Book of Saturday on the North Face of Notch Peak
I used to drive out to Yosemite in my RV and spend the first week of June in the Valley. Here's the route I took:
Zooming in on the western edge of Utah, we see this:
This is the north face of Notch Peak:
That's all any climber needs to see to want to climb it. When I first saw it, I had no idea what it was. Some research yielded the name (Notch Peak) and the elevation (9658 feet), and finally a route: Book of Saturday (12 pitches, 11a). I've been dreaming of climbing it ever since, for at least a couple of decades. The guidebook says this north face is "reputedly the biggest limestone wall in the Lower 48 states...if the elevation of the approach and the lower wall is included, the relief is 800 meters." Yowza! Just the Book of Saturday is over 1300 feet tall.
The route is described as runout and loose, but the biggest runouts were on 5.8/9 terrain, and the 5.10 and above was supposedly well-protected. It sounded like a route I could manage, but, like on Watkins, I recruited some insurance: Jared Campbell.
Like Hans, this guy is a world-class adventurer athlete. Though not as famous in the climbing realm, Jared got his start there, sending sport climbs up to 5.13. He moved on to trad climbing and huge link-ups (Grand Traverse, Evolution Traverse), where he discovered his ultra-endurance. He went on to win Hard Rock (one of the hardest 100-mile runs in the world) and finished the infamous Barkley Marathon (look it up) four times (more than anyone else at the time). He's done his own version of Badwater, which travels 135 miles from Death Valley to the summit of Mt. Whitney. Only he went over the summit of Telescope Peak, making a ridiculous challenge much harder. His prowess in technical, committing climbing/scrambling/canyoneering routes in Zion is almost beyond belief. He told me about descending Kolob Canyon in the middle of winter, where he'd rappel into pool after pool that had a 3/4" layer of ice on top. The ice didn't support his weight, so after rappelling into the pool, he had to swim across it, breaking the surface ice as he went. He told about how a throwing error resulted in their essential 200-foot rope sinking to the bottom of one of these pools. He had to repeatedly dive down to attempt to retrieve it, getting hypothermic in the process. Why do this canyon in winter? Because it wasn't hard enough in summer!
I'd climbed with Jared just once before, when we did Squawstruck, a 22-pitch 5.11 route in Provo. My buddy Mark Oveson set up this blind date for me. I'd known about Jared for a long time. I'd been jealous of my friend Buzz, who'd done many adventures with him. Jared and I hit it off enough that he was game for Book of Saturday. He'd already seen the route but not climbed it. What? He had climbed Western Hardman (5.11) on the lower wall and linked that into La Fin du Monde (5.10) for a 21-pitch tour de force. Afterwards, they rappelled Book of Saturday to get back to the base and their vehicle.
I discovered there was a hiking trail off the backside of this peak and thought it would be cool to climb the face and then, instead of rappelling, just hike down the other side. Unfortunately, to do this involves a significant car shuttle. But I had a plan for that, too. I'd recruit Mark to come out with us. While Jared and I climbed the face, Mark would drive around to the other side, hike in, and meet us on top. I still think this is a good plan, but after my trouble on Watkins, I scaled back my ambition to just climbing the route as easily as possible. Jared had even suggested rappelling in, and after first resisting, I relented.
The Plan
I didn't want to take a 70-meter rope if we didn't need it, but my 60-meter rope needed replacing. A quick trip to Neptune's solved that problem:
For the second rappel line, we brought my 7mm, 60-meter, ultra-stiff, static line that had been recommended to me for Patagonia by Chris Weidner. This is a specialty rope if there ever was one. It is only useful as a second rappel rope. It has two key qualities. First, it is small and light. Second, it is incredibly stiff. When coiled, you can hold one end of the coil and the rope sticks straight out, holding shape. Normally, I hate this, as it makes the rope difficult to handle, but the idea is that when rappelling, you pull down your other rope first. This stiff line is the one that rockets down the face, and the stiffness prevents it from wrapping around any protrusions. Or getting tangled in your other line. In this regard, it works very well.
For a rack, we brought my double set of ultra-lights to #1 Camalots (all used at some point), stoppers (never placed), 20 slings, half alpine, half sport (about right).
