Flight of the Phoenix
Approaching Dows camp under head torch the relief felt at the summit has given way to contentment. The pace down in darkness had slowed only slightly from the scramble earlier in fading light, recognition that the day is not complete until safely back at camp. Once at camp the business of recovery takes over with efforts immediately put to preparing dinner, pushing aside the customary debrief of the day’s activities. Over the coming days contentment will give way to satisfaction as the full weight of the achievement is realised, then in turn to emptiness as a line is put through a significant goal on the tick list.
The setting sun strips away any sentimentality of the moment, focus completely turned to the task of locating and then staying on the faint track that leads across the summit and descends the rocky ridge. The natural browns and reds of the rock make it difficult to discern the areas already worn from those that have not been trodden. Conversation limited to single words in place of full sentences; “no” – I am no longer on the track and you should not follow me; “here” – the track is over here, the intonation indicating the level of confidence – I think it is here, come and check, or, I know it is here and I am going. Outwardly it appears to be a race between two people scampering down; it is indeed a race, but against the fading light, each person capable and willing to act independently of the other, and each completely trusting and willing to follow the other.
Relief is always the primary emotion upon achieving a summit, mingled with exhilaration that comes as an aftertaste from the adrenalin that has charged the day. The view all day has alternated between the immediacy of the rock directly in front of your face as you climb, and the vista of craggy summits and distant hills as you face out on the belays; the void beneath you an invisible, imaginary, constant. Now, upon summiting there is no more rock in front of you and turning outwards to face the view again, with the sun touching the horizon, the mix of emotions extends to awe, at yourself and others for achieving this goal, and when peering back down the last pitch, a sense of wonder at the experience that is already starting to dissipate.
“Roar up the piss easy slabs” says the route description for the last pitch. And I do. Scott is incapable of taking in the rope fast enough resulting in big loops of rope beneath my feet as I leap over the broken low angled rock, driven by the desire to complete the route in daylight and no longer weighted by the burden of expectation or the torments of precaution.
The “On belay, climb when ready” call to start the final pitch could not come soon enough, especially considering the insecure anchor point for the final belay. One form of protection that climbers use are termed ‘nuts’ and consist of tapered wedges of various shapes and sizes that are typically placed into a crack such that they get jammed by a restriction in the crack. They can also be placed in horizontal cracks by pushing them into an opening, sliding them along the crack to a point where they narrow so that they can’t pull out.
The focal point for this anchor were two nuts that had been wedged from the outside in, rather than inside out, with the wires running along the crack and then out over an edge, so that when pulled in a particular direction, and only that direction, they remained in place. Pulling directly out, as you would normally on an anchor, would result in the nuts pivoting and popping out – leaving you unattached to the cliff.
There is no implied criticism in the description of the anchor. Climbs without any fixed protection that rely completely on what climbers term natural protection require creativity and thoughtfulness in the setting of an anchor and the placement of protection on each pitch. The cumulative effect of frequently encountering questionable rock and sub-standard placements is mental exhaustion and with it – agitation.
Relief, of sorts, is felt on the belay below this one, when finally it is possible to sit rather than stand on the belay and the line to be followed for the next pitch is obvious. The feet take a battering on these longer climbs, being squeezed into tight uncomfortable shoes, made more so as the feet swell in the heat, and especially when standing in uncomfortable positions for long periods, so the simple act of sitting down, albeit on a protrusion that supports less than half the posterior provides blessed relief and much rejoicing.
The climbing on the middle few pitches is relatively straightforward but continually thoughtful with the need to be circumspect with many of the available holds.
Having completed the technically most demanding pitches, and crossed the traverse, the challenge now is – where to from here? The general direction to take on the pitches up to and across the traverse was obvious, even though the specific line that best linked the climbable and protectable rock was at times difficult to discern, and on the higher pitches we expected the way would again become obvious. Linking the two sections is where many groups have come unstuck resulting in finishes well after dark. Any errors in the direction taken on the next few pitches from here up would see us lost in a field of rock, strung out on the cliff in a position with poor protection and unstable rock.
The difficulty comes from the limited field of vision, the vagueness of the route description and the lack of discernible features. Consider the clear difference between the instructions of; left then up, and, up then left, they are simple to follow, whereas an instruction of, up for 45m tending leftwards – what does that mean?
