I found this TR from a couple of years back:
Parked in the Index town wall parking lot, I peer through the front windshield and see "Dr. Sniff and the Tuna Boaters" (5.10.d), second pitch to the outstanding "Princely Ambitions (5.9): between two treetops is the crux of the upper pitch, followed by a 20-foot flare run-out to the anchors.
Glancing upward, somewhere between furtive and fixated, I scan the expanse of granite below the flare, searching for irregularities that might turn a clean 40-foot fall int a trip to the hospital. It looks fine, providing your piece(s) hold at the base of the flare. Sure, some will say that gear can be placed in the flare. Some will say there is a rest - in the flare. Tell me: why would anyone forfeit a scary layaway to stop? The thought conjures up images of insecure kneebars, chickenwings, munging...the Yosemite mug of red wine in my hands, large and depleted though it is, does little to quell the grip.
A friend, Hoang, made some interesting observations about granite in general, and Index granite in particular. Granite tends to break vertically under glacial pressure: the Stuwamus Chief and Yosemite are prime examples of this tendancy. The Index town walls are just smaller monoliths, Hoang noted, and when subjected to the huge glacial forces, broke with more regularity than the larger monoliths. A fine balance of force and resistence, pressure and break created an amazing density of cracks. The clean, white fractured walls rise long and steep above the small town of Index, Washington.
Yells of "Off Belay!" and "Climbing!" echo off the walls, with the occasional rattle of gear under the tension of a fall - the territory of Index 5.11. For a real taste, try "Japanese Gardens" (5.11d), small wall never felt so big.
Various theories circulate about the sandbag nature of Index. One is that there is so much hard climbing, the first ascentionists of the area simply lost sight of what was hard as they rose to the challenge of the walls. Another is they were just bad-asses anyway.
A train rolls by not 20 feet away, I glimpse the crux of Dr. Sniff between tanker cars.
These trains once carried granite, blasted and quarried from these very walls, mining away painful amounts of good rock, and leaving a shattered, bleached scar on the lower wall. The granite went to the state capitol building in Olympia, where steps were formed from the rock. Fodder for the only moderately challenging climb to the House of Policy, Washinton State.
At the back of the parking lot is a battered old step-van, beaten, overgrown, a bit sketchy, but still welcoming. In my wine-addled brain, it sits as a monument to Index and it's climbers: maintaining form in the face of adversity.
Throw in some other wacky elements of Index, and one starts to get an idea of what an odd place this is. A gun club next door: I attended a wedding there in 1999, and the "tunnel" area of the lower wall is within easy shooting distance...dialogue as follows:
Buddy: Hey, Jimbo! Lookit the fool monkey on the wall over yonder!"
Jimbo: "Yeah Buddy! I seen 'em. Let's give him a scare: right there above him." KAPOW!
...a useless divot appears magically above as I fall of an otherwise enjoyable "Zoom" (5.10c/d). However, falling is de rigeur here, so I don't mind too much. Plus the gear is bomber.
Way off the wackop scale is the "fifth force" tunnel, a 12'x21'x278' bore-hole in the lower town wall, drilled by the Robbins Mining Company back in 1984 for mining exploration. It was abandoned by the company after pressure from the climbing community and others, and is currently a research laboratory for the University of Washington Physics Department. Nothing to do with the Bruce Willis movie, this is serious business: it seems they discovered an energetic force similar to gravity inside the rock that also simulates the energy waves of the human brain. So they set up a bank of sensor machines and monitors in the tunnel. I talked to a guy who monitors the machines some years back, and he let me look at them. Gives new meaning to being "one with the rock", as one tries "The Fifth Force" (5.12b), with three seperate cruxes, and the audible hum of machinery nearby.
I get out of my cozy seat (don't slosh the recently refilled wine), and wander over to the old step-van.
Stepping in feels welcoming: as if one can muse about the crazy shit that happened in here, rather than being driven away by lurking fear. Not so true of the climbing, where fear preys on the weak of mind. Routes are steep, demanding, and very physical. Just try "Saggitarius" (5.10.b) for a taste of this. Tenuousness is often part of one's operational parameter, making most leads heady at the least.
I sit in the drivers seat of the step-van with my Yosemite mug (almost empty again), the exposed springs digging gently into my behind. Miraculously, the windshield divider in front of me has survived major assault by rocks, but remains intact. I bounce a little, pain bringing the immediacy of existence, warmed to a ruby glow by drink and the tired satisfaction of a day at Index. The feeling imbues me with belonging: strange places, strange people.
I love this place.
(note: the step-van was removed in 2001)
