7.24.2017

Mountains and Mentors: Reliving the Perigrine Traverse

Author topping out on the

by Rick Allen

I had snapped the lid closed on a box of climbing gear several weeks before, saying goodbye for what I thought would be the last time to chalk bag, shoes, and harness. I spent over 30 years drifting in and out of climbing, always looking for a partner, but never able to make a lasting connection. A professional career jealous of free time and energy also left me with catastrophic injuries which made me a perfect weather barometer, but limited my diminishing physical capabilities. Yet the rock called me to come back again and again. I wanted to feel the flow of moving over it, to be one with it and not at war. Old flames separated by time and circumstance reunited, discovering they were still in love with each other.

I never made the transition to indoor gym climbing, at least not successfully. Overhanging thuggish routes replaced my beloved thin, high angle face climbs. Slab. That's what the kids called them now. Slab, said with disgust as if they were spitting something distasteful from their mouth. The internet had allowed me to find one of my first climbing heroes, Patrick Edlinger "Le Blond." I would watch his Life By the Fingertips and remember the first time I saw it on television in 1984. It inspired me to recover from my injuries and reconnect with the rock again. When I mentioned him to young climbers at the local gym no one had any idea who I was talking about. Slab.

An email received from a climbing acquaintance had me prying the lid off that box of climbing gear once again. A recent college graduate would be spending the summer in Eugene and he needed a climbing partner. Would I be interested? Once more into the breach. Hope springs eternal, and so I began my relationship with Jordan Machtelinckx. An alpinist who wanted to improve his rock climbing for future mixed routes, he attacked routes with a raw power I could only dream of, yet he was open to suggestion. Over beers and pulled pork nachos I told him of Edlinger and Ron Kauk, those masters of climbing elegance I so admired, and a seed was planted. Weeks passed and Jordan progressed from murdering 5.9's with blunt force trauma to gliding up 5.11's with the grace and poise I knew was there within him.

The summer months advanced and I knew my time of having a steady climbing partner would end, as all good things must. Jordan was more than ready to stretch his wings on a worthy project and he was eager. We wanted more than the typical Smith Rock multi-pitch day. Beer and nachos gave way to Guinness and Irish whiskey in my backyard. Jordan poured over guide books as I refilled glasses.

We agreed on the Peregrine Traverse of Acker Rock. Touted as Oregon’s longest sport climb, it is ten pitches of sparsely bolted rock in a remote part of the state. There would be no ten minute approach from a paved parking lot. No stairs or easy rescue if things went badly. No running water, no cell service, no nothing. I read the route description and looked at photos again and again. Ten pitches. I didn't need to do the climber’s math to realize it is going to be a very long day, and I am 58 years old. I reach for the whiskey and poured four fingers. I felt the twinge in my gut and recognized the feeling for what it was. Fear.

I am not one for tilting at windmills. There is no room in my life for Walter Mitty fantasy. Occasionally, when I look in the mirror I see my father. I recognize ugly truths and accept them for what they are, despite what I might wish and dream for myself. My best years have come and gone. My body is broken and I am old. I am old.

Labor Day arrives. The end of summer. We load gear into my truck and drive south in the darkness, sunrise still hours away. Paved roads turn to gravel as we drive deeper into the forest under morning light still devoid of color. I suddenly see an enormous black bear playing peekaboo behind an equally enormous old growth stump. I try to direct Jordan to it but what is clearly evident to me is invisible to him. The ensuing conversation borders on the comedic. It's right there! Where? There. I soon realize we are seeing the world through different eyes.

After a few missed turns we arrive at the parking area and see the gate is closed. This means a longer approach hike than we had hoped for. Certainly longer than I had hoped for. As we gather our gear and rack up, the last climber group from the weekend is leaving. They wish us well and say, “You have the place all to yourselves."

We begin the long uphill walk and Jordan chats happily. I am not exactly gasping, but my replies are short and I let him carry the bulk of the conversation, as well as the pack weight. Suddenly, I hear a sound I recognize as claws on tree bark, followed by the cries of a wailing child. We have inadvertently startled a bear cub who has scampered 40 feet up a tree and now screams for mama to come to the rescue. Jordan fumbles with his phone trying to take a photo as I explain to him we really don't want to be here when its mother returns. Jordan is enthralled by this rarely seen sight while I am recalling the size of the bear I had seen earlier. We are seeing the world through different eyes.

We climb over an embankment and leave the gravel road for the climber’s trail, which is nothing more than an animal trail. The trail is loose and off camber. I struggle with the unfamiliar weight of a pack and I feel unstable. I stumble on and, without the aid of trekking poles, the inevitable happens. Jordan stares at me quizzically as I attempt to regain my feet. We have not even begun the real climbing and I am already on my ass.

Rick below summit.
Photo: Jordan Machtelinckx.
A brief glimpse through the trees gives me my first full view of Acker Rock. It seems immense. Huge and, for me, intimidating. We finally reach the area known as the Sun Bowl. Aptly named, we are bathed in full morning sun. Jordan ropes up to lead the first pitch as I organize his belay. I look up at the rock. Ten pitches to go.

Jordan breezes through the first pitch and establishes our first belay stance. I marvel at the solid coarse nature of the rock, glad to have made the decision to keep my leather belay gloves on. I am starting to relax, thinking I may actually remember how to do this. The last time I did any serious multi-pitch climbing, I was Jordan's age. That simple thought causes me to reminisce about climbing the Bastille Crack in El Dorado Springs Canyon. So long ago. What happened to my life? Where did it all go? Jordan takes off on the second pitch and I return my thoughts to the present and the task at hand.

