Climbing an alpine route is a must otherwise you can’t state that you have been to the Pacific Northwest. Ted, a Bellingham based climber, whom I first met at Red Rocks in spring, invited me to climb some alpine routes near Washington Pass while I was taking rest days between two YBOYS courses.

Our objective on July 22 was to summit South Early Winter Spire. It was raining a little when we were driving toward the mountains; we crossed our fingers wishing to see the sun, whose radiant smile would dry out the rock faces, hopefully in record speed.

Multiple routes lead up to the summit of South Early Winter Spire. We planned to start with West Face and then switch to Southwest Rib because neither of us wanted to do the 5.10 Dolphin Chimney pitch. According to the guidebook, we needed to “scramble and climb 200ft” in order to start the climb with a prominent left-angling hand crack (5.8), of which the base could be identified by “small trees and two dead snags.” Somehow we hit a higher entry point and ended up in front of another crack. The crack was also left leaning but in addition to being just a crack, it resided in a left-facing corner. We found small trees but no dead snags. Not being able to see what was below us, we thought perhaps that was it. Ted led it; I followed it. That pitch just did not fit the profile.

Both of us studied the topo and realized that what we just climbed was a short 5.5, the 5.8 crack was right beneath it. Since we would not do the chimney pitch, from that point on, the rest of the climb was all low graded. Moving his pointing finger around on the topo, Ted said “we should rappel down and climb the hand crack, and do the 5.9 lie-back pitch as a variation of this 5.5;” “we have plenty of time.” I nodded not knowing that we, after all, would almost run out of time.

I led the 5.8 hand crack; the climb was not difficult but I felt it was awkward. Because the rock was still damp, my foot slipped a few inches; I exhaled some nervous noise. Down climbing to a better stance, I re-rigged myself, moving all the pros from one side of my harness to the other to eliminate the awkward feeling and climbed again. Moving slowly and cautiously, I saw the small trees again.

I anchored myself to a tree and put Ted on belay. In order to climb the 5.9 lie-back, he had to traverse out and up from the belay station; after that, I could spot him but couldn’t see him clearly because the view was blocked by leaves. It seemed that he was having a hard time; the noise he made was louder and louder, getting harder to identify as well. I braced myself expecting something might happen. He fell; he went up-side-down. I didn’t feel a thing; he didn’t fall much but he wasn’t too far from the ledge and he was up-side-down. I yelled, “Ted, are you alright?” Luckily he didn’t hit anything.

He soon put himself back together. We exchanged some conversations swiftly. That crack must be hard because I had never seen Ted like that. In Red Rocks, when we climbed together, he was always the one reminding me to keep breathing, encouraging me to look around to find footholds. Back then, everything was under control. He was gonna try again. He made some progress but he was exhausted. I had a theory that he was more mentally tired than physically tired. Before he fell, he thought the cam he last put in would not hold. During the fall, the image of hitting the ledge flew through his mind. Even though the piece in fact held, he was impacted. Finally, he put two cams in and set up an anchor about at the middle of that pitch. I lowered him back to me; during the whole process, he kept telling me that “Ting Ting, you can do this; you are fresh and you just have to top-rope to the two cams and start leading from there. The rest of the climb looks easy but I am too tired, and you are fresh.”

I was not sure whether I could do that, especially seeing Ted fall and all that. And Ted climbs harder than me, and I know Ted always thinks I can climb harder than I say I can. Still, I started to rig myself, “it doesn’t hurt to try,” I thought. I soon found out that not only did the crack require lie-backing, but it was overhanging, possibly the worst combination. My feet slipped off at one point, and the worse part was I never really felt my Stealth rubber sticked to the rock because the rock was moist. “This is 5.9?” I asked myself. I’ve top-roped 5.9 lie-back cracks in Yosemite, and this was way harder. Before I even reached the 2-cam anchor, my arms were tired. I yelled “take” once I reached the point, no doubt.

