Wednesday, September 26, 2018

Big Wall Climbing: How lucky am I?

Or, Big Wall Climbing: What am I doing with my life?

I don’t know that a blog about climbing is the place to address this, but it’s what I’m writing about now. I worry that my social media posts paint an overly rosy picture of my life. I don’t have pictures to show how often I ride the struggle bus, but I’m a frequent passenger. So how do I write a blog about how grateful I am to have climbed in Zion without bragging? Big wall climbing in Zion was amazing, but it was also stressful and hard work. Things aren’t good all the time, but when they’re good they’re really, really good. Does that fly?

Brent and I have been climbing together since 2010 and in that time we’ve visited some amazing places. I haven’t been dealing with anxiety well in the last two years and it has negatively impacted climbing in particular. It’s gotten to the point that I feel like a real turd any time I post a smiling climbing picture because it doesn’t even hint at the flip side: that I have cried on a lot of rocks. So know that, as I proceed with a glowing review of our weekend in Zion, climbing is a real mixed bag and things aren’t all adventure all the time.

From our very first tower trip - screaming and flailing up the Penguins. Technique has improved since then, fear has not subsided.
Big walls. They’re very tall (>1,000 feet) and technical, requiring specialized climbing gear and more than one day to climb. Think of the towering cliffs of Zion National Park, where this adventure occurred, or Yosemite National Park (it’s no coincidence so many big walls are in national parks, they are spectacular and inspired the first conservationists). We have climbed some tall stuff and some stuff in national parks, but acquiring the skills and gear to scale a big wall has taken years. 

Brent under Disco Inferno, not dying under the weight of the haul bag

That's a stuck haul bag
We’ve practiced these skills for the last year and my fate was sealed when Brent purchased a port-a-ledge this summer. Having no escape to the ground after several hours of climbing made me worry I’d implode from the stress, but who in their right mind would turn down the chance to sleep on a cliff in Zion? I did not sleep well in the week before our trip, and then I cried as we left my apartment complex and as we hiked to the cliff and as we racked up on Day 2 and when I was climbing…  But between the tears, truly wonderful things happened.

Can you believe this sunrise?
We climbed the Disco Inferno route (5.8, C2, Grade V) on the Desert Shield. It’s approximately 1,000 feet of climbing, broken into 8 sections (called pitches). Our plan was to climb at least three pitches the first day so we could spend the night on a part of the cliff with a natural ledge. Then we would climb as far as we could the second day before rappelling down and heading back to work. My Type-A personality has struggled to adapt to the fact that success is not guaranteed in the mountains. Plenty could disrupt a successful ascent, from weather to health. I figured we could easily get eight pitches in two days because we often get in 4-5 per day and once we climbed seven. But time passes differently when you’re aid climbing and we got four pitches in.


Getting our gear to the base of Disco Inferno was a challenge in itself. The Zion Shuttle Bus driver was kind enough to drop us off right where we needed to go, but the haul bag was packed to a crushing weight and the steep trail to the cliff was a little treacherous with the extra wobble our loaded packs gave us. Once we were climbing most of the route-finding was simple enough: follow the biggest, straightest crack. However, the route had some odd pendulum swings (just like it sounds), unexpected traverses (sideways climbing that is scary), and a brutal chimney to squeeze through. Anywhere we climbed we also had to get the haul bag up, which meant I got to karate kick the bag out of the chimney, a satisfying way to let some aggression out. It’s difficult to express in words the brutality of chimney climbing. Instead of pulling and stepping on rocks with your hands and feet like most climbing, or wedging your hands and feet in cracks like crack climbing, in chimneys you push out against the rocks with your feet, knees, butt, back, shoulders, elbows and helmet. Chimney climbing draws blood and leaves bruises. The skinnier the chimney (and this one got pretty skinny) the more body contact is required to climb it. Plus I kept running into that haul bag.

The beginning of a truly 'sustained chimney'
The climbing was physically difficult, but also reasonably fun. In between puzzling, it was easy to remember we were doing this because it’s fun. We were climbing on the Autumn Equinox and the fall light in the canyon was stunning. I watched a buck stroll down the Virgin River and a heron fishing. We had a great view of Angel’s Landing where I could watch hikers summit through the day and families bike down the canyon.

Seriously, this was our view for two days. It's awesome
We made the bivy ledge just in time to set up for dinner and sleep. Being leashed to a rope all night long took some getting used to, but I’m so happy previous climbers had set up all the ropes and bolts for us to move around on. We brought enough water and food to keep us happy and comfortable, but regret not bringing some hot dogs because someone hauled a grill and charcoal up there and we really should have used it. Eating dinner at dusk with our view of the canyon made me realize just how lucky I was that we had the opportunity to climb in a national park and the skill to make it happen. 

