Type II Fun - Tombstone Butte

I'm really struggling to get back into the swing of things at work.  I finished my field work for the season and feel like taking it easy, but there's still work to do.  There's also a lot of outdoor fun-having to be done in this beautiful autumn weather, which has put me in a bit of a panic.  In an effort to satisfy both of these feelings (need to work, need to play), I've decided to recount a vacation Brent and I took to Moab in April.  The plan was to climb Tombstone Butte and Lost World Butte, soak up the sun, maybe chill out in the hammock.  You know, an easy going rock climbing adventure.  What came about was less easy going, more hiding and suffering, but still fun.  You know, Type II fun.

According to outdoorsy types (i.e. Backcountry.com), there are three types of fun ranging from fun while it's happening and fun to remember (Type I) to miserable while it's happening and miserable to remember (Type III).  Type II fun lies in the middle, miserable while it's happening but good to recall; Type II activities include getting lost, rained out, blown away, or generally beaten by the elements.  Remembering Type II trips usually involves a pretty selective memory, but there are very real rewards like unexpected views or events that you'd never have seen if things had gone according to plan.  Our visit to Tombstone Butte falls into the Type II category, things did not go according to plan and there was some suffering, but no regret and it's been really fun to recall.

The desert southeast of Moab.  

I'd spent the weeks before our trip psyched to go climbing in the Southern Utah sunshine because I hadn't been on a vacation in two very busy months.  I needed a vacation.  I deserved it!  And it started out according to plan - we arrived before midnight, skies were clear and we found a flat area to pitch our tent free of cow poops.  Then we woke up to this view:

I do not like cows.  I believe they signal impending doom.  

Cows!  Thank goodness we decided to sleep on the other side of that fence.  Tombstone Butte lies on BLM land between Green River, Utah and Canyonlands National Park, where there's a bit of grazing and a fair amount of OHV use, but generally very few people.  I love it.  Tombstone Butte is a 300-foot tall, square block of sandstone, thus classified as a butte rather than a tower, but it begs to be climbed just as much as any other free-standing chunk of rock does.  The Rigor Mortis route is particularly eye catching.  Tombstone caught our attention a while back when Brent and I were aiming to climb Lost World Butte, and has been our camping area of choice when we're in that area (good views + free site = best!).  The butte is composed on Endtrada sandstone on top of a pedestal of Chinle sandstone.  I love sandstone, but honestly, this is the worst sandstone.  The size of the sand grains in the rock and the pressure the rock was formed under determine the strength of the rock itself.  While it's not the softest, Entrada sandstone is pretty dang soft and small ledges are prone to crumbling if you look at it wrong.  However, much of the climbing in the Moab area is on Entrada sandstone because it weathers into towers and buttes like this.

Tombstone Butte

The whole thing started out typically Type I.  I dawdled taking pictures while Brent racked up and it only took about 10 minutes to get to the start of the climb.  We did our best Bear Grylls run/jump/getting psyched approach.  Like many towers, the first pitch was a forgettable chimney, dirty and soft, but easily climbable.  Pitch 2 was real Type I stuff - a beautiful, sharp crack that was challenging to lead and fun to follow (and Brent got to the use a piton I got him for Christmas).  

Pitch 2 - Rigor Mortis - Tombstone Butte

I might call our feelings at the bottom of Pitch 3 confident.  We were about 200 feet off the ground, skies were clear, and the crack left to climb was quite striking to look at.  We were ready for the most picturesque and difficult part of the climb.  This is when we entered the Type II zone, delimited by the clear memory of the songs stuck in my head.  The rest of the narrative will follow the lyrics of "We Can't Stop" by Miley Cyrus and "Holy Diver" by Dio because they were stuck in my head and definitely affected the quality of the experience.  Miley lyrics will be in blue, Dio in red.  I highly recommend watching the linked video to "Holy Diver"; you can click the link to listen to the Miley song if you don't know what it sounds like, but having typed out all these lyrics, it already seems like an unfair comparison.  [Note: Brent does not support my knowledge of Miley Cyrus lyrics, if there was any music stuck in his head it was totally bad ass.]

The start of Pitch 3 was clear but difficult to execute as it required some stretching and there was a loose block at the top (and bless his heart, Brent doesn't want to kill me with a falling rock) [It's our party we can do what we want.  It's our party we can say what we want].  The next 30 feet were a huge challenge though.  I've mentioned before that aid climbing is slow (and repetitive, like Miley's lyrics).  Instead of climbing up the wall like you would climb a ladder, using your hands and feet to move you up and leaving protection as you go just in case you fall (i.e., free climbing), aid climbing is more like building a ladder as you go.  Gear is placed in the features of the rock and attached to 'aid ladders' (webbing sewn into steps), the climber moves up by pulling on and stepping up the ladders.  In this way you can climb cracks that are too thin and small to climb using the strength of your hands and feet alone.  Aid climbing can get you to lots of really cool, seemingly un-climbable places, but it requires lots of gear.  Climbing without all the gear you want is decidedly not Type I fun.  

