| Anti-Climbing At Pinnacles |
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Page 3 of 9 The prospect of climbing the bulge above makes my moves tight and flat to the rock, like those of a beginning climber. No bolts will be possible on the overhang, and a fall will mean I could smash into my partner, Chris Vandiver. Chris says he hates this climb, for there is too much tension, too much reiterating calculus. The rock at Pinnacles is noted for its undependability, and we must test each hold and gingerly distribute weight over them on the assumption each might pop off. To Chris, it seems perverse to endure such mental strain. But we do continue the strain, we do finish the route we name Shake and Bake. We do look back on the dark 350-foot rock curtain called the Balconies and feel a foolish pride at having been up there with birds shooting by like meteors, with patient vultures circling, with the bursts of hot, high breezes, with every pore electrified by the job at hand. And we do, if only to ourselves, blur the climb and the wall and come to think that the path of holds is ours, first touched, first assembled into a sequence of thinking and reaching by our brains and hands, and punctuated with just the right number of bolts to hold the thought and action together. Shake and Bake "My efforts," says Captain Vancouver, "were always directed toward more practical affairs than climbing, as you describe it. My concerns were with commerce, conflict, and compromise. My main purpose in the journey was to settle a dispute with Spain regarding fur trade and territory on the coast. Of course, I also mapped and recorded the bays, harbors, and useful resources of other places on the same expedition, including Australia, Tahiti, and Hawaii. My explorations were purposeful, but what propels you toward such great effort, if not for profit or Country?" "I know the climb I just did seems ludicrous, Captain, but not all climbing is like this. Some of it is pure gymnastic delight in pristine places, such as certain routes over knobby granite in the high mountains of California. However, there is other climbing which, as with any strenuous adventure, makes you buzz with why, what, and where you are. You mapped the coast of California. The climber of a new route weaves like a vessel, watching, heading, hoping for better rock sometimes keyed by color, white and pink being the most dangerous. As explorer, the climber is astonished and fascinated by a big mossy patch, a pocket of clicking, whirring bats, or a strong scent of foreign urines. And as climber, there is some kind of sensational ricochet in feeling fearful and stupid, then elated and accomplished at having navigated through yet another vertical assemblage of strange and untouched stones.” |
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