Naked Man

I knew I was responsible for this guy in some way the second I saw him in all his nakeness.

He didn't act suicidal when I encountered him but I knew he could be -- he was raving like he had multiple personalities, in two distinct voices, and he didn't seem happy. Obviously, someone like that, out on Echo Canyon trail, might want to hurt himself. The other feeling I got was that I should be a citizen policeman and stop this man solely based on the fact that he was naked. Little kids and easily offended people would see him. No question, this was illegal.

But I knew as I watched him (and he watched me, for a time), that he was in no mood to be easily stopped. He was well-muscled and I felt sure he would fight me if I used physical force to stop him, or even if I positioned myself directly in front of him, blocking his way. In retrospect, of course, I have no idea what he would have done.

As mentioned in the Jackalope post, I passed him, then came back down to him. I can't stress enough how I felt the weight of my compressed schedule.

When I was thinking about stopping the guy upon my first encounter, there were no big dudes around. An Asian couple and their 6-year-old kid, none of whom were speaking English. Three Hispanic teenagers. A middle-aged couple. Some single male or female hikers who stayed in the zone even as they expressed shock at seeing Naked Guy. Those are the sort of people I remember being in my general vicinity at the time. Before I could have convinced people to help tackle the guy, I would have first had to get their attention and convince them why we should do it.

The next time, the "hero" woman was there and it seemed like a couple of other people were sticking with the guy. In other words, I felt comfortable that my responsibility had been watered down enough to let me off the hook. The woman, pretty sure she is the same Ewelina from the ABC-15 newscast, was in full rescue mode. The naked man asked for water, and when I pulled out my bottle of Dasani, she insisted on taking it to give to him, even though I was standing right next to him. She must have convinced herself that she was fully responsible for him. Obviously, she's not as selfish, callous and apathetic as I am.

But to give myself some credit, I did try to hang with guy a little bit. I gave him water. I tried to talk to him. I called 911 and talked to the police. But it's clear enough what I should have done: I should have blown off the fair and stuck with the guy to the bitter end. I should have been there at the top -- at the very, very least, to capture the tackling on video.

Not sure if I would have joined in on the tackling. If a couple of burly guys were trying to restrain him, I suppose I could have helped one way or another with that. But only with those burly guys. Otherwise, it would definitely have been too risky to try to restrain him myself, (or with one or two non-toughs). He could have gone crazy on me -- which wouldn't have been a big stretch in his condition.

It feels weird not to have this man's name, and to know nothing more about him than he's uncommunicative and naked. He's probably a nice guy, and I got the feeling he was familiar with the trail. I'm sure he passed a few people, even in his slow-mo way. His physique suggests he might even be a rock climber or uber-hiker.

I've put in for the police report, intending to write a follow-up article for NT. Possibly, I may be able to find and interview the man. Cops have already told me that he's 22, had had a fight with his parents on Saturday morning that may have triggered the incident, and that there was no evidence yet he'd been on drugs.

I'm glad I got involved as much as I did, (notwithstanding my pangs over what I could or should have done). I did more than most, though less than Ewelina.

It was yet another Camelback adventure, for sure.

Pedrick's Chimney

Climbed Pedrick's Chimney last weekend.

It's named after Ben Pedrick, who first climbed it in 1947. Gary Driggs' 2008 book on the history of Camelback has this picture of Pedrick and another early pioneer of local climbing, Ralph Pateman. In this screen shot from the Google Books version of the Driggs book, there appears to be a mistake. Pedrick's Chimney, of course, is not on Bobby's Rock, but on Gargoyle Wall, just down the lane a bit from Hart Route. There's a Pedrick's Split, 5.3, on Bobby's Rock, but I've never bothered to climb it because it's so short. Someday I should do that one, though, and a Pateman first ascent, the 5.7 Pateman's Cave.





Here's the description of the Pedrick's route on Google Boooks. And here's the one from Rock Climbing Arizona.





