20 pitches, sport, 5.4 – 5.9.
Attempted 6/14/2012
Cristina and I arrived in Frisco
Wednesday night, camping at the Peak One Campground on NFS land. We
awoke early the next morning at 6 AM, headed into town and then to
the parking lot. We arrived in the climbers' lot at 7:30.
We were attempting Royal Flush, a 20
pitch sport route that starts off on easy slab (5.4) before growing
progressively difficult as you approach the headwall, were you
encounter consistent 5.8 for 3 or 4 pitches to the summit. I decided
on the early start for two reasons: my knowledge of the route was
minimal and conditions were supposed to turn sour in the afternoon,
with storms forecast. The developer of the route, Tim Toula, has
specifically requested that no route topos be produced and limited
the publication of full route descriptions, so all we had were meager
explanations for each pitch taken from Mountain Project. This was
supposed to be an alpine climb, and it sure lived up to that
expectation.
We found the base of the climb without
any difficulty. Cristina and I had agreed that the leader would
proceed without a pack while the second would climb with our single
pack, holding our water, some food, and a few extra layers. Not
knowing how fast we would proceed and worried about conditions, we
had thrown in more than we needed and the pack was surprisingly
heavy. Having discussed it earlier, we had decided I'd link the first
three pitches and that Cristina would lead the next one or link it up
with the fifth pitch depending on the difficulty.
Without the weight of the pack, I made
quick progress through the first three pitches. Each move was simple,
5.4 climbing at its best, flowing from one into the next. At times I
felt like I could try and run up some of the lesser angled slabs, but
not quite. About halfway through the second pitch, I noticed on the
slab above me an unusual sight: a large mountain goat was on the
slab, picking at the greenery growing from among the many cracks on
the face. The rest of the pitches were uneventful, and my 60M rope
just made it to the 3rd
pitch's anchors. I quickly set up an anchor through the bolts and
belayed up Cristina. Leading the tree pitches took 20 minutes; we
were doing great.
 |
| Cristina seconding the 3rd pitch |
The
next pitch went just fine. Cristina was a little tired from having
hauled the heavy pack up three pitches, so she was moving a little
slower than I had. Still, she quickly made her way through the 4th
pitch. Unfortunately, things with the 5th
pitch were not as easy.
After
the relative ease of the 4th
pitch, she went straight into leading the 5th.
However, the link up was not going to go: she reached a roof about
20' up from the 4th
pitch's anchors and could not pull it. After briefly talking it out,
I lowered her to the anchors and had her belay me up. Knowing that
the pack would not make anything easier for her, I took it for the
lead.
 |
| Self-portrait taken after the first few pitches |
I
quickly made my way up to the roof and immediately agreed: it was
stiffer than expected for the route grade. I ultimately managed to
pull the roof by traversing left about 6' to a more fractured area of
the roof, were I was able to gain a few jugs to make the roof
feasible with the pack. Even with a few jugs, I was nervous about the
pendulum onto the ledge below the roof that would result if I
slipped. But after pulling the roof, I managed to traverse back right
to the bolt line and then the anchors, belaying Cristina up to me
without difficulty.
Five
pitches down, and though we weren't moving at the same quick pace we
had started at, we were doing fine. But then things turned for the
worse.
Mountain
Project describes the sixth pitch as a 30M traverse right over 4th
class rock. Cristina moved out, unroped, to check out the traverse
but could not find it. Frustrated, I had her come back and rope up
and did so myself. The fifth pitch ended right below a nice, large
ledge, so I had her take a seat and belay me while I searched for the
traverse. I moved right, slinging a tree about 15' down the ledge,
and moved out onto very exposed 4th
class rock that I though may have been right. These traverse quickly
turned into low 5th
class rock though, and it became clear that where ever I was, it was
not where I was supposed to be. By this time, I had traversed 50'
right from the tree, my only 'protection,' but with no more trees and
no rock pro, I could only make sure I didn't fall. It was about this
time that the sun cleared the ridge and thus shined straight down in
line with the angle of the rock, making it impossible for me to look
up or around for bolts. Unable to see much, I could only keep
traversing, knowing that every foot further out away from my single
point of protection was another foot I would pendulum if I feel.