Note the aid ladders and harness full of gear.  

As Brent moved past his first two pieces of gear he found the crack could take a #0.3 Black Diamond Camalot (12.4 - 21.2 mm in width) ('cam') perfectly... and only the #0.3... nothing smaller or larger... for at least another 20 feet.  He could continue to "walk" the #0.3 up the crack, but it would leave an increasingly longer span between himself and his last piece of protection.  [It's our party we can love who we want.]  This simple math, measured by the rope, quickly added up to a huge risk, but with a potential payoff.  A fall, caused by that one #0.3 cam slipping or blowing out of the crack would lead to 1) shocking another tiny cam; or 2) decking on the belay space below.  But if he succeeded the crack might get wider or more narrow and allow him to use rock protection ('gear') of different sizes.  But it might not.   Since he was literally 10 feet above my head we could talk through this dilemma easily, but the answer wasn't easy.  [We can sing what we want.]

Note how far away that bottom cam is, that's the #0.30.  

The question came down to this: is the risk of falling low enough to justify continuing and increasing that risk, given the work we'd already put in and the reward of topping out?  And he asked me what I thought he should do.  Brent almost never needs my help with risk assessment.  I question myself all the time and rely heavily on Brent to help me assess risk, but he's the wiser and more skilled of us.  Because it was his life at risk I just didn't feel like I could make the call.  [But I could sing "Red cups and sweaty bodies everywhere.  Hands in the air like we don't care."]  I was literally no help.  I couldn't see when the crack would change size, but neither could Brent.  I couldn't tell how well that critical cam would hold, but he couldn't tell how long it would be before he could use something else.  We could both see how far away from the deck he was, we both knew how far we'd come and how much we'd like to reach the top...  It was a really tense moment (for me, Brent doesn't seem to remember it this way).  ['Cause we came to have so much fun now.  Bet somebody might get some now.]  I didn't want to tell him to back down because I trusted his skill, but I didn't want to tell him to move up because I didn't want to push him to put himself at more risk than he wanted, so I said the least helpful thing: "I can't help at all with this.  If you move up I'll be really worried and I don't see a way to climb down.  But I won't be upset if you want to bail."  Guess what was happening while I was doing all of this worrying.  Brent was continuing to climb, which continued to change the arithmetic of the situation.  [If you're not ready to go home, can I get a hell no?]

Moving up.

Then something amazing happened: the crack, through eons of erosion, widened enough to begin using more gear, spaced at more reasonable intervals.  But that's not the end of the difficulty.  ['Cause we're gonna go all night, 'till we see sunlight, alright.]  The crack got varied but also really soft.  And it was a really long pitch, ~180 feet.  [So la da di da di.  We like to party.]  And the wind started blowing, and it never stopped.    It was a difficult climb that stayed difficulty.  [Dancing with Molly.  Doing whatever we want.]  Brent spent about three hours climbing the third pitch, mostly out of hearing distance, so I had hours to stand there and think (while also giving a competent belay). [This is our house.  This is our rules.]   I studied my anchors (solid, painted nicely) and my Cinch and wondered if I'd ever read the owners manual (no);  [And we can't stop.  And we won't stop.]  I enjoyed the views and practiced left-handed SLR camera selfies (never take that brake hand off the rope).  [Don't you see it's we who own the night?  Can't you see it's we who 'bout that life?]  During this musing a few people pulled up next to the butte in side-by-side ATVs to watch and, thank the Lord (!), someone was listening to Dio loudly on their stereo.  

The Cinch

The top half of the pitch continued at a regular aid climbing pace (even and slow), but I had a great song to ponder the lyrics of.  [Holy Diver.  You've been down too long in the midnight sea.  Oh what's becoming of me?]  I still don't know what "Holy Diver"is about, but the song structure is more pleasing than that other song I was playing in my brain and the lyrics are more aggressive.  [Ride the tiger, you can see his stripes but you know he's clean.  Oh don't you see what I mean?]  Fact: after this trip "Holy Diver" became my power song when I program because it makes me feel like I can make the computer do what I want.  [Gotta get away.  Holy Diver.]  Anyway, I was enjoying myself there, safe from the breeze in my favorite flannel.  If I played my cards right I could start climbing with my new "Ride the Tiger" mentality.  And then it was my turn to climb.  [Shiny diamonds.  Like the eyes of a cat in the black and blue.  Something is coming for you.]   