Both of these sources, like the venerable Phoenix Rock by Jim Waugh, (cover of this awesome book, which supposedly is selling for $49.99 on Amazon, at left), rate Pedrick's Chimney at 5.1, and it is, by straight-up climbing standards. However, note that it's got a "consensus" rating of 5.2 on Mountain Project. I can see why. In the rock gym, it would be a 5.7, partially just due to its length. But for the leader, which I was last weekend, the climb becomes something more than a mere walk-up.

I hadn't intended on climbing anything on lead -- my pack was rigged for free-soloing. I'd intended to climb the 5.1 I did in 2008, or, more likely, the Headwall, then rappel down Pedrick's (after the 5.1 into August Canyon) or Rappel Gully (if I'd done the Headwall). Instead, my buddy Brian decided to join me, and I wanted him to do something that got us into the stratosphere, since he's done mostly short outdoor climbs. That's an important reason I love climbing at Camelback so much -- the walls there are nothing to sneer at, with some routes going well over 300 feet.








Anyhoo, because doing that route hadn't been on the agenda when I'd thrown a few things in my approach pack that morning, I didn't have enough quick-draws to properly lead the route. That didn't stop me, mind you, but it did make the lead feel a lot more like an adventure. Yeah, I know what you're thinking -- isn't that the whole theme of this blog? Well, sure -- but I'd have liked to have had two extra draws and maybe a cam or two to really sew it up. As it was, I used up the first quick draw to give myself a modicum of protection on the lower part of the 80-foot climb, so when I got to the overhang in the crack, I only had one left.





The bolt that quick-draw went into is a good 35 feet or so above the last one, so if it pulled out, there'd be a strong possibility of decking out. At best, it would be a horrific fall with guaranteed extreme injury -- again, that's if the bolt pulled. It's a fairly new, still shiny bolt no doubt left by the Arizona Mountaineering Club. Maybe in the 2000s, probably in the '90s. It probably wouldn't pull out. But I led Pedrick's as if it would have. I don't really like trusting my life to one bolt in Camelback rock. And there's a way to climb in the crack by wriggling in it like a caterpillar. Not pretty, but it's a no-fall method, as far as I'm concerned, meaning that at no point would a slip of any one hold result in a fall. I knew Pedrick's could be climbed like that because I free-soloed it a few years ago.

I've also climbed Pedrick's two or three times on lead, with the requisite number of quick draws, and found it quite easy and enjoyable. It's best to stay out of the crack near the top, it should go without saying, and stem on the outside. The rock quality here is pretty good, with all -- strike that -- most of the loose stuff in the main portion of the climb having been washed out or pulled off by climbers over time.

This is an incredibly enjoyable climb for a moderate leader like myself because it's tall, but never scary. Just a fun, vertical walk in the park. Being in August Canyon is another of its rewards -- I've written of the joys of that hideaway before.

The route is only a one-star, I'd say. But as always, that's pretty good for being in the middle of town. It would be a great confidence builder for a beginning leader. Brian, who had a few outdoor climbs under his belt before getting on this one, had a great time.

Most experienced Camelback climbers know Pedrick's as the way down, not necessarily a way up. It's the standard descent for Hart Route, Misgivings and other Gargoyle climbs. My friend Mike and I, back in the day, tried to make our way over to Pedrick's once after climbing Suicide Direct. Our path through the maze of August Canyon was blocked by bees. A galaxy of them. This was before killer bees were widespread in the Valley, but we beat a retreat and decided to rap the route we'd climbed. That turned out to nearly be a hell of a mistake. With only one one rope, we had a dreadful moment while clipped into slings on the bolted ledge mid-way up the route's 2nd pitch, when we pulled on the rope to get it down and it got stuck. Somehow -- perhaps untangled by the sometimes helpful, sometimes gremlin-like "rock gods," as we cheekily call the mountains' unseen forces.

