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Anytime you travel to new areas it’s likely that you’ll encounter a wide range of ethics. In Tuolumne, you’ll find plenty of spaced out bolts and never one next to a crack. At a sport crag, you might find something different and sometimes the standard is greatly different. Take Clark Canyon outside Mammoth Lakes for instance. An absolutely delightful place to hang out, clip some bolts and take it easy for a bit. But, almost every crack was bolted. Cracks that would be easily and safely protected with gear in hard, solid rock. Some of the cracks, such as that on Driller Instinct, had been led with gear originally and then bolted later. WTF?

I think I get a little more bent out of shape than others because I develop routes myself. I have nothing against bolting, as long as people do a good job. And, I don’t think bolting cracks is a good job. I put a lot of time and thought into individual bolt placements, anchor placements, and the character of a route so it irks me when other people do a “shoddy” job. Recently, on Mountain Project, there’s been this massive flame war over some sport anchors that were placed next to, and within arm’s reach of an old trad climb. I honestly, have no opinion over the bolts in question but it’s a sad example of how fired up and outrageous people can get over bolts. They end up acting like animals, not humans. It’s sad. Unfortunately, our popular little sport crag, the Puoux, has had most of the cracks bolted over the years. I’ve always looked at such actions with anger because those climbs had been trad led as long as 20 or 30 years ago by Layton Kor and others. At least, those climbs (here and here) haven’t created some massive war that divides the community. At the same time, no one seemed to care, which is also sad.

Luckily, the crack to the left has escaped the wrath of a drill.

Here’s an example of a shoddy job. As a general rule, bolts should be at least 6 inches apart, to prevent a “pancaking” effect where a chunk of rock could rip out, taking the entire anchor with it. This is particularly important in softer rock. The rock at Clark Canyon is pretty hard, but it’s not granite or quartzite either, a couple of “gold standards” for hard rock. So, when you have three bolts within an inch or two of each other, it makes you wonder. It’s just kind of a lame thing to do because there’s no reason not to bolt it correctly. Similarly, I’m a fan of runout and adventurous routes but when I go to the sport crag

Similarly, I’m a fan of runout and adventurous routes but when I go to the sport crag I don’t expect to be scared by the prospect of 40 foot falls. Hence, it was somewhat disconcerting to find a 20-foot runout to the anchors on 5.9 climbing on my first route of the day. What’s that all about? Did someone run out of bolts? To find that in Tuolumne would be common and expected, but not at some place like Clark Canyon. From what I could tell, almost no one climbed this route because of the way this route was bolted. The day before we climbed a great, long route to start the day. 50 meters and 17 draws. Problem is I didn’t know it was a walk off because we had an old guide. I figured I would clip the chains and do two lowers. Instead, there were 2 bolts 3 or 4 feet from the edge. I couldn’t even extend the anchor with slings enough to lower. So, I had to throw my rope, in 3 attempts because of ledges it was hanging up on, to the bottom and drag up a belay device and slings. Granted, if I knew it was a walk off it would have been different. But, there was a noticeable lack of chalk on this climb, leading you to think that it seldom got climbed, probably because of the walk-off. Which is too bad because it’s a great climb.

Anyway, I’ll get off the soap box. If you’re going to bolt, do it right.

A little sign at Camp VI on The Nose says it all.

El Capitan in Yosemite is one example where some real lameness can occur. Despite efforts at cleaning up some of the prominent ledges on the route and to change the behaviors of climbers, there is still a lot of lameness going on up there. Throughout the route, an abundance of water bottles are left by wall climbers who are trying to lose some weight when they have excess water and help out those who come up later. This excess water makes it easier for Nose-In-A-Day parties because you can literally carry a 1 or 2-liter water bottle and fill up as you go. Or, like my wife, you can pack 5 or 6 gallons for a 5-day wall and pilfer water along the route. The problem is few people do anything with the leftover bottles. When Steve and I did our practice run to the top of Dolt Tower, we found about 20 water bottles on the ledge, many empty or only partially filled. We did our part by consolidating the water that was there and took down about 12 empty bottles. Similarly, others can do their part as my wife did on The Nose. They grabbed water bottles and took them with, using them as pooh containers for their wag bags. Similarly, at the top of El Cap, there are a ton of water bottles left behind. That abandoned water is a welcome find for climbers topping out but it is essential that we police ourselves and clean up those bottles after we use them. On top, there are too many empty bottles that people have neglected to clean up as well as fuel canisters that seem to be of questionable value.

The Camp VI trash pile.

I ran across a series of climbing instructional videos on YouTube that are quite laughable. I only had the heart to watch a few of them but it’s sad how many errors are made and the lack of understanding shown by the “guide.” You heard me right, the instructor shown in the video is a so-called “guide.” Clearly, he has no formal training and it’s sad to see him offer himself up as a professional guide when it’s clear that he’s anything but. What’s sad is that he’s passing himself off as a professional, experienced guide and people will accept his instruction as safe and proper. As a professionally trained guide by the American Mountain Guides Association, it kind of pisses me off that people can be so careless and ignorant and then profit off people who want to be taken rock climbing or learn how to rock climb.

The worst video that I saw is our friendly guide showing viewers how to make an American Death Triangle, something he politely calls the triangle anchor. Check it out below. The video is an example of such an egregious mistake that I almost thought it was a joke until I checked out his website, where I realized he’s quite serious. And, just to make sure that everyone knows, the “triangle anchor” or American Death Triangle is not an appropriate anchor and should never be used. This type of anchor actually increases the force placed on each placement, or bolts in this case. Quite simply, NEVER USE THE ANCHOR DESCRIBED BELOW!

