Okotoks: Erratic Pleasures Through Time (Part II)
Editor’s Note: 75¢ beers, screwdrivers for nut tools and broken ankles - take a step back in time with this beautifully written piece from Glenn Reisenhofer. You might already know Glenn for his impressive ticklist of first ascents, or through his photography. In this two-part series, he nostalgically takes us back to the early days of climbing at Big Rock, the developing ethic and style that ensued, and a mix of anecdotes on gear and friendship to make us all wish we were young and on the road again.
Part I is available here.
Securing access to Big Rock
We heard that access to Big Rock was shutting down for us climbers. In protest I wanted to ascend one of the four difficult climbs. This time I wouldn’t use the rope on the problem, Brian’s Thin. Both Neil and Ian Groll spotted me, but that seemed little help as the landing was uneven and not at all friendly for a fall. The problem was well known to me due to the number of times we had worked its devious edges with a rope. The crux was at the top where the wall changed from slightly overhanging to thirty five degrees. After a slight struggle on the lip of the problem, the few positive handholds allowed access to the top. My small informal protest ended with a big smile.
As the years passed, many of the common and regularly traveled boulder problems became known as “highballs,” problems that had longer falling potential. They were not problems you could ever fall from. An older and wiser climber informed us that the last thing climbers need is someone falling off and seriously hurting themselves, for that would quickly shut down access for the climbers.
At some point the farmer had enough of people on his land. People were driving their vehicles right up to the rock and giving the farmer grief when he asked them to leave, or respect his property. The large brown and white sign was taken down from the side of the highway and, for a short while, access to our precious rock was threatened and we were concerned.
Behind the scenes the Calgary Mountain Club acted. Spearheaded by Allan Derbyshire, various interest groups met to resolve the issue. The province of Alberta, local Okotoks businesses and interest groups, an archaeology graduate student and representatives from the CMC met on several occasions. The grad student fought for Archaeological Heritage designation, which would have closed the rock to all unsupervised public access. Peigan First Nation were contacted to join in the discussions. The rock was well known to them, but was mainly used as a navigational aid, a traveller’s landmark. Big Rock became a designated provincial historic resource and, luckily for climbers, the rock remained open for climbing provided there was no physical damage done. The CMC organizes an annual garbage clean up where members have picked up broken glass, Tim Horton’s wrappers and used condoms. Allan even found a pager once, which went off on his drive home allowing the device to be returned to the rightful owner. The CMC cleanup crew makes sure they get a bit of climbing in before the evening is over.
Climbing with Marshall
Every spring with new vegetation pushing up through the earth, we found ourselves once again at Big Rock. A session of top roping had just wound down and my girlfriend and I were engaged in a conversation as the rope was being coiled. Between breaks in top roping I managed to get in a few bouldering problems on the now familiar circuit. As we were thinking of heading back to Calgary, a familiar figure walked along the dirt path towards the rock. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail and a headband kept his mop from covering his gold metal framed glasses. This small, muscular figure wore baggy gym shorts, a t-shirt and tall white sport socks with double coloured rings which highlighted his knobby knees. A chalkbag, climbing shoes and a water bottle was all that he carried. Jeff Marshall was approaching his training ground and he was primed for action.
Jeff and I had climbed together a few times during our short period of acquaintance. He was a staff member of the low key, but very cool, Mountain Equipment Co-op. He would ask about our recent climbing adventures and listen patiently to us younger climbers. With pride we told him of our ascent of the grade two frozen waterfall Silverton Falls. Little did we know that he was climbing the hardest ice routes of the day, routes like Nemesis that had been free climbed only two years earlier. He did not brag about the climbs he had done but instead quietly inspired our hopes and aspirations. Chic Scott wrote in his Pushing the Limits that “Jeff Marshall is the last in a long and illustrious line of CMC bad boys... Jeff developed into one of the meanest and most efficient climbing machines in the Rockies.”
