Scarlets – First Ascent of White Mountain Spire

White Mountain Spire
The route follows the cleanest line just right of the center
Photo by Lee Lambert

“Lets climb that.”

Mark Sonnenfeld was looking at a thin crack on an overhanging prow almost a thousand feet above us. From where we were it was impossible to tell if it was climbable, or even if we could get there.

“Sure.”

We were standing below a huge unclimbed wall on the flanks of Mt. White, in central Colorado. Mark spotted the wall years before when he was doing geology field work in the area, and finally badgered me into trying to climb it.

“Could be veg-med,” he told me. Meaning that the cliff looked good, but the climbing might suck.

With this in mind, I sized up the lower part of the wall. It was slabby, and a bit brushy. I picked the hardest, cleanest, line up the lower wall. It looked like it would be easier than we wanted, but at least the climbing would be good. And it lead nicely toward Mark’s crack, so we had a plan.

Now, plans like this aren’t worth much on a first ascent. Especially since we’d never even touched the wall, and had no idea what we were up against. But, if you’re going to make a plan, it might as well be a good one.

A few hours later, I was working my way up a thin corner that faded out a ways below the belay. While the climbing was excellent, it was anything but easy. Insecure and sustained climbing, with poor and difficult to place protection. I fixed a few pins, but they weren’t very good.

It didn’t help that half of my mind was focused on the end of the pitch, where the corner faded away, and the protection would disappear entirely. The fact that I’d refused to bring a bolt kit along didn’t help either.

Amazingly, as the corner faded the holds improved. It was thrilling, but I was able to run it out to the belay.

Things eased off a bit, and we soon found ourselves below Mark’s crack. It was very steep, and a bad size: thin hands. Mark was good at that kind of climbing though, and sent it with a minimum of fuss. I had to fight like hell on it, but managed to second it without falling.

This was followed by another very difficult section, with just enough protection to get through the hard part, and a big runout above. I regretted, again, not bringing the bolt kit.

Some easy climbing brought us to the final spire. It was about forty feet tall, and was shaped like the blade of a screwdriver. There were no cracks. There was no gear. Without a bolt for the summit, we would have to down climb to get off.

I messed around with it for a while. It would be a precarious barn-door layback up the edge of the pinnacle, and harder on the way down. I’d had enough fear for one day, so we left the final spire unclimbed.

That evening we celebrated by consuming a few “Scarlets.” (Officially a “Scarlet O’Hara” – whiskey and cranberry juice.)

Scarlets – IV 5.12a R (10 pitches, five stars)

Note: I returned a few years later with Brian Hansen and, after climbing another new route, climbed the final spire. We had a bolt kit this time…

Sometimes, encryption isn’t enough

One of the advantages of using encrypted email, is that your message won’t trip some piece of mindless data mining software. Remember, a few years ago, when the FBI was running around investigating an Elementary School Teacher because profiling software picked her as a potential terrorist?

Well, using encryption may not be enough.

An article in PC Pro discusses plans in the UK to do profiling based on who you communicate with:

As with the original scheme, the actual content of the phone calls and messages won’t be recorded, just the dates, duration and location/IP address of messages sent.

From this information, they’ll pick the next set of Elementary School Teachers that need to be investigated for possible links to terrorists. It makes me wonder; how many of us are only a few degrees of separation away from someone under suspicion?

Sadly, encryption alone isn’t going to help you here. You’ll need encryption and anonymity.

Elk Mountains Grand Traverse

My friends know what a lousy spectator I am. Standing on the sidelines makes me feel like life is passing me by.

So it was surprising to find myself on the wrong side of the registration desk for this year’s Elk Mountains Grand Traverse back country ski race from Crested Butte to Aspen. Not only was I on the wrong side of the desk, but I was signing up some of my old climbing buddies.

How did I come to this?

It started innocently enough, when Jan Runge (Race Director, River Rat Extraordinaire, and one of my best friends) asked me to be webmaster for the race site. No problem. I know when to say when.

Updating the look of the site didn’t seem too bad. I’m a professional nerd, doing some graphics work and hacking some HTML isn’t going to send me down the slippery slope.

I wasn’t even worried when I agreed to go to Crested Butte, as they needed a nerd on-site. Besides, there would be wine, women, and SWAG. I know my limits.

And, before you know it, I’m behind the registration desk. Signing up the real athletes. They’re getting ready for a 43 mile high altitude race to Aspen. I’m getting fat.

So, accompanied by Hurricane McEwen, I fled to Aspen. It will be safe there. Everyone is normal there. I won’t feel like a loser there.

But it got worse.

By the next morning, I’m working the finish line, and racers are collapsing on the ground in front of me. Some are kissing the ground in relief, while others are carried away on oxygen. More than a few of them crawl slowly to the keg. I feel left out.

So I join them at the keg. They need my support. I was doing it for them.

All to soon the keg is empty, and I’m drawn up the mountain to do triage with Jan. I start to feel better deciding who lives and who dies. Who gets to ski down to the (empty) keg, and who gets some quality time on a snow machine.

I even enjoyed skiing down with the last finisher, but it was only because I was needed. I was still in control. I knew what I was doing.

Later that night, as we were having dinner with the Aspen crowd, a very young, and very beautiful, woman kept smiling at me. This seemed to happen frequently in Aspen. Must be mistaking me for Bruce Willis or something.

The racers are unconscious. Women are flirting with me. Life is good.

Jan asked me if I would do it again next year, and I said yes. Guess I’m an addict now.

Can anyone recommend a good 12-step program?