One pitch follows another as an easy, pleasant pattern develops. At the end of each pitch we share a PowerBar and water as we discuss the joys and difficulties of the preceding pitch. I feel the sun's intensity on my face and skin and know the climbing helmet I am wearing is doing nothing for me as a sunblock. I open my flip phone and check for a signal. Zip. Zero.

It is taking us far longer than we imagined it would. This won't be done in a couple of hours. It will be an all-day affair. We continue moving upward with Jordan in the lead. I pause at certain points on each pitch for a good look around, taking mental snapshots. I am savoring this extended moment in time with my young friend. I am ushering him in the beginning years of his life of adventures as he is leading me upward to the end of mine.

The lengthy wait at belay stances causes my body to stiffen and old injuries begin to ache. I struggle at the beginning when it is my turn to climb. I am the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz looking for a can of oil.

We begin to find a rhythm and are now hundreds of feet up. I watch falcons glide back and forth across the face below me. Jordan is high above me and out of sight. Just when I think all is well he calls down to me. "I'm not sure.....I....I think we're off route." Off route. It's a sanitized version for lost. A voice that had been happy and confident was now filled with concern. We are almost out of rope and Jordan cannot find the established belay anchors. He creates a solid anchor and yells down to me with words that sound something like, "rappel off." Oh the hell you say! I cup my hands and yell back. "Put me on belay and bring me up. We'll talk about it."

I reach Jordan and am relieved to be together again. I see he has made us a solid anchor by stringing webbing and cordelette around what looks like an upside down sugar cone. He talks again about rappel. I am against it. I tell him sketchy rappels are how people die on these things. An old memory from my first trip to Yosemite returns to me. A guy had rappelled down to a ledge I was on. We spoke briefly and then he stepped back to finish his rappel, 70 feet to the ground. I had looked away but heard the unmistakable sound of rope running rapidly against rock. I turned back and lunged for him, but it was too late. He was out of my reach and falling, his eyes wide, locked with mine, begging for help I couldn't give him. The wild windmilling of his arms carried him away from the rock as basketball sized granite boulders at the base awaited his arrival. I shook the memory out of my head. Lesson learned, there was no point dwelling on it.

Jordan looks around us, then up at the remaining portion of the route, then at me. He is not convinced. I tell him, "Look, I have the rack. Let's take the gear for a walk. I bet the anchors are just over that bulge above us." I can see sunlight reflecting off a bolt line above us. I reason with him, saying, “All roads lead to Rome, we just need to keep climbing up and we'll find our way.”

Jordan is not enthused about my leading and expresses his concerns. Valid point and just in time, as I am scared like hell at the thought of my first time on lead since before he was born. I can’t believe I am stupid enough to suggest it.

It was time for a pep talk. "Look, you're a 5.11 climber. This is several grades below what you're capable of. I know we can finish this. You just need to breathe up, center yourself and execute,” I say. As if on cue, he closes his eyes and begins some focused, purposeful breathing. Thirty seconds later he looks at me and gives a sharp nod of his head. I put him back on belay and he is gone. Jordan disappears over the bulge and seconds later I hear a happy shout, "Found 'em." We are back in business.

Jordan had been leading well all day, but the next two pitches are a thing of beauty. He is powerful and confident. He cruises up a final squeeze chimney that I murder by sheer force. As I reach him, he gestures to me with arms stretched out, as if to welcome me. I collapse beside him in a combination of relief and exhaustion. Still he reaches toward me. “What? Are we hugging? We're not done yet?” I ask. Jordan chuckles and says, "No, dude. I love you, but right now I just want your slings." One more pitch to go.

Pitch ten is an exposed traverse across the knife edge summit ridge. When I say exposed, I mean exposure that would send any normal person’s nether regions on the express elevator to their throat. We forge on and top out. The Peregrine Traverse of Acker Rock is complete.

I sit next to Jordan and revel in the exposure. We look out at a never-ending sea of trees. Alone here on this grand piece of rock, I am happy. I truly enjoy silence. Moments like this border on bliss. An ear splitting whoop sounds across the canyons as Jordan celebrates his achievement in the way young climbers do these days. My head snaps around to glare at him for disturbing my peaceful moment, but then I see him standing with his arms raised up in exaltation.

My annoyance gone, I can only look at him and smile. I hope he will seize the life that lies before him and have many more of these days ahead. The button-down 9 to 5 world can wait. I look toward the setting sun and know this is most likely my last summit, but I am glad I shared it with him, grateful to him for leading me to this glorious end.

Nearly three years have passed since that day spent on Acker Rock. Jordan moved on and completed an Odysseus-like trek across western Asia. He is living the life I had hoped for him, filled with meaningful work, loving relationships, and continuing adventures.

I write this from the comfort of home, my cat sleeping peacefully in my lap. I continue to climb at the local gym and get on real rock when the rare opportunity presents itself. I keep track of current climbing news via the internet. I see that Chris Bonington has returned to climb the Old Man of Hoy at the age of 80. Peter Habler, an old climbing partner of Reinhold Messner, has topped out on the North Face of the Eiger at 72. I gaze out the window and allow myself to consider what might be possible. Maybe, I think. Just maybe.

Sunset from fire tower on Acker Rock.
Photo: Jordan Machtelinckx.



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