Sunday 4^th

I woke up feeling miserably tired. It was overcast and there were occasional spots of rain. We packed the tents and started to sort out the gear, Leon gave me a granola bar for breakfast. There's just no time for anything else. John was cracking the whip. It wasn't long before we had the van repacked and ourselves squeezed in there for the four mile drive to our trailhead.

The sky looked pretty grey and we were somewhat concerned about rain. Except John of course. There were a bunch of vehicles at the trailhead. On exiting the van and racking up (full packs) we saw nearby a young couple dithering about their RV. She spotted us and our gear.

"What are you climbing?" she asked.
"Moby Dick." we replied.

She looked slightly deflated at that. It turned out that her boyfriend was whimping out of the same climb on account of the elevated chance of rain. Poor sap.

"Take me with you!" she begged. But we didn't, our group was too big as it was.

We hiked up the wash with John navigating in fits and starts. He had wandered up this way once before and that was merely to look at the climb we were going to do today. Moby Dick (5.8) is considered one of the finest climbs in the Cochise Stronghold and, like What's My Line?, it is widely regarded as a classic. We could see the Whale Dome long before we finally struggled up the steep gully that led to the base of the route, we only got lost once along the way (before the gully) and that was only a few minutes lost. So we were at the bottom of Moby Dick in really good time. Most of us were pretty whacked already.

The route looks awesome, following a large crack and then curving up out of sight for hundreds of feet above us. John laid out the plan. As we only have two climbing racks he would use one to lead James and Andrei, while Leon and I would take the other and swap leads between ourselves. That sounded good to us. Leon and I agreed that I would follow John as he led up the first (and hardest, 5.8) pitch, clipping his gear in the European fashion. John raced up, no-one else was ready to belay him, so I took the job. This meant that I didn't get started until after James had begun to follow John. Which turned out to be a good thing anyway. Above us John pointed out the crux move, a scary friction step protected from below by a bolt. That sort of sucked.

The end of the first pitch follows the crack up to a small ledge with a couple of good anchor bolts. The ledge is very small indeed. John recognized that there wasn't going to be a whole lot of room, so he took off up pitch two with James belaying him before I even finished climbing up there. They had a little trouble. A long loop of John's rope had slipped way below James, formed a tangle and then got jammed into a crack. This of course brought John's progress to a complete halt. I got Leon to lower me off a bomber-looking nut so I could sort it out. In a few minutes John was back to finishing the second pitch.

John did have one exciting moment up there on pitch two, where he wandered off-route to tie a chicken-head, cursing the lack of my #3 camalot (he had left it for us on pitch one). Going back to the crack higher up he put in some sort of nut and then turned to look down on the sling he had placed on the chickenhead. With a quick shake of his rope the loop around the chickenhead below slipped free, thus straightening the line. My eyes bulged a bit at this as my thoughts went back to What's My Line on Friday. Quietly, James and I both muttered a few choice words.

I got to the ledge beside James and found that it was too small for more than two. After some discussion with the guys down below we decided to bring up Andrei, timing it so that he would arrive just after James followed John on the second pitch. John was saying that the ledge he had reached was very big and comfortable (although there were no bolts). James left and Andrei arrived, I clipped him into the anchor and then belayed up Leon. We left Leon hanging a little bit below the ledge when he arrived, gave some slings and stuff to Andrei to return to John and then watched as he started up pitch two.

Leon and I couldn't quite remember the rating sequence for the pitches. We knew that the first one was 5.8 but we also knew that somewhere there was one at 5.7, the others were either 5.6 or low 5th-class scrambling. Leon grabbed the lead and headed up pitch two (which turned out to be 5.6). Above us, John was already racing along pitch three. Again, John had left gear for us to use, and Leon employed it when he could, placing only one extra piece (#3 camalot) of his own. Quickly he belayed me up to that nice ledge, I collected all the gear.

James is already gone when I get there, Leon and Andrei shifted so I could sit down in between them with my legs dangling free. Leon had us anchored to a bonsai with slings, but it looked pretty sturdy. I was feeling a little unsure of things. I was tired and aching, my left shoulder in particular had an unfamiliar twinge. I seem to remember that Leon asked if I was ok to lead the next pitch. A surge of tepid testosterone had me telling him that I would be ok. Andrei left us to do his ascent of pitch three.

