Rockin’ in Moab

                                                                                                                By

                                                                                                            Phil Maranda

“What the hell am I doing up here?” I want to shout across the desert. The truth be known, it was my bright idea in the first place. A simple request I’d made on the phone two weeks earlier echoes in my mind: “I’d like to take a basic rock climbing course on my first day and then climb a tower the next.” Now I’m stuck under a ledge, 150 feet above the ground on a massive tower called Ancient Art, most of my knuckles white from the strain of hanging on, others bleeding from smashing my hands on the rock. Sweat pours into my eyes, my muscles burn, my nerves are shot, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to get around and over the protruding slab of red rock.
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At first blush the desert drew me in. Its towering pillars, chiselled canyon walls, and arid climate tantalized my senses as the old Toyota pick-up bumped and rocked along a winding dirt road up Kane Creek Canyon, only minutes from the town of Moab. It was there in the heart of Utah’s red-rock country that I would get my initial taste of free climbing on rock.
Pulling up to the base of a multi-hued, sandstone cliff face not yet touched by the early morning sun, my guide, Noah Bigwood, hopped out of the truck and instructed me to grab my gear. We then began our hike up to a rock climbing area aptly named Ice Cream Parlor for what I thought must have been the smooth blend of different hues of reds and oranges in the stone. Shortly after Bigwood and I scrambled around red boulders, sage bushes, and pastel green scrub brush and grasses in an ancient landscape so foreign to me that I might as well have been on the moon, we arrived at our destination.

As I eyeballed the polished-looking rock face I’d soon be hanging on for dear life, Bigwood unpacked the climbing gear and began his pre-climb instruction. First he mentioned the importance of trusting the equipment, and then he covered belaying, belay devices, knots, harnesses, locking carabineers, and his two rock climbing rules—basically all I’d need to know to get my feet off the ground.
“I have two main rules about rock climbing,” Bigwood said just before we put on our harnesses and grabbed our gear. “The first one is that the only reason we do this is because it’s fun. The second rule, and this relates directly back to the first, is we have to be safe. If we’re not being safe, it won’t be fun for very long.”

At the wall, it was time to put the theory into practice. Bigwood was climbing first (lead climbing), and it would be my job to belay him from the ground. After showing me how he threaded one end of the rope through his harness and how to tie a doubled up figure-eight knot, he tied another knot at the end of the rope just beyond the first. “This little knot can save your life,” he said. “I’ve had two friends fall because they didn’t tie this knot. If the main knot releases, this one will stop the rope from sliding right through your harness.”
Bigwood helped me to attach a belay device to my harness by threading the rope through the device and then locking down the carabineer, an oval-shaped affair with an opening gate on one side. We then checked and re-checked our rigs before moving up to the first climb, a 95-foot, ultra-thin crack in the wall. He motioned for me to stand in a
position where I could hold a fall if I had to and then showed me how to lock the rope to my hip if an accident did occur. Bigwood gave me the signal, and I shouted out the commands he had taught me. “You’re on belay,” I said. “Climbing!” he shouted back from two feet away. “Climb on,” I replied, and he was gone.

During his climb, my guide placed protection in the form of camming devices along the crack and called down the different climbing techniques he was using. Reaching the top, he placed the rope in two bolted metal loops and informed me he was coming down. Bigwood leaned back into the harness so his body was at a 45-degree angle to the wall, then walked backwards while I slowly let the rope slide through the belaying device.
The trick in the rock climbing game is to find an experienced instructor/guide who’s willing to spend a sufficient amount of quality time with a rookie. Beginners should become familiar with the equipment and safety practices in order to feel at ease in the vertical environment associated with climbing on rock. Bigwood believes that because we spend most of our lives walking on the ground and even though we do have a history with the primates of going up, it’s not always as instinctive as it should be to make the transition from walking to climbing.
Once Bigwood was back on terra firma, we switched roles. He removed the rope from his harness and attached the belaying device. Under his watchful eye and further instruction, I threaded the rope through my harness and then tied my own doubled up figure-eight knot with added safety knot at the end.
As I moved up to the wall, an ancient fear gripped my body like a vice and sent butterflies directly to my stomach. To stifle the apprehension, I took a few deep breaths
and got on with the climb. If I take too long to think about it, I might jam out right here! I thought to myself.
The first eight feet were surprisingly easy. The crack was wide, there were lots of handholds to grab onto, and foot placements were readily available. But when the rift narrowed, the climb changed dramatically. Suddenly I couldn’t find any handholds, and my feet began to slip down the slick surface of the rock. Bigwood noticed my predicament and shouted at me to keep my heels facing downward, allowing as much of the bottom surface of the shoes as possible to be in contact with the wall.