Not to get too mushy, but I'm pretty smitten
Sleeping on a port-a-ledge was not as stressful as I expected. The ledge was big enough for the both of us and stable. I woke up when the remarkably bright full moon came out, but otherwise slept pretty well. Peeing was the biggest complication of our overnight stay. I had to stay in my harness the whole time (thankfully there are buckles to disconnect the leg loops from the waist band), and pulling up the harness while pulling down my pants, a move that had to be made as I dangled my butt as far off the rock as possible, required exceptional coordination. It would have been easy to pee in the protected area we were camping and cooking in, but it would have also been wrong. Peeing in cracks and ledges on rock climbing routes makes them reek of urine and the stench would have remained after we left. So I got to lean, bare butt, off the cliff, where the rain would wash away my pee, hoping to complete my work before a shuttle bus rounded the bend.

Port-a-ledge is all packed up, bivy is much less inviting
Racking up on our second day was unexpectedly stressful and teary. We had put the ledge away and after a spending all night making sure everything was secure, I was scared about dropping a critical piece of gear off the cliff (I’m still having waking dreams about securing all my stuff with carabiners) and scared about everything else. My tears dried once I had belaying to focus on and with the tour buses stopping below to point us out, I could again appreciate just how cool it was. Climbing had lost some of its shiny, coolness. I’m not an adrenaline junky, but climbing is exhilarating in other ways. Getting to the top of a big route under your power is great and the views also tend to be rewarding. Since climbing has become so stressful for me, the moments of victory are broken up by long periods of anxiety about what could go wrong and insecurity about my skills. Lately it has felt like I couldn’t do anything cool and I seriously questioned why we climb. But those busloads of tourists stopping (and one cheering) were so great. Climbing is really cool and not everyone gets to do it and that’s both a reason to do it and cause to be grateful.

Ready to head down
I didn’t find true Zen though. A couple hours later, when I followed up the fourth pitch I cried my most ferocious tears. It’s possible I was just hot, dehydrated, and hungry, I was definitely furious. I couldn’t get the gear that Brent had used out of the crack in the rock and that was my only job. One piece of stuck gear is expected, but I left five pieces. Brent was trying to give me tips to free the gear and I yelled, “You’re wrong!” Not my best moment. By the time I was within speaking distance I was cursing and crying. A lot. Brent tried soothing me by telling me he wasn’t angry about leaving gear behind, and in true bonking fashion I said, “But I’M angry!” (It will be added after “Everything is terrible!” to my list of unhelpful, childish things to say while climbing.) Of course Brent was able to free four of the five pieces. Thankfully he waited until our drive home to suggest we practice freeing tricky gear before the next trip.

You can't see the tears, but they're there. It's clear, though, that I have trouble keeping my helmet on straight. Picture by Brent
Rappelling down is my least favorite part of climbing. It’s a simple process, but when you’re tired or going long distances there are several places where things could go wrong and small missteps can be fatal. I’ve adapted to this by triple-checking everything and telling my partners, “I love you, be safe” every time they rap. On this trip down one of the stopper knots got stuck in a crack, the rope almost didn’t come down because a knot got stuck on a ledge, I had trouble tying the rope off so I could fix the stuck knot, and I ended up with dozens of spines in my hand from pulling the rope through a cactus. But we got down safely and another kind shuttle bus driver picked us up from the middle of the road.

That time we woke up on Disco Inferno
And now I have the memory of having my morning coffee 400 feet above the canyon at sunrise and that’s enough to convince me we might do something like this again next year. 
Morning view. Picture by Brent.

Wednesday, February 7, 2018

Uranium was named for the planet Uranus

In my quest to more be skilled generally I’ve been working on mapping skills by downloading interesting-sounding data layers from the internet and trying to make something out of them.  Most recently I made this map of Utah mines [1]:

A few parts of the map struck me:
  • Fluorine-fluorite (coded ‘F’ in the data) and Uranium (coded ‘U’) are often mined in the same places, leading to the attribute table commodity code ‘FU.’  This is funny. 
  • The sand and gravel pits follow the base of the Rockies and length of I-15 quite nicely.
  • Look at all those uranium mines. I was in one of those once. 

