Two weeks ago, one of the climb leaders, Fritz, in my climbing club introduced me to Wolf Rock, a 1,000 foot high monolith a couple hours from Portland. Our first trip down there, with a group of five, was largely exploratory. There are several sport climbing routes on the rock faces, some of them leading all the way to the top of the rock. We decided that day to attempt a route known as "Gigantor" that eventually leads to the top, as we were all interested in working on some multi-pitch rock. It was slow going and we only made it up two of the seven technical pitches before we decided there wasn't enough daylight left and it was time to turn around. After a couple of long rappels, we were back at the car relatively quickly.
The southeast face of Wolf Rock. Our route is just under the Great Roofs on the right edge of the rock.
We had fun that day, but not summiting and feeling like we could have had left a bug in us. Incredible, dry, sunny fall weather gave us another chance at that rock yesterday. We decided a small group of competent climbers had the best chance of summiting. Fritz, Ty, and I made up the threesome.
This time, we knew exactly what we were in for and prepared accordingly. We packed light, bringing only the gear we needed, expecting a few hours of climbing, then a relatively easy hour long hike down a different side of the rock and back to the car.
We left the car around 11.30 am and were on the rock by noon. Here are Fritz (in blue) and Ty getting ready for the first pitch.
And looking straight up our route, over 500 feet of vertical rock.
Fritz led the first pitch, as he had on the previous trip. I belayed him. About half way up the first pitch, Fritz was a foot or so above his last piece of protection when one of his handholds broke, sending a softball sized rock down at Ty and I. I immediately locked off the belay and in a mere instant, Fritz dropped 15 feet before the slack and stretch in the rope arrested his fall. Our adrenaline was definitely flowing now, but everyone was ok, so we continued our climb.
It took us over four hours to get to the top of the second pitch, up about 250-300 feet and as high as high as we'd made it on the first trip. We weren't moving quite as fast as we'd expected. Here's my view while belaying Ty from a small ledge at the second belay position. You can see Fritz at the top of the first pitch.
After the first two pitches, which were the longest and most difficult, we began to get a rhythm and move much more efficiently. I would lead the next pitch, quickly set the anchors I had pre-made, then belay up the next climber, who would clean our gear from the route. I'd rest while the third was climbing (and the second was belaying) and the third climber would pull the lower anchor, then climb up to meet us. I'd take the necessary gear and anchors, then set off on the next pitch.
At the top of the third pitch, we knew we were running out of daylight. We had to decide whether to continue up and risk descending an unknown path in the dark, or back off and begin a long, somewhat cumbersome and risky series of rappels back to the base of the wall. We decided that the rappels (statistically the most dangerous part of climbing) were unappetizing and continued upward.
Though the upper pitches were technically less difficult than the first two, they were also not protected as well, meaning the spacing between bolts to clip your rope into as you climbed became significantly larger. Being 20 or 30 feet above the last place you clipped your rope to an anchor would mean roughly a 40 to 60 foot drop if you fell. Each hand and foot placement became critical and I was hyper aware of the importance of not slipping or weighting a loose or broken hold. I checked each piece of rock before placing a foot or hand on it.
Despite the slight nerves, the weather was great, the views were spectacular, and I took the time to enjoy them. Here is our view of the Three Sisters, a trio of volcanoes, two of which I've climbed.
And here is Ty traversing under the Great Roofs to meet Fritz and I at the top of the 4th pitch, about 450 feet up the wall.
We had just one more technical pitch to the top of the 500 foot shear wall. I led the pitch, traversing left and up a series of ledgy boulders. I hadn't been eating and drinking enough during the climb and in the middle of one move up onto a large boulder, my left hip cramped and locked up. I was several feet from my last piece of protection and didn't want to take a long fall. Shifting all my weight to my arms and right leg, I quickly relaxed my left leg and waited for the cramp to subside. I spent a couple minutes stretching my hip before continuing, being careful with each move to not put too much force on my left leg.
When we all three topped out the 5th pitch, we saw the climbing got easier (though still class 4/5 rock) and thought we were close to the summit. In reality, we had climbed 600 feet, but still had another 400 feet of scrambling up a rocky ridge to reach the summit. And the sun had just set.
Luckily, we'd made it to the top of the technical section before sunset. It would have been very difficult to make our way up through the rocks and find the small anchors in the dark. At that point, around 7 pm, we had a few options; 1) rappel/down climb the way we had come back to the base of the cliff, 2) find a level spot and stay put for the night, 3) continue up the the summit and find the non technical route down.
Risking a series of rappels that would have been dangerous during the daytime, in total darkness, was out of the question. Fritz and I didn't like the idea of spending the night on the rock, so under the full moon and with headlamps on, we decided to continue upward and search for the easiest route back down.
There was just one problem. Ty hadn't brought a headlamp, fully expecting to be back well before dark. He also only brought prescription sunglasses. When he had to take those off at sunset, he was nearly blind. Fritz and I had to climb closely in front of and behind him, often pointing out exactly where to place a foot or a hand. The going was slow. We made it to the summit ridge around 7.30. We paused for a while to take advantage of the elevation and associated cell phone coverage, contact anyone that might be worried about us, and consult some route descriptions and topographical maps to find the best way down.
We'd climbed the southeast face and needed to get to the southwest gully for our descent. The only way there was to climb along the summit ridge until we got to the west side of the rock. So, at 8.30, despite not necessarily intending to, we summited. There was even a geocache at the top for me to log.
Now, it was just a matter of finding the southwest gully. Easier said than done
Each time we found a gully that looked relatively easy to descend, we decided to climb the ridge on the other side to see what was over there and make sure we'd found the furthest west gully. And each time we did that, we found a gully that looked more promising than the previous one. Though, in the pale moonlight, it was impossible to tell which was the best way down and really see what we were getting into.
When we finally decided to descend one of the gullies, we found a small cairn, a man made pile of rocks used to denote a trail. It was the first bit of good news we'd had in hours and we were ecstatic that it was now only a matter of hours before we'd be back at the car. The way down was very manageable class 3 terrain, though without being able to see, Ty spent most of the descent sliding and crab walking on his butt.
A few hundred feet down the gully, we hit a dead end. But it wasn't a dead end, it was a 40 foot cliff. Though the cairn signified we had found the correct route, the lack of a distinct trail made it too easy for us to get off route. And somehow we had.
We'd gone to a lot of trouble to avoid rappelling in the dark, but now it was our only way down. Of course we had all the gear, so we tied an anchor around a tree and rappelled down into a dry creek bed. The descent from here was relatively easy, with solid boulders offering good foot and handholds.
Until, as our luck would have it, we came to the edge of a 100+ foot waterfall. With headlamps as our only light, we could barely see to the bottom of it, and it was impossible to tell how far down it really went. We tied another anchor around a tree and began the rappel into the abyss. Fritz went first. He reached the end of the rope before he reached solid ground. Our prospects weren't looking good. Luckily, off to his left was a higher platform that he could traverse over to and safely down climb from. Ty and I each rappelled and we continued our trek down the drainage, at this point overgrown with trees and shrubs. We were bushwacking every step of the way down.
Then we hit another waterfall. We couldn't catch a break. This one was smaller, though, and we were able to down climb the steep, muddy slope around it.
Another hour or so of bushwacking... and we ran into the road. A few more minutes of easy walking and we would find the car. Of course it was all up hill. But finally, at 1 am, after another 13 hour Fritz epic, we'd made it back to the car. We were hungry, tired, and dehydrated, but we'd made it back safely and with a story to tell.
The rest of the pictures are here. More to come soon.
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