Climbs do not become rated as ‘classic’ and ‘must do’ if they are simple or straightforward; it’s because they test you across multiple dimensions of climbing; failing the test is fearful.
Fear is like salt, it works as a flavour enhancer. The sensations experienced during any activity are amplified by the addition of fear. Fear, like table salt, can be added by the participants – they’re called thrill seekers, but the deeper flavours come when fear is baked into the activity itself.
Fear enables me to discern a distinct difference in the texture of the rock that sits underneath my index and middle fingers, the variation in graininess accentuated by fear. The subtle shifts in wind direction and pressure, the deep colours of the rock, the sound of the wind rustling a bird’s feathers as it soars past me – every dimension of the experience is brighter with the existence of fear. Add too much salt though, and there will come a point where the salt itself overwhelms the flavours it enhances, and all that can be tasted is salt. The same with fear, everything becomes brighter until all is a brilliant white, and you can hear and see and feel nothing.
The 3rd pitch of The Flight of The Phoenix is … salt encrusted, leading everyone who climbs it to describe it as – brilliant . The pitch is one of the most famous traverses in Australian climbing, initially horizontal and then rising across the face at an angle of approximately 45 degrees. The rock you climb is grey to black, above you it turns to brilliant red, beneath you – there is nothing. The climbing itself, in any other position, would be unremarkable, a series of balancy steps across blocks of questionable integrity; the protection sparse. It is the combination of all these elements with a liberal dose of salt that makes it special.
The starting point for the 3rd pitch is not the end point of the 2nd pitch as it would be on any other climb. To link the two pitches there is an abseil down and across an awkwardly angled face which leaves you on a tiny ledge barely big enough to stand on. Retreat from this position, or any point on the climb after the abseil, while not impossible, would be extremely difficult and dangerous, and therefore best avoided.
Sitting atop the 2nd pitch we check the time and are startled to learn it is 11:30; 3hrs to complete two pitches, albeit the hardest two, with more than 200m of climbing split across six pitches still to come, is concerning.
There is a tacit agreement that Scott would lead the first two pitches, requiring as they do technique that in 30yrs of climbing I am yet to master. The 2nd pitch, only 20m of a total of more than 300m, is unquestionably the crux, the most difficult, of the whole climb and will take some time for both of us to ascend. My position at the anchors is uncomfortable, like all but one or two of the subsequent belay points, and places a strain on my feet, legs and shoulders as I am unable to fully weight the anchor due to it’s position, and the foot placements are small and sharp.
Using a self-belay system on the ropes we had fixed yesterday Scott re-climbs to an anchor just below the actual end point for the 1st pitch, ties in, and then leads higher. There is no doubt that we are in the correct general location, but determining the specific point to climb higher is difficult and time consuming, the exploration of each option requiring protection to be placed and then removed when the option closes out.
“The torment of precaution often exceeds the dangers to be avoided, far better to unleash oneself to destiny.” Napoleon
Whereas Napoleon knew a thing or two about destiny and how to chase it, and I’d say his opponents and his allies probably thought he was a little unleashed in that chase, I know a thing or two about torment and the avoidance of danger.
The torment of precaution had seen us pore over photos of the cliff from different angles to pick out landmarks that would assist in route finding, and to read trip reports for useful information; had seen us walk up to stay at Dows Camp the day before the ascent to allow us to start the climb early and feeling fresh, and during that walk had gazed at the cliff confirming our understanding of the route and the key landmarks; had seen us walk to the base of the climb the day before to ascertain the best path to the base and avoid wasting time in the morning finding our way through the scrub; and ascend most of the first pitch to confirm we had picked the correct starting point, leaving our ropes in place so we could quickly ascend the first pitch.
Napoleon was right, the torment often exceeds the dangers, but not always. There are times when the dangers do indeed exceed, and in some ways justify, the torment.
It is inconceivable that we would call off the climb due to high winds while sitting in camp – that call can only be made in situ, so we leave camp about 7:30. Although Dows camp is located close to the base of Bluff Mountain, and the approach is described in the guide as ‘a short walk’, it is still at least 30mins of awkward walking over what is mainly a scree slope, lightly through to heavily vegetated.
The strong winds that blew all night barely abate through the breakfast of porridge and strong black coffee. There is no need to discuss, sort, and pack the gear, this having all been done the day before. There is little discussion over breakfast, there being little now to discuss.
“You awake”, shouted from one tent to the other.
“Yep”
The day has started.