This is a classic rant about aid climbing ratings from Chris Kalous. It was recently featured on this site’s distant cousin, SplitterChoss. I thought I would include it here because it’s freakin’ hilarious. Kalous is the man to talk as he has repeated the hardest Beyer routes in the Fishers and put up his own hard aid routes. Enjoy.

The continuing saga of “Roger” in the Sierras, from Tourons Part 1.

The next day, my wife and I climbed the Mithral Dihedral on Mt. Russell. Roger’s friends were climbing the Fishhook Arete, also on Russell. We had half a notion of trying to do both routes that day, but that idea was quickly dashed by what we saw next.

Mt. Russell. The Fishhook is the arete just left of center in this photo. The Mithral is the big dihedral to the left.

Oh well, I thought, the first pitch is the hardest, or one of the hardest, pitches on that climb. As we got closer, we got a good look and could hear the two climbers, and we shuddered. The belayer was 30 to 40 feet away from the wall, uphill. He was literally eye level with the leader’s first piece. If the leader fell, which seemed likely, the belayer would have been ripped from his sitting stance and dragged down the loose scree and into the wall. Hopefully he would maintain a firm grip on the rope. The seriousness of the situation heightened as we watched, with horror, as the leader grunted and grasped and struggled up the moves below the crux. He was yelling, breathing heavy and his feet were sketching all over the place as he tried to stay on. At one point he was a body length above his last piece, hanging on for dear life, as a precarious ledge awaited him below if he should fall.

I started to jump into rescue mode as I thought about my training with the American Mountain Guides Association and the Wilderness Medicine Institute. I thought that surely we would be dealing with some broken bones suffered in a huge fall. The leader was climbing a sinker hand crack but evidently, didn’t know how to use it, both for his hands or his feet, as he sketched around and shakily placed gear.

Somehow, he moved through the crux and into easier terrain. He started yelling, “yeah, that’s where it’s at!” and other comments that made it seem like he was in a rap video, espousing the coolness of it all. I just shook my head, because I knew he was a tiny slip away from a disastrous fall. My wife and I continued to the base of our climb. Suddenly, we heard a blood-curdling, gut-wrenching scream. Oh know, he must have slipped on easy terrain and ripped his arm off or something. Again, I went into rescue mode, only to realize he was at the top of the climb. Okay, that was weird. Then, he went into a long procession of loud screaming about “yeah, that’s where it’s at!”,”right here, right now baby!” and “we’re doing it, yeah!”. It was like something out of a lame 80s rock video and if Pink Floyd was playing, I would have thought I was watching the summit scene from the movie K2. I looked up as he had both arms raised and pranced around like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky, with no doubt the soundtrack was playing in his head.

The classic corner of the Mithral Dihedral. Mt. Russell, Sierras.

Which brings me to my next point. This summer we saw it time and time again, touron climbers who had no business climbing these long, hard routes in the mountains, topping out late in the day, like they were at the Sport Park in Boulder Canyon after work. It makes you wonder about what’s happening in climbing today when people think it’s okay to be on an alpine face in the high country late in the afternoon. But, that’s another rant.

Until then, keep climbing and don’t be a touron!

High on the Mithral Dihedral, with the Fishhook Arete in the background. Mt. Russell, Sierras.

Tourons. You know, the people that you just wonder what made them decide to venture into the mountains from the climate-controlled, auto-belay world of the climbing gym. Here’s Part 1 of an ongoing series about those people that make you cringe.
This summer, my wife and I, with a couple of friends spent a few days of bliss in the Mount Whitney cirque, climbing splitter, Sierras granite. While my friend Mark and I set up the tents and prepared to cook dinner, the girls headed over to pump water from Iceberg Lake. On their way to the lake they were confronted by a guy, we’ll call him “Roger”, who was clearly concerned about two girls climbing alone in the alpine realm. He proceeded to lecture them about starting early, not getting lost, and on and on. The girls were a bit put off because it was clear this guy was concerned about them because they were girls. What this guy didn’t know was these two girls could run and climb circles around him in the mountains.

The next day, the girls climbed the East Face of Mt. Whitney while us boys climbed the East Buttress, topping out within half an hour of each other. Roger had hiked up the Mountaineers Route and met us on top to let loose a barrage of annoying beta. With the girls he closely scrutinized their every move as they free soloed the final stretches of 3rd and 4th class. “Go to your right” “That hold’s good!” “Oh, can I help you?” When Mark and I got to the top, he gave us similar treatment as we purposely scouted around for harder routes to the top, setting up for fun photos along the way. “Oh, go that way.” “Oh yeah, that hold is really cool.” So much for the serenity of the mountains.
Roger had enmeshed himself in a circle of Whitney hikers and other climbers, regaling them with tales of climbing in the Sierras. Of course, many of his comments went like this, “Oh yeah, that’s the Mithral Dihedral route. It’s awesome. I would do that route. But, you have to have the right partner, you know?” We snuck off to a distant boulder to try to find some peace and solitude on the summit, while Roger talked about every route in the area and how if he had such and such partner he would also do that route. I whispered to Mark, “I bet anything that guy’s a gym climber who’s read a lot of books.” Within minutes, Roger had joined us in our spot of seclusion to talk about climbing and what we should do and how we should have done what we did and how he did it. On and on and on he went. Turns out he had climbed the East Buttress of Whitney a few times but had never done any of the other routes in the area, although he knew a lot about every route, probably from guidebooks.
Sure enough, someone made some comment about doing a “figure four” and our friend jumped on the opportunity to tell us all about his gym and this route that had a figure four on it and who set it and what that person was like and how a couple guys could do the move without the figure four and the ratings debate about the problem and the move-by-move sequence of the entire route and on and on and on.

Move-by-move description of a gym route. While we were hanging out on top of Mt. Whitney. And, lecturing us about routes he’s never done.

Funny.

More on Roger and his friends in Part 2.