I drove out Friday morning, stopping at the Ghost Rock Rest Area to bag Ghost Rock West, and met Mark and his 11-year-old boys, Jason and Spencer, at the Ashton Burger Barn (recommended!) in Delta, Utah. This was an 8.5-hour drive for me, and there was still an hour of driving left to get to the trailhead. After dinner, Mark went to a hotel with the boys, and I waited for Jared, who arrived at 8 p.m. He grabbed dinner to go at a burrito place, and we drove out to the trailhead.
After packing for the next day, we hit the sack (me in the bed of Jared's Tundra and he in the rooftop, pop-up tent) at 10 p.m. with alarms set for 3:45 a.m.
The Climb
We were off the next morning a little after 4 a.m. We had allocated two hours for the approach (3.7 miles, 2400 vertical feet), gearing up, and starting our rappels. We then figured it would be two more hours before we were down to the base and starting to lead back up. We stuck to this schedule almost exactly. Before dropping in, I sent a message to Sheri and talked to Mark on the phone (we had great reception on the trail, but no coverage once on the face). Jared was in shorts the whole day, while I wore long pants for the approach and the climb, mainly for protection from the sharp limestone.
The 10 rappels (we combined pitches twice on the way down) were intimidating, but went smoothly with one snag of the stiff rope on the first rappel. Jared led the way, and I was thankful for that. I figured he'd already been down these rappels once before and had a better chance of locating each station. He did an expert job. We had to laboriously rethread our stiff line each time, so that it was always the last to fall, but all went well.
The weather report for Delta was a high of 89 degrees, and you'd think it might be too hot to climb, but that is not the case. If anything, I was chilled on the wall. Until we topped out, we were never in the sun. Book of Saturday sees no sun, maybe ever. Even in the photo above, our route follows the line of shadow from bottom to top. We had near-perfect temps, though I'd have been happy with it being 5-10 degrees warmer or having less wind. It wasn't very windy, but the breeze made it a bit chillier.
I'd scoped out the topo, noticing the crux was the 5.11 second pitch. Wanting to do my part and swing leads, I suggested I'd take the odd pitches. This would give me three 5.10 leads. It didn't go that way, but I did take the first lead. I had the larger pack and stuffed the stiff rappel line into it. It wasn't that heavy, but it wasn't that light, so I carried Jared's pack on the first pitch, a steep 5.10 pitch.
While this route supposedly has 100 bolts on it, at least 35 of them are at the belays. That leaves 65 bolts in 1300 feet of climbing or, on average, a bolt every twenty feet. That's a sizeable average runout. Hence, the rack. I question this number, too. The topo shows 7 bolts on the 100+ foot first pitch. I don't recall that many. I placed as much gear as I could, and it was generally well protected, but it was steep, and I got really pumped. I didn't fall off, but I nearly did at one point. All winter long, I told myself I was training for Watkins and Notch Peak and I was reasonably strong at the end of April. But now, more than a month later, I hadn't been in the gym since. I was disappointed with my fitness.
It took me a while to lead the first pitch, but I only got patience and encouragement from below. Jared followed smoothly and quickly transitioned into leading the crux pitch. From the belay, the pitch looked reasonable. I didn't realize how steep it was until I followed it. Or how bad some of the holds were. Jared climbed methodically up the pitch, making it look like there was a rest after every move. How deceptive! There were a couple of nice rest opportunities, but I pulled on a draw at the lower crux and had to hang on the rope (my only taints of the ascent) at the overhanging finish of the pitch.
The next pitch was only rated 5.6, but in my pumped state, it seemed more like 5.8 at the start. It lay back higher up, but then entered a gully with lots of loose rock, and I moved extremely carefully so that I didn't knock anything down on Jared.
Pitch four started with a crack in a corner and was the best pitch yet, with the best rock so far. The rock quality is a huge factor in the ambiance of this route. There is still plenty of choss and loose rock on this route, but nearly all of it looks like it will break. Getting used to pulling on holds that appear to be barely attached was something I never really got used to. I'd bang on holds repeatedly, seeing no movement at all, but still not believing I wouldn't pull it off. When massively runout, using holds like this is terrifying. It made us appreciate the rare sections where the rock looked solid.
Pitch five was rated 5.8 and had just three bolts in 130 feet. I got in supplemental gear along the way, but the crux is at the very end and comes well above the last bolt. Steep climbing led to slightly less steep terrain, just as the holds got very rounded and slick. I finished maybe twenty feet above the bolt and a bit rattled.
