Trip Report: CCC`98 (Camping, Climbing, Caving)
Part 1, Part 2
June 12-14, 1998
CCC is a tradition which has grown over the past seven years or so. Every year, sometimes twice people get together at Seneca Rocks, WV, to, as the name says, Camp, Climb and Cave. The only thing they have in common: everyone knows this one guy by the name of Mark "Indy" Kochte. At this point, it's grown to about 40 people over the weekend. And it's quite an experience...
Friday
I hitched a ride down with Sharon and her friend Liz. Sharon is a CCC veteran but Liz and I, who were new, didn't know Mark well or at all. We didn't really know what to expect and we were in for a real treat! We arrived at around 5pm on Friday and, since the weather was nice, set up our tents and headed out with another veteran, Linda, in tow for a hike up the North Peak of the Rocks.
For those unfamiliar with the area, Seneca is an amazing vertical sheet of rock about 300 feet tall and about 10 feet thick at the summit which towers 900 feet above the surrounding countryside. There are hundreds of climbing routes from 5.1 all the way up to 5.13. The North and South Peaks are separated by the "Gunsight" in which the famous Gendarme--a 20' pillar of rock--stood until 1987. There is a "tourist" trail one mile in length which climbs through the woods emerging at a lookout deck with great views to the valley directly below. A rocky scramble later and you're on top of the North Peak looking down at the vultures wheeling and turning amongst the clouds in the valley below. As I stood there carefully balanced in the strong, gusty westerly wind, I found myself reassessing my long-banished acrophobia and discovering that some traces still remained.
On returning to camp after having dinner at the Front Porch, many more people had arrived and the place was lively. By midnight or so I retired and by 3 the first of several very dramatic lightning storms had started up. Little did we know that water was to rival earth as the dominant element of the weekend...
Saturday
We got an early start the next morning not wanting to waste any of the precious climbing time afforded by daylight (not that lack of light stopped some intrepid climbers...) People's tastes vary. A group went out mountain biking. Others grabbed caving gear and drove off. Experienced climbers readied their gear and headed out. Mark led a group of 17 novice climbers to the eastern face of the north peak where we top-roped Streptococcus (5.9) and Isadora's Run (5.3/5.10) and a few other climbs.
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the leaden skies. Photo by Mark Kochte. |
I flashed the first two thirds of Strep before getting hung up on a sheer face with a diagonal crack only a little too small for a finger hold. The next hold was diagonally up and to the right only about two inches beyond my best reach. Now in the gym, this would be an easy dyno move; the hold was good and I could have smeared up to the next few holds. But in the gym, you aren't able to see vultures circling and clouds massing hundreds of feet below you amongst the tree-tops of the valley floor. The body was willing and able but the brain was screaming HELL NO! in the strongest possible language. After two attempts at getting past this mental block, I was saved further embarrassment by the arrival of Violent Storm Number Two. We frantically pulled the ropes and headed out.
Misery loves company and hiking while soaking wet is a great way to get to know people. I made fast friends with Jen, Kim, Jim, Christine, Daniell, Vanessa and several others on the hasty retreat from the rocks. We had a wet lunch and waited for the storm to pass... which it eventually did.And now, a quick song!
The insie wiensie climbers climbed up the Seneca route
Down came the rain and washed the climbers out
Out came the sun and dried up all the rain
And the insie wiensie climbers climbed up the route again
By five, the rocks were judged to be dry enough. Mark grabbed Liz, Jen and myself and took us out to climb Prune (a 5.7 climb though the first pitch is only 5.5). Jen and I are not particularly experienced climbers and Liz had never set foot on rock until that very day. But we all had showed sufficient spit and vinegar on Streptococcus that apparently we got the honor of a lead-climbing lesson. We all felt pretty cool at that. We packed up the gear and headed off through the woods with ropes slung backpack-style across our shoulders and wind-chiming harnesses full of imposing looking nuts, hexes, tricams, 'biners, and whatnot.
Mark led up the face placing protection and Jen seconded. I talked Liz up from the bottom helping her find holds and will herself through difficult parts following shortly thereafter. The rock was not entirely dry and the holds which had looked so positive from the ground were in fact much trickier than had been expected. It was an exhilarating climb and realizing that we could be clearly seen for miles around perched half way up the south peak was icing on the ego cake. After a short rest, we traversed the ledge to the conveniently placed pine serving as a rappel station and I led off the 80' rappel--always my favorite part. Spirits were high as we regrouped at the bottom and raced Violent Storm Number 3 down the steep trail and out for beers and another sausage and mushroom pizza at the Front Porch.
Yours Truly leading off the 85' Prune Rappel. Photo by Liz Muir
Sunday
I awoke a few hours later (perhaps 4 or 5?) with the sun rising through the Gunsight and a small hole in the clouds. Despite this auspicious beginning, the clouds were quickly multiplying and the rains began early. Having failed to thwart us with sudden violent attacks the day before, the weather choose a war of attrition with a light constant rain all morning. We countered by heading below ground out of harms way. After much discussion, a group consisting of Liz, Roger, Anne, Carol, Mike and myself headed out for Sinks of Gandy cave about an hour away. Directions were uncertain, but with concerted searching, we managed to find a place that "smelled right". The cars were parked, the caving gear slouched into, the batteries were checked and we headed out across a beautiful mizzly cow field frosted with buttercups and Indian Paintbrush (both red and yellow varieties).
