Moby Grape

I have been known to say that trad climbers are "fat and lazy." They climb low grade, don't like to fall, go really slow and choose routes for a good "view."

Moby Grape fed me a very large piece of Humble Pie on Monday. Oh my!

Greg, Amy and I rolled out of bed at 5:30 am and headed for Cannon Mountain. We were in the parking lot at 7 and started up the giant talus field. On the hike in, I drew the first blood of the day.


We had two parties ahead of us so we had to wait until 10 to start the route. One second bailed so we adopted a fourth, Joe, and split into two groups.

Pitch one is called Reppy's Crack. Its 100+ feet of hand crack with no rest. For me, the hand crack was slightly off-width. I couldn't get a thumbs-up jam to lock in it and was stuck doing thumbs-down and fist jams. Oh my, my triceps got sore! My feet are also kind of small so I was spared the ankle torquing foot jams and was able to cam my toes in pretty easily. I was panting pretty hard by the time I got to the top.


When we got to Moby Grape, I thought that I would lead at least some of the pitches. I mean, its an 8 but some pitches are easier. I'm pretty strong and ballsy... so why not?

Well, after Reppy's Crack, I resigned to have Greg be my rope gun for the day. Greg rocks!

Up and up and up we went. It was windy and sunny. We drank water like camels. I got to experience peeing on a long route for the first time. It was complicated.

Here is a pic from somewhere around P3 or P4. Thats my foot. Below me is the talus field and beyond that is a road with cars on it. The trees down there are your average biggish New Hampshire trees.


I started to get really tired around P4 but we still had a long ways to go. All I wanted to do was curl into a ball on that belay ledge and have a little nap. Instead I went up, up, up... jamming more cracks, high steps, a belly flop onto a roof...

Here is Amy sitting on the Sharks Fin and Greg climbing up below her.

The shark fin was really cool. I laid back they first half of the right side, threw up a heel and belly flopped onto the top. I was feeling a bit nervous so I wiggled into the chimney behind the fin for a rest and had an interesting time getting out. Humping the fin, I found some hand holds on the face above it and was able to move up above it.

Here is my foot somewhere around P7.

Shortly after this, Greg and I got off route. The dihedral at the top looked like a yucky slime fest so we took a variation that led us through some bushes. Belaying Greg off a pine tree (which he had to climb to continue the route) on a mossy, wet slab, I was covered in black flies. They found the three spots I missed with the bug dope-- behind my right ear, next to my right eye, and on my left bum cheek. I look like I've been making out with an eight-fanged vampire.

Approximately nine pitches total and we topped out. Woohoo!!! It was delicious to lay down for a few minutes on the rock and wait for Amy and Joe to finish.

Amy and Joe at the top...

and me and Greg...


Notice Greg's gaiters. I got worried when he pulled them out of his pack. He had only described the descent as "interesting," let out an evil giggle, and wouldn't say anything more. The 2+ hours of careful bushwacking down began here. There were many times when I was *in* the pine trees, carefully stepping down through branches onto a rock or peaty ground, zig-zagging down steep slopes. Eeek! Its time for me to buy some real approach shoes. The tevas were a bit inadequate.



When we made it to the parking lot, it was 8:30pm. My pants were covered in blood, moss, dirt, dead bugs, lichen, tree sap, chalk, bug dope, sunscreen and gawd knows what else. I was completely and utterly exhausted. That night I slept the sleep of the dead. I haven't slept so well in years.

Trad climbers are not fat and lazy, especially if they climb the big stuff like Cannon. They're more like the marathon runners of the climbing world.