About 20' further right and about 10' up, nearly 100 feet away from
the slung tree, I found a huge flake that I was able to sling and
then fix my line to. Knowing that this was not the right spot, but
with no idea where the bolt line was, I decided that I would traverse
the fixed line to Cristina, bring her over to me, and that we would
then be able to bail out right into a gulley.
After
doing just that, Cristina broke down the fixed line while I free
soloed 4th
and then 3rd
class rock to find an escape. After about 10 minutes, I found the
gulley whose existence I guessed and found that we would be able to
follow it upwards to a large ledge, a huge area where we'd be able to
sit, think, eat, and plan.
Cristina
and I talked after gaining the ledge and decided that since it was
now growing late (it was about 11:30; we expected storms starting
around 2pm) and that since we didn't know where we were, that we
would bail using the gulley to hike out. Though steep and loose with
talus, I thought this feasible and reasonable. After munching on our
lunch though, I got restless and explored our ledge. About 15 feet
away from the large boulder on which we'd eaten, I was surprised to
find a carrion. Following that and a second one, I eventually made my
way to a rock rib further up the ledge only to find glistening bolts
riding the top edge of the rib. I quickly made my way back to
Cristina with news of my find.
After
re-reading the route description, we established that those bolts
belonged to the 10th
pitch. Excited by our good luck, and with no clear evidence of a
storm moving in, we decided to pick up from there. I led the pitch,
5.7, with the pack, but could make it no further the fourth bolt.
After all the stress of the traverse and being lost, we just didn't
have the strength left. We could have pushed through, but not if we
wanted to be in any condition to react appropriately to deteriorating
weather. Admitting defeat, I cleaned the bolts as I down climbed back
to the ledge.
At
this time, another group came up to the base of the climb. They had
started much later than us, but this was their third attempt and had
the first dozen pitches pretty well down. In talking with them, I was
furious to learn were we'd gone wrong in finding the route: there is
no traverse. After pitch five, you move up to the small ledge (where
I had Cristina belay me from) and move straight up into what Mountain
Project calls pitch seven. All the searching we had done for bolts,
scanning all of the rock to the right of the ledge, was for nought.
And with the sun below the ridge, we hadn't seen the metal glittering
or anything. This group was also able to give us crucial beta on the
descent, explaining that the 8th
pitch tops out immediately below the large ledge where we had done
lunch, accessed via a small trail that winds its way down the front.
Exactly
where we were told to expect it, we found the rappel rings. 8 Rappels
later, we hit ground and walked back to the car, exhausted. It was
now past three, and dark clouds were all around the horizon; no storm
had broken yet, though our spirits had.
Upset
at our failure to climb Royal Flush, we buoyed ourselves with the
thing that always helps me feel better: food. Over pretty delicious
Mexican food, we discussed the successes and failures from the day.
Our over-weighted pack was certainly a factor, as was our lack of
knowledge on the route, in understanding the failure. This was
compounded by the stress of getting lost and my subsequent sketchy
traverse. We succeeded in maintaining a positive decision making
process, taking the time to evaluate options and retreating as things
progressively deteriorated. Ultimately though, I chalk this failure
up as more of a lesson about alpine climbing: be prepared for things
to go wrong, go light, and have your escape planed before you start.
I know we could have done the climb with much less in the pack, but
without knowing more about the route, I was unwilling to give up some
of the supplies for fear that we could have been stuck overnight.
Knowing what I know now, I'm certain we would have been fine with
nothing more than our rain gear and water in the pack, accepting that
on that route, bailing is possible at almost any point.
In the
end, it was a long, tiring day. But what can I say, that's how I love
them!
