. It’s not the prettiest climb to look at, and it doesn’t have the most aesthetic moves or anything like that. Compared to its neighbors, and to all the routes in the Garden of the Gods, it’s simply just another climb. I think what makes it more special to me is its rather modest grade; 5.8 to 5.10 depending on who you ask when taking into account all three of its pitches, combined also with its rarity in being a complete climb, ascending to the top of the formation upon which it is to be found. Not that a lot of routes don’t go to the top of the particular crag upon they can be found. Most climbs at Garden of the Gods, if they are multi-pitch routes that go to the top of a formation, tend to become run-out horror shows, lacking climbable features or protection, and often reach into the realm of being a much harder grade to climb. So, that is my qualification for why I like the route. What is my obsession with it?Since I like to climb solo; climbing without the use of ropes, a belay, or any other type of protection, and because I often climb there due to its proximity to my home, it didn’t take long for a desire to build within me to add this to my circuit of Garden climbs. Only, the rock and the climbing are just not quite as sure or dependable as some of the other routes that I regularly visit there. For example, on many occasions I have started with the Cowboy Boot Crack, and advanced in no particular order through Potholes, the South Ridge of the White Spire, the north ridge of Montezuma’s Tower, New Era, and of course the 1st pitch of the West Point Crack. Since I carry a 7mm rope with me in order to rappel off several of these routes, adding in the 1st pitch of the West Point Crack didn’t seem to be too contrived. Well, I can’t say that I had whatever inside of me it was going to take in order to push it out to the top of the route either. OK, I do have a name for that; faith.
I bet I have climbed the West Point Crack with a rope and a belay 100 times; probably not, but it feels like that anyway. I have done it with a partner, by myself using a soloist, sewing it up with every piece of gear I can get to go in it, and with clipping only the fixed gear that is available on it. Whenever I get close to being ready to solo it; in my mind, as I lay in bed at night, I begin thinking of two sections; one on the 2nd pitch where a high foot smear provides the security necessary to reach up enough into the crack to gain a good hand jam, and the beginning of the 3rd pitch where a long step across to a greasy foot smear is required in order to bridge a fearful gap and reach left around an arête to a nice side-pull. Both give me the willies thinking of the consequences of a foot slipping on the soft sandstone of the Garden of the Gods.
Arriving midway through a pleasant Saturday afternoon, I encountered the typical zoo that is the Garden on a pretty spring weekend. A large portion of the Colorado Springs populace seems to be present and bent releasing whatever pent up desires or frustrations that Mother Nature has done her best to inhibit with the typical spring weather pattern we endure here on the Front Range of Colorado. Well, probably everywhere else too for that matter; beautiful on weekdays when you are at work and horrible over the weekend as another cold front storms its way eastward reminding us that winter hasn’t lost its grip just yet.
I caught up with some friends at the base of the Twin Spires just as they were topping out on the South Ridge of the White Spire. Quickly I soloed up in order to join them while they were rigging a rappel. Once back on the ground, I ran over to the other side of the Red Spire and ran a quick lap on Potholes. Meanwhile, my friends had rigged a top rope on the North Ridge of the White Spire, and I tied in for a lap. Climbing it, I found I was sketchy and hesitant, definitely not feeling the mojo I would need to think about soloing this one.
After packing up, we headed over to Montezuma’s Tower to get on the North Ridge. Arriving at its base though, we encountered the typical Garden of the Gods freak-show; 2 climbers completely lost at the top of the 1st pitch, bellowing at each other as they were in the process of lowering one climber back to the ground and then the 2nd climber rappelling from only a single eye bolt! Fortunately they made it safely to the ground without bringing any carnage upon themselves. Since there was already party waiting to start the climb, my friends decided to go find another route; perhaps either the West Point Crack or the Cowboy Boot Crack. However, the folks who were next in line for the route were very gracious and gave me permission to jump in front of them so I could run a quick lap up the route.
The whole time I had been keeping an eye on the West Point Crack. Most of the afternoon another party of 3 had been engaged in climbing its first two pitches. Now they were in the process of rappelling back down. I figured my opportunity had arrived.
