Route: Original Dirt Route
J.B. Haab and myself are aiming for different lines. Luckily enough for us, the two lines share an origin, reached by four meandering pitches with a wildly vegetated and unroped traverse in the middle. At the base, we pull out the gear. We talk up the route, hyping it. I videotape J.B. He jokes about hearing the crowds rushing up the valley to hop on our grimy climb. We’re calling it the Original Dirt Route. While the name doesn’t quite charm the crag climbers and boulderers and chalk-mark chasing trad climbers, the adventurous demon in our hearts lights up with a warm smile at the name, licking it’s caramel chops and gleaming with guilty anticipation. What does the name mean? It means that there are cracks, yes. Dirty, tree-infested traverses, scrambles, chimneys, and more chimneys. And all of that is worth it to reach our two lines staring down at us from above. Why? We are cats at heart. I am a lion. J.B. is a bobcat. And we’re too curious about the potential of majesty in the form of a queen crack Royal would’ve loved to touch.
Anyone watching us from afar would think we were lost on the wall. We’re aiming for the tower, El Hache (the axe), on what we’re calling Cerro Cacique (Mount Chieftain). And yet, at times it seems like we’re heading away from it. But it’s all part of the flight of the bumble bee. You have to do a dance to swoon the tower and show it you mean business, at times taking the long, meandering route.
J.B. and I trade off pitches. By the time we reach our dreamed-about “cracks”, we see the worst-case scenario running smoothly in front of us. The two lines we were most excited about – a splitter-looking diagonal traverse crack and a spidery, lightning-like winding set of curving cracks – were both false shadows of flaring nothings. Thanks be to Poseidon it didn’t rain and thanks to Hephaestus, we still had the fun chimney chiseled out in front of us. The tower’s backside chimney grants us a lovely back up plan. But still, the disappointment is hard to shake. It runs thick like clots magnetized to our hearts that draw closer our centers, slowing our pulses in disbelief. Keeping an eye on the positive and being happy with what we have, we ready ourselves for more chimney variations!
The nice thing about climbing things that have never been climbed before is that you are almost guaranteed an experience that teaches you a new lesson, one that you will unlikely be able to forecast or forget. I am usually able to prognosticate my fate, but my magic eight ball didn’t fit in my pack and my shaman powers have been wearing off ever since I stopped believing in their validity. But seriously, being a sage is much less interesting than the path to becoming one. Just ask the Sagittarius J.B. Haab whose birthday lies very close to mine. (J.B., I won’t forget twice, haha!) What I’m getting at here is that not only is climbing first ascents one sure way to learn a lot, but a huge role in my development as a climber and lesson-learner has been the people I have climbed with. J.B. is a role model in general, and his on the wall decision-making and fortitude of mind are exemplary, guiding me through the good times, the bad times, and yes, the ugly times!
So what did I learn? Let’s delve into the issue of fixing ropes. For Cochamó, I had a 300 meter static rope. I’d never had a spool of rope before. I can’t tell you how many times I flaked that rope to get the kinks out that were left from being on a spool. But I diverge from the focus of the story. Climbing O.D.R., we empirically learned that some places – and routes – are better for fixing ropes than others. Sometimes it makes more sense to go light and fast than fix ropes. Another major factor when considering fixing ropes is the topography of the rock. We ended up having to cut my rope into three sections of 60-ish meters and one extra portion of 20 meters, which we used for tat. All of this was thanks to abrasions sustained by jugging, or jumaring on the rope. Even fixing it in increments of 90 meters was a lot for a route with so many contours, naturally giving the rope major incisions. Alas, the voluptuous hips of ODR did my rope in, giving birth to four ropes. Anyhow, there are many more lessons learned, these are just a few involving large, fixed ropes that I thought wise to share with the curious faction of readers out there.
One of the grandest victories granted to us by ODR was the incredible, holistic view of the more coherent west side of Valle Trinidad. We had a front-row seat in an empty theatre to gaze endlessly at our future projects. And of course the lion and bobcat took great pride – haha – in soaking it all in as the mane event drew nearer.
As annoying as it was having many trees and much vegetation on the route, it did add an excellent benefit. Namely, we didn’t need to put in many fixed belay or rappel stations. Instead, we saved time, bolts, and the original condition of the dirty route by rappelling off of them!
The grandeur and scale of this valley’s mountains is stunningly apparent while climbing this route, with the backdrop of the valley floor, Cerro Laguna, and Pared de Gorila. I couldn’t help but feel a little like I’d become a content Major Tom out there. Just with more to look at. And no sardines. But lots of dried, powdered foods and beverages!
One memory that stands out in my time in Cochamó comes from my time in the refugio. Near the end of my four months in the beautiful wilderness, having my heart wrapped around the streams and fingers of friends I thought of as family, Zenon handed me a picture he had drawn for me. It was a man with eight arms, drawn in pencil on a small piece of paper. I was oddly very touched by this. Zen and I had by this time spent many hours – or centuries – together. He had climbed me calling me a mountain. I had chased him as if I was a dragon. We had run away together to Bremen hoping to form a band. We had a simply deep understanding of one another. If he went to adventure in the trees and climb them behind the house/refugio, we’d take turns wearing the helmet and carrying the backpack. We never expected a gift. I could see his heart in my hands when I held that paper with a man with eight waving arms.
“Thanks, Zen! What is it? A man with…[I paused to count the arms] eight arms?”
“No. It’s a man with many arms!”
“Oh! You’re right!” I realized at that moment that Zen had something. He wasn’t a hermit, but he had the vista of the world in front of him. It made so much sense. How many routes were there? How many good days have passed? How many friends have we here? It cut through the counting. Counting wasn’t the point. Appreciating it as mysterious and the magnitude as grandeur was the glamour in it.
I look back now upon Cochamó, the trails and routes, the lovely people, and I see a picture of my time there drawn in pencil on paper perfectly representing the many good times.
Cheers!
