Zion & Gumby Walls
by SCMA Member Gerry Cox

Surrounded day after day by these same four walls. Almost everything’s in here, though. There’s the biggest bay window that you’ll ever see, occasional running water and a place to eliminate or evacuate (you know what I mean?). No matter where I go, these walls encompass my whole world. Every night I move to a different place, yet the walls still cradle me. They reveal to me views of every corner of the place, every frame and crack by the light of morning, noon and moon. In a limited space such seemingly limitless beauty, I try to keep my eyes open to see what comes next. Yet always I succumb to sleep, lulled by the vastness to be taken in, and the incredible amounts of energy expired. It’s another whole world. Those closest nearby can hardly be heard by shouting, although some carry boom boxes or TalkAbouts. Even so, that’s not too imposing, considering the relative scope of things. We’ll call these walls Touchstone, Angels’ Landing, Moonlight and Spaceshot. They will call to you, as well.

As a little follow-up to Dave’s starter essay, I’d like to look back to Jon Stark’s previous wall-climbing pearls like, "Just do it!" and "I like to have a small flashlight that I can hold in my teeth." At any given moment, a lot of people in the SCMA (~10%) express interest in aid and wall-climbing. In reality, the numbers that follow it to any depth more than knee-deep can be counted on one hand if you’re a third-generation hillbilly whose brothers and cousins all share your first name and rare blood diseases. For the most part, the "interested" find it difficult to devote much time to something that cuts into honing their free-climbing skills. Add to that, that learning such a craft can be slow and tedious, and the list grows ever-shorter.

At the other end of the speculum, we (RCS and SCMA) have always had proponents of the craft that pull off truly awesome accomplishments. First ascents and bold solos can be credited to members of our ranks. Somewhere in between those two extremes, I sit. I’ve practiced plenty, and have a reasonably good handle on the sport and it’s inherent demands of organization. Still, I’d consider myself closer to the duffer end of the scale. Not a poser, a hodad or a Fred, but someone who does more than just owns the gear without using it to its potential. Some of it is even of collector value, now. Perhaps if I’d started this activity 10-15 years sooner…Yeah, yeah, yeah. Or I might have cratered in that time, too. I’ll do what I can with what I’ve got, without any regrets. In the last couple of years I’ve found that I perhaps have better inherent skills in leading aid than I ever did in leading free climbs. This realization came about largely through injury and self-abuse, but…Wow!…What a feeling!

In reading Dave German’s article, I got a few chuckles. Things sound epic, but the enthusiasm burns on. He and Judy might have the attitude to pull it off. It’s too soon to tell, though. But Hard-time and Wall-time can both be described by spending the rest of your life making little rocks out of big ones with rations of bread-and-water in all kinds of weather.

If you want to pursue this aspect of the climbing game, stop talking about it and do something. Teach yourself by reading and solo practice, or find someone else to practice with at any level of experience. Just get out there and do anything (within reason, to start, of course). Don’t try to free the first pitch of the Goof Proof Roof, aid climb the damn thing. When you’re ready for your first wall, forget the listed "classic" first walls. There’s a line waiting on them, and slow parties will be slandered. Go do something a little less classic, and thus less crowded. You’ll have more time to yourselves, and you’ll be better able to work out the logistics that way. Hey, it might be out of the way, with less beta and little chance of rescue, but you’re not into this sport to be spoon-fed your adventure…Are you?

When you start in on any wall, get used to the idea of disconnecting from the ground. If you’re doing this all with the idea that you can make it back to the ground every night, then you’d better; do very small walls, be rich, or else be VERY skilled in climbing aid. When you push off with the idea that you’re not coming back for a few days, there’s a sense of relief from having to deal with the camp fees, rangers, traffic, etc.. You accommodate yourself at every opportunity. You can get comfy sitting on the pig. Having a butt bag is better than spartan. A good belay seat is utter comfort, and leaving a ‘ledge deployed is complete decadence. Belaying for two hours (or more) at a time with a Grigri, you can get in a nice little snooze. There’s always SOMETHING to be done, so figure out what can be organized to make everything run better. There’s no set formula, you have to be absorbed by it and work your way through everything. It’s a Zen-like process. Test-drive every little thing – nothing goes out untried. Checking the food like this can be a big thing. Everything should be palatable cold.

The first attempts might be a bit rough. Even though it’s not light-and-fast, that’s not an excuse to carry the whole kit and kaboodle. In spite of the weight of water, increased racks, bivy gear and food, you still have to carry and haul the whole friggin’ mess. Wall-climbing and comfort are not necessarily mutually inclusive. Figure out what you can get by with, and take just that. One of the best ascents I did this Summer was with a partner with whom we’d inspect each other’s stuff and criticize it down to the last spare t-shirt. It worked great! I’ll never loan my TP to anyone else, though. He’d lost his somewhere unknown (probably in the pig), borrowed mine, and proceeded to drop it while in the process of other morning chores. The rest of the story would be more information than most would need to know (he probably could have used that spare t-shirt). Fortunately, it was the last day of this ascent.

With the experience, knowledge is developed and comfort is rationalized. This year, I managed 49 pitches in 30 days (3 with the SCMA) on 11 walls, some of them absolute failures and one short roped solo. On 4 days and 2 nights it rained, and on 1 night it snowed. This is still just a bad month for some of the wall rodentia in the SCMA. Our pig committed suicide on one wall, and injuries took their toll on two others. In the sandstone of Zion, the good bolts are baby angles pounded into 3/8" holes. Some of those are epoxied in place. Bad bolts are Star Dryvn or ¼" jobs. The Navajo sandstone loses over 75% of its strength when wet, but after a few days of climbing here, and the odd all-night storm, you realize that these things are as bomber as bomber gets in Zion. Ron Olevsky suggests lengthening the life of a bad bolt by one more ascent by shimming toothpicks under the sleeve.

Oh, the things that you’ll learn. …Have a plan – Don’t climb with more than two unless you’ve already practiced it, and know in advance what each will do on every pitch. …Carrying a chock-tocker will help remove stuck clean-aid pieces . Use a Chouinard Long Dong, small hammer, or your ascender in a pinch. …Aliens ARE preferable over TCU’s and FCU’s in sandstone. …Having a doubled set of HB Aluminum Offsets was a nice feature of the rack for pin-scar placements. …Yes, Virginia - there really is A1 hooking. …Water is for drinking only - bathers will be shot (and their water re-distributed). …Polarguard 3D with Dri-Loft is a great combo. …Zion’s Winter highs average mid-30’s and lows average mid-teens. Really, there’s more, but it will present itself to you when you least expect it, and probably when you don’t have the gear…deal with it - make do.

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