Spooked out of the Cirque and into the Sawtooths

"I could be convinced either way" my partner said casually. For the last few months we had been planning to set aside this weekend for an attempt at the Cirque of the Towers traverse, a long weekend moving through some pretty impressive terrain. But a low pressure system was moving in, and the forecast was calling for thunderstorms every day of the weekend. "I could, too, man. I really want the traverse, but being stuck on a ridgeline like that in a thunderstorm sounds like a rough go." I had been thinking about the traverse for a while, obsessively. But making use of our weekend in an effective manner was more important than that objective. Conveniently, we live about equidistant from the Big Sandy trailhead as we do the Redfish Lodge. I floated the idea of turning North instead and tapping into the unlimited alpine potential the Sawtooths offered, where the forecast was clear- no packing, cost, or time would change. Only the objectives and direction. After some discussion of risk, hazard, planning, and desire, we decided to change our plan last second. "Alright man, pick me up in about 45 minutes." I hung up the phone, both excited for the weekend and somewhat disappointed that the Cirque would have to wait.

On the drive, we called our buddy Sweets (the sweetest boy ever) who has been living in the area and working in the mountains. He offered us beta and we planned to meet up in town before he took off on a climbing weekend of his own. We met up at the local bar, he texted us some topos and pictures, some notes on rock quality, and provided great comradery as always. A live band was playing loud folk music while I watched Sweets and Cameron (aforementioned partner) play a game of pool with some newly made acquaintances. I kept an eye on the clock, and looked at beta, maps, and topos in between songs. I was somewhat concerned that we had less information on account of our last minute plan swap. It was late by the time we all walked out of the bar, and I knew we'd probably wake up tired and fatigued - but there's little to no argument to cut the time spent catching up with old friends short. Especially in the last week, it had been made clear that a life in the mountains isn't guaranteed, and that cherishing time spent with others is priceless. We hugged, and wished each other luck in the coming days.

The next morning Cam and I peeled ourselves out of his Pontiac Aztek, which has been converted to a fairly comfortable camping setup, and prepped for our day of hiking. We meandered over to the Lodge where we would catch a shuttle across the lake, and utilize the semi-civilized public restrooms. As we walked down the dock, the attendant hollered to ask if we were ready to go. Conveniently, a handful of other parties were there to cross the lake as well, meaning we got an expedited shuttle out. 8:15 am, not a bad start to the day. From the end of the shuttle, we had a fairly uneventful and straightforward hike. I remembered the turnoff from the main trail Sweets had pointed out to me the previous summer when I came to visit and climb with him. From the turnoff, a river crossing, into a fairly steep trail. We moved much quicker than either of us anticipated. We got up to the saddleback lakes, deployed the tent, filtered water, and eaten lunch by 11:30 am. "Think we should just get after the mountaineers route today, and go for Astro tomorrow?" I asked Cameron. He mulled it over for a second and confirmed that we had exactly nothing else to do before the sun set 10 hours later. We consolidated what we thought would be necessary into a single pack and racked our gear to our harnesses.

We backtracked to the start of the route we were about to attempt, which we had passed on our way to camp.

Cam paddling up the approach slab

It's a stunning and obvious line, and popular for being the easiest on the formation. We soloed up a slab to a nice ledge where the proper vertical climbing started. Above us, a party was struggling with some unknown challenge. We watched as they got the follower to a tree where the leader had set up an intermediate anchor, and start to flake their rope. After some faffing they eventually began to rappel off of the second pitch of the route. Fresh out of patience, Cam tied in to lead adjacent to where they were rappelling. "I'll stay out of your way!" he said in his typical friendly manner as the first in the party passed him. Shortly, the second in the party came down. Cam asked "hey, you guys alright?" and the stranger replied with a simple and curt "Facebook Partners" and continued his way down the rope. They pulled their rope down as Cam pulled me up, and we were off on our adventure.