The entrance is huge--15 feet tall and 30 wide at least--and a large stream was flowing in. The water was about shin-deep. Immediately upon entering we discovered a narrow side passage leading off to the left. I led the party in staying on the walls until the passage widened and the ledges went away. Roger's legs, which were acting as our depth and temperature gauge, reported that the water wasn't more than hip deep and didn't shift his voice more than half an octave higher, so we braced ourselves and took the plunge. The passage continued perhaps another 100' until the ceiling dropped too low for simultaneous travel and snorkle-free breathing. We sloshily retreated to the main passage.
Since time was pressing, we pressed back and got perhaps half-way down the wide, tall stream passage before turning around. The main part was generally not as interesting as the first stretch had prepared us for, but the consensus among the two first-time cavers was that it was still pretty wild. Sinks was surprisingly devoid of cave crickets, though I did find the beginnings of a gypsum flower on a sandy beach, dozens and dozens of fat, torpid spiders, a centipede, and a small, lost-looking toad. We retreated from the cave in rugged, camradely spirits, faced off with the resident horse population and stripped out of our wet clothing. The rest of the day passed uneventfully as we returned to camp, showered, dried out, said our farewells and headed contentedly back to Baltimore.
Epilogue
Never in my life have I become so close to a group of people in such a short time. Perhaps there is something about trusting your life to the belaying skills of someone you met scant hours before. Perhaps it is enduring fickle, inclemant forces of nature together and emerging with only your clothing dampened. Perhaps it's sharing food and drink and watching tremendous natural beauty soften and sink into dusk, then stumbling back to camp by starlight. Or maybe it's just a favorable alignment of the planets which govern the movements of kindred spirits. I feel that I've made lifelong friends and can't wait to do it all over again, inclement forces of nature and all.
I am refreshed! My outlook on life is cheery and the spring has returned to my step.
Links
CCC'98 Part 2
Sept 11-13, 1998
Hardly a week passed the whole summer when I didn't look forward eagerly for the next trip to Seneca and the next Event that is CCC (or as a friend of mine refers to it, FOM, Friends Of Mark). A better weekend could not have been picked. The weather was fantastic the entire time with crisp, starry nights and warm, UV-enhanced days; a fitting last blast for summer before digging back into the Real World and Winter and Other Mundanity. But before that happened, I wanted one more crack at fulfilling two modest goals. First I wanted to beat my mental block on Streptococcus encountered in the spring. Secondly I wanted to ascend the heights of the South Summit (inaccessible except through class 5 routes) and sign the register at the top.
FridayWe got a late start from Baltimore and drove pell-mell for the state of West Verginy. I lead while Sharon and Jonathan alternated cleaning. Err, wait. I drove and Sharon and Jonathan alternated riding shotgun and offering helpful backseat suggestions. After making the neccessary stop at the Winchester, VA, Sheetz station for Blue ("Raspberry" slushes) and spending quite a long time negotiating some startlingly three-dimensional roads, we arrived at Group Site E at Seneca Shadows. We admired the view, deployed tents and laid about ferrociously with cookpot and propane stove.
Many of the regulars had arrived. The Indiana clan was again present in force having driven the admirable distance of 10 hours just to enjoy our dubious company. Amy was there and Shelby the Dog. Mark had arrived in the afternoon, but, lacking any climbing partners, had been moping about camp with nothing to do. The skies quickly darkened and people started to drift in. Stars were exclaimed over, meteors seen (at least by some viewers), and a moderate stack of logs was reduced to a moderate layer of coals in short order. With the promise of tomorrow being another day (as is usually the case), everyone retreated to bed, tent, bivy, or back of truck depending on personal style.
Saturday Again the weather was kind so a large group headed out up the tourist trail to an area on the north peak, east face to do some intro climbing. Indy and Chris assembled some double-roped topropes on Lichen or Leave It (5.8) and Roux (5.2) (each around a hundred feet tall). I made the first climb of Lichen and, because of my long hiatus from climbing, the length of the climb, the nature of the rock or just my sheer lameness and lack of skill, had a rather rough time of it. It was only thanks to some real high-quality taunting from Mr. Long that I made it at all. It wasn't pretty and for a while it looked like Elvis had returned from wherever he went.
 Your's Truly on belay at Rox Salt (5.7) |  Indy leads Rox Salt. |
Amy and the Indiana clan had toproped Isadora's Run (5.3/5.9) and, with the three climbs available, everyone was pretty content. Most of the experienced climbers tried their hands at Lichen and succeeded with less swearing and grunting than I. One especially impressive ascent was made by Susan, a woman who until that very day had never seen either end of a rope. During Jonathan's ascent, Pam, his belayer, was stung by a particularly large bee and had to be replaced which caused a good deal of excitement and jumping around.