Next, Bigwood instructed me to kick my toes into the crack, again keeping my heels down, and trust in the extremely sticky, rubber soles of the rock-climbing shoes. Once I did that, I felt like an insect stuck to fly paper, and I found it much easier to climb. The wall instantly seemed to transform; the crack itself made for excellent handholds, and I was soon feeling like a pro.
By the time I reached the bolted metal loops that held my lifeline in place, my breathing, which had been short and frantic during my mishap on the wall, was back to normal. The butterflies in my stomach had miraculously vanished into thin air, and I could bask in the satisfaction of making the climb. Bigwood encouraged me to hang around on the rope awhile, and I did just that before he belayed me back to flat ground.
After a brief rest—mostly for my feet, which couldn’t get used to the cramped feeling of the shoes—it was time to attack the center face of Ice Cream Parlor, which was then drenched by the hot sun. The route had a plethora of handholds and foot placements and seemed like it would be much easier than the crack. As it turned out, it was, and before long, with Bigwood’s help, I had put the center face behind me and was looking forward to challenging what appeared to be the toughest climb of the day.
We moved up to the corner crack, and Bigwood mentioned that he wanted to teach me some of the rope and other skills that I’d need the following day. “On the tower our 200-foot rope won’t be long enough, so we’re going to tie two ropes together, especially when we repel from the top,” Bigwood said.
He grabbed two ropes, giving himself a foot of length with each one, and tied the ropes together using a square knot in the center and then adding two fisherman’s knots, one on either side of the main knot. “The idea behind the extra knots is for additional safety just like when we tied the ropes to our harnesses,” Bigwood explained. “The square knot alone is stronger than the rope itself.”
Climbing the 70-foot corner crack required techniques that weren’t necessary on the first two climbs. Right off, the crack was at the center of two converging walls, each with cracks of their own. The main rift was wide and deep enough to use a technique Bigwood called a hand jam. When he got a few feet above my head, he demonstrated the jam and explained that I needed to thrust my hand into the crack as far as it would go and then make a roof shape with my hand.

Next, my guide showed me how to place and remove camming devices. These valuable and perhaps the most sophisticated pieces of all the climbing gear are typically made up of four individual cams that are pushed into a crack in the rock. A trigger system on the other side of the device is released, and the cams open back up, securing into the crack. The trigger is also used to contract and release the cams when the need arises.
With the instruction finished for the time being, Bigwood made the ascent to the top, secured himself in, and shouted down, “You’re on belay!” During this climb he was belaying me from the top in the same manner we’d be using on the tower. After exchanging the appropriate verbal responses, I began scaling the wall.
The techniques I learned came in handy. I found myself negotiating the crack with relative ease, kicking the toes of my climbing shoes into the cracks on either side of the main rift, using the hand jams, and even stopping to remove the camming devices—another skill I’d need on the tower—before continuing upward.
At the top of the corner crack, Bigwood helped me set up for the final technique I’d learn that day—repelling. We would use the belay device in a similar fashion to belaying, only without assistance, and each of us would control our own descents. Bigwood went first, leaning back into his harness like it was a chair. He jumped backward, flew through the air, made contact with the wall, and then repeated the maneuver a couple times before reaching the ground.
When it was my turn, I leaned back over the edge of the cliff, allowing my body to sink into the harness, and then slowly walked backwards. Although my descent was jerky from a lack of control over how the rope slid through my hands, I did make it to the bottom without smacking any part of my body on the wall. The overall feeling of accomplishment for a day of climbing well done stayed with me long after we’d packed up and headed back to Moab for the evening.

