thought you might like this cross-post from rec.climbing a few years back...
From: travis bickle (nospamtravis@ethergate.com)
Subject: Crown Point Oregon-spook fest T.R.(long)
This is the only article in this thread
View: Original Format
Newsgroups: rec.climbing
Date: 1998/09/03
Any climbers from the Northwest are undoubtedly familiar with the
Colombia River Gorge and its crumbly rotten walls. Countless times I'd
driven past 700 foot Crown Point cliff face(where the semi-famous Vista
House stands) in the Western end of the Gorge and wondered about the
climbing routes I knew were there. A true horror I imagined. The standard
route is the big chimney on the west edge. The whole thing is covered in
moss and grass hummocks and I only actually knew two people who climbed on
the formation.
Last weekend I got to find out for myself what was up there. A spook
fest is what's up there. I was climbing with my friend Thomas, who has
eons more experience than me and certainly a lot more sense to know
better, when the idea came up. We had just climbed "Gandolf's Grip" at
Broughton Bluff and we were discussing our options at Beacon Rock for the
afternoon. I made an offhanded reference to a route description in the old
Nick Dodge guide to Oregon climbing--something about zucchini for
sustenance on a route on Crown Point-- and the seed was planted in Thomas'
head.
We drove up and down the 84 freeway looking for a place to start and
chose the pullout in front of Rooster Rock. We racked up with all are big
cams and hexes and a couple of pints of water and headed off to find a way
through the thick Northwest jungle at the base of Crown Point. The way was
choked with pricker bushes, and the sweat and dirt started to cake on out
sorry asses. The ropes and pro were snagging on every other bush and the
idea seemed to be securing itself as the worst one ever with each step.
Eventually we were several hundred feet above the river and the thought of
going back down was sickening.
The way eased up a bit as we hit an open slope of rock and grass
only 100 feet below the start of the route. I was out in front when I felt
a prick. For a moment I was puzzled as there were no thorny bushes on the
open slope, but the moment was brief. A cloud of angry yellowjackets began
their assault and within seconds I was pulling off handfulls of the evil
bastards and had scores of stings. I ran headlong into the thorns with the
hexes clanging like a cow being chased by the Chupacabra. Fortunately the
bees didn't chase me far and I waited under a tree for Thomas.
We finished the approach and stood under the base of the huge chimney.
Thomas took the first lead(it was after all his idea) up a slanting grass
covered groove. He set a friend and moved higher and found a pin. The
route is fixed he proclaimed with a smile. He scratced away the grass and
dirt and clipped the rusty old relic. We were on the route.
Thomas made his way to a belay with two old pins and a friend and it
was my turn. Following the grassy wall had really put the zap on my head.
It was dead vertical and almost totally covered in grass. It wasn't very
hard, maybe 5.4, but it was damn scary. My lead didn't look any better.
From our lofty perch I had to make my way 15 feet right to the start of
the chimney. Not having the courage to traverse upwards, I lowered a bit
and tensioned over to the chimney. The rocks wiggled and groaned as I
moved, but surprisingly there were solid parts and the protection was
reasonable. I slowly made my way to a huge chockstone and pin belay.
We now stood at the base of the enormous chimney. Its base angled up
and back about 50 feet into the cliff. It towered above us for a full rope
length. The whole thing was formed by the space between a smaller tower,
the Alpenjagger, and the parent cliff. It was Thomas' lead.
He started up, confident in the ability to find more solid pins(the
gear we had found was old, but still looked reasonable) and cracks for
protection. It was an amazing setting. I watched him stem up between the
two walls in classic chimney form. Below me I watched the busy highway and
waterway of the Columbia Gorge below me. I relaxed. We were going to pull
it off, and it really hadn't been that scary up to this point. We had
decided to hitch hike(it was Sunday and thousands of folks were in the
Gorge) to my truck parked at Broughton so getting down wouldn't be a
problem.
Thomas disappeared up over the Alpenjagger side of the chimney. The
rope moved steadily and then stopped. "He must be setting a belay," I
thought. "It won't be long now," I thought. 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15.
Something is very wrong. "For Thomas to take this long at a belay spells
trouble," I thought to myself. What I thought was the wind, began to blow
down huge clouds of dust and moss. "Strange," I thought. 20 minutes, 25
and finally the rope begins to move. In the time--which felt like an
eternity-- I tried to imagined what had happened. Was the belay so scary
that he tried all this time to find a good placement? Did he encounter
some ancient bolt ladder that he had to tie some aiders for? What do you
do if your partner has a heart attack and dies on a ledge above you? How
do you know?
He had me on belay and I started up. I climbed cautiously, assuming
that the belay above me was worthless. The climbing was actually fun.
Stemming between the huge walls, I found the rock to be reasonably sound
and the protection good. As the chimney narrowed and the left hand wall
began to overhang the route went straight up the Alpenjagger side. As I
popped over the rim just below the top of the sub-summit I saw a good tree
in the system and followed the rope line up with my eyes.
"Jesus wept," I moaned to myself. Jesus wept indeed, and so did I. The
horror I was looking at was unspeakable. The small summit of the
Alpenjagger was 20 feet above me. The entire top of the formation was
covered in thick grass and only the occasional piece of fractured basalt
was showing through. The parent cliff was the same only dead vertical. The
rope continued up from the tree another ten feet to a piece burried in the
dirt and grass. The rope moved right and across the two foot chasm which
seperated the Alpenjagger from the parent cliff. Upward went the line
about 25 feet to some sort of protection in the dirt and then disappeared
into the trees above where the cliff ended.
Realizing that Thomas had made the step across and the climbed up
another 25 feet or so I shuddered at thought of the fall he would have
taken. I moved up to the piece in the dirt and almost vomited. I removed
it and continued. I traversed cautiously to the left and as I approached
the point where Thomas crossed I discoverd the reason for the delay. A
huge 4 foot square area had been cleared away. He had been desperately
scratching and clawing away the grass and moss in a vain attempt to find a
placement or holds. That explained all the dust and moss that the "wind"
blew down. Again I pondered the fall and the fear that must have been
going through his mind. What nerve this Thomas has. Truly Godlike in my
little universe. I would never be in his league I thought and was proud to
know him, although I kind of wished I wasn't about to step across this
chasam looking at a pendulum fall into the main cliff face.
I made the step and clawed my way up the grass covered face. Using
grass humps for holds I found calm in the rope above me, a calm that
Thomas had had to do without. His piece midway looked sound but who could
know. Probably his fall would have pulled down the whole rotten cliff
face: grass, mice and men and all. When I got to him I let out a yell of
relief. My God! What a fright. Indeed, but Thomas reminded me that as
frightening as it had been it was still a picnic compared to his
experience on the "Hollow Flake" pitch on the Salathe Wall(they had the
wrong size Big Bros)
We smashed our way up through the bushes to the top and the mobs of
tourists at the Vista House. A group had seen us top out and wandered over
to look and see where we might have come from. We bummed a ride to my
truck and headed back to the car. We had covered quite a bit of ground for
an afternoon.
djm