As the afternoon wore on and we became increasingly tired and hot, Mark and I set up a rope on the Rox Salt (5.6 or 5.7 depending) area though several other climbs were available. It was another crack climb and the one really good hold on the upper portion was inhabitted by some sort of buzzing, beeping creature of unknown size and appetite. Everyone who still felt able to a) climb and b) avoid the buzzing creature filed through the climb and we quickly retired for a swim at the Perfect Swimming Hole down near the parking lot.
Now when I say Perfect, that's really not an exageration. There is a pebble beach on one side and a series of large, interesting rocks perfect for perching on the other of a deep (over my head at least) pool of crystal clear, cold mountain water. The only possible downsides were the presence of a medium-sized copperhead (who thankfully showed a lot of interest in being elsewhere) and the fact that the sun was quickly on the wane. Everyone splashed about (some requiring more help than others making that dry/wet transition :-) until properly chilled at which point we set out for the Front Porch and had the traditional pizza, beer and discussion of Pithy, Unlikely Scenarios.
Somewhere in there I was fortunate enough to lock my keys in the car. Chris (Richie, not to be confused with Mr Long) loned me her AAA card and in under an hour a friendly native in a large truck showed up, jimmied my car open with a fascinating array of metal devices and was on his way. I don't know if it is a reflection of Rural American Values or just my trustworthy face, but he didn't ask to see any AAA cards or even ask if this was really my car! West Virginia is a wonderful place despite the jokes that get told about it in more cosmopolitan centers. Perhaps I'll emmigrate...
Again there was the ritual exothermic reduction of firewood and endothermic reduction of beer and marshmallows. As usual, the crowd was larger and more talkative on the second night. Mark broke out his telescope/clay pigeon launcher and stars were observed under the admirably clear skies. Again people bivied and arose in the early morning.
Sunday there was to be a large group caving expedition to a number of local caves. But Cathy and I elected to join (or mooched off the climbing talents and equipment of) Merle Reinhart in an assualt on the South Summit. Prune, on the west face of the south peak was already occupied so we started at LeGourmet (5.4). Merle, being the only one qualified) lead while Cathy cleaned and I brought up the rear. It is an interestingly varied pitch with a couple of bulge moves being the only tough parts. I was pleased to arrive at the same rap station we had used on Prune in June. This time, however, I got to sit and admire the view a bit longer.
The second pitch up Front-C (5.6) was a short one involving some slightly inverted climbing up the end of a very large flake, which, given enough imagination, might be destined to tumble down at any moment. There was some congestion at the top and we waited while a pair rapped down past us. As we sat there was a cry of "ROCK!" from behind us followed by the usual sounds of thumping and bumping from above. We turned around to see, recently come to rest on a small ledge directly behind our heads, a helmet. I couldn't help thinking of the irony of some poor unhelmetted fool being knocked unconcious by a falling helmet. It must have happened somewhere.
From the top of Front-C there was a short class 4 scramble up to the base of the Critter Wall which Merle and I proceeded up. Cathy elected to try a shorter, harder class 5 route up a corner. From there Merle set the climb on the Critter Crack (solid 5.6), an unrelenting crack climb up the center of the Critter Wall. I followed, cleaning. The sun at this point had reached the western face and everything was starting to heat up.
Now crack climbing, as has been mentioned before, is not my forte and this climb pushed my envelope (business-sized). At many points I was supported by two deep hand jams and some valiant smearing--a strong enough position, but not one from which it is easy to progress. I steadfastly refused to look down knowing if I did I would freak way, way out. After a fall, a great deal of exertion-induced swearing and terror-induced sweat, I got to the great jugs at the top of the climb and was seated in style on what felt like the top of the world shaking like a leaf doing my best to sunburn my teeth. Cathy, grunting and sweating a bit herself but otherwise displaying conciderable ladylike grace and spiderlike technique, soon joined us on our little pinacle.
The South Peak of Seneca is similar to the North Peak in that it varies in width from a few feet to perhaps 20 and undulates up and down quite a lot. On both sides there are several hundred feet of air. Unroped (perhaps unwisely), we proceded to the actual summit where quite a crowd was developing. The register was signed, photos taken, and bees avoided. One objective down!
The retreat was hampered by quite a crowd at the aptly-named Traffic Jam rappel station. Phil Sidel and Brian Ottinger from Pittsburg joined us having ascended Greenwall. After waiting a little while see if there was any movement in front of us, we rapped down the Dirty Old Man face on the east side, a long 50 meter descent and hiked (painfully) over Broadway to our packs and a most welcome change of shoes. Back down to a triumphant reunion with the rest of the crew and an exultant dip in the Perfect Swimming Hole. Ah, another stunningly successful CCC!
Again, it was a great time. I conquered some personal demons involving friction and altitude and got to hang about with the usual mix of great people. Climbing has moved from a fun diversion to a serious hobby and is well on its way to being a full-blown obsession. Many thanks to Merle and Cathy for a great day spent together and especially to Mark/Indy for organizing/optimizing the whole gig. See you all next year!
And here is the report from CCC'99, where CCC stands for Climb, Climb, Climb...
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