In a few minutes I was ready to go and headed on up as best as I could. I continued to use the dwindling amount of protection that John had left behind. His rack was diminishing with every pitch, even though we had been trying to send stuff up with Andrei. On pitches four and five he would have to wait for Andrei to give him stuff passed on from us. In fact, for most of pitch three John had stopped leaving it behind for us ... so I would finally have to place all of my own gear. I was feeling a mild grippage but managed ok, although I couldn't hide it from James or Andrei as I got close to their belay (John was already finishing pitch four). James pointed out the things I could use (chickenhead here, nut in the crack there) and I reached them pretty well. They were hanging from a bunch of slings around chickenheads, it looked too busy for me so I moved up a little higher and spent some time making a bomber three point anchor with small cams in the crack.

I must have seemed fairly subdued because James, as he started up towards John, asked me if I was ok. I nodded that I was fine, but I was not really all that great. We were fairly high up now (almost three hundred feet) and that fact was starting to take its toll on me too. I took quite a while and Andrei was leaving before I could bring up Leon. He asked for a bunch of stuff to give to John, so I handed over a set of nuts and a bunch of spare slings and carabiners. Eventually I got Leon up beside me and we started talking about what was ahead.

We could see John on the fifth pitch, we hadn't even started the fourth. Leon had the better view and was relating to me what he could see. It looked like the fifth was hard, really run out and vertical. On top of that it was chickenheads. Ouch. We talked a little bit. It would be my turn to lead when we got up there and I wasn't looking forward to that. Leon, also feeling tired of leading, suggested that maybe we could simul-climb with John belaying us both on the one rope, that sounded just fine to me. Just like old times.

Leon grabbed my rack and started leading the fourth pitch. We had to get up there before the last of them started the fifth, or else we would just have to lead that one too. Fortunately the fourth pitch is easy (5.4 or something like that) and Leon moves fast up the crack, clips a bolt and then steps over the fold moving right and then up a low angle slab. It was very quick and he reached Andrei before even James had reached John up on top of the fifth. So as I followed up the plan was redrafted.

Andrei climbed the fifth pitch (5.7+) trailing our rope, I was tied into it about 15 metres "above" Leon. John belayed us up and we managed it fairly easily, having done this sort of thing together a few times before. At the top we found that Andrei had already started up the 5.2 finishing pitch. John asked me if I thought I could have led that last one.

"Not today." was my reply.

Eventually we had all scrambled up the easy sixth pitch and were standing on the top of Whale Dome. Moby Dick was ours and we had finished another classic climb! We took a few photos and then girded ourselves for what was promised to be an exciting exit.

The rap down was from two bolts placed perilously close to the edge of a 150 foot high overhanging wall, it would put us at the top of the descent gully behind the Dome. John walked over, sat down, clipped in and then dropped over the edge. The rest of us were to be a little more circumspect. I put each of the rest on belay and lowered them into position, they clipped in their rap device and (once it checked out) down they went. When it was my turn I practically crawled on my belly towards the edge, clipped myself into a bolt with a sling and then snuck over the edge. Hanging from the sling I set up my rap, disengaged from the bolt and then went down. It was a great descent, totally free as the rock arched away, and very big. Way way cool.

At the base we pulled the ropes (not without some difficulty as they had gotten twisted) and then bush-bashed our way down the really steep gully to our waiting packs. At the packs we stopped for a bite to eat and something to drink before hiking out. I was utterly exhausted by the time we reached the van and dozed on and off as John drove us back to Tucson.

The only interesting diversion on the way was getting through that INS checkpoint again. I swear to god what follows is true. There were a couple of cars in front of us, both of them are stopped, a military jar-head jammed his face through the drivers side window and demanded identification, satisfied he let them both go. So then its our turn. There we were, a hunger-crazed bunch of dirty desparados in the dustiest van this side of Death Valley, all of the rear windows suspiciously darkened and we were about to try and sneak the same unidentifiable mexican (Leon) through the same checkpoint for the second time that weekend. I swear John drives up, smiles at the guard and then ... well ... then nothing. The grunt waves us through with nary a word and barely a glance. Totally weird. With woops of laughter and disbelief we roar off to Tucson at the speed of sound.

In Tucson we humor John and stop at Fuddruckers for food (burgers) and drink (beer). Good lord the american fast food industry is an excercise in bewildering depression on an awesome scale. When paleontoligists of the future start digging up golden arches all over the place their going to interpret them as symbols of the dominant religion of our times. They'll be completely correct too.

Later we dropped Leon off at a hotel near the airport and said goodbye. It was really cool to climb with him again and we made promises to try and get together next spring. Maybe in Nevada, hit Red Rocks. Yeah, that would be great.

We drove on to Phoenix, found a motel near the airport there and crashed ... totally wiped out ... into a deep sleep. The next day James and I flew back to Connecticut. John and Andrei, however, spent one more day climbing ... but that's another story.

Indeed it is another story, and you can find a link to it on Andrei's page in the UK (some great photos too!).