Yesterday was an adventure. It was our last climbing day in Skaha before heading back across the border to Oregon. We had gotten up early, hiked up to the Great White wall, and enjoyed a crap shoot of climbing with an early morning start (early at least by our standards). Our first two sport routes had turned out to be duds. Rebs has this tendency to find easier-looking routes that turn out to be extremely difficult, which is exactly what our “warm up” route turned out to be. We definitely got warm, and moved on to find another one that was better. My choice turned out to be a diagonally bolted one that remained awkward most of the way, then finished with some nice, slopey ledges (please read with sarcasm). Not exactly a great route either. I think Rebs actually called it the worst route she’d ever been on.
So since our sport routes were turning out bad, we decided to try our hands at some traditional-style crack climbing. This is a relatively newer style of climbing for me, and especially for Rebs. I thought the route was phenomenal. A perfect seam that you could at least get finger tips into the whole way up with a couple pumpy spots to keep it exciting. But Rebs had a different experience. On any crack climbs I’ve put her on previously (quite a few here at Skaha over the past week or so), she’s managed to avoid using the crack and scramble her way up in some ridiculous fashion. But this time, she had to use it. Not to mention the exposure on the route. (It is at the top of a massive valley.) She worked her way up eventually, refusing to quit like the stubborn girl I love and adore. But the route was so long, she had to rappel twice, the first time to some anchors she couldn’t see from above. She did really well not to hyperventilate or pass out, but the anxiety left her exhausted. Yet, she still managed to have enough energy to belay me on a really cool route called “Test of the Ironman”, a very long and reachy route, hence the name. The sun was starting to hit the rock, so it was about time to move on.
We had some lunch and then hiked down to another area to rest in the shade. After a bit of rest and some bee swatting, we looked at the guidebook and I pointed out two different options that looked good to me. We decided to go up and look at the first and then make a decision.
The first route turned out to be two pitches, a runout, 4 bolt, 30 meter climb to a ledge, then an easy 5.9 trad route. Rebs said it looked good, so we decided to do it. Only when I was racking up did she point out that this was her first (voluntary) multi-pitch trad route.
The top pitch turned out to be the gem of it all, with a little bit of perfect hand jamming that even Rebs enjoyed. She was about halfway up the route when she heard a distant rumbling and turned around to see a massive thunderhead moving in on our cloudless blue sky. She began climbing more quickly while I did my best to stay quiet and let her enjoy the route, although my mind kept flashing back to the WFR couse (Wilderness First Responder) I’d taken in college and all the information and statistics they’d given us, essentially saying that on a rock face, attached to a bolt and a rope is the last place you want to be when a thunderstorm hits. I also thought about how a few days earlier, we had decided to take our rain fly off the tent since we were in such a dry climate and wanted to cool things down faster.
Fortunately, Rebs had no hiccups and made it back to the belay station shortly, from which we rappelled again to the ground. A beautiful route, just a little rushed. We scurried to pack up our gear then, speed hiked/jogged our way back to the parking lot. The huge blue-grey cloud loomed just East of us as we drove the 15 minutes back to our campsite. Like angry bees, we zipped around and got the tarp back on the tent and all our junk off the picnic table in a matter of minutes. The cloud was rising over the rock nearest to us when we decided not to stick around for the showers, but to head into town for a few errands to prep for the long drive to Oregon the next day.
In town, the streets were already wet, as if we had just missed the downpour. We could see the rain and lightning just North of us a few miles. I pumped gas as it sprinkled rain, my first shower of any kind in a few days. Meanwhile, Rebs went next-door and found a restaurant attached to a hotel that has free wifi, so we split a sampler appetizer for dinner and checked email. Upon our return to the campsite, our wonderful host Dale said he’d sat at his picnic table working a crossword while the storm rolled through. He said he counted ten drops. All that work for nothing! But we saw it as a sign that we were meant to be done because we got all our errands done, the camp mostly packed up in 5 minutes, and still had time for a beer and good conversation with Dale and “Gloria”. It was a great end to this part of our journey. We will never forget you Skaha.