Flat Iron Climb, 2 day Trip with Apex Ex
Experience written by Guest Heather Kerr
Chautauqua Rocks By Heather E. Kerr
It was a warm and sunny, mid-80s day in September. I had been regularly traveling to the Denver area on business, and on this weekend I extended my stay in Boulder. I’d arranged a two-day Reach the Summit rock climbing experience with Apex Ex.
At 9 AM on Sunday, I met my guide at the Ranger’s Cottage in Chautauqua (pronounced shaw-TAW-kwa). Eric looked me over, assessing if he thought I was ready for the day’s physical challenge. Much like Ryan and John from the previous day’s learn-to-climb session, Eric was tanned and had a muscled leanness that testified to a kind of out-of-doors fitness.
“We have a couple of options,” Eric explained to me. “Flatirons 1 is a moderate climb of about a thousand vertical feet. It’ll take us most of the day, with several long pitches. Or there’s the popular climbs on Flatirons 2 and 3. They’re easier and take less time.”
I chose the all-day climb up Flatirons 1.
“We need to get going, then,” Eric warned. “There’s a chance of an afternoon thunderstorm. We need to get to a spot where we can leave the mountain quickly if weather turns bad.”
Looking around now from my narrow perch, there was no hint of a coming storm. The red-brown wall of the Flatirons stood out crisply against the deep blue sky. I could feel the sun’s heat radiate from the mountain wall.
I heard Eric yell down to me. “Heather, off belay.”
This meant Eric was no longer climbing and had safely anchored on a ledge far above me.
It would soon be my turn to climb. My pulse quickened. I removed the rope from my belay device and waited for his next commands. Eric pulled taught any slackened rope that connected my harness to him from his anchor station now high above me.
“Heather, on belay,” he called. I knew Eric was belaying for me now, ready to continue taking up the rope’s slack as I climbed and to brake if I slipped.
“Climb on, Heather!”
I stood up and faced the rock wall. My heart raced and I took a few quick breaths to steady my nerves. Game on, I thought.
“Climbing, Eric,” I shouted up the mountain
I began climbing. My eyes scanned the mountain’s surface, looking for any sign of a hand or foothold. During the previous day’s learn-to-climb session, I had looked uncertainly at the mountain wall, unable to easily discern the possible grips for hands and feet. But in no time my eyes became attuned to the slightest protrusion, the merest indention in the rock surface that would provide a confident hold.
Only the day before, I had joined four others led by Apex Ex guides Ryan and John at Chautauqua. We hiked the Bluebell/Baird Trail to the Amphitheatre near Gregory Canyon. This area was ideal for practicing belaying, climbing, and rappelling. We learned about our safety equipment and critical communications between climber and belayer. Before lunch, we took our first practice climb about 30 feet up the mountain wall. We spent the afternoon “following” in a manner common to multi-pitch climbs. The lead climber goes up first, setting protection devices like cams and stoppers into the cracks and crevices of the mountain wall. Other climbers follow in his path, with the last in the group removing the protection devices as they climb.
I did that now as I climbed. I paused beside each protection device and slipped its sling over my head and shoulder before unclipping the carabiner from my rope. I compressed the cam to release it from the rock’s crevice, and untied any ropes around large boulders and protrusions. Then I climbed on, cleaning all trace of our path up the mountainside. I didn’t mind a bit that the cams and stoppers dangled and clanked from my shoulder slings as I climbed. They made me feel as if I knew what I was doing.
Eric was an experienced climber and mountain guide. I followed his rope line, remembering his path and choices he’d made. I stayed in direct line of the rope, so if I slipped I would fall downward, avoiding swinging from side and side and saving myself from greater injury.
At the start of each climbing pitch, my heart raced but a bit of climbing soon settled my nerves. And then I would become lost in the experience of it, with Dusty Springfield’s “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me” playing over and over in my head. Like other climbers, I found myself in the immediacy of climbing the next ten feet, and then the next, and then the next. I focused intently on the wall in front and slightly above me.
With each hand and foothold, I scanned the rocky surface for the next. The reddish-brown sandstone was smooth beneath my hands as I stroked its sun-warmed, pitted surface. I breathed hard from the heat, the physical effort, and the risk. Confidence in my own physical abilities grew with each pitch.
By mid-afternoon we had climbed to the top ridge in several long pitches. Very near Flatirons’ top, a large slab jutted out from the mountain wall, creating a ceiling that blocked my upward path. Continuing upward meant leaving the relative security of the mountain wall. I would have to move outward into space in order to climb up and then over this slab.
From a belay point just below the jutting slab, Eric reassured me and gave me some tips on hand and footholds. I took a long drink of water. Yesterday’s practice climbs had shown me I was capable, but those were practice climbs about 20 feet above solid ground. I was now more than 900 feet above ground.
“Listen,” I told Eric firmly, “I’m going to need you to keep a lot of tension on this rope.”
Eric assured me he would, and then off he climbed while I sat on belay for him.
And then it was my turn.
“OhmiGOD-ohmigod-ohmigod,” I whispered. And at the same time I went for it.
I reached overhead and outward for a handhold I could only feel and not see. I reached with high knees for the foothold Eric had pointed out. I moved outward, away from the mountain wall, pulling upward with my hands and arms while at the same time pushing with my feet and trusting that neither my strength nor my holds would give out. I moved smoothly, strongly, up and over the slab in an exhilarating rush. A whole new stretch of mountain wall rose before me to take me to the top.
Eric hollered down words of encouragement. But he was moving briskly, worried about the threatening storm clouds that could now be seen over the mountain ridge. We made our way horizontally and yet still upward, climbing the ridge crests using a short pitch technique to quickly move toward the Flatirons’ highest peak.
I hadn’t taken much time to enjoy the view on the way up, but now from atop the summit I took it all in — the expansive views of Colorado’s Front Range and the Flatirons that rose up and away from the Ponderosa Pines that dotted its lower reaches. The city of Boulder lay below us. The distinctive orange rooftops of the University of Colorado stood out clearly, and the tall buildings of Denver were visible in the distance to the south. To the north, views of mountain ranges overlapped one another — Green Mountain, South Boulder Peak, Bear Peak. The mountain ranges extended beyond and beyond, their swells overlapping one another and then receding into clouds and sky.
With strong winds from the coming rainstorm whipping dust and rock bits at us, we rappelled down the backside of the mountain. From here we could easily pick up the trail back to the Ranger’s Cottage.
Soon after Eric and I were safely on the ground, a young boy rappelled to the ground near me. He looked to be about 11 or 12 years old. I had seen him and his guide on the summit only minutes before.
He looked to Eric. “Can I untie now?” he asked, and Eric advised him.
“Have you climbed this before?” I asked him.
“No, this is my first time,” he replied. And then his smile broke wide open. “It was really cool.”
“I’m totally with you,” I answered, smiling. “On both counts.”
By next morning, all my muscles were tight and sore. The balls of my feet and several toes were numb for days. My shins were scratched and knees bruised. Palms and fingers were raw from broken blisters. I returned home secretly proud of these badges from my magnificent and memorable experience on the Flatirons.
Personally, the year leading up to this climb had been long and difficult. In life, as in rock climbing, there are times when you wonder how you will get through the tough spots. You resist the inclination to pull back. Instead you reach outward, beyond yourself and yet still within your abilities. You learn to trust your judgment, your strength, your resilience. You commit.
And you make your way up the mountain.
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Copyright 2009, Heather E. Kerr
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