The following morning we set out early for the Ancient Art tower, heading northeast into the desert, flanking the Colorado River. When we arrived at the parking area, we could see Ancient Art in the distance, rising up 550 feet from the desert floor. The
staggered tiers of its summit clearly displayed where the name was derived from. Before we even hopped out of the Toyota, my apprehension—which had been building since the night before—reached into the overload range, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t think I’m ready for this, I thought to myself as we began our hike towards the tower.
Looking up to the top of Ancient Art from its base didn’t ease my nerves any. The tower appeared big enough from the parking area, but from where I was standing, it looked absolutely massive. Bigwood must have noticed my fear because he had us climbing within minutes.
The first 50 feet of the tower was similar to the climbing I’d done the previous day, but then it changed—the handholds and foot placements seemed to disappear like a mirage in the desert, and the route became extremely difficult. Shortly after that, it became impossible for me. Luckily Bigwood had brought étriers (climbing ladders) and had set one in place during his ascent exactly where my limited skills would allow me to continue no further.
Directly above me Bigwood called down and instructed me to place my feet into the rungs of the ladder and push upward. Despite hitting my knuckles on the wall a few times, the ladder, along with the little notches that kept the section of rock from being completely smooth, allowed me to finally scramble to the ledge where Bigwood waited.
The next section we’d climb would force Bigwood and me to be separated and out of each other’s sight for a long period of time. With my apprehension at peak levels, I tried to listen to my guide’s final instruction and then watched him climb until he disappeared around an overhanging ledge 75 feet above my location.
Once Bigwood was secured in a lofty position150 feet above me, I heard him call down that I was on belay. “Climbing!” I shouted back and began my ascent. At first the climb was going okay; I used the techniques from the day before—hand jams, kicking my shoes into cracks, trying to control my breathing, looking around for handholds and foot placements, and relaxing when things got tough.
Further along l found that despite all of Bigwood’s excellent instruction and encouragement, the rock was beating me. My body ached, my fear built with each inch of progress, and my hands and feet were slipping. Finally I managed to scratch my way up to the overhanging ledge Bigwood had made short work of during his climb. Looking around I couldn’t see anywhere to place my hands or feet. The panic elevated to a level that I could no longer bear. I felt completely encased in rock.
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As far as I can tell, there is absolutely no way for me to get around and on top of the ledge. Defeated, I shout up at Bigwood, “I’ve got to go down!” He wants to know if I’m sure, and I shout back that I am. Bigwood then lowers me to where I can later safely repel and says that he will be down as soon as the other climbers who are on the tower today make their own repels.
After what seems like forever, the two climbers repel past me, and Bigwood arrives at my position. I’m finally going to be able to make my descent. The repel happens quickly as I lie back in the harness and allow myself to float back to the safety of the desert floor. I’m the last one off the tower, but that doesn’t matter to me, because in my case, repelling is a much more enjoyable experience than climbing and being back on the ground feels even better.
On the way back to the truck, Bigwood mentions that even he has to abandon climbs from time to time because he has reached his limit. “That’s how you improve at
rock climbing,” he says. “You keep doing climbs that are slightly above your level until you can overcome them.”
By the time we get back to Moab, my bruised ego has slightly mended. Leaving Utah in the distance the next morning, I vow that when I get home, I’ll attempt climbing on the cliffs there….
On the sheer, vertical rock overlooking the valley I call home, I finally manage to climb to the top of a fairly difficult route sans the overhanging ledges.

End
Photography: Phil Maranda
Tracey and I both got the chance to make images during the rock climbing assignment which was a special treat for we don’t get the chance to work together on big assignments very often—I usually have to go those alone. Having two photographers doing the shooting also really helped me out. It’s just one less thing to think about when you’re convinced that the Reaper is looking over your shoulder, laughing manically over the foolishness of your actions.
Besides the blazing sun, red dust, dry heat, and vertical environment associated with climbing in the Moab area, the photography part of our experience came off without a hitch. Improvisation was the key to shooting in the desert: when we arrived at the first wall which happened to be lying in shadow on a bright sunny day, we used a Tiffen 812 warming filter to compensate; then as the sun broke over the ridge, we slapped a polarizer on the lens to try and tone down the glare a little and bring out the colors. When we discovered that I’d left the tripod mounting plate for our Nikkor 80-400mm VR lens 1500 miles away, we used the tripod collar on its own. Luckily we had a Kaiser ball head on our Gitzo carbon-fiber tripod that allowed us to secure the lens by literally clamping the tripod collar to the ball head where the mounting plate usually goes. It worked, but it isn’t advisable.
Tracey Lalonde
For the distant shots of Ancient Art tower and the climbers, I found a really great vantage point down in the desert on a giant rock not too far from the base of the tower. There, I set up the Gitzo carbon-fibre tripod and the Nikon F100 with Nikkor 80-400mm VR lens. As Phil and Noah came into view, about a third of the way up, I was able to capture their climb at various stages up the tower and also give a sense of environment, at times including the entire tower in the shot. I could then show the immense size of Ancient Art in relation to the climbers. This, I feel, allows viewers to experience the scene from my vantage point but also have an idea how the climbers themselves must have felt during the climb.
Because the climbing took place early in the day, I had some beautiful morning light to work with. As it was spring, I didn’t have much of a problem with strong sunlight (which I kept my back to) once the sun was higher in the sky, but I did use a polarizer.
I also had an incredible spot with which to witness the event, and I could use the telephoto to keep track of where Phil and Noah were climbing—it brought me close up to them, giving me a sense of being right there each step of the way (and it had me thanking God I wasn’t actually doing the climbing!).