Five months since I last rock climbed I agree to head to the Flatirons with Pete. During the drought of climbing I kept saying I’d be back on rock eventually and figured that “eventually” might start with a climb of the Fatiron. Two years ago we did this same climb and had a blast, this year I got us lost on the approach and we scrambled a few hundred feet on the “Forgotten Flatiron” before figuring out where we weren’t.
Having at least obtained a higher vantage point, and gotten a warm-up, we hiked back down and south to the Fatiron and easily scrambled up the north-side approach to the start of the route. I remembered the first pitch as being the crux (a thin crack with enough, if not plentiful, protection) and set off on lead with some trepidation. Slower and less confident than 2 years ago, I still got up and ran out most of the rope to an cramped belay stance that owed it’s minor “ledge” attribute to a dying bush. Pete followed with much more vigor than I’d displayed (has he been climbing in the gym these last few weeks?) and joined me on the bush.
Relieved to have the “crux” done I still found my climbing was tenuous and unconfident as I tackled pitch two. That the wind was picking up did little for my nerves and I belayed at a good sized ledge to make up for the bushy stance I’d previously parked out on.
Once again Pete cruised up the pitch and handed me the rack of gear I’d placed. I recalled pitch 3 being runout, but easy with a sea of jugs. Unfortunately, I headed too far left – up a water-polished mini-gully with harder moves and little pro. I was shaken by the time I reached the summit. At least the wind seemed more mild on top and the sun did something to restore my spirits while Pete climbed up to this eastern summit. Lunch helped even more, but I was considering bailing on the last of the climb.
After a short scramble and rappel, I was wavering in my commitment to bail. Looking up at the last two pitches to the western summit I was still having trouble summoning the psyche to continue leading and somehow talked Pete into doing his first trad lead. For better or worse, Pete set off with the rack and tackled the less-protectable-than-I-recalled pitch with more poise than I was likely to muster today. Fiddling with cams in odd spots he set a few good pieces and several less-than-ideal. I climbed up to his tree belay, helped reduce the cluster of his anchor then figured I should lead the last pitch – a pitch that turned out to be really short, really easy and easily protectable. Humm, maybe this should have been Pete’s first trad lead.
One last rappel, then some bushwhacking around the north side of the formation and a hike back towards the Shadow Canyon cutoff trail and we were out of the shadow of the Fatiron. When I got home I stuffed my climbing gear back in a box where it should stay until I’ve really got my motivation back.
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The Journey Is Home 