From: peterson-john@CS.YALE.EDU (john peterson)
Subject: The Titan
Organization: Yale Haskell Project
Distribution: rec
Date: Fri, 10 Apr 1992 01:50:01 GMT


                  Adventures on the Titan

Every climber should have a hero.  Back in the 70's there were lots of
good candidates: Royal Robbins, Pat Ament, Ghastly Rubberfoot (as my
old climbing instructor called him), and many others but mine was Kor.
Two things set him apart from the others: his drive to climb (instead
to talk about climbing!) and the places he climbed.  Layton climbed
everywhere - just about any area or route in Colorado back then was
one of his.  One of the games climbers play is getting to the top:
going places nobody else can go.  The sandstone of the desert
southwest is where this game is reduced to its essentials: you see
some impossible chunk of sandstone and get to the top by any means
possible.  Gotta climb it while it's still there.  Before I started
climbing, I read the National Geographic article about Kor on the
Titan: `We Climbed Utah's Skyscraper Rock'.  Even then I knew I wanted
to climb it too.

The Titan is an amazing piece of rock.  Along with the other
fantasticly shaped summits of the Fisher Towers, it towers over the
Colorado River just east of Moab.  A hiking trail leads through a maze
of spires to the base of the tallest one: the Titan.  The rock of
Fishers Towers is unique.  At the core, it is a relatively hard (for
the desert) sandstone, much better than Standing Rock or some of the
wild spires on the Navaho reservation.  Covering the rock is a thick
coat of mud and sand, constantly refreshed by each passing storm.
This rock has been eroded into bizarre Gothic shapes with towers,
spires, buttresses, and fingers everywhere.  The texture is unique:
unlike the sharp lines of Monument Valley or Castleton tower, every
surface is grooved and fluted; every corner is rounded.

The publication of the `50 classic climbs' (a very dubious list!)
demystified the route on the Titan.  I had moved to Salt Lake City and
it was time to follow in my hero's footsteps: on to the Titan!


             November 81:  Mark

Mark Bradakis was one of the few rock climbers in the CS department
when I first arrived.  Not knowing too much about the Titan, he
foolishly agreed to join me on my first attempt.  I had caught Mark at a
vulnerable time: he had just divorced his wife and was probably
feeling suicidal.  He agreed to spend his Thanksgiving attempting the
Titan.

We arrived loaded down with tons of gear.  We brought 4 ropes to fix
lines, lots of nuts and my old pin collection.  After toiling up the
trail, we started looking for the climb.  After scouting around a
while, we found a route up to the saddle which separates the Titan
from the main cliff.  The route rose above us: discontinuous cracks
led up a wall toward the finger of fate, a thumb about 300 feet below
the summit of the Titan.  Four belay anchors could be seen along the
cracks although it was only 300 feet to their top.

Mark graciously allowed me to take the first lead.  Starting up, I was
able to free climb the first 20 feet.  Then, the wall steepened and it
was time to start aiding.  Back in the days of my youth I had done a
fair amount of aid climbing (as did my hero); this was relatively
easy.  Good cracks got me up to the second belay stance with little
trouble.  Mark followed on jumars, cleaning as he went.  Belaying on
the Titan is rather unpleasant: a constant stream of sand and pebbles
cascade down from the leader.  We found that the route gets absolutely
no sun in the winter (and very little in the summer); Mark was rather
cold.  Reaching the belay, he suggested I should take the next lead.

The climbing gets a bit harder at this point.  The cracks pinch off in
many places, leaving only the holes where Layton had managed to drive
pins into a nearly non-existant seam.  These holes were now usually
about the size of large angles although they were originally made by
knifeblades.  They were also distressingly far apart.  Fortunately,
I'm an inch taller than Layton so it wasn't too bad.  The next pitch
went fairly fast and we arrived at the base of the third pitch.
Again, Mark was not excited about leading so up I went.  At this
point, the crack is almost completely gone, forcing the leader to
climb from hole to hole.  Although this sounds easy, the pin usually
bottoms out.  As you stand in the top rung trying to reach the next
hole, you always seem to feel the pin you are standing on slowly slide
out of its hole.  About halfway up I reached a bolt (placed by someone
without the necessary reach).  I was growing dark rapidly so we
abandoned out gear and rapped off.  November is really not the time to
do this climb - the weather is cold and the days are too short.

The next morning we trudged back and reestablished ourselves.  Upon
reaching the top belay, I asked Mark `up or down?'.  He replied
`down', ending my first effort.  Mark never wanted to return.  One
biner lost.  Score: Titan 1, Me 0.


