Putterman.

Brent and I took a quick trip to Moab over the weekend.  Really quick, I just needed to go on a vacation over Spring Break, so Brent was good enough to indulge me in 12 hours of driving for 2 days of climbing.  We made it to Tusher Canyon, outside Moab, shortly before midnight (which was a record for us, we tend to arrive closer to 2:00 am), but still couldn't find a camp spot.  We saw a sign that said "No Camping Beyond This Point", so we camped at that point, which happened to be a short cut on the Merrimac and Monitor Jeep road.

A few weeks ago, we watched "Deliverance" and I haven't been able to get it out of my head.  Now every time I find myself some where rather lonely, usually outside of cell service, I worry that deranged hill billies will come out of the woods and assault us (even when there are no woods), but Burt Reynolds won't come save us with his bow and arrow.  This was going through my head at our make shift camp area when I heard some sounds that Brent said were gun shots (I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, but it made sense), then a couple guys rode right next to our tent and hollered like hill billies. I did not sleep well that night.

There should be no camping beyond this point .  

The next morning we went in search of our crag.  After several miles of a jeep track (that Phyllis the Forester handled like a champ), we found our crag of choice being climbed.  The back up choice was a tower called House of Putterman.  A quick Google did not reveal who Putterman was, so I've decided it was a penguin (based on how the tower is shaped).  A brave, stoic (and ancient), who lead an army into battle and was later memorialized in sandstone.
 

Such a noble tower.  

  We spent the hike up to our route (Walden's Room) talking about how I couldn't lead anything on this route. Then we started racking up and Brent insisted that I lead the first pitch, despite a rating that suggested it was out of my reach.  It looked like a most excellent pitch, and Brent was very convincing.  So I led it.

Such a beautiful pitch.  

The next three pitches were good, but I think I got to lead the best.  The second pitch was interesting, as chimneys go.  Someone had actually climbed up there with a cow femur bone and used it as a chock.  While this was quite inventive, I still like to think that maybe a cow hiked to the top of House of Putterman to die a more noble death than one grazing in the Courthouse Pasture.

Brent is good at climbing chimneys.  

Bone chock happened.  

View from the top.  

Top of Pitch 3.  

Brent at the top.  

The top of the tower sure was windy.  There was also an awesome canister with a register at the top, complete with schedule for a strip club in Vegas, mandalas, and a little Buddha.  After making our entry, we rappelled down and continued climbing.

Obviously excited about the register contents. 

Every time.

Next up was a couple of routes on Neighbor of Putterman.  I didn't intend to lead much else, but Brent had a fool-proof argument.  He said "Becka, you're always looking for low-grade climbs to practice on, you should lead here."  It's so true.  I'm still a beginner at leading trad routes, and they seem to also start at a rating of 5.10, but I'm really only good at climbing up to a 5.8.  There were a few 5.9 routes on Neighbor of Putterman, which seemed put them at the edge of my ability, but I lead them.  The first went alright, I struggled up most of the 50 feet, yowling because my ankle hurt.  But I also used my brain (and beta from Mountain Project) to figure out the easiest way up to the top.  And even though I didn't bring a cam big enough to protect the top section, I finished it.  I also bled a bit on the route, enough for Brent to see my blood when he climbed the route.  I spent the entire time belaying Brent thinking "That must be what it feels like to climb something above your ability."  Then, with the same argument as before, Brent suggested I climb the next route over.  I hemmed and hawed, then roped up and cried most of the way up the climbing.  Literally.  I don't know if it was the adrenaline from the previous climbs, or the three hours of sleep I had gotten the night before, but I was absolutely irrational and I could feel it.  Brent did everything right though, he laughed a little, asked my why I was crying, and coaxed me up the rest of the climb.  There are no pictures of these routes, because they are not worth documenting in film, but it did help my climbing confidence.

I climbed this route, shortly before the route where I used my tears to propel me up the wall.  

That night we spent an excellent evening camping in a wash.  The next morning the wind started blowing and it took the two of us 10 minutes just to fold up the tent.  But we did wake up to a nice view.

  Due to the intense wind (and previously blogged about hatred of wind), we fled to Arches National Park to do some small tower climbing.  There are actually two towers next to each other in the park called the Phallus and the Right and Left Testes.  The first actually looks like the a phallus, the other does have two summits, but is mostly an amorphous tower.  We chose to climb the Right Nut, and it looked like this.

Sandstone genitals. 

Climbing what proved to be an interesting route.  

I love that skeptical look.  

Another Buddha.  

The wind was still pretty terrible up there.  But we had payed to get into the park, so climbed another route to make it worth while.  Chinese Eyes on the Great Wall was probably the windiest climb I've ever been on. I think Brent probably looked amazing on it, but I spent most of the time shielding my eyes from the insane amount of sand blowing around.

I took pictures of this route, but due to the massive amounts of sand blowing around, we both looked very sad.  

Then we went to dinner and headed home.  And made it home before midnight, another first.  Unfortunately, true to tradition, we came home to significantly colder temperatures in Logan.  Fortunately, that made for an awesome powder day today!.