Silently I spent a few moments at the bottom of the climb reflecting on what I was about to do. It would be dishonest of me to say that I was doing anything other than praying to God; thanking Him for the opportunity being placed before me, and affirming my belief that faith in God would be all that was necessary to see me safely to wherever He thought was best for me to be; either safely at the top or not… It’s really just that simple.
Just as silently I began climbing the 1st pitch, not saying a word to the folks who were finishing up with their rappel and sorting through various bits of gear scattered around the base of the climb. I have soloed the 1st pitch many times, and it went by smoothly, just as it should due to having memorized and often repeated the various bits and pieces of climbing that comprise it. At the beginning of the second pitch, I briefly contemplated the one way street I was entering; once I began the next series of moves there would be no reversing them, and as I did not have a rope or anything other than a chalk bag with me, it would be hard to change my mind and do anything much about it. Quickly and confidently I began the opening moves of the 2nd pitch, high-stepping, smearing, reaching, and jamming securely through the cruxes of the first 30 feet or so until I was safely established in the chimney that comprises the bulk of the 2nd pitch.
Looking behind me, I could see where a large crowd of tourists had gathered to gawk at the spectacle I was creating. That is when it struck me on how private a moment this was for me in such a very public place. Everyone below could plainly see what I was up to, fewer could really understand what I was doing, and perhaps to only my close friend Doug, who was presently on Cowboy Boot Crack and out of site, would it have made any sense. Doug had been very kind, patiently belaying me many times on the climb so that I could get the faith and courage necessary to go ahead and solo it since I had been thinking of so much anyway.
Turning away from the crowd, I directed my thoughts back inward and my hands and feet at the rock before me. The rest of the 2nd pitch went quickly by, and I found myself atop the spire that separates the top of the 2nd pitch from the rest of South gateway Rock, gazing across the chasm between me and the end of the route; only a few feet to go, easy with faith, and easier still to let doubt and fear gnaw away at the confidence necessary to surmount it. Faith and God would win this day!
With confidence I stepped my right foot across the gap, smearing it against the same greasy spot I had so often placed it before. Hucking my left hand upwards and reaching around the side of the arête, I grabbed a secure edge and simultaneously brought my left foot up and around to a precise toehold and slapped my right hand into a scooped-out hole in the rock so I could bear-hug the arête. Continuing in a smooth motion, I reached higher with my right hand to a nice jug; the same one of many nightmares about it breaking off and crumbling with my touch. In an instant I was securely established on the arête. Only a side-pull and a high step with my left foot separated me from being able to mantle up onto my right foot and solidly jam my left hand in a crack enabling me to stand upright, safely across the chasm and only a move from the top. The last move safely passed, and I breathed a sigh of relief, sitting for a moment to thank God for protecting me from all harm and danger, and seeing me to the top.
Walking back down the descent, onto the sidewalk that winds its way along the base of South Gateway Rock and through throngs of people to retrieve my gear from the beginning of the climb, I easily melded back into the anonymity of the crowd, the hustle and bustle of tourists and climbers alike, neither encountering or expecting any comment or congratulations. Emotionally I could have been walking 100 feet in the air above the sidewalk, but that was only a feeling of gratitude and peace inside me. The whole of the climb and descent had taken perhaps 10 minutes. In fact, the same folks I had encountered at the base of the route were still in the process of packing their gear. Without a word, except goodbye and good day, I packed my stuff and began the hike over to Cowboy Boot Crack to link back up with my friends.
Doug exchanged a look with me, and asked if I had taken care of business. I said I had, and he congratulated me, but I added that it was faith in God, or better yet, God’s shepherding of us, that should be lauded and boasted upon. He understood, because he has been such a source of spiritual growth for me, mostly by the example he sets. They were just getting ready to pull their rope from the anchors of Cowboy Boot Crack, and he asked me if I wanted to get a lap in. I responded with a no, feeling satisfied with what I had put behind me, and already looking forward to what was required next; getting in a few miles of running in order to keep the weekly mileage total up where it should be. Hmmmm… from the house to the top of Ridge Road and back sounds nice…
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