[singlepic=599,320,240,,right]The West face of Colchuck Balanced Rock rises like a tombstone from the slopes above Colchuck Lake. The weather-beaten rock and crumbling, complex ridgelines of nearby Dragontail Peak stand in stark contrast to the sheer white face 2500 feet above the cold green water below. Prominent on that face is a long, clean corner of perfect granite, capped by an enormous roof -- the crux pitch of the West Face route, the long obsession of BJ and a classic Cascade testpiece.
"Got bumps?"
This is vernacular. On our way out of town, two youths in a Cherokee (having just been out-testosteroned by BJ in a green light race) wanted to know if his car was equipped with a sophisticated, non-factory, low-frequency music emphasis device. Bass. Woofers? Maybe that's not right. Regardless, I had no idea what they meant, but BJ can talk to anyone and apparently his universal translator applies to car stereo lingo. No, in fact, we had no bumps.
Despite our musical inadequacy, we made good time over Stevens Pass and rolled into the Stuart Lake trailhead around ten on Friday night. We set our alarms for 3:45 and tucked in under the Jeep's tailgate, staring at high overcast skies and feeling the first chill of September in the air. I don't climb as much as I used to -- Anastasia and I have largely switched to skiing as our chief outdoor obsession, but we also spend a lot of time gardening and travelling and goofing around in Seattle. Still, the feel of rock under the fingers and the balanced dance up a granite face will always have a grip on us, so here I was, trying to get some sleep in a dusty parking lot, excited and anxious for tomorrow's climb.
[singlepic=596,320,240,,left]We rolled out of the parking lot at 4:30 and moved quickly along the dark trail toward Colchuck Lake. BJ moved faster than I, so we each had a lot of time to take in the views as the sun slowly rose. It was cold and partly cloudy, with caps on the peaks and a light breeze that kept refreshing the patterns in the sky. We had hoped to be at the base and gearing up by 8 a.m., but it was a nice day and, as is usual with BJ, we stopped frequently to talk. We finally left our packs behind and started climbing at around 10:30.
The start of the climb is obvious and the crux fourth-pitch corner prominent in the center of the West face, its belay shaded by the roof above. To get there, we had to climb a few moderate pitches, starting with a 10a finger and hand crack right off the deck. I had hoped to lead this one, but as the day wore on it became clear that my long absence from climbing made me an exceptional belayer. Also, my tape gloves were too tight and I couldn't feel my fingers after about 10 feet. That's my excuse and I'm sticking with it.
We combined the first four pitches into two and a half, arriving at the base of the 11b corner after a long, sustained 5.8. BJ was clearly nervous, but the day was still young and the corner inviting, so he began to climb. Methodically, he moved from stance to stance -- this pitch is more a marathon than a sprint. None of the moves were harder than mid-5.10, but they just kept coming. About 100 feet from the belay there was a seeping wide spot, following by a slight bulge and the crux transition out of the crack. BJ danced a bit here, up and down, on the verge of commitment. His ass started to stick out, a sure sign of impending collapse, but with a barbaric Canadian yawp he hauled it back in and, grunting, pulled himself up to the small ledge tucked up under the vast roof.
[singlepic=622,320,240,,left]The traverse out from under the roof was wild. A wide, slightly flared crack where the roof and the wall met provided tolerable handholds and excellent protection, but the roof's slight downslope and the wall's bulging made for tight quarters and micro-features for the feet. It was a short traverse, but it made you work for it and I found myself as nervous as I've been on rock in a long while. Loathe to remove the gear as I shuffled left, I reached into my Bag Of Shenanigans and managed to haul myself across with aggressive belaying and a liberal definition of rock-climbing, to include aluminum.
Feeling it was my turn, I fired up the next pitch for BJ, since he was intimidated at the prospect. Twelve slabby feet later, after I reestablished our belay, he felt sufficiently refreshed to lead the 5.9 A1 pitch that followed. Happy to help, BJ. Anytime.
At this point, we were feeling pretty good. Two pitches to go and, though it was getting cold (the clouds were still keeping the sun off us), we had plenty of daylight left. As I belayed BJ up each pitch, I kept a running tally of how quickly we'd have to do the remainder of the climb in order to make it back to Leavenworth in time for Mexican food, or burgers, or to make a big pot of macaroni and cheese with tuna.
[singlepic=632,320,240,,right]In reality, CBR goes on and on and, even up to the last few feet, it just doesn't give it away. After the A1 pitch, the pitch above had two squeeze chimneys and still we remained several hundred feet from the top. The route up wasn't obvious and, though the sun was finally on our backs, the light was low in the sky when we finally came to the top. A palpable sense of relief washed over us when we'd finally scrambled down from our perch and could look down the southern slopes of sand and scree, knowing we could get out in the dark without a problem, if we needed to... which we did. Chips and salsa, with beer and gatorade -- it was reward enough for biting off a big chunk of Cascade granite and not losing too many teeth.
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