Despite the pouring rain, I was determined to climb this 400-foot-tall rock cliff in Squamish, British Columbia. Rich wasn’t so sure—after all, who really wants to climb slippery rock? But time was short, as my flight back east departed in two days. We had already driven an hour and hiked 20 minutes to reach the base of Star Chek, considered one of the area’s best climbs. We stood below a tree canopy staring at the downpour.
“If it doesn’t stop raining in 10 minutes, let’s leave,” Rich said.
Exactly 10 minutes later, the rain stopped.
“It’s a sign!” I said.
Star Chek
We hiked across a scree slope to the base of the cliff by the roaring Cheakamus River. Water dripped down the rocks. I touched them and immediately my hand was wet.
“It’s not so bad,” I shrugged.
“This is right at the edge of my comfort level,” Rich said. “But if it stays sunny for the next 10 minutes, then I’ll climb.”
Ten minutes later, I was tied into the rope and leading the first 5.8 pitch of the 400-foot-long sport route. Despite the water, the handholds and feet were big enough to feel secure.
Midway up the second 5.7 pitch, miraculously, the hot sun had nearly dried the rock. The only water around was raging several hundred feet below our feet.
“The rock is bone dry, this is amazing,” I said.
“It would have been so annoying if we’d left just before the sun was coming out,” Rich said.
The route ended with a short 5.9-rated slab.
We topped out of Star Chek and walked back to the car under a blue sky. With the weather taking a major turn for the better, we raced back toward Squamish for another route.
Exasperator
When I told Connecticut friend (and UCONN pharmacy professor) David Grant that I was going to Squamish, he had one word for me: “Exasperator!” It was the name of a two-pitch crack climb on The Chief, a 2,200-foot-high granite dome looming over Squamish. Of the thousands of climbing routes in the area, Exasperator was rated in the top 10.
Its first pitch was rated 5.10a. Its second was 5.10c, which is my upper limit for leading on trad gear (meaning that I had to create protection by sticking nuts and camelots into the crack as I ascended). David said he had bailed on the second pitch, which required “small fingers and small gear.” The fact that he retreated made me want to climb it all the more. Challenge accepted, I thought.
Rich and I hiked through 15 minutes of forest to the base of The Chief, where two women were about to climb Exasperator.
“Do you want to hop in front of us while we take a break?” one of them asked me.
“I’ll wait,” I said. “I traveled all the way across the country to climb this route, so I can wait a little longer.”
“I thought you traveled across the country for my wedding,” Rich said.
“Oh yeah,” I said, “that too.”
We sat back and watched as one of the women calmly and coolly linked both pitches into one 150-foot-long pitch without falling once or ever looking strained. If she could make it look so easy, then I thought it could be that hard.
My turn. I racked up and Rich put me on belay. Within 15 feet, my legs were shaking. I fell. Then I fell again. I started grunting loudly in exasperation. Finally I was at the top of the first pitch and a two-bolt anchor. Then came the hard section. I had run out of small camelots, so I lowered down to collect all my gear, then climbed back up on top-rope with a full rack for tackling pitch two.
The crack narrowed to the width of a single finger. At one point I was hanging by a knuckle, my feet smearing insecurely against smooth, vertical rock. The skin on my fingers scraped open. Soon I was leaving a trail of red blood up the entire crack.
Just as I thought I was getting the gist of climbing a thin finger crack, I took a precarious fall onto a badly placed piece of gear. My micro-cam snapped out of the crack, sending me down about 20 feet before one of my previous cams arrested my fall.
“Whew!” I yelled, resting my head against the hot rock. “I am so pumped out!”
Eventually, I made it to the top. I was soooo exasperated. For days I couldn’t stop thinking about Exasperator, it was so fun.
Lighthouse Park
Two days later, Jenna and I flew out of Vancouver, but in the hours before our flight we snuck in a few final climbs. We drove to Lighthouse Park, a rainforested area of West Vancouver with a cliff perched above the Straight of Georgia.
