Pseudo-Sidetracked: My Eldorado Climbing Adventure

By Kris L. Norbraten, Boulder, CO

“We’ll just run up this real quick it’s only a 5.4,” was what came from the mouth of my more-than-competent climbing partner, friend and lover as we flaked out the rope and racked up at the base of Pseudo-Sidetrack on the South Buttress of the Redgarden Wall in Eldorado Canyon.

It was 4:45 in the afternoon on a perfect Colorado day: stunning blue, crisp but warm-ish, no clouds. The cottonwoods glistened bright yellow and the creek ran low and loud. It was the edge of fall. As others were dragging themselves back into the climbing gym we were getting in our final days on real rock.

Pitch one of our route was a black ramp that consumed the entire 60 meters of rope. It wound around the south side of the wall, took my partner out of my sight and was surprisingly exposed. When it was my turn to start I made the last minute decision to throw on my wind shell and strap on the pack that was almost left because, Ug, it’s just so heavy

Below the top of pitch one I noted a bolt and bail biner. This is a carabiner clipped to an anchor in the rock that is considered expendable. It is worth leaving for the sake of bailing off of a route. I wondered to myself, Now why would someone want to bail off such a fun route ? Perhaps it was harder than suspected. Perhaps illness. Perhaps boredom or diarrhea or nerves. Or, something I did not consider at the time, perhaps it just got dark.

We kept climbing. At the top of pitch two we reached a fat pine on a small dirt platform. This was about 250 feet up from where we began. And guess what? Dusk had quietly rolled in. It was true, summer had turned to fall and 6:30 did not look like it used to. Where it was once bright and cheery, it was now dim and almost eerie. My partner and I stared at each other in resolute determination at the encroaching darkness. Onward and upward, for there were no bail biners, no rappel rings and no sketchy descent trails. It was just us and the rock and our rope and, thank god, the one small headlamp in the pack I happened to bring along. As my partner was the one leading, he put on the light and placed gear. We said nothing about the darkness eating up the canyon. There was only one thing to do: climb. Climb more carefully than we had ever climbed before.

As I neared the top of pitch three, we were in total darkness. I saw a minuscule light on the road far below and heard an even more minuscule voice yelping, Are you Ohhhh-Kaaay?! And then again. It occurred to me, so I said to my partner, Dude, I think he’s talking to us. We had to reply that, yes, we were okay.

Slabs from where we would descend. In daylight this is simple. Really. But our situation was strained at best. The leader had the light. The second had, well, the dark. There was also the trouble of route-finding. In trad (or traditional style) climbing it is the job of the leader to establish the route which is laid out in a book or on a map. Nothing exists on the rock to mark it. Darkness challenges one’s ability to route-find. What would have typically been one long, straight-forward traverse to a frequently used descent route, took us three harried traverses with bouts of sketchy downclimbing, frequent rope-stacking and lots of communication.

At the top of our descent route another decision was made. With one light between us and having left the night-vision goggles at home, I was to lead down the East Slabs. This meant taking both the light and the rack (which seemed to weigh twice as much as my own) in order to downclimb, placing gear along the way. In the light we would have gone sans rope, together. In the dark this would be a death wish.

I fought off the desire to break down and cry. This was no time to be the delicate flower version of myself. I had the suck it up talk in my head and started into the abyss, leaving my partner to belay in blackness. I plugged in cams wherever cracks would take them, allowed my shoes to stick on the slab and shined my light into the cavernous void below every few minutes to see if anything materialized. Finally, after climbing down and right for almost an entire rope-length I came to a tiny platform and a smaller-than-desired Douglas Fir. I built an anchor and belayed my partner into the great black nothing.

Our meeting at the fir was shaky at best. Our descent method wasn’t in the safe category of climbing techniques. A fall from my partner would have been a big fat mess. All the same, we repeated the descent, this time almost finding ourselves cliffed out above a vertical face. I worked my way further right to avoid this and in order to weasel my way down to relative safety.

Our slow, deliberate movement paid off because we finally worked our way over to a wide, flat area with a giant, welcoming pine. Off of this pine was the longest, smoothest, happiest, most beautiful rappel of my climbing career. I loved every inch of it, for it delivered me to safe, solid ground. We pulled the rope, kissed it, coiled it and started the hike out.

As the trail at the base of the Wind Tower spat us out on the bridge over Eldorado Creek I asked casually, Hey, so what time do you think it is ? His guess was 9:30, mine 10. When we climbed into the Jeep the clock read 11:49. Surely not. Our phones read the same. Seven hours later we were safe again, not to be added to the list of Mountain Project accidents the following day.

My partner and I, at first assessment, said that we were off-route on that early October evening. In some ways this was true, and we aim never to repeat the mistakes we made. But now I also see that (having emerged unscathed) we were right where we were supposed to be, 350 feet up on the Redgarden Wall, catching the life lessons that climbing inevitably throws at those who rope up.

First: Darkness descends more quickly than climbers do. This means know what season it is, what time of day it is and how long a route really takes (both up and down) even if you are a super-sick, bad-ass climber. This also means pack two headlamps. Yeah, one for each climber. The variables in climbing that exist outside the climbing team itself are extensive– anything from weather systems to bird shit to the speed of other climbers to poorly drawn maps. Things can tie you up even when you are on it, so it’s best to have a boy scout’s attitude and be prepared.

Second: Stay sharp. A undesirable and potentially dangerous situation is no time for whimpering and quaking. This is a special note for women. I’m at liberty to say so because I am one. The task at hand is to stay safe and to keep your partner safe, which means spot on gear placement, rope management and communication. It’s the perfect time for your man-brain to kick in and for you to set aside how you feel about the situation because that pretty much doesn’t matter until you are driving home. The fact is that you are in it and that you need to get out of it, coherent, helpful and all in one piece.

Third: Hope to god that you have a competent partner. You ll learn a lot about him or her out there, for better or worse, hopefully not till death do you part. When both the proverbial and literal darkness roll in, you will find out just how well the two of you communicate, keep your cool, say what you need when you need it, and give to the other when need is stated. Teamwork is a must with any type of partnership and I am grateful that my partner in life is my climbing partner too.

Overall Pseudo-Sidetrack was, well, an eye-opening experience. I will not mock the “benighted” accidents in Eldo ever again, nor will I take for granted how well my body and mind function when called on to do so. Education and excitement exist in every outdoor story as long as one is alert and receptive to the message. Pseudo-Sidetrack sure got my attention and I will remember what it had to say, probably forever.

Category: Reader Stories