Jared wanted to climb pitch 6 (5.7, 80 feet) with pitch 7 (5.9, 60 feet). It sounded eminently reasonable, but turned out to be a mistake. First, the 5.7 was more like 5.9 and a bit runout. Second, because of the lack of bolts, Jared got off route to the right. He went up and down for a bit, concerned about climbing himself into a deeper hole. On this route, it is essential that you stay on route. If you get off route, there is no guarantee you'll be able to find protection or be able to set up a belay. We had to find each belay station.
Jared eventually downclimbed a bit and made a hard traverse to the left before going up, placing some gear, and eventually getting to the belay, where he continued into the next pitch. This went fine at the start, but he continued above a bolt where he should have gone straight left, again. He later said that a look at the guidebook would have been helpful:
Instead of traversing at the bolt, Jared continued straight up. The climbing was challenging, and he placed a couple of pieces of gear, climbing twenty feet above the belay. He called down to me the situation, and I commented that he'd pulled out more than enough rope to reach the second belay. This forced him to look around a bit more, and he spotted the belay. I took him on tension and lowered him, and he swung over to the belay. He also brought the trail rope over with him... I think. Because by the time I got there, the rope ran directly to the belay, and his gear was still in the rock, up and right.
I benefited from both of Jared's mistakes, climbing on the correct line. I was surprised at the difficulty and serious nature of the "5.7" pitch. The 5.9 pitch was better protected, though with a heads-up traverse.
In Jared's defense, the belay wasn't visible to the left, and it was unobvious to go that way.
The next pitch was rated 10c. I wasn't supposed to be leading this pitch. The linking had gotten us off my sequence. I deferred the lead, and Jared eagerly accepted the sharp end once again. The pitch started with what we hoped was the crux. Jared styled it, and I did well there also. While climbing this part, Jared was telling me about an Eastern European friend of his, who, when pumped, would call down to Jared, mid-lead, and say, "Jared! I am so hard right now!" He was referring to his forearms, but he knew how it sounded to the nearby climbers. Once through the lower crux, Jared moved on but not before saying, "Bill, I am so hard right now."
Above, out of sight, the rope moved slowly. And this was a very long pitch (160'). Eventually, it was my turn, and once through the lower section, I climbed above a bulge and saw this vast expanse of nearly featureless orange limestone. I recalled this section when we were rappelling down. I thought it looked scary then, and my opinion hadn't changed. I remember thinking, "I don't want to lead this pitch, whichever it is." I stood there for quite a while, trying to find anything that would aid my ascent. Jared eventually even called down to check on me. This prompted me to try the minuscule holds. I inched upwards, one improbable move after another. I was appalled at the distance between the bolts -- at least twenty feet. I imagined doing the thinnest move, where I was sure I'd fall, while 15 feet above the last bolt. I wouldn't have done it. This was the one pitch on the route where I'm pretty sure I couldn't/wouldn't lead it.
Jared would later acknowledge the serious nature of the pitch, but seemed more comfortable with the prospect of a fall. This is a terrible place to take a fall of any length. First, if you scraped against the wall, the limestone would chew you up. Second, the rock is so questionable that falling against it might dislodge rocks that tumble down towards your belayer. It was a ballsy lead by Jared.
At the belay, we discussed the remaining pitches. I'd already skipped a lead, but with two 5.10s and two easier pitches remaining, it made more sense for me to take the easy ones. This is the danger of climbing with a rope gun. It's so easy to defer to the stronger climber. He'd have let me take any pitch I wanted. Jared wasn't pressuring me to give him the harder pitches so that we could top out sooner. It was all up to me, and I once again chose the easy way out.
Jared led the super fun 10a 9th pitch, which we both agreed was the best pitch on the route. It was well protected, for a change, had relatively good rock, and lots of variety and interesting moves going over a roof or two. I led the 10th pitch (5.7, 100 feet), which was quite runout, and had to trust holds that sounded and felt solid but looked terrible. I dispatched this pitch pretty quickly and belayed at an uncomfortable V-dihedral with just a couple of footholds. My feet were killing me, and I'd take off my shoes here.