Roadrunner Greets Crowds as Fall Hiking Season Finally Arrives

Camelback was an anthill today, as expected. That's fine with me. The weather has finally turned and it's great to see so many people out enjoying the day.

A couple of dudes pointed out a roadrunner on the way down, not too far from the top. First one I've seen up there. It had a small lizard, maybe a grasshopper, in its mouth.

Circle of life, man.

Bike and Climb

In the interest of ramping up the adventure and exercise quotient, a few weeks ago I committed to one of my favorite tortures -- a bike and climb. I live 10 miles from the mountain, so it's a decent work-out.



The Papago hills seem to be made out of the pink substance as Camelback, and I think they are conglomerate like the Head area, which has most of Camelback's climbing routes. The vertical terrain at Papago is much more crumbly, though.

When biking in this area, I always try to make it up Galvin Parkway and over the hills on McDowell. The Valley's mostly flat as a bicycling town, of course.



Even though this was in September, it was still darned hot. Hate to keep returning to this theme, but not long after I'd locked up the bike and begun hiking, I saw a guy carrying a dog on his back. About a 35-40 pounder, kind of a cute mongrel with a black snout. It was panting heavily.

"Is he okay?" I asked as they went by.

"He's just tired." Said the guy.



Almost as annoying as people who push their pets to the limit -- people who leave dog's crap in a little bag on the sides of trails. Do these people honestly think there's an official, and free, poop pick-up service? It's an outrage to see these reminders of mankind's haughtiness.

Not that I bother to pick them up. Someone else will do it.

Below, coming back on McDonald, looking south. Unless you're a CEO or use McDonald to get from south Scottsdale to central Phoenix, this isn't your typical view of the mountain.




All in all, a fun few hours. Except for nearly passing out from heat exhaustion on the way back. I felt incredibly drained. The humidity was high and the temp about 102, with strong sunlight since I began this one at about 11. After a long summer of hot hikes, this late-summer bike-and-hike tested my internal temperature controls.

Climbahiking

Hiking at Camelback is an adventure every time. One doesn’t hike Camelback as much as climb it. The rock-steps on Echo Canyon trail are of varying height and shape, and sometimes loose. The trail includes slick-rock and gravel and high-steps and steep drop-offs and shortcuts and tree-grabs and semi-vertical faces and boulder fields and railroad ties that are fun to bound down and handrails (I have personal rules about when they can be used). Cholla’s not bad, either, with its scrambly top. Both trails have some of what I would consider Class Three terrain.

I notice sometimes that the technique I'm using when I go down Camelback is the same monkey-careful gait that I employ on more-serious mountain hikes. It’s hard to describe, and it doesn’t look all that different from mere hiking down a steep slope, but it is different. It’s more like climbing down with my feet. I’m more centered in my gravity, more balanced in the arms, more ready in case I slip than when hiking down an easier trail.

I'm not one to usually say "I'm going to climb Camelback today" when I mean I'm going to hike to the top. For me, climbing at Camelback means rock-climbing. But to hike Camelback is, in many pleasurable ways, to climb it.

Yosemites in Our Backyard

This guy at the summit recently told me he was going to Yosemite in a few days and we chatted for a moment about the waterfall deaths. That was in mid-July. Since then, the total number of fatalities has increased to 14 this summer, with a woman plummeting 600 feet after slipping on the cable route. That's the park service number. Another person, a teen, slipped on Mist Trail and suffered a fatal injury, but he didn't make the official tally because he died at a hospital outside the park.