Not knowing that we had finished our session at the rock, Jeff wanted to know if I was interested in some bouldering. My girlfriend agreed to wait and enjoy the upcoming show. We had been climbing together for a year, but this was her first time to Big Rock and she was in no hurry to get home. Besides, it was a beautiful spring evening and the sun had not yet set.
Starting on the south face of the east boulder we followed each other up various routes and in the process visited all the walls that the Big Rock had to offer. He ascended problems that I had not seen, or considered; sneaky devious problems that required finesse and strength to reach the top. During the course of the evening Jeff also learned a few new problems himself. We followed each other up problems with few exceptions.
That evening I went up some routes without the rope for the first time. Problems that I had previously avoided. On some problems your body position forces you into a compromising position, an angle at which, if you were to fall, you would be catapulted outwards at an alarming rate making an already poor landing worse. There are cases in which people have broken their limbs, usually legs, or ankles on a few problems. And cases where luck plays a role, such as when Andy Genereux fell from near the top of the rock and landed between some boulders, receiving only severely bruised feet. Although, he could not walk properly for two weeks.
Jeff had a problem that I wouldn’t do; it put me into too much of a compromising situation. I knew I was good enough, but if I blew the move the consequences were too high. I tried many times, but the movement never felt right causing me to back off. Jeff would climb this problem every time performing this funky move by pasting his whole foot against the wall to keep him in balance, a move I could never manage. However, Jeff also would never ascend one problem that I regularly climbed, which involved climbing over a small roof and mantling onto a ledge using only your thumb and first two fingers. From there you had to reach a sloping ledge and bump up to a very good edge. For Jeff, a painful boulder-filled landing was possible if he couldn’t bump up to the good edge. He probably could have done the move, but, like me, chose not to.
Over the years ‘follow the leader’ would become a game for Jeff and I. If you couldn’t get up the other’s boulder problem you had one point against you. We took turns going first. The score was often one to one, and on rare occasions 2 to 1. The score usually dictated who was buying the beer for the journey home, a drive that was filled with laughter, tired arms and sore fingers. We always fell into euphoria as we drove home from the rock towards Calgary. We were alive and we felt as if the words Carpe Diem had been tattooed on our foreheads. After working all day a blessing had been bestowed on us if we could get to the rock, to feel those quartzite edges one more time and test our mettle with well-used climbing shoes.
Introducing the ‘pad’
A new arrival from Jasper, Dave Robinson, was the first person I met who brought a crash mat to Okotoks. With small rectangular eyeglasses, standup brilliant blonde hair cut close on the sides, and an interesting variety of musical tastes, Dave stood out from his peers. This new bouldering mat was something that he had created, since commercial bouldering mats could not be readily purchased. The mat certainly made for a comfy sitting space to lace up your rockshoes, but also had a different function. You could place this mat underneath your fall line with the idea that the force of a falling climber would be absorbed and dispersed into the mat’s inner materials. This fine creation of Dave’s could also be moved in closer to the bottom of the rock, particularly useful under overhanging rock. This was a very important turning point in our understanding of a bouldering problem. Traditionally, we would be standing when we started bouldering problems, sometimes jumping upwards to start the moves. Now, with Dave’s mat, a new term came into our climbing lingo: “sit starts.” Through materials and help from the Mountain Equipment Co-op’s warranty department, Dave’s blue and yellow creation changed my understanding of what was climbable.
New problems started showing up. Edges that had never seen a chalked hand started resembling well used holds. These new problems were hard, much more difficult than we had attempted before. An already longish bouldering problem just became harder, and longer. A new breed of climber, the pad-person, had upped the ante.
The nature of bouldering had changed at Big Rock. People with pads outnumbered the ones without. Roped climbing became infrequent and the art of nut-anchor top rope stations lost out to the pad. Although, this useful climbing skill still served us very well when difficult protection presented itself on ‘real’ climbs throughout the Rockies.