I think the Cold War is interesting.  It’s amazing that during my lifetime but not in my memory Americans lived with the legitimate fear of nuclear war (it is not amazing that we are re-living this fear).  That between 1947 and 1991 we were engaged in an arms race that produced nuclear warheads small enough for three to fit on a single intercontinental ballistic missile and each capable of producing a 475 kiloton explosion (that’s equivalent to 475,000 tons of TNT)[2].  The first nuclear bomb, dropped in 1945, was almost 20 times heavier with a 15 kiloton yield[3].  The U.S has LOTS of nuclear weapons, which required lots of uranium.  While we’ve begun slimming down our stockpile of nuclear weapons, hundreds of abandoned uranium mines in Utah currently bear witness to that crazy period of time. 
Look at this stuff.  Isn't it neat?
Abandoned mines are an environmental hazard but abandoned places are also irresistible.  Brent, Karina, and I had planned for a day of mine exploration during our 2015 Spring Break trip.  I downloaded a list of uranium mines and we set off to look at the closest mines… which turned out to be active processing mills (read: do not trespass there).  This was disappointing, but Plan B was to drive the roads in the part of San Juan County with the highest density of active mines in hopes of finding something abandoned.  And it worked. 
Speak friend and enter  
Uranium is a heavy metal that is found in rocks, soil, and water.  It’s way more common than silver or gold.  Uranium can move through the earth with groundwater, driven by changes in oxygen availability that will keep the uranium bound to water or bound to rocks[4].  Sandstone can be lousy with uranium because it is porous (so uranium-laden water can move through it) and because most sandstone deposits were formed near or below ancient seas, where the oxygen availability fluctuated a lot.  It wasn’t a coincidence that the cliffs we were exploring had bands of red and green rock that showed when oxygen was (red) and wasn’t (green) available millennia ago.  
The grey rock coming out of the chute and below it is uranium ore
When mining, the key is to find uranium-bearing rocks that have enough concentrated uranium to make digging a tunnel, carrying the rocks out of the ground, and transporting them to a refinery worthwhile.  Then a refinery will need to see reason to crush, heat, and spin the ore until it is enriched enough that it can make atom-splitting chain reactions (the physics and chemistry, of course, are more complicated, but that’s the gist of it)[5].  Uranium by itself isn’t very radioactive at all and wasn’t the real threat while we were in the mines. 
Tunnels
Side note.  I’m also think water law is interesting and it follows a lot of the rules of mining. Did you know that the General Mining Act of 1872 still stands as the rules for how one claims and works a mine.  1. First to claim it owns it.  2. Mineral rights are separate from land rights (you don’t own the minerals below your home).  3. You have to put in $100 of labor per year to keep your claim valid. 

Only slightly less magnificent than the Door of Durin
The mines we explored were three separate claims with interconnected tunnels established in the 1950’s. The ores in the mines were a mix of uranium, vanadium, potassium, and sulphur; in practical terms, there were a lot of yellow rocks[1].  Prior to the Uranium Boom in Moab, mines extracted radium (for medicine) and vanadium (for making iron steel stronger), both of which are found in the same places as uranium[6].  We left the tunnels with mild headaches, which might have been due to vanadium gas. 
Note the white calcite and yellow salts
The Uranium Boom (approximately 1952-1961) was wild.  Staking lots of claims was profitable at that time because the U.S. government paid a guaranteed price for uranium and the Colorado Plateau had a lot to offer.  But as mentioned above, uranium isn’t uncommon and the market quickly became saturated and the government stopped buying uranium.  Most mines were abandoned by the 1970’s, leaving behind structures, mining refuse, and any equipment that wasn’t worth the cost of moving.  Miles of underground tunnels and heaps of uranium slag are just one facet of the unintended consequences that came to Utah with the Cold War arms race, along with stockpiles of neurotoxins in the West Desert and down-winder cancer deaths in southwestern Utah. 

We wandered around a couple miles of underground tunnels where we experienced true silence and darkness when we dared turn our headlamps off.  We found the remains of blasting caps and earthmoving machinery.  I discovered that I feel very uneasy underground while Brent is emboldened.  In the first tunnel he pushed ahead while I was farther back, taking very cautious steps.  Karina was caught in between us, but I found the bravery to lightly skip up to her, making sure not to take any heavy, earth-shaking steps.  Given how quiet the tunnel was, I thought I could use my inside voice to alert Brent to my fear and get him to come back.  I spent minutes saying, ‘Brent.  Can you come back here?” in a volume that doesn’t deserve an exclamation point and I got really frustrated that he never came back.  But I couldn’t yell for fear I would cave in the whole tunnel. 
My Fellowship of the Tunnels
The tunnels all went deeper into the sandstone, but we had to stop at the depth of the regional water table, below which the tunnels were flooded.  That is where we caught up to Brent, who promised he had not been ignoring my quiet pleas.  Some entrances required crawling into, which felt intrepid.  One entrance was quite large and grand, like the Mines of Moria.  It was exciting to get a glimpse into the semi-recent past and to have it all to ourselves.  The threat of trolls and Balrogs made it all the more interesting. 
Ever intrepid Karina
The uranium mines in the Four Corners Region still have tens of thousands of pounds of uranium ore left, but the cost of extraction is more than the price of the ore.  Like abandoned conventional weapon blast sites and missile launch pads (which I will detail later), they show what Utah was like during the Cold War. 

 Sources:
[1] Utah Automated Geographic Reference Center, “Minerals.” Geoscience, 2017,  https://gis.utah.gov/data/geoscience/
[2] “W87.” Wikipedia, Wikipedia, 5 Feb. 2018, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W87.
 [3]  Wellerstein, Alex. “Kilotons per kilogram.” Nuclear Secrecy Blog, 23 Dec. 2013, http://blog.nuclearsecrecy.com/2013/12/23/kilotons-per-kilogram/.
 [4] “Uranium ore.” Wikipedia, Wikipeida, 5 Feb. 2018, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uranium_ore
[5]  Rhodes, Richard. Making of the Atomic Bomb.  Simon & Schuster, 2012. 
[6]”Utah’s Uranium Boom.” Utah History To Go, State of Utah, 2018,  http://historytogo.utah.gov/utah_chapters/utah_today/utahsuraniumboom.html