2007 September

Ann’s parents have braved snowstorms and the continental divide with their new 19-foot trailer to meet us here in Lander, Wyoming at the Sleeping Bear RV Park. It happens to be our first time testing our camper with full hookups, so we have a little RV test fest going. Our traveling pets, Sandy and T Rex, also make each other’s acquaintance. We review our respective driving routes and exchange adventure stories. The weather lulls us into a vacation pace with balmy temperatures and light breezes. Ann and I walk through downtown Lander, which is charming even with most of the shops closed on a Sunday. Bob and Carol treat us to dinner in their spacious dining room for a fine finish to the day.

Shortly after turning west at Muddy Gap we stop to take a look at the wonderfully remote Sweetwater Rocks from the rest area by Cranner Rock. The 200-meter face of Split Rock beckons to climbers, but we’re headed to Lander to meet Ann’s parents today. We do have time to explore some of the BLM roads and scope out camping spots. We hope to return for more in-depth forays into this distant garden of granite.

Intellectually, I know that rainfall doesn’t drain in the Great Basin, the one spot where the continental divide follows two separate routes around the lip of a giant bowl of dirt. I know that we’re headed for a junction called Muddy Gap, but in my head it’s just a name. What I’m concerned with is finding a good spot to pull off the road and spend the night, which is tricky in the dark. We know that most of the land north of Rawlins, Wyoming is BLM land that we can camp on. So when I spot a dirt road heading west from the highway, I pull off. Ann hops out to open a cattle gate. A polite sign asks us to please close it again, which we do. I have a hard time getting started again because it’s a little muddy on this side, but we put the truck in four wheel drive and have no more problems. We find a nice level spot, hop in the back, and have a nightcap. It’s a quiet, star-spangled Wyoming night. Quite pleasant until Ann wonders out loud, “Will we be able to get out of here if it rains?” We sit in an uncomfortable silence. It’s all clear out. It won’t rain. We go to bed.

The rain comes at 11:30 pm. Ann sits up in bed. We wait a second for it to stop. It falls a little harder.

“We have to get up,” Ann says, “before it gets too bad.” Groggily, we pull on clothes. Outside, the mud is already pretty bad. The clock is ticking, and my adrenaline kicks in. I slip around in the goop just getting into the truck, while Ann puts on a rain jacket and goes out to open the gate. I forget that we have a plastic tub behind the truck until I start backing up and hear it crack. In a near frenzy I jump out, grab it, and throw it behind the driver’s seat. Just then Ann comes back. “You should go open the gate!” I tell her. She looks completely bewildered, then admits in a lost tone, “But I don’t which way it is.” I point her in the right direction, shove the truck in gear, and head into the sagebrush where the mud is not as deep as the road. I have to cross the road at one point, and nearly bog down in it. Once I’m on firmer soil again I point the headlights at the gate, and see that Ann has found it and got it open. There’s a pool in front of it already. I give the truck a quick pat of encouragement, then get as much speed as I can up. The side-to-side slippage is disconcerting, but my momentum carries me through the pool and the gate, and finally up onto the pavement by the highway. We decide there is enough hard surface to here to park safely for the rest of the night. Our nerves are a little jangled, but we climb into the camper again. The rain just gets heavier. Now that we’re safe, it eventually lulls us back to sleep.

In the morning we awake to an icy wind blowing over a small lake where our “road” was. The surrounding hills are covered in a light snow. I feel a little more bonded to our camper and truck - this was their first really tough situation, and they saw us through it. We’re thankful to be able to pull out on firm highway, and we feel a little more respect for the names that appear on the map in this gritty country. A settler on the Oregon trail, headed for Muddy Gap, would sense some hard experience behind that name, and in the future I would do well to put a little more such imagination into my own map reading.

We’re a bit slow in the morning, but happily able to perambulate, so we pack up and descend the canyon a few miles to East of Eden 5.9, a lovely dihedral rising up next to the road in the Narrows. The crux comes early on this 100-foot route, at a blocky roof. Just after I pull over it, my foot pops off. This isn’t Vedauwoo friction! Luckily I have a solid little nut at the edge of the roof, Ann is right there for me, and I don’t go far. I repeat the move more carefully, then savor ninety more feet of fairly sustained 5.8 liebacks, stemming, and hand jams on perfect rock. Definitely the best trad route I’ve done in the canyon. Come to think of it, it’s the only one!