The view from the bottom of Pitch 3

The first 30 feet of the route that Brent had struggled with were literally heinous (utterly odious or wicked)!  That lower part of Pitch 3 was a pretty perfect sized crack to jam my fingers in but was too tight for my feet to get any traction on, so I could hang but I couldn't actually move up.  [Race for the morning.  You can hide in the sun 'till you see the light.  Oh we will pray it's all right.]  It was a mess to belay.  Brent was more than 150 feet away and the wind was blowing, but that didn't stop me from yelling "Pull the rope!" every time I thought I'd lifted my hips enough for there to be slack in the rope.  [Gotta get away.]  Even though there wasn't any rope to take in and it is difficult to winch someone up on a top belay, Brent gave it a shot. Brent told me I could aid off that critical #0.3 cam, but he'd used it for that full 30 foot stretch so it was too far above my head to reach and I didn't have any other gear to use.  [Between the velvet lies, there's a truth that's hard as steel.  The vision never dies.  Life's never ending wheel.]  I'm still not sure how I got up that section of rock (Brent probably pulled me up), but once I got my hands on that #0.3 cam and rested I was back to singing "La da di da di, We like to party." 

Brent at the top of Tombstone Butte

Most of the following 150 feet were perplexing but alright.  It took a lot of work to pull out the cams and stoppers that had been bounce tested.  There was lots of pulling and pushing and a good deal of tapping on gear, plus some strained prying with the nut tool.  [And we can't stop.  And we won't stop.]  The beautiful, brand new pink Tricam would not come out, even though I spent enough time on it that Brent had to question what I was doing.  Then it got torturous again: the crack widened and became more shallow.  [We run things, things don't run we.  Don't take nothing from nobody.  Yeah, yeah.]  It seems that at this particular section, about 50 feet from the top, a block of the cliff face had come off recently enough that the exposed rock didn't have any sort of hardened varnish, so it was just sand (read: NOT sandstone).  Everything I pushed and pulled on blew away because it was just sand.  [It's our party we can do what we want.  It's our party we can say what we want.]  How in the world had Brent protected this?  [Holy Diver.  You're the star of the masquerade.  No need to look so afraid.]

At this point in my complaining I must make a ridiculous confession: sandstone formations often look like genitals to me.  The towers make sense, descriptions of those often include the word "phallic"; but the cracks or canyon walls that are shaped like ovals with pointed tops and/or bottoms look like lady parts to me.  Thus, as I pushed my way up through this section I couldn't help but think that that must be what it looks like and feels like to be birthed as an adult.  [It's our party we can love who we want.  We can kiss who we want.  We can sing what we want.]  It felt just as silly and un-graceful as that admission sounds.  Once I got through this final difficulty I could see and hear Brent again, yay! [To my home girls here with the big butt.  Shaking it like we at a strip club.]   

Pitch 3

Getting to the top of things is usually a reason to celebrate, and it was nice to sit and catch my breathe, but it was actually quite unpleasant at the top.  It had taken me an hour to follow up the final pitch, and while I was bruising myself on the rock Brent felt like he was being punched in the back of the head by the wind.  [Remember only God can judge ya.  Forget the haters, 'cause somebody loves ya.]  On other towers we've explored the top a bit, looked for a summit register, and stretched a little before climbing down; none of that was happening there.  More than being unpleasant, the wind made exploring without a rope less safe and neither of us was interested in more wind or belaying.  [We all so turnt up here.  Getting turned up, yeah, yeah, yeahhh.]  

The top

Our choice to rappel immediately wasn't as easy as it would seem tough, because the bolts supporting the ropes we rappelled on weren't great, they weren't even OK.  All that wind (which is always stronger at the top of things than the bottom) and the soft, sandy sandstone made it so the rock the bolts were embedded in was literally blowing away.  Given time to think through things calmy we'd have probably searched for another set of anchors rumored to exist, but that didn't seem like a reasonable option.  [So la da di da di.  We like to party.]  So we rappelled very carefully, trying to keep an even speed and not bounce on the rope.  I wish I could say this was the first time we'd been left with this choice.  We arrived at the ground safely though.  

Of course there was one last selfie before we rappelled to our potential deaths

Once we were back safely on the ground you'd think the Type II fun would transition back to Type I, but it didn't.  That night a storm blew in, making climbing the next morning a no-go.  Not one to say 'quit' after driving for 6 hours to enjoy the desert, I decided to go to Canyonlands National Park for some sight seeing.  I'd never been to that park before and was definitely pleased with the views.  As an added bonus, we spent most of the day in the car with the radio, successfully dodging the stuck song issue.  

Upon returning home I looked at the Mountain Project description of the route and the first sentence stood out more clearly than on the first reading:  "Some interesting situations."  We were definitely faced with some interesting situations, even if the lyrics in my head were kind of inane.  Good times.