Conn's West Direct--CCC '02, part 2

Saturday didn't look nearly as good as the day before. It was humid and overcast and looked a bit like rain. Never-the-less, we racked up in the parking lot and hiked the West Side trail. Just as we got to the base of Le Gourmet (another of my favorites), it started to rain. Oh hell!
There was a beginner group over on the Lower Slabs and we figured that top-roping wet rock was better than trying to lead on it. I knew that in theory it was possible to get from the West Face trail over to the Lower Slabs and so we set out past Old Man's and Thais on an increasingly marginal trail (in sandals, mind you, with 27 pounds of gear and rope (yes I weighed it all) jingling away furiously). Past Greenwall and Banana, the trail became even more sketchy and theoretical. After some thorn bushes and dirty scree slopes atop unknown licheny drop-offs, we spotted a tree with a pair of rap slings on it. This looked like the southern, wilder end of the Lower Slabs! We'd made it! The rope was unfurled and dropped. I rapped ten feet down to a ledge and discovered, to my dismay, that the rope ends were still at least 12' off the ground. Damn! So yes, it is technically possible, to get from the South Peak, West Face over to the Lower Slabs, but not easy.
We retraced our steps and, tired and dirty, arrived back at the base of Old Mans. The rain had stopped and the rock was pretty much dry at this point. Perhaps the multipitching was back on for the day. Various folks had suggested Conn's West (5.3*) with the Direct Finish (5.4*) as a good route and it shares a first pitch with Old Man's (5.2*). Surprisingly, there was only one party ahead of us. They were four young climbers of about college age. They were also deaf. Amy knows a little ASL and we ascertained that they were headed up the easier Old Man's route (5.2*) which shares a first pitch with several other climbs, including Conn's West. We arranged gear and waited as they silently dealt with the minutiae of climbing. It was fascinating to see the system of rope tugs and signs they used to communicate in what is ordinarily a very verbal pastime.
In short order, the fourth climber left the ground and I followed close on her heels. The climbing was very relaxed and easy and I set up a compact anchor on a spacious ledge under a small roof. Amy came up quickly and we considered the next pitch. From here, Old Man's and Conn's West diverged, the latter headed up a narrow corner/chimney and flake system to another tree for a second belay. I traversed right about ten feet to the base of a short wall. I turns out this is a 5.5 variation and it was definitely an attention-getter. It was also a harbinger of things to come...
After a few committing moves, I got up to the crack and found the going a good deal easier, though I was getting spooked for lack of good gear placements. The route stayed up against the corner though I'm not ashamed to admit I ventured into the chimney at least once, nearly getting stuck at the time. We were right next to the West Pole rap route and several ropes came whistling down as I slithered up. In due course, I emerged from easier terrain to the tree and a small ledge. To the left were a pair of bolts--part of the rappel route; I set a couple tricams in a vertical crack near the bolts (it was a great day for tricams!) added the tree, and built the anchor. Amy came up with little difficulty but with several comments on the sandbagging of Seneca routes. "There's no way that was a 5.3!!!" I'm inclined to agree.
The official third pitch of Conn's West heads up to the right through this huge, debris-filled chimney/gully and looked extremely uninteresting. Instead, the Direct Finish loomed straight overhead as a right-facing corner with a nice crack system. The summit was no more than 60 feet above us and it looked straight forward enough.
I scrambled to the first ledge to look at the steep corner. "This must be the crux," I said to myself. "I'll just pull through it and place gear above when the going gets easier." A few committing moves later, I'm standing 15' higher up on a wide ledge faced with a taller, steeper section of the corner. "Huh, maybe this is the crux, then!" I placed a nut from the ledge and worked my way up this section. I could have stopped to place gear during the crux, but the ledge was mere feet away. "If I fall here, I'm definitely going to hit that ledge. But that last piece of pro should keep me from bouncing all the way down to the last ledge." Thoughts like that kept me warm and sweaty as I clawed my way up.
Clearing the second ledge (or was it the third? everything is a blur now), I found myself confronting a third (fourth? fifth?), even more intimidating bit of corner climbing. This one was split on the right by a large, off-width crack and featured an actual roof on the left! Ye gods! Fortunately, the holds were there and the gear opportunities were plentiful. Figuring my luck would run out eventually, I spent the energy to desperately throw in a small hex in the middle of the crux. Fortunately, it was the right size. Thus it was with considerable relief that I emerged next to the West Pole rap tree and climbed the ten feet up to the actual summit ridge. Who should I spy rounding the bend but the Deaf party looking very pleased with themselves. Congratulations were communicated all 'round and nonverbal smugness filled the air.
Amy climbed up with her usual grace but not without a bit of huffing and puffing and a few "How did you CLIMB this?!" exclamations. The smugness increased. We trotted up to the summit itself, signed the book, chatted with some folks who had recently come off Gunsight (5.3) and headed down. The Deaf crew was performing single-rope raps (three of them, by necessity) from West Pole so we teamed up with Chris and Dave, two fellow summiteers, and rapped from Traffic Jam as a single followed by a very smooth double-rope rap all the way down to the base of Le Gourmet where we ran into Brian Ottinger and Phil Sidel from Pittsburg.
The time was 5:30 (aka beer-thirty) and we wearily made our way down the Stairmaster in search of sustance and showers. The Porch was full of climbers as usual and we shared a table with Brian and Melissa Walker and their two daughters and friend Megan Moore(?). Eventually, we stumbled back to camp and spent quite a while around the campfire performed the fourth C of CCC; carousing. Tom Kornack and crew had spent the day with another successful trip to Hamilton Cave and various wild stories were told in the finest traditions of campfires everywhere.

Sunday dawned rainy and damp. Fortunately, with five good pitches under our harnesses, we were disinclined to more climbing. After considerable logistics, we teamed up with Tom, Jill, Tim, Katie, Sonya and Ben (the Kornack Kontingent) and drove up to Dolly Sods. The area near Bear Rocks (the northern end of the wilderness) was gorgeous. Rolling, treeless moors full of wild flowers, blueberries, cranberries and scrubby bog kept the cold wind and blowing rain from being depressing. Far from it! After wandering the amazing Sods for a while, we explored the dramatically shaped Bear Rocks and took in the spectacular cloud-shrouded view of the North Fork valley several thousand feet below. Amazing!
Alas, time was pressing and there was much driving to be done. We caravanned back down the rutted dirt road, sought lunch in, amongst other places, Moorefield, and parted ways. The drive back was surprisingly painless and quick and we arrived back in Baltimore with daylight to spare.

A great weekend of good climbing. I am fired back up about climbing again (which had been eclipsed recently by my extensive caving ventures) and am distraught that the season is coming to an end so soon.

The Wilderness Journal

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