                 October 86:  Dave

Dave Youkie was one of the first climbers I met when I moved to
Arizona.  Dave was a fellow wild man: he was willing to try anything.
This sort of gullibility is bound to get a climber into trouble and in
October of 86 we made the long drive from Tucson to Moab.  Dave had
never done aid before but this didn't bother him.  This time I knew
what to bring and where to go; we reached the start of the route
early.  Swinging leads, we spent the day getting to the base of the
finger of fate.  Dave was a little slow on aid, but learned fast.  His
biggest problem was lack of reach, but he was able to get up anyway.

At the base of the finger is the first non-hanging belay of the climb.
A small ledge with numerous dubious looking anchors marked the place
where the route traverses right on bolts and then climbs into the
notch behind the finger.  We decided that this was a good stopping
point and rapped down, leaving all our gear for the next day.  As we
climbed, we noticed clouds building to the west.  That night the wind
began to blow, almost blowing out tent out of the parking lot.  Near
morning it began to rain, harder and harder.  The next morning was
miserable.  There was no question of climbing - this was a downpour.
This isn't supposed to happen - this is the desert!  We spent the day
driving around the slickrock watching the tremendous waterfalls that
had developed in the pouring rain.  Every gully had a torrent of
water; every cliff had a waterfall.  The scenery was incredible, but
all we could think about was out gear (just about everything we
owned!) sitting on the Titan.  Than night, we were soaked so we
crashed at a cheesy Moab motel.  The next morning, we got up and ran
to the window: no more rain!  It was snowing!!  We had no choice - I
had to be back to Tucson the next day.  We trudged up to the climb
wading through over a foot of snow in places.  Our feet were freezing;
the trail to the base of the climb was hairy.  When we finally arrived
at our ropes we found them completely encased in ice.  Our jumars slid
freely, their teeth filled with snow and mud.  After scaring myself to
death getting 5 feet up the rope we decided to give up.  We would
rather return next week and finish the climb instead of climbing
300 feet of icy ropes.  We said goodbye to just about every bit of
climbing gear we owned and headed back to Tucson.

The next Friday Dave and I started again on the 12 hour drive to Moab,
playing endless games of trivial pursuit.  All signs of snow were gone
- the desert had returned to normal.  The next morning we arose before
dawn and were at the base of the route just after sunrise.  Our gear was
still there (whew!) and the ropes looked fine, although a little
sandy.  We quickly jumared up and started up the next pitch.  Dave
led.  This was our first real encounter with the original Kor bolts.
These had funky homebrew hangers and looked decidedly fragile.  After
a horrifying traverse right on a couple of these dubious bolts, Dave
had to reach over a bulge and tap in the tip on an angle.  After
gingerly stepping up on it, he was in an easy chimney behind the
finger.  This led up to a nice stance at the notch behind the finger.
The climb changes noticably here.  Instead of climbing a vertical
wall, you are on the crest of a ridge leading up to the summit.
Except for occasional walls, the climbing is usually less than
vertical and real ledges appear at the belays.  On the advice of the
50 crowded (oddly enough, this one isn't too crowded!) we leave a rope
across the traverse for retreat.  The next pitch is nice mixed free
and aid and leads to another good ledge.  Dave then led an easy (but
scary) free pitch which traverses around a tower to the bivy ledge.
We have no intention of bivouacing - we're going to bag this before
the day is over.  The next pitch starts with a tricky move up to a
short pin filled crack (the rock can't be that soft if there's fixed
pins!).  After the top of the crack, the climb follows the exposed
summit ridge.  No more cracks till the summit overhang - it's all
bolts.  The exposure is tremendous - 700 feet on the left and probably
800 on the right.  The second bolt is mysteriously missing -
fortunately(?) someone has left an old angle with the tip driven into
the bolt hole.  Terrified, I step up to the next bolt as fast as
possible.  A few more bolts lead to the belay: a doormat sized ledge
in the wildest setting imaginable.  The anchor is an old Kor bolt and
a couple of drilled angles which don't inspire much confidence.

Dave soon arrives and looks at the next pitch.  He generously offers
it to me but I politely decline.  It starts with a bit of free
climbing, them another antique bolt.  Above the bolt is a mystery.  We
see another bolt about 10 feet higher but nothing in between.  I prod
Dave to go take a look.  Standing in his top rung, he sees no cracks
or bolts.  Hmmm - what did Layton do here?  After fiddling around for
a while, Dave decides to free climb a little.  A small ledge is just
out of reach.  Dave bravely steps out of his stirrups onto the sandy
rock.  He works up, getting his hands on the small ledge.  As he
begins to pull up, suddenly the ledge crumbles.  I have no time to
react - suddenly Dave is flying through space.  The Kor bolt barely
tightens the rope before it pops.  Everything is on the anchor.  Dave
flies by and I stare at the anchor, wondering how old those pins are.
Suddenly, the rope tightens and Dave is swinging about 20 feet below
after falling almost 40 feet through space.  I look down and ask if
he's OK.  He's shaken but alright.

"Dave, we go down now.  OK?"
"OK!"