The second pitch, my first lead of the day, was quite fun - other than the fact that I took the wrong crack system. What I started on terminated eventually, and I looked to my left to see the proper crack system that would lead me to the anchors. Oops. I plugged an offset stopper in next to my fingers, and made some hairy slab moves over to the correct system. Left hand reaches over to a low palm press, left foot follows onto a crystal, right hand releases the finger lock up to a sideways crimp, right foot to a shallow dish, left hand up to a sloped dome, right hand palm presses off a small crystal, and the left foot reaches over to get a good foot jam in the crack. From there, it's simple moves through a small gap to gain a ledge. Allegedly this is a two bolt belay, but all I could see was a single Leeper hanger - essentially garbage. I opted to build a gear anchor out of an ideal offset stopper and a bomb-proof #1 C4 placement. Cam works his way up to me and we swap gear around, and he starts to bebop his way through the next pitch. "They want me to stay here on the right and then boop - boop?" he asked, gesturing leftwards where a large roof traverse would take him around the arete. "Yep!" I say "They were super specific about that part." He sets off, and I bake in the sun for a bit before he yells down "There's a bolted belay here, should I pull you up or keep going?!"

"I'm not sure, you're two feet to half the rope, do what you think is best!"

"Alright, I think I'm gonna keep going!"

and then he proceeds to work his way through the roofs, under-cling across under-cling and foot over foot, until he eventually disappears around the arete - out of sight. I wait for a while, feeding rope through my belay device as he gains supposedly easy ground to find a belay stance. He goes and goes, for quite some time. At one point I do my best to let him know that he's short on rope. It still gets tugged. I realize we can in no way hear each other, and the way the rope is being pulled suggests that he's still moving. I start to disassemble my anchor. I've decided to start simul-climbing at least up to the bolted stance he had mentioned earlier - it would be bad if he were totally halted by a lack of rope while leading. So long as I didn't fall and rip him off while climbing, this technique would be alright. "Guess I really shouldn't fall here" I thought to myself as I started up a dihedral. After 10 feet or so I felt the rope go tense, a pause, and then a few deliberate pulls. A general indication that you've just been put on belay, I felt my shoulders relax a bit as the option of weighting the rope safely returns. I mimic the moves Cam just displayed, cleaning the protection as I go, before stepping around the arete. "Wow" was a resounding thought in my mind as the exposure of the entirety of the Sawtooth Range made itself apparent underneath my feet. "That's pretty mega". I paddle my way up some easy cracks before Cam greets me from a few vertical feet away.

"Wow, man, I'm proud of you for that one, that was rad" I tell him.

His belay was built in a small gulley feature that offered some reprieve from the wind, sun, and exposure - quite convenient given the context. Next, I work my way up a series of face moves and cracks in order to bypass a diamond-shaped, overhanging feature that looms over us and stands in our way. After some time I notice how thin the rack on my harness has become and search for somewhere to build a belay. I find a decent enough stance, and start working my way through an anchor. My options are limited. I plug my last remaining cam, which is also our smallest cam. I set a medium sized stopper into a marginal constriction - not ideal, but alright. I then find places for 2 micro nuts. "Wow! An anchor made only of micros. Super." I think to myself as I set up my belay device and pull up rope. A long pitch, I had some time to myself while Cam worked his way to me. While we weren't where we had originally planned to be, we were still climbing. We were both bought in to this weekend from the get-go. He committed to missing a wedding. At that very moment, I was missing a funeral. I suppose that's the nature of climbing, though, isn't it? Selfishness? Society isn't bettered by this act. Time spent climbing could be spent volunteering, gear money could be donated to charities. Yet, here I stood, some few hundred feet off the ground, because that's what I wanted to do.

"Oh cool, sick anchor, man!" exclaimed Cameron sardonically as he joined me at the small ledge, interrupting my introspection.

"It's pretty good!" I replied in the same manner. "Not ideal, but good enough!"

I had no gear to give Cameron, as I had exhausted it while leading the pitch - He had it all on him already. He began to work his way through crack systems and face moves to gain the next belay stance, a good ledge containing some loose blocks. He disposed of it quickly and invite me to join him in short time. We hung around for bit, grabbing snackies and water, before I took the remaining gear and headed off.

