Shorts: Hands In The Clouds

We’re perched at our hanging belay above the iconic ceiling that defines Eldo’s roof routes. I stare up at the journey ahead, Hands In The Clouds, a spectacular and rarely done 5.12. The combination of a required aid approach pitch, sparse protection and difficulty keep virtually everyone away. Tyler gives me a handful of small cams, nuts and draws as I mention almost in passing that I’m nervous about this pitch. Only 4 bolts protect 70 feet of hard climbing and supplemental gear may not exist. Big fall potential awaits.

At work my thesis sits half done. In a few short weeks I’ll be on my way to California for a high-pressure job interview. One hundred tasks, large and small, await my attention at home in anticipation of a move. My life is a churning flux of uncertainty.

And as I place my foot onto the first Hands in the Clouds edge, all of that stays on the ground, a million miles away.

I breathe a sigh of relief after some 5.10 climbing deposits me safely at the first bolt. A quick survey of the rock above reveals no protection until the next bolt 15 feet higher. A bad fall could still send me into the belay and possibly out over the roof.

A delicate traverse move puts me back on the vertical path and after some quality crimping, a huge rectangular sloper breaks the section in two. Now my feet are above the last draw. I go to the chalk well a few times and make a reachy lockoff to establish at a good stance to clip the second bolt. Hands in the Clouds is bolted in typical Eldo fashion – where you need them and nowhere else.

After a quick shake I start what looks to be the obvious sequence – left hand pinch, right hand crimp, high right foot, lockoff and left hand crossover to the big rail. I paw around on the rail only to discover the hold that looked so promising from below is a sloper with nothing to satisfy the fingers and stop a barn door. I reverse the moves to the stance by the last bolt.

In Eldo, difficult, cryptic cruxes are often separated by decent rests. After years of climbing here, I have developed an understanding of when to downclimb and how to milk a rest. I’m sure I’ve annoyed belayers on many occasions. Frequently I reverse lengthy sections to recompose and prepare for another go. By taking myself to the precipice of a crux and then backtracking, I feel out crucial holds, find important feet and gain muscle memory. Then, when I finally pull the trigger, the movement has been deconstructed and memorized as if it were a project. Such a strategy has become a characteristic style of mine, fostered by solving hundreds of Eldo’s puzzles.

But I can’t seem to crack this code. After several laps, I feel no closer than the first exploratory attempt. A change in strategy is required. Renewed sandstone study reveals a small sidepull edge that might allow sticking the sloper without a crossover. After a last shake I start back up. Feeling around the camouflaged crimson border, I catch the sidepull with a couple pads and hit the sloper straight on. A couple powerful moves put me at an undercling in a roof below the third draw.

I reach over the lip to clip and quickly realize it’s business time. With no feet to take weight off the arms, there will be no plotting and planning the next section. After a quick look I throw myself at the leftward traverse on more slopers. In a few seconds my arms are screaming. I glimpse faint remnants of chalk high and left. There is no telling if the hold will be good enough to catch, or if it is simply the mirage of respite. With a desperate lunge I chuck my left hand into the unknown, slapping the rail. The hold is not a jug as I hoped, but there is friction and I bump around frantically for the best purchase. I launch a high right foot for the first thing I see, sure I would be sent traveling the arc of a big whip.

Positioned almost sideways, adrenaline grants me one more stab to a layback above and I spill into a stance in an open book like a woozy runner drunk with exhaustion. Now I’m breathing from the depths of my lungs and pumped like Popeye without spinach.

A choice must be made. I could plug a cam into the only good hand hold, likely ending my chance to onsight, or I could tackle the rest of the run to the 4th bolt. Pumping out on the next few moves would send me for a monster fall. I twist my frame to weight my feet as much as possible, searching for thumb mantles and presses to take pressure off of my seething forearms.

After a few moments recomposing, I recognize the choice as an illusion of fatigue. I am going for the bolt. I press onward to a slot underneath the roof, clip the fourth and last draw and feel out the holds leading rightward into the last crux. As earlier, I reverse the moves back to the tenuous stance to reclaim some oxygen for my failing arms. Now I don’t have to worry about clipping the draw in sequence. Firing through the last desperate undercling traverse with no delays is my only chance.

Breathe. Find your feet. Establish into the underclings. Reach right. It’s horrible but all you’ve got. Bear down. Left hand. That’s also bad. It feels like I’m carrying a refrigerator with my fingertips. No turning back now. Right foot way out on the only speck that could be confused for a foothold. Trust it. Trust it. Damnit Adam – TRUST IT! Rock over. NO! Right foot skidding HOLD IT! Can’t bump the foot back to the dimple. Can’t reestablish. It is just a psycological foot hold anyway – screw it! Just press. PRESS! AAAAHHHHHH I’m so close! Just throw DO IT! Stab sideways to the upside down jug. A leap of faith. CATCH! Claw up the hardest 5.10 climbing ever on mantles and high feet.

WooooHoooo! Yeah! Screams of congratulations beam up from friends on the ground. I’m in the clouds.

I’ve tried many times but until now have never onsighted Eldo 5.12. Hands In The Clouds (5.12a) – five stars out of four. Do it.

*Thanks to Joe Crotty for some fantastic photos of local crusher Scott Bennett on Hands In The Clouds. In correspondence with Joe about his images, we discovered that we met just before Tyler started up to aid out the roof. When I stuck the last crux, Joe was yelling battle cries to me from the ground. What a small climbing world we live in. Thanks, Joe!