Some of Ann’s coworkers treat us to a free site at mountain park campground in the Poudre Canyon. We didn’t realize how big this place is. There are multiple loops and dozens of sites, showers, hookups, the whole bit. We are given some strong beverages as we tour around admiring our hosts’ rigs. We go to bed hoping we’re able to climb in the morning…

We have errands to do today, but we decide there is time for a quick trip to North Table Mountain for some sport climbing.

At my suggestion, Ann starts up Deck Chairs on the Titanic 5.9+ on lead. The opening moves of this climb are pumpy, which make the remaining crimpy face harder. Ann has given up on the start on toprope before, but today she hangdogs her way up to the top. Go Ann!

I take the easy start to Brown Cloud Arete 5.10b, but manage to finish it up without falling. There is some high-steppin’ goodness on this leaning arete.

Ann leads the funky Windy Days 5.8. Potential groundfall on easy terrain gets her nervous, and she doesn’t enjoy it too much. It is kind of an odd duck. The direct start is pretty fun on toprope.

That’s it, time to buy RV stuff for our road trip next week…

Too much going on right now for a full review, unfortunately. It’s almost sufficient to say that Olga is a force of nature, and we’re powerless to resist her. We’ll be seeing her again in Fort Collins on Oct. 6!

The night’s program:

• Glinka Overture to Russlan and Ludmilla
• Rachmaninoff Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini
• Tchaikovsky Symphony No. 5

Dad (and Jezze) suggest an exploration of a small, intriguing old mining trail that Dad spotted once on his way up to Georgia pass on the continental divide. The drive itself is a treat, taking us through crowds of blazing yellow aspen (and crowds of people too) on Kenosha Pass. The hike begins close to tree line where the foliage is full of rich colors also, but includes no aspen. The air is full of the smell of earth, drying leaves, and approaching snow. Some tricksy cairns take us off the trail, but we regain it and make our way to a lovely little lake in a cirque beneath Mount Guyot. This area has a very seldom-visited feel to it. After lunch we top the ridge to the north, then descend a long rock field. Once we hit the trees again, Ann finds some unexpected mushrooms growing around fallen logs. It’s a rewarding outing for a day with limited hiking time.

This is the band I dreamed of creating in my musical years.

They’re odd, irreverent, and fearless of parodying anything taboo from sex to satanism. On top of that they’re great musicians with a solid foundation of klezmer and polka, and anything they can dream up on top of that.

I discovered that they were playing at the Tour De Fat in town on Saturday. Since we had another concert that night, I checked their schedule and found they were playing at The Oriental Theatre in Denver Friday night. I love the place, small, open, with bars and tables. And the show was well worth the trouble. Come to the circus!

Ann and I begin what we imagine will probably be our last day at Vedauwoo for the season in lower Blair, where Ann leads “Awakening to Fat Mosquitoes 5.7″, a short, stout-looking offwidth flake to double-hand crack. Ann plugs in all our biggest gear, belaying me at the top with our lone big bro. This climb is really more face climbing with mostly-optional wide crack moves, but worth doing. Ann’s true objective, though, is to lead the first pitch of Le Petit Arbre 5.6. Though the rating is lower, this is really a harder climb than Fat Mosquitoes because it demands solid hand and foot jams for a good thirty feet. We arrive at the steep little hand crack under darkening skies, with a rope already dangling off of it but no one around. Ann decides to move the rope aside and give it a go. The continuous nature of the lower half has her plugging in gear every few feet, but she sticks with it and pulls through the crux with a couple of pieces left to get her to the anchors. She’s justifiably thrilled with her victory. As I prepare to follow, the dark skies begin to grumble. The intensity increases to loud thundering as I climb. As soon as I reach the anchors a fierce wind howls up from behind me and instantly soaks my backside with cold sleet. This continues until I start down, which seems to appease the anger of the storm cloud. The rain stops completely when I reach the ground, but all of our gear and all the rocks are completely soaked, so we bid the crag farewell with no hard feelings. Vedauwoo is just that way, and we can’t help but love it.