| Finger of Fate, Titan Trip Report |
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| Finger of Fate, Titan   | 
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: Utah, United States, North America Lat/Lon: 38.72500°N / 109.292°W Date Climbed/Hiked: Apr 19, 2000 | Page By: brutus of wyde Created/Edited: Mar 29, 2005 / Object ID: 169958 Hits: 1130 Loading... Page Score: 86.24% - 1 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
The wind, shredding through the notch below us, threatens to tear bushes
and trees out of the ground. We hunker below an overhang at the base of
the gully, just barely out of reach of the curtains of sleet, hail,
rain, and snow slashing down from the black skies. Above, three ropes
stretch up the gully toward a wildly exposed ridge, where we had
retreated just as the storm began shaking the ground. There will be no
more climbing for today. Now our main concern is getting out to the
trailhead without dying of hypothermia. A few small rocks bounce past,
as the Titan continues its eons-long disintegration. Mud trickles down
the walls of the gully. We dig out some munchies, and settle back to
watch the show.
It was our third day in the Fisher Towers area of southeastern Utah:
April 18, 2000
Sunday had started innocuously enough. After a too-long approach hike
with too much gear, I had climbed up onto the first pitch, casual and
certain that most of it would go free. Four hours later, I had finally
come to rest at the belay (a frightening affair of multiple bolts
protruding, exposed for half their length, from the Cutler sandstone)
covered in red dirt, shaking and sick from adrenal overload, bruised,
abraded, and very humbled. This would not be a cakewalk. Michael
Brodesky, my partner in this rather unappealing venture, had tackled
the next pitch with a mixture of fear and determination, balancing on
tenuous placements which threatened to blow apart like land mines as he
weighted them. This steep section had been the crux of the day, possibly
the most difficult part of the route. Evening had found me a short 70
feet higher, drilling a bolt to back up anchors best suited to a museum:
Star-Drivyn "nail-and-sleeve" contraptions, relics of Layton Kor and the
first ascent. Ropes fixed, we descended.
On Monday morning we had aborted our planned alpine start when a weather
check revealed gathering storm clouds. The remainder of the day had
been flawlessly beautiful, as we played frustrated tourists in Moab.
Monday evening we had hiked back out to the base of the Finger of Fate,
our chosen route on the Titan, and bivied, with a 4 am start scheduled
to place us on the summit before noon.
Instead, here we were back down in the mud and rain at the base, with a
mere two additional pitches climbed. Disgusted, we packed the gear and
started the three-mile hike back to the car as the storm slackened, its
furious energy finally spent.
Evening, Day 3: As the weather continues to clear throughout the
remainder of the day, we decide (over hot wings and suds at Eddie
McStiff's Brewery in Moab) to give the climb one more try. We reach the
bivy site just as darkness falls. Ten minutes later its hailing again.
We're starting to think that Utah doesn't like us.
Day 4, Wednesday:
4:30 am. We're up and moving. (Not necessarily alive at this ungodly
hour, but moving nonetheless.) Michael will ascend the ropes first this
morning, as he still has the next pitch and a half for his assigned
leads. After that, it's all mine. At least the gradually-lightening sky
shows some stars, and only a few scattered clouds on the western
horizon.
As Michael starts up the fixed line, I putter around the base, doing
final gear sorting, taking pictures, checking the weather. As I finally
start up the line, the sky is covered with a thin but scary layer of
cloud.
Sprint-jug to the top of the gully. We're expecting to get dumped on any
second. Michael leads a short 5.8 chimney through bulging weirdness to a
flat ledge. The wind strengthens, threatens to tear us from the ridge.
"Sure you don't want to lead the A2 seam?"
"Michael, you've been whining about that pitch for days. I wouldn't want
to steal it from you. But I tell you what… I'll lead the A2 seam if you
lead the 140-foot pitch up the exposed, overhanging summit arete, that
ends in the 4-inch offwidth. What say?"
Without another word, Michael grabs the rack and moves around the corner
to face his A2 seam.
There's little for me to do now except occasionally pay out a bit of
rope, worry about the weather, and try to stay out of the wind.
Eventually "Off Belay" bounces back to me from Echo Tower, and I begin
to jug.
Following Michael's pitch, I am silently thankful that this beast fell
to him. It starts with a terrifying step out right from the ledge,
across a void with a thousand feet of air below, to a decomposing
sloping shelf of mud. A few bolts sprout from the rock, the same
terrifying pieces of junk that have accompanied us throughout this
climb. The seam above looks desperate. Flared, bottomed, boxed-out
placements, including an incredible two-cam placement that looks like it
would barely support its own weight. Eventually, the madness ends on the
arete, where more prehistoric bolts lead up to the belay.
Far to the southeast, we can see rain and snow falling in the La Sal
Mountains.
At the changeover, I take on the ballast of a minimal rack including a
#5 camalot. The overhanging ridge above looks long. I add our complete
set of Offset Friends to the rack. These beasts seem custom made for the
bottomed, flared horrors of the Titan.
No more excuses. "Got me?"
"Yup."
As the clouds thicken overhead, I grab bolts, free and french free my
way up the arete, scarcely noticing the incredible exposure of our
position. Soon I am at the base of the slightly overhanging offwidth
penetrating the Moenkopi cap rock of the Titan. Loose blocks clutter the
entrance to the offwidth. Mindful of Michael cowering below, I locate
one last aid placement to bypass the nightmares and throw an armbar into
the maw of the Titan.
Dead end. The crack disappears. Above is a foot-wide ledge, then more
climbing. My last piece is a bit of ½" tat around the razor-sharp edge
of an ancient bolt hanger. Desperate for this madness to end, I
carefully mantle onto the ledge, and scrabble the last few feet to the
belay.
I fix the rope, call down to Michael, then solo onward toward the
summit, trailing our erstwhile haul line over to the flat, desolate,
hauntingly isolated summit of the Titan.
As Michael arrives, we make a cursory search for a register, then begin
the rappels back through the exposed layers of sediment from an ancient
inland sea, our adventure on the Titan finally drawing to a close.
********************************************************
Other adventures on this trip included Supercrack,
Incredible Hand Crack, and Generic Crack in Indian Creek, an
ascent of Mexican Hat, and a passel o' routes in Maple Canyon.
********************************************************
Special thanks to Brain-in-SLC for his hospitality, for the
use of Old Yeller, and for posting bail numerous times. Brain, if
you ever need an Eye of the Hawk, you know who to call!
Brutus
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