The crux pitch of the route, a 5.9 finger crack. I had been climbing a bunch of finger cracks at the same grade the last few weeks, so I wasn't particularly worried. If this pitch were to be consistent with the previous pitch I had lead(both assigned the same grade) then I was confident of my ability to move through it. The beta was ambiguous, however, and I worked my way up the thin crack system until it diverged in 2 different directions. I plug a piece at my hip to protect my fall and chalk both hands, one at a time.

"Hey, man! Remind me what the beta says!? Left or Right?" I call down to Cameron.

He checks his phone and reads to me the pitch description. It doesn't specify where to go. A bit of fear makes its way through the cracks. For the first time today, and in while generally speaking, I'm unsure. I hesitate for a another moment before continuing up. I choose to go left. I make my way through more thin cracks before it terminates into a slab. There's a deep pocket where I slam in a 2" cam. It's a long ways between my pieces, and while they where all good, the exposure and consequences of a fall here weighed on me.

Looking up at my next set of moves, I knew for a fact that I was off route. I was going to have to work my way around a small roof to gain its side to rejoin a larger crack system. Judging be the amount of lichen and loose rock I could see, this portion of rock didn't get climbed often, if at all. I knew by the angle of the roof and the blank slab where my feet would have to navigate that it was about to get a lot harder than the 5.9 rating the route was assigned. I contemplated downclimbing, but the finger crack didn't feel easily reversible, and removing gear as I downclimbed implicated large fall potentials because of how runout I had to be, and how small the majority of the gear I could fall on wasn't exactly confidence inducing. Realistically, the 2" cam below me was most likely to hold anyway. I chalked up again, and made the remaining few moves up to the roof.

I tried to force the largest remaining cam I had in under the roof. Not even close. I relent and grab a small .25" cam - not a size to behold by any means, and slam it in. I give it a tug and inspect the lobes. It's a good placement, but it's small and I genuinely don't know the next time I'll get a piece of pro in. I un-rack an even smaller cam and nest it right next to the first. "That's kind of shitty but it's all I have" I think to myself as I chalk my right hand.

Right hand goes into an underling on the roof. Right foot over to a small, glassy crystal. Left foot up into a dish. My two small fingers on my right hand come out of the crack, replaced by the two large fingers on my left hand. Lean back hard to generate tension. Right hand exits the under-cling, reaches over to another weakness under the roof, and is replaced by the remainder of my left hand. Walk the right hand a bit further. Left foot comes next to the right foot in a smear. Lean back further and bump right foot into a smear. Left hand comes over next to the right, and right quickly grabs the corner of the roof. Right foot over to a really thin left facing flake. Left foot moves next to the left hand. I'm now in the most aggressive layback I've ever performed, because the granite is so aggressively glassy - were it horizontal, it could be used as an ice rink. My left hand crosses up and over into the side of the roof. I have to do this for about 6 feet to gain a heroic hand crack above. I walk my hands and feet up a bit, maintaining tension with my aggressive layback. The crack is sloped and feels greasy, my hands don't feel secure. I make 2 vertical feet with great effort. Then my right hand comes up. Right foot comes up. Right foot slides back down. Right hand slips back next to the left hand. I lean back harder and all the muscles in my body tighten, trying to keep tension with all my might. Cameron yells up some form of encouragement but the adrenaline has drowned out all but the granite in front of my face. "fuck fuck fuck FUCK" - the last one actually escaped my mind through lips. I repeat the previous move in reverse order, Right foot up. Right hand up. Again, the right foot slips, followed shortly by the left foot. Now, as things with mass tend to, I am falling. And as many humans who are afraid do, I release a long and abrasive scream.

The fall is huge. I'm far from my last cam placed under the roof, and I know that I'm going for a ride as soon as my foot slips. While falling, my foot is caught by a small ledge generated by the slab, which kicks my feet up above my hips. Now I'm falling inverted. This occurs to me as the rope goes taught and swings me into the wall. I hit, mostly upside down, on my left side. I sit up and brace myself against the wall with my arms as quick as I can and release a guttural scream. a few short breaths and another guttural scream. I try to control my breathing while Cameron yells up to see if I'm alright. Unable to generate actual sentences, I point over to the crack system I'm supposed to be following and just yell "SWING!". After another moment of trying to breathe I swing myself over on the rope that is now above me, and grab the proper crack system. I plug my third to last cam to prevent myself from swinging back. Shitty, I know it's going to create a huge amount of drag. I shakily move my way up this wide crack. I get stuck for a moment, on the verge of losing my cool and taking another fall. "C'mon Cage! COWARD!" I shout into my arm as I force my way through the vertical portion.

