Mesquite Road Trip - Dave Pegg.
Winter can be grim in Colorado. So much snow fell in early February that there were days when Fiona and I couldn't leave the ranch. On February 4, we celebrated my 47th birthday at home (we’d booked a restaurant but the roads were too sketchy to drive). Cabin fever. Time to get
outta jail and climb some real rock. A few days later, I packed the truck and camper for a two week trip, loaded my dog Bel, and made the seven-hour drive south to Mesquite, Nevada.
Mesquite is a casino resort and retirement community on the Arizona/Nevada border, one hour north of Las Vegas. It’s also the hub for some great limestone sport climbing, with notable nearby cliffs including the stout and runout, "old-school" Virgin River Gorge (“VRG,” iconic route Necessary Evil 8c+) and the new hotspot of The Cathedral/Wailing Wall (iconic route Golden 8c). One of the things I love about the climbing around Mesquite is the scene. The camping is free and unregulated in wild, beautiful places—just drive a lonely dirt road into the high desert for a couple of miles until you are hidden amongst the Joshua trees. November through March, there’s always a revolving carousel of climbers, locals and fellow travelers, with which a “random” (partnerless climber) like myself can circulate.
Dave on Gorilla, 8a.
Early in the trip I was lucky enough to climb in the VRG with one of my favorite people: Bill Ramsey. Bill inspires me as a climber. Currently in his early 50s, he redpoints 8c. He’s also fascinating and fun to be around. He works as a professor of philosophy at the University of Las Vegas. We always have interesting conversations. Bill and I love electronic dance music. So when I told him my favorite DJ collective “Above and Beyond” were headlining the MGM casino’s Hakkasan nightclub in Las Vegas on Valentines Day, we pumped each other up to buy tickets. Bill being Bill then went the whole hog and booked a room at the MGM for the “pre-party”. With this momentum, we rallied six other climbers, technophiles and newbies alike, to join us for the show.
I hit the show just right, entering the club with a nice vodka and Red Bull buzz (thank you Bill), and a good attitude — ignoring the poseurs and gangbangers and heading straight for the dancefloor to zone out in the music. A&B killed it, and I danced myself straight, leaving the club at 5:30 in the morning. Wandering back to the $100 motel room that I’d booked so Bel would get a good night’s sleep (bless), I even shed a happy tear or two. Music, elation, and fatigue can have that effect.
The next few days I suffered, having picked up a nasty chest cold in the club. Living on a ranch in the middle of nowhere doesn’t expose me to many germs; I always get sick when I’m around lots of people. Wanting to avoid the scene and temptation to party at the most popular climber camp, "The Cow Patty," I joined a small low-key group of friends hanging out and climbing in the Utah Hills. This great little zone has several small cliffs, all within a few minutes walk. I set up my camper 40 feet from a nice 6b warm-up. It was great not to hike much as by now I was hacking up gobs of green phlegm. Five minutes down the road at Gorilla Cliff, I found a project: "Gorilla" 8a, put up in the 1990s by my old friend Geoff Weigand. Short and bouldery, Gorilla is not the sort of challenge I usually pick on a road trip. But as soon as I saw the line—a series of vertical water-scoured slashes on a gently overhanging wall of Verdonesque limestone—I was stoked. Gorilla climbs as cool as it looks. The movement is very "east-west"—the holds only work in opposition to each other, so although each position is easy to hang, you have to be dynamic and inventive to figure out how to move between those positions.
The day I sent Gorilla I battled a conditions problem that European climbers will find hard to believe exists. It was too dry. When temperature drops and the wind blows in the desert, humidity plummets and you start to “dry fire” — slipping off holds because there’s not enough moisture to create friction. Really ... I’m not making this up. It was freezing and blowing a gale. The key to sending Gorilla was soaking my hands with water before I started climbing and licking my fingers at a couple of rests.
The cold snap gave me hope that I could finish off another project I'd played on the previous week at the lower and much warmer Virgin River Gorge, which is where I found myself on the last day of the trip. "King of Beers" 8a is a link-up of two VRG classics—the bottom of Joe Six Pack 7c+ into the top of Horse Latitudes 8b+. Like every route on the Planet Earth Wall it's long and involved, pumpy and runout. The redpoint crux is on vertical terrain at the top of bulging, convex 100-foot wall (Planet Earth). A slick quarter-pad lefthand crimp and smeary right foothold make it oh-so-easy to slip off if you don't keep your hips close to the wall and weight your right foot with authority.
First burn, I almost stuck the move, latching the positive crimp that ends all difficulties, alas too open-handed to reel it in. The fall is exciting but clean, mandatory 35 feet. I took a long rest, then noticed that the sun was already creeping onto the wall. Vamos! This time I felt great. I climbed smoothly. I had flow. Maybe I was too relaxed. French-blowing my way through the crux of Joe Six Pack, my foot popped and I fell. Then I went mental. Ondra scream. Multiple F-Bombs. Back on the ledge I took and deep breath and apologized.
"It's alright," my belayer said. "I've heard worse. At least you didn't shout anything racist."
I didn't untie my shoes. Sunshine. No time. I pulled the rope and went again. This time pumped, I squeaked through the Joe Six Pack section and reached the redpoint crux so flamed I knew it was hopeless. Whatever. Everyone hates a quitter. I made sure I fell trying and took the big whip.
This time no screams. Just a big smile. "Dirt me."
One thing I've learned is that climbing is about the journey not the destination. Fun and friendships are more important than any goals. Not sending King of Beers was a positive. It gives me one more great reason to make another trip to Mesquite this winter.