I’ve ascended the cables twice and descended three times, (once following my ascent of the Snake Dike route). Those cables can get crazy-slippery. Each time I made some use of the gloves that pile up on the top and bottom of the cable route, and each time realized that the gloves may help the hands in terms of endurance on the thick twists of metal and soak up some sweat, they aren’t all that grippier. In ’91, my friend Kent and I descended the Dike in a thunderstorm. We topped out on Half Dome in a white-out. It hailed, then poured. Most of the hikers caught at the top were under-prepared, a few in nothing but shorts and a T-shirt. What the heck, it was July. Kent and I wore Gore-tex rainjackets (and our backpacks with all the climbing gear, including an extra rope we hadn’t needed), and would have been fine except for one of the hikers ahead of us was not only freezing-cold, but near-frozen in terror. A man, perhaps he was with her, had to resort to moving her hands down the cable for her – for a few tense moments, she could not do it on her own. We and others trying to get down the 400-foot cable-and-wood-slat ladder grumbled in frustration. The longer we lingered, it seemed, the greater the chance of losing concentration or getting struck by lightning. I had to remove the gloves at one point, worried that their surface had grown too slick. I’ll never forget the feel of that wet cable as I gripped it, hard, that sense that I wasn't grasping it hard enough and applying more power to my hands. It took serious effort, and my fingers were stiff with the cold. All the while, I was more than aware of the steep grade and how we were still very high up, above the tips of the tallest redwoods near the base of the cable route.

Spooky. But overall, a fantastic time.

The reaction of the Yosemite park rangers to the record number of fatalities this year is just what I prefer to hear from local officials – and so far, thankfully, have been hearing – every time someone gets hurt or killed at Camelback and other mountain parks. Their message: Risk, yes -- restrictions, no.

I find that refreshing.

Despite tragic deaths like that of Clint McHale’s, an even greater tragedy would be to try to clamp down on adventuring in wild places. Camelback is one of those wild places. It’s in the middle of the 5th largest city in the United States, but that fact means absolutely nothing when you’re leading, soloing or free-soloing a climbing route there. I’ve had adventures at Camelback that rival those I’ve had in Yosemite, and more of them, since it’s only 10 miles from my home. Some of these adventures were had when rock-climbing was new to me and my friends and I practiced a form of it that focused, in an amateurish and unathletic way, on the sheer thrill, exploration and independence from any authority. When winding through one of the maze-like slots of August Canyon, battling thorny Palo Verdes, mesquite and various cacti, searching for the rap-down on Pedrick’s Chimney after having just ascended a multi-pitch route like Suicide Direct -- I’ve felt downright astronautic. As in, I’m walking on the moon. Mind, body and soul are brought together by wilderness, risk and achievement.




Camelback is one of our local Yosemites. So are the Supes. A few words about the Superstition Mountains: If they weren't so darn far away from the central Valley, I'd love to live in the shadows of the western cliffs of the Superstition Mountains, the little community over by the Mining Camp restaurant. Older homes, lots of variation, zoning free-for-all on county land, some properties requiring water to be trucked in. A somewhat weird place, just east of Apache Junction. But the ability to walk out of my home and into the Supes, a federal wilderness area... Wow. I mean, this is a place where I've seen whole herds of javelina. The trails are tough and rewarding, and going back just a few miles leaves 99 percent of the people behind. The walls there are humbling because even when you're really high up, they go even higher. Unfortunately, the rock quality isn't Yosemite-like: Instead of miracle-granite, you get so-so volcanic. Some spots are solid, others crumbly. Many of the biggest walls on the western flanks of the Supes contain unclimbable coffee-cake-like rock. Whenever I hike up Siphon Draw Gully trail, I stare up in awe at the Spiderwalk wall, that behemoth, conical mass of beige stone the size of a 50-story building that I and a friend climbed one day long ago. The stunning view from the saddle of Weaver's Needle at the end of Peralta Trail is also Yosemite-esque in its grandeur. The preserve is so big and rugged that two years ago, a guy looking for gold disappeared in there without a trace, and last year, the same thing happened to three other guys.

No question: Yosemite’s beauty and climate far surpasses Camelback’s or the Superstitions. But for outdoor adventure, it sure is great to have a couple of little Yosemites in our backyard.

Camelback Mountain Parking Isn't Always So Bad

To get a great spot, you just have to know when to go.