The rest of the climb looked easier, but what you see is not always what you get. I was ambitious enough to plan on free leading, but after all I got to respect mother nature and be realistic about my limits. I sighed, and started to aid my way up. I put in a piece, pulled on it, rested on it and put in another piece and kept repeating the process. Finally I felt a jug behind the rock to my upper right corner, and hopped onto a nice stance to set up a belay anchor.

Ted and I studied the topo again. To the right of the 5.9 lie-back crack, there was another variation which was also a crack; the difference was this newly discovered variation was rated 5.10+ or A1. We suspected that we in fact climbed the harder crack, and we kind of confirmed that with the information we gathered from the surroundings. Well, figuring out which line we climbed wasn’t our focus then; we had probably spent at least a couple hours on that pitch. The clock was ticking. We didn’t start early and now we didn’t even have time to regret our over-optimism.

The rest of the climb was uneventful. We got a 5.7+ twin 5-inch crack that required bear-hugging move and some super run-out easy slab climbing. On our way down, Ted and I didn’t talk much; our goal was to hit the approach trail before sunset and we made it. We made some dinner and slept in the car. The next day we did not climb Liberty Bell as planned and I appreciated that the rain which came afterwards helped to justify our decision.

Neither Ted nor I had predicted that July 22 would turn out to be a long day, but I gained precious experience and had much fun. Now, let me tell you “Yes I’ve been in Pacific Northwest.”

Ever since I started rock climbing outside, I’ve been acquainted with a few dirt bag climbers. Their lives are all about climbing, eating and sleeping are their secondary concerns. Sometimes they sleep in a car which is usually their home; sometimes they hitch rides and lay their sleeping pads and bags somewhere out nowhere near a trailhead which leads to the base of a fantastic climb. I, as a girl living most of my life in a city, even though I am used to camping and all that jazz, I have never thought that I would become one of that kind.

Right after I finished instructing YBOYS Advanced Climbing Trip in Squamish BC Canada, I connected with two friends, David and Dennis, whom I first met during my Red Rock trip in spring. They were about to finish their 10-day climbing trip in Washington State and I caught the tail of the train and got to climb with them for a couple days.

The day they picked me up was their so-called rest day. Just as I remembered, David’s car is always full of goodies: sleeping essentials, camp chairs, food, stove, and of course a full cooler of beers. Also I have to mention the new upgraded surround sound speakers and an ipod full of hip-hop.

We departed from the U District of Seattle after 6 pm and arrived at the Exit 38 Climbing Area. While I thought we were about to have dinner, David urged me to get ready so that we could climb before the sunset. We fast hiked to the area called The Trestle. After I followed a few 5.9 bolted routes, it went dark so I called it a day; however, we didn’t leave until much later because David was still climbing with his headlamp. We then drove toward the next climbing area we were going to climb the next day, The Far Side of Exit 38. David parked his car at some random pull-out where we spent the night. Without a tent, the mosquitoes were pretty bad. I couldn’t decide whether I should be eaten alive by them or suffocate myself by covering my head with the sleeping bag. Luckily I woke up next morning alive only with a swollen eye lid and many tolerable bites around my shoulders and elbows.

So we headed to the cliff, planning that it was gonna be an easy day for us because we should prepare ourselves for a 23-pitch alpine bolted route called Infinite Bliss the next day. However, I still led a few routes ranging from 5.7 to 5.9 and followed a 5.10b. It was a gorgeous afternoon, so each of us one after another fell asleep. After we woke up, we started to hike down the trail, so I thought the day was over and it was indeed a mellow day. Huh, I was wrong again. Getting closer to a trail junction, David turned around and asked me whether I wanted to climb more. Well, why not?

We passed a few more cliffs and David as a local climber pointing out routes here and there. Finally he stopped in front of a 5.10a route called Ellie’s Sweet Kiss. A story about the name of the route, David later told me, was that the route setter named it after his 3-year-old daughter because he loved the route so much when he built it. Since it was a 5.10a, I got ready to belay; David then looked at me and asked “Do you want to lead this one?” I hesitated but I couldn’t resist his encouragement and the temptation of leading, so I picked up the sharp end.