Developments and changes to Big Rock
A few years into the new millennium, the land surrounding Big Rock was sold to the Alberta Government. A normal barbed wire fence separated the farm from the land that the government now owned. An alien wooden fence circled the rock preventing almost no one from directly reaching the rock. A path was created to encourage people to walk around the outer perimeter of this wooden fence. A large paved parking lot with a modern outhouse was installed next to the highway. Stairs and a handicap ramp were placed on the small incline near the lot. People started showing up in regular intervals, the weather having a direct influence on the number of people willing to leave their cars to visit the rock. Youth groups would sing on top of the rock while someone played the guitar. Acreages were being built to the east and across the now busy highway. A new era had been unleashed onto the rock and this precious resource would soon see spray painted graffiti.
Indigenous rock art has been known at Big Rock for decades, but with improvements in digital technology many more pictographs surfaced by altering images taken by researchers. Some areas where the rock appeared to simply be reddish in colour were actually red ochre extensively rubbed onto the surface. Researchers could now pick out hand prints and finger marks: communication between the spirit and human world.
The entire surface of Big Rock has been laser scanned, including the top and some inner alcoves and an exact 3D replica has been created mapping out where the indigenous artwork is located. As graffiti occasionally makes its way onto the surface of Big Rock, modern technology helps remove these eyesores. This technology has helped by identifying exactly where the art work is and how best to deal with the graffiti.
The simple pleasure
There are friends we climbed with at Big Rock who are no longer with us. One particularly fine evening, Dave Campbell and I had practiced down-climbing all the bouldering problems we ascended with a rope. This turned out to be a unique experience that added a twist to established problems. Dave was a fine energetic climber with an entrepreneurial side who opened his own climbing shop, Wicked Gravity. The skills developed from these down-climbing sessions proved to be invaluable and were put to use more often than I’d like to admit.
Later I found out that the lone fellow with the red hair and black beret had worked with us for many years at Mountain Equipment Co-op; Denis Kwiring was a hard worker with wit and intelligence. But for years, I never knew he was the same fellow who had provided our first belay in 1983 since he never mentioned it. I cannot tell Denis Kwiring this story for his life was cut short, ending in a car crash along the infamous highway 63 south of Fort McMurray. By chance, I had sent a photo to one of his closer friends who immediately identified Denis as the belayer on top of the rock. I wish I could communicate how important and thankful I am for that belay.
As with most places that one frequents over the years, mental images return and flood our brains with memories. On this particular visit a memory of my youth appeared, a time when long carefree summer evenings ruled and the plans for future climbing trips never seemed to end. As I walked along the well-beaten path towards the boulders a feeling came over me, something that I hadn’t felt for awhile. Some message deep inside, yearning to get out. What was this confusion going on inside my head?
After much recollection the answer revealed itself. When we were at Big Rock in our twenties, climbing had an effortless quality that no other activity could match. We wanted to be at the rock. Our hands yearned to try new problems. We never tired of climbing on the rock in any style. We wondered how long this game could be played. Was this something people did into their fifties? Would we one day be able to come back again and climb the boulder problems of our youth? Would we continue to play the game, be too decrepit or simply get bored and move onto something else?
Back then, life was an endless flowing movement of holds, chalk, wind and sun. Now I am in my mid-fifties and time continues, but the pace seems to have quickened. I hadn’t been to the rock for years and the last venture was mainly for the sake of a video course, not sending high quality bouldering routes. I pondered the possibility for a small bit of my youth to return. Could I still ascend some highballs? Without thinking too much I set a goal of ten problems.