Jared then led the last hard pitch. It was another long one (150 feet on the topo, 55 meters in the description) and rated 10b. He climbed up to a steep thin section, clipping a couple of bolts along the way. He hesitated here for quite a bit. Enough to get me nervous about my prospects of climbing it clean. I knew the pitch was long, and if I fell that low on the pitch, the rope would stretch quite a bit. I'd have to climb it over again completely if I fell.
Our topo said to move left at the third bolt, and Jared, conscious of what happened the last time he didn't do this, traversed left. He placed some gear and then couldn't find the route. He probed around for quite a while before moving back to the right above the gear he placed, not finding any bolts. We were bewildered at the bolting strategy. The easier 9th pitch was well bolted. This harder 11th pitch was very runout. Yes, he found and placed gear, but even that was widely spaced, and without a bolt, there was no confirmation he was even on the right line. He continued on 5.10 ground, turned a roof, protected by gear, and eventually found more bolts. The pitch ended with more of the micro-hold, orange limestone climbing that had given me so much trouble on pitch 8. It was easier here (5.9), and I trusted my feet more on the micro-edges that seemed to dig into the rubber on my shoes.
When I arrived at the belay, we heard Mark call from above! We were one 80-foot, 5.8 pitch from the top and could hear him clearly. He and his boys had already been to the summit and were ready for us with a pack full of snacks. Jared and I wondered what treats they had hauled up there. Mark once brought me a popsicle high in the Flatirons on a really hot day. This was a much longer approach, but I wondered what crazy goodies he and his boys had hauled up here.
The last pitch went fine. Runout in spots, but had three bolts and I found them all, supplementing the gaps with gear. I tested each hold and moved methodically (read: slowly). I didn't want to make any mistakes this close to the finish. Mark was leaning over the edge, trying to take some photos, and made me a touch nervous. I knew how loose things were. He was being careful, though, and didn't get too close to the edge. I clipped the final anchors and put Jared on belay. He soon joined me. Book of Saturday was complete!
The Hike Out
Even before I could get my shoes off, Mark was passing me treats. First, it was a bottle of grape Powerade with one for Jared as well. Then it was a bag of chips and a sleeve of donuts (Mark knows this is my favorite food). Then, out came a mini watermelon! With spoons. Then, in something only Mark would think of, he pulled out three pints of Häagen-Dazs ice cream! And it was still frozen! How could that be? Mark had carried up seven pounds of dry ice! Where do you even get that? The grocery store, apparently. He brought it up in a soft-sided cooler. Why three pints? We couldn't possibly eat all that. Well, he had to bring a pint of coffee ice cream because he knew it was my favorite. But then he had to bring another pint because neither he nor his boys liked coffee ice cream. So, why the third pint? Because Mark doesn't stop at the amazing. He has to go over the top. He can't just give flawless, incredible support. Maybe some other great friend could do that. He has to do something so over the top that no one else would ever do it.
Mark's boys were so friendly, so excited for us, so happy to be there, and proud that they had done a hard hike and that "it was easy" for them. They took part in all the goodies as well. And I'm sure I'm forgetting plenty more of the snacks (add them in please, Mark). While Jared and I hiked the last 200 vertical feet to the summit, Mark and his boys got a head start on the descent. My gear was still strewn all around, and I told Mark, "Do NOT take any climbing gear." I knew he'd go over the top again if I didn't say that, but he had a full load with all the snacks that we didn't eat. Plus, I'd already given Jason my pack from the climb with just the stiff rope in it.
We tagged the top, took photos, and returned to our gear. I looked for the rack. Jared, did you take the rack? Nope. Dammit, Mark. We packed and hustled down, catching the team. I confirmed that Mark had the rack and chastised him. He responded, "Oh, I thought you said, 'DO take the rack' ". Typical. Jared eventually ended up with the pack that I'd given to Jason, which Mark had taken from him already, so that Jared ended up carrying about everything.
I'm so thankful and so grateful for these great friends. Once again, I only achieved my goals by having such strong, giving partners. When I first did Nose-in-a-Day, I was adamant about not doing it with Hans, knowing what would happen (and did happen when I eventually did climb it with him). Now, instead of shunning such strong partners, I seek them out. I still strive and plan to do my share, but in these last two adventures, I didn't. Will these two still climb with me in the future, knowing the burden that I am? We'll see, but Jared was already talking about linking up the lower face to the upper one on Notch Peak. With him, anything is possible, but if I do come back, I'm coming straight from a season in the gym!