The route was a bit tricky slightly after the first bolt; I paused for a few seconds and was processing hard and finally moved upward. After maybe a couple more bolts, I found myself standing at this scary tiny ledge and what was waiting for me was a short overhanging section that required much commitment. The handholds were okay but given that I am always intimidated by overhanging features, I truly did not mind more positive ones. The main problem was I could not find good enough footholds to maintain my balance during the whole sequence. I tried several small steps and backed off to the original stance. I knew that I had to come up with a sequence soon because the stance was still consuming my arm strength. I had a plan flowing through my mind: If I kept my right arm straight and threw my left foot way high, I should be able to move through the crux. But I was too scared to commit even though the bolt I just clipped was at just about my waist level.

I expressed my fear to David by saying “I am scared” for a couple times; he must be confused because I did not ask him about the beta, nor did I show intention to give up. My mind was still processing an alternative. Finally I traversed out to the left squeezing my body underneath a tiny roof, and then went up carefully step by step and came back out to the right and clipped the next bolt. I was relieved because it wasn’t easy to maintain my balance with my body curling up like a ball. I took the chance to rest a bit, shaking my arms out. The last move before the anchor was also demanding but it did not require much thinking; I just had to believe that the power residue in my arms was still enough. Just like that I onsight free led a 5.10a bolted route. I did not show much excitement perhaps because I was tired, but this route, this experience was certainly significant to me. Later David showed me how he would climbed the crux I had problem with, and it was exactly what I visualized; however at the time I didn’t have the required mental power.

We led another 5.9 after Ellie’s Sweet Kiss, but I have no recollection about the route.

That evening, we drove to the trailhead leading to Infinite Bliss. It was quiet, nobody was around but the annoying mosquito troops. We played the music to the maximum volume. We drank beer, climbed trees and danced crazily. Dennis was an awesome cook and a fantastic dancer. David couldn’t spare the poor tree and kept doing his monkey bar traverse. I must be somewhat intoxicated because I jumped up, grabbed the tree branch, trying to shake David off. Before I knew it, the tree snapped and I was laying on the ground complaining of my tail bone. Mosquitoes started their mass attack because I was immobilized. Dennis rescued me by throwing a jacket to cover my upper body. Music was still on. Twenty minutes later, I was pulled up to dance more…And it was late. We needed to get up at 2 am the next morning for an alpine start. Each of us found a place to crash. Mosquitoes were still dancing without music and I was getting overheated in a 10 degree sleeping bag. Also a dilemma, being eaten alive or having a heat exhaustion…? I started to miss the days on a glacier.

David woke us up at 2 am sharp the next morning. We hiked to the base of Infinite Bliss. It was chilly and misty. I didn’t remember seeing much about the climb or the surroundings. The first few pitches were done in the dark with headlamps, and later pitched were climbed in the fog. I was sleepy and my tail bone was still hurting. I wasn’t climbing in a good form. The rock surface was wet and we slipped everywhere. I pulled each single draw while following a 5.10c pitch. The clouds were getting thicker, the wind was picking up, the rock and our climbing shoes were soaking wet. There was no way we could make the 400 feet of free soloing pitch 15 and 16. We bailed at the top of the 14th pitch.

Back to the car; it was still early. After a gourmet stir fry, we were all napping under the trees in the bushes next to the ferns. The weather started to clear up; too bad that we were already down here, but it is part of the story being an outdoor climber. Looking back, I really don’t understand how I finished the 14 pitches and how I rapped the route. However, that is not important, the important thing was we had fun, we climbed and we made it back in one piece. Dancing, napping, sleeping anywhere that is flat, enjoying each other’s company and climbing—all of them deserves a significant part of a climbing road trip. Yes I have lived most of my life in a city, but I don’t mind being a dirt bag at all—as long as I can get mosquitoes out of the equation.