Years past at Big Rock
I walked around the collection of boulders and like a movie in fast time watched the routes of yesteryear play their shows in my own private theatre. I loved walking around the rocks and glancing up at the various lines. This time I noticed evidence of the past that hadn’t previously grabbed my attention. Hammer blows nicked the hard quartzite surface that lined a thin upward leaning crack line; perhaps from aid climbing practice in the late 1960s. Some problems had lost their starting holds and became infinitely harder in the process. In some areas the grass had been well flattened with no long shoots growing where the rock met the earth, evidence of low sit start boulder problems. The grass still grew tall around the various smaller boulders and along the edge of the big rocks where sit start problems were not common. A rounded arête, worn smooth from the centuries of plains bison rubbing their itchy bodies to shed their winter coats. Water still seeped from the small crack along the traverse wall on the west rock. Once the home of limited problems this north facing wall has become popular with highly coveted, difficult bouldering problems.
On this chilly day the normal routine of warming up before a bouldering session began. The down jacket comes out of the pack, rockshoes are stored inside the inner bulky pockets, hands are stuffed inside the fleece lined pockets and the toque is pulled firmly over the ears. After a series of arm, shoulder and hand rotations a false sense of reality fools one to believe warmth has returned. A few mouthfuls of dark roast coffee helps stimulate inner warmth.
The old familiar circuit problems grabbed my immediate attention but experience directed me to ascend the easiest lines first and use these as an extension of the warming up process. I chose the slabby staircase-like problem on the west boulder south face to do my second warm up. About halfway up the boulder I wondered how the footholds had become so small. Why were they blurry and hard to differentiate at times? While the overcast skies refused to allow any strong sunlight through, I had to laugh for it was my eyesight that was the problem. The distance looking down my long legs to my feet was just outside my current focal range; definitely something to remember before future climbs of a more serious nature.
After ascending Heel Breaker another memory came to mind. Years ago in our foolishness, one of us had climbed Heel Breaker in a new style, this was when the rock was being threatened with a climbing ban and a new form of climbing protest came forth: sans clothing. When recently asked if he had at least worn rockshoes his quick reply was “I can’t remember.” Perhaps some protests are better left unrepeated.
The weather warmed up as I continued around the perimeter of the boulders ascending problems that were in the realm of manageable. The appropriately named Edge Lane remained an easy line with solid square holds. These holds were as good as they come, but they came with a price. Some holds were spaced far apart. A fall would be dramatic and my small lone bouldering mat got smaller as I climbed higher. The problem is approximately five body lengths long with the crux being somewhere near the top. At least this problem had no boulders at the base, only hard packed soil from many years of tramping by prairie bison, First Nations and climber traffic.
As the day proceeded I wondered if my rockshoes would top-out on ten routes. The goal felt acceptable when conceived earlier in the day. After the ninth route doubt started to settle on the possibility of topping out on the tenth problem. Fatigue was catching up and I had to rest in between problems. The days of continual flowing motion without a break were far buried in the vaults of yesteryear. My breathing was heavier than normal, a chalked hold under a roof wasn’t the only item that marked the passage of time.
There were only a few more options if the tenth route was to become a reality. I circled the boulders looking for viable options with fewer and fewer possibilities. Several times I would start up an old problem on perfect quartzite edges and realize that the jam needed to continue was nonexistent, resulting in careful down-climbing. I admitted that the tenth problem would not materialize, my shoes would not be touching the top of the boulder again.
After a short break I reconsidered the situation. Perhaps I would simply do the crux of the tenth route and be satisfied with that, and this time the bouldering mat could be well placed below me. The south face of the east rock had an enormous roof with a corner that snuck up to its underside. The technical crux was near the bottom and kept most people on the ground. To get up this problem one had to climb a few fierce moves on slippery edges to a very good sequence of jugs below the roof. Higher up, one ventured into that other world, one with possible consequence and terror. I down climbed.
Returning to the soft safety of the bouldering mat felt nice. The clouds were starting to break and the sun snuck through. High school kids wandered the perimeter of the boulders, joking along the way. Parents took their young ones up close so they could feel the texture of the lichen-covered surface. I was happy. The bold open sky, the high quality and the varied nature of bouldering at Big Rock left me with an unexpected peace and inner calm. I am thankful to have had the chance to visit this erratic once again, a rock that deserves respect and in return gives you more than you can possibly imagine.
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