Eventually I get to a point where I can stand in a very small trough. I have 4 stoppers and 1 cam left. I need to build an anchor here, I cannot continue to lead- even if I could perform mentally, the rope drag felt like towing a truck up the cliff. "I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do". I plug the cam into a good placement. I place a marginal offset stopper, the only size I have that even kind of fits. I wrap a sling around a small rock that is chocked in a small crack. Not exactly a standard issue anchor.

Taken immediately before my fall

This stance is totally exposed. Beneath me is greater than vertical, so the only thing I can see is the several hundred feet of air until the valley floor. The alpine wind whips at my back, inviting me to have another taste of gravity before I lose my lunch. Eventually, I get to a place where I can pull Cameron up to me. He takes the same pendulum swing that I had to, and makes a few awkward moves to my exposed stance.

"Hey man, are you okay?" he asks me through his goofy oversized Pit Viper sunglasses

"No" I say shortly. My voice cracks and my eyes well with tears "I'm losing it bro"

He turns on EMT Cameron mode. He's keeping it calm , which is what I really needed. Usually, I'm the cold, collected one on these trips. I take several deep breaths to try and suck the tears back into my eyes. Now is not the time to lose it. He admitted later that my fall and following demeanor scared him, as well. I tell him to continue past me so that we can get to a proper ledge - there was no way to perform any kind of assessment in the trough. He passes me, leaving another cam to bolster my anchor. Eventually he pulls me up a ways to a ledge. Our rope is twisted - likely a result of my fall - and needed to be flaked. He instructed me to make myself a tether so that I could untie and expedite the process. I slowly and shakily built one out of a sling, a process I could usually complete within seconds takes me a few moments. I lock myself into the master point of the anchor and handed him the end of my rope.

I pressed my hips in. "hip's not broken". Palpate lower back. "Renal area appears intact". I press in on my rib cage. "Likely some light bruising, but intact". I look down at myself and don't see any exposed or angulated bones. No wet or sticky indicators of hemorrhage. I can breathe just fine. It seems that the only injury suffered was the one in my mind.

From there, Cameron leads us to the end of the final pitch, where the route officially ends. We relax for a moment and he asks which of the two descents I would prefer. I admit that I shouldn't be making decisions right now. He opts for us to descend via a short talus scramble to gain the descent trail. We go for a short while before reaching a point that appears to cliff out.

"That's 400 feet of cliff" I tell him, displaying my phone screen and topographic map

"Ah, shit, hold on" he mumbles, pulling out his own phone. We were on the wrong side of the mountain.

Enjoying some seeping flowers in the talus field. We drank from some small runoff that was coming from the soil.o

We made our way back the way we came and eventually made it to where we could see the descent trail. The sun was fading, and I fired off a satellite message to my mother to notify her that we would be to camp very late, and enabled tracking mode just in case. Then, we started to pick our way down the incredibly loose and steep descent gulley.

A few hours later, we finally found our tent under the cover of night. We opened our bear bag and stumbled down to the waters edge to cook and filter drinking water. I had ramen, Cameron had instant potatoes.

"You know, I don't know if I'm up to climbing tomorrow. I'm pretty worked and still not in a great headspace" I admit quietly. Cam replies in kind, and we decide it best to have a relaxing morning around camp. We promptly retired to the tent, drifting to sleep to the sound of aggressive mosquitoes and Anchorman playing lightly from Cams phone.

The next morning, we woke up in the late morning pretty haggard. Stiff as boards and itchy from the bugs, we enjoyed a few hours of calm silence by the lake. Cam read a book, and I wandered around barefoot looking at flowers. Eventually we decided to cut our trip a day short, it was unlikely we'd have time to climb the next day and neither of us particularly wanted to donate more blood to the Sawtooth Mosquito Association. We packed up, and had an uneventful hike back to the Redfish shuttle, and a long road trip home.