We have no bolt kit, so there's not much choice anyway.  We rap the
now tested anchors to the bivi ledge, then reverse the traverse on the
free pitch.  Then down to the notch behind the finger.  Using our
fixed rope, we manage to reverse the next pitch but are not having
fun.  Finally, two long raps and we're down.  It's almost dark and
we're exhausted.  I have a brilliant idea: I'll lower Dave and all the
gear off the other side of the saddle down to the trail, saving almost
a mile of hiking.  Dave agrees and off he goes.  Halfway down we
realize it's more than 150' so I get Dave to wait on a tiny ledge
while I tie on another rope.  Finally he hits the trail; I hike around
and join him.  The next day we visit Indian Creek and cower up a 5.8
before we realize just how wasted, both mentally and physically, we
are.  Dave may still have a `go for it' attitude, but that no longer
includes the Titan.  He gets to keep Layton's bolt.  Score: Titan 2,
Me 0.


             July 88:  Jim

The Lisp conference is in Snowbird this year so I head back to Utah.
After climbing some old familiar routes in Little Cottonwood (and
getting my car nearly totalled) the conference is over and we head for
Moab in a rented car.  I've managed to dig up yet another willing
partner.  I've only climbed with Jim a few times but he is highly
regarded by another partner of mine.  Jim had left Tucson to seek fame
and fortune in Telluride.  He also has a `go for it' attitude
(definitely necessary on this route!) and actually has some wall
experience: he had done Half Dome a few years ago.  However, Jim's big
thing is expeditions.  He's been to G-IV and is in tremendous physical
shape.  We plan to do the whole thing in one day.  I've got the route
wired and know just how much rack to bring (lots of those 1.5 inch
angles!).  We're on the rock right at sunrise and cruise up.  Jim
really isn't that fast on aid but we're doing OK.  Up the wall, around
the finger, up to the bivi ledge.  As I climb I notice I'm not feeling
too good - maybe I'm dehydrated.  Anyway, I lead above the bivi ledge
knowing Jim is going to save my butt and get us up that last pitch.
Someone has been up replacing bolts - two shiny bolts have replaced
the angle and the bolt Dave pulled.  Unknown to me, Jim decides to
leave our pack at the bivi ledge when he follows.  Arriving at the
belay, he, as expected, generously offers me the lead.  Sorry, Jim,
the honor is yours.  Go for the glory.  I still have no clue what
to do above the first bolt - the pitch looks the same as
when Dave fell.  Jim goes up to stand on the new, shiny bolt and sees
nothing.  Foo.  After he steps down, I go up for a look.  At this
point I realize I'm really not feeling too hot.  As much as I want to
finally bag the climb, I just can't seem to do anything.  I step down
and talk with Jim.  We have a bolt kit but he left it in the pack on
the bivi ledge.  He doesn't even want to stand on the bolt again -
he's had enough.  Damn.  Nowhere to go but down.  We rap down just
past the bivi ledge and arrive at a rap anchor Dave & I had seen
previously.  It appears to go straight down without those stupid
traverses so we go for it.  Sure enough, another anchor appears just
before the rope ends.  I'm so wasted I can barely feed the rope
through my brake system but I figure it's dehydration.  One more rap
and we're down.  Well, not really.  We land on a rubble covered ledge
30' up.  The only anchor is an antique piton driven into a
non-existent crack with an old sling.  No cracks anywhere.  I had seen
this anchor on the climb up and wondered how it got there.  Well,
there was no choice - we had to trust it (I was too wasted to think
about a bolt).  It was only 30 feet and it's SOFT rock, right?  Easy
landings!  Well, the pin holds and we're down.  Not even dark yet.  I
eat and drink and start to feel a little better.  Jim wants to get
going.  He doesn't hike - he runs.  Gotta keep in shape.  We divide the
gear - probably 50 pounds apiece.  He says `see you!' and disappears.
About 5 minutes later I figure out than I'm not healthy.  I feel
awful.  I can barely move.  Since Jim is way gone, there's nothing to
do but stagger down.  It seemed to take hours to get down.  I kept
hearing voices but nobody came.  I think I see my 6 month old kid
crawling up the trail to take my pack.  Finally I stagger to the car
to find Jim sipping a beer while my wife fixes him dinner.

It took me a couple of days to recover - some sort of stomache flu.
Jim heads back - he's had enough of the Titan for one lifetime.  We
arrive in SLC to find a message - our condo's been broken into and
ransacked.  Oh well.  Score: Me 0, Titan 3.


Well, it's not easy having Layton as my hero.  Now than I'm in New
Haven it's rather hard to get back and try again.  My wife thinks I'm

crazy.  Dave is willing to do Half Dome but not the Titan again.  But
hey - I'm going to get up that thing someday.  Maybe my kid will be a
climber.


    John Peterson
    peterson-john@cs.yale.edu

Newsgroups: rec.climbing