again, neither of us could get motivated to run to the van and grab the gear. So we continued hiking.

It was near this soda spring, at the edge of the meadows, where John Muir and publisher Robert U. Johnson sat around a campfire one night in 1889 and discussed the virtues and pristine beauty of the wilderness surrounding them. They came away convinced that something must be done to protect it from mankind's encroachment. Johnson returned home to New York City and printed two influential essays by Muir in Century Magazine. It worked. A year later, Congress voted to create Yosemite National Park. 

This is our trip leader, Trish Stoops. Trish joined the SCMA in 2011, soon after moving to California. She has traveled extensively in India, Nepal and South Africa, where she worked—when she wasn’t climbing—as a project manager for Habitat for Humanity. Her organizational skills are tops, bar none.

This is Trish’s cat, Buddy, aka the Camper Cat. This guy goes everywhere. Besides frequenting Tuolumne on a regular basis, he ventures to Yosemite Valley, the Eastern Sierra, the Needles, Courtright, Joshua Tree…  Always will he be, paws down, the coolest cat in camp.

On Saturday, Dave Skyer, organized a group foray to the back side of DAFF Dome, to a secluded area known as the Wind Tunnel. Ter and I opted to tag along to make it a gang of seven. The approach was an uphill grind, but the views along the way were exceptionally rewarding with Fairview Dome soaring above the trees on the other side of the valley.

The Wind Tunnel lies in a stone V-notch between DAFF and Cottage Domes. There are a few moderate-to-easy routes here, though half of them are R-rated runouts with long stretches of blank slab between protection bolts—in other words, a typical moderate route at this climbing venue. Welcome to Tuolumne.

Taking a break between climbs, coiling ropes and re-racking gear.    

Carmen Cendejas was cool and collective leading DAFFy Duck, a 90-foot romp protected by a single bolt about halfway up, at the 5.6 crux, to keep you from falling to your demise. She is about twenty feet above the bolt in this photo, with at least another twenty feet remaining to reach the belay/rappel anchors.  Breathe, Carmen. Breathe.

Phil Hall flew in from Washington DC for a business meeting and stretched it into a long weekend to visit friends (he was transferred to the East Coast last year). He was unaware of the club trip on the calendar that same weekend—until he landed in SoCal and some SCMA pals urged him to go. Phil hadn’t brought any climbing gear, but he did scrounge up a tent and sleeping bag and drove up to T-Meadows in his rental car. I lent him an extra pair of climbing shoes; somebody else donated a spare harness; a helmet; chalk bag; and presto! He got in two days of climbing. 

Nothing caps off your climbing day better than a cold brew on the shores of Tenaya Lake. 

Yosemite backcountry ranger Lee Lang (at left) is a long-time climbing buddy of Dave’s, and since he didn’t have to work on Saturday, Dave invited him to join us for a day of cragging and après-climb libations afterwards at Tenaya Lake. Lee shared some entertaining yarns and insights on Park politics, rescues, wily bears and lost backpackers.

The Tuolumne Meadows Grill & General Store is a perpetual hub of activity, catering to the needs of campers, backpackers, climbers and a sundry throng of motorists who stop for a bite to eat before moving on. Since the John Muir Trail and Pacific Crest Trail converge here, it also serves as a resupply station for backpackers. PCT thru-hikers congregate at a half-dozen picnic tables, swapping tales of adventure while scarfing down cheeseburgers, cold beer and ice cream—things you can’t get in the backcountry—and strategizing the next leg of their trek. From here, it is 1,700 miles to Canada.

German tourists snap photos of the vast meadows across the road. Harley bikers thunder out of the parking lot towards Tioga Pass. A couple of lean, natty rock climbers (I know they're climbers from the residue of chalk and grime on their hands) step out of the store with bags of groceries, and a young lady backpacker in a skirt and bikini top marches past them, holding a miniature solar panel above her head in an endeavor to recharge her cell phone. Little does she know that the communication tower has been swept away in a rockslide. There is no cell service anywhere in the Park.

Another day in paradise.

We had twelve people in two adjoining campsites for Saturday night, where good cheer invariably abounds around the fire. Lee and Dave reminisced on their past big-wall exploits together in Yosemite Valley. Then Kelvin Nguyen and Damian Nemirovsky rolled into camp after a successful ascent of the Regular Route on Fairview Dome, about a thousand feet of climbing and one of the coveted plums in Tuolumne. They were stoked. 

By nine o’clock, trip leader Trish had still not returned. She had taken a novice, Stacy Sanchez, with her to climb on Stately Pleasure Dome, and a few around the fire began to express if we should be worried or not. As the co-leader, I felt compelled to go take a look-see, and recruited Phil to accompany me. We jumped into his rental car and started out of the campground, figuring the least we could do was to check if Trish’s vehicle was parked at one of the highway pullouts that climbers use to approach the domes. 

We had just motored past the campground entrance gate when we saw a dusty Toyota Sienna flash by in the opposite direction. Hey, Trish drove a Sienna. Follow that car!! 

Phil pulled a quick U-turn and we were in hot pursuit, back into the campground. However, it was pitch dark and headlights did little to assist in making a positive i.d. Then the car turned up a loop that didn’t lead to our sites. So maybe it wasn’t her after all. Phil flashed his brights and the car stopped. Now what? Did we just pull over some stranger? We were sitting there, deciding on what to do next, when a cat popped its head up in the back window of the car.

Yep. That’s Trish.

Sunday afternoon at Dozier Dome, Trish was squinting up a sea of knobby granite, searching in vain for the first bolt. Shit. Where is it? It’s one thing to spot a bolt thirty feet off the deck and commit to climbing up to it; concentration and motivation laser-focused on the objective of reaching that first clip. But it’s a whole other gig to climb up thirty feet, hoping that you’re starting on-route and you’ll see the bolt somewhere when you get higher and it won’t be forty feet way to your right—or not there at all. Shit. 

But it all worked out. I was able to spot the first hanger from where I was standing at the bottom, and I called out to Trish and pointed well above her head. Her apprehension receded. She chalked up and sent Scandalous Summer, clipping seven bolts along the way.

One hundred fifty feet up, Trish clipped the last bolt and contemplated the final stretch to the belay ledge. This was the crux part now. Everything below had been easier.  

Climbing a route is not all about the climbing. The ascent frequently leads to a lofty perch with a sublime vista, where one can pause and absorb the grandeur from a viewpoint that no one else can experience unless they clamber up as well. Inspirational for a postcard from a ledge.      

When Terry had gained a good stance just below the belay ledge of Scandalous Summer, I locked her off and snapped a one-handed photo. Smile! Then she scrambled up the last bit and sat next to me, taking in the view of Tenaya Lake down-canyon. This was the last hurrah. From here, we would rap off and start the long but scenic drive down the Eastern Sierra towards home. Yes, three days in Tuolumne was not long enough. But it was better than no days at all.

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For more photos from this trip, go here...

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