This weekend was all about Bailey's ass. [note from the editor: It's been a while since I put out a real TR, so this one is a bit on the long side.] The original plan had been to try for the Needles, with Matt, Susan, Erin and I, and a few other wafflers who were unwilling to fully commit, making a 4 day weekend of it. Routes had been selected, logistics planned, food bought, and then suddenly, Bailey's ass intruded on our reality. Don't get me wrong - Bailey has a fine ass, and I'm not criticising it, or resenting it's existence. It's hard to operate without an ass. But somehow, his ass got infected. I'm not going to make any speculations concerning the exact nature of his role in the Owen family, and how he might have aquired such a medical condition, so we'll just leave it at the fact that a virulent infection occurred in his anal region. [NB: Matt has not yet acceded to my request for an image of Bailey's ass, so you'll just have to use your imagination.] Since Susan and Matt are concerned parents, they felt that the hike in to the Needles would be too much for Bailey and his sore ass. Meanwhile, Jeremy (well, Patrick and Julie actually), had reserved a group site at the Meadows, where much partying was to be had, so plans were shifted to better accommodate the ass in question. We planned on climbing for a day or so in the Meadows, then driving over the pass to Patricia Bowl, for some trad cragging. The main weakness in this plan was the lack of a guide book for the area, but we thought it would be easy to pick one up at the Meadows climbing store, or the Mobil station. It was felt that this strategy would not place too much strain on Bailey's ass, and would be a reasonable alternative to the Needles trip, which could wait for more favourable ass and weather conditions (it might have been a bit warm). Erin and I drove up on Friday night, and found the party already in progress. On schedule, as we drove by Stately Pleasure Dome, I made my oft-heard pronunciation "wouldn't it be awesome to climb Great White Book by the light of the full moon?" Erin agreed, and then, as usual, since it had been a long drive, and we were both tired, we decided to do it "tomorrow night." Saturday was tentatively scheduled as Erin's lead day. So we wandered over to Holdless Horror (5.7), where Erin proceeded to lead the whole thing. We discovered that the gully to the right of the climb makes for a good 4th class descent. After a late lunch, we moved on to the Lamb Dome, where Erin was jonesing to lead Little Sheba (5.10a). Despite the presence of a bat in the crack, right where one would get a good jam, she led it in fine style, and without issue. I followed, and having forgotten about the bat, proceeded to poke it with my hand, making many excited noises when it freaked out and squeaked and hissed at me, with its remarkably large jaw gaping hugely in a most threatening manner. I discovered that even without the flying rodent, it's not a trivial 10a by any means! I had thought to lead or TR the 11c knob climb to the right of Little Sheba, but it was pretty warm and slick in the sun, so I wussed out on the lead, and there wasn't an easy way to rig a TR, so we bailed on that idea entirely. Instead I led Little Sheba, and Erin cleaned it. This time there was no accidental bat contact.

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Erin on Holdless Horror

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A cool tree, and Little Sheba

The party at Group Site C was in full swing when we returned. Despite the late lunch, we were plenty hungry, so dinner preparations began. What's the point of going car camping, and then eating tasty bites? Proper nutrition is very important. On this night, nutrition consisted of sauteed crimini mushroom and onions, sunburst squash, brocolli and sundried tomatoes simmered in a masala sauce over tortellini, accompanied by some pan seared,herb rubbed, new york strip steaks, finished with a mushroom and bourbon sauce. Yum! I'm glad I'm not a vegetarian! Oh yeah, and mint milanos for desert. Before long a raging camp fire was going (though no bacon fat, dammit!), and popcorn was being burnt. There may even have been some alcohol consumption too.... Morning ass report: all clear on the southern front. Conditions nominal. We settled on a plan, that Matt and Susan (and Bailey) would head to the east side, pick up a guide for Patricia Bowl at the Mobil station (turns out that the Meadows climbing shop doesn't stock it), go cragging for the day, and leave us a note or a voicemail, as to which campsite they would be staying at in Rock Creek. We would meet them in the evening, and then all go Patricia Bowl the next day, stop off at the Mobil station for dinner, and return to the Bay area on Monday night. At least, that was our interpretation of the plan... So we broke camp, packed up the truck, and headed out. Erin made the unwise decision to let me choose the climbs on Sunday. And my choice, after hearing Casey talk it up so delightfully ("the roof on P1 was insane!", "I took huge whips on P4!"), was Wailing Wall (5.11d). It sounded too tempting to pass up. It's always fun playing with people in the parking lot, inquiring what they plan on doing (usually Shagadellic it seems), and then insinuating that you were going to do the same thing, and seeing them panic and rack up as quickly as possible to beat you to the climb. For some reason though, no one was lining up to get on Wailing Wall. The first pitch of the Wailing Wall is a bit intimidating from the ground. A 20 foot 11d roof, with a seam in the corner, and vague possibilities for backstepping. Hmmmm. Whose idea was this anyway? After thrutching my way up to the roof, the intimidation factor had not lessened. I clipped the fixed piece, carefully filled the only good finger hold with a green alien, and whimpered mightily as I tried to make a few moves past it, with marginal success, until I finally pumped out and screamed "take!". It's amazing how much clearer things become when you're not hanging by your finger tips - while sitting there, it quickly became apparent that I had failed to notice several key holds, edges and cracks. In retrospect, it's somewhat surprising that I was even able to find the correct crack. While no one was looking, I quickly stuffed in a #1, then swung back into the corner, and with much huffing and puffing, managed to send the rest of the pitch. Stout! I really didn't use the stems and back steps to the best advantage - next time I'm going to stretch a bit first, so my hip flexor doesn't seize up quite so badly again. P2 started out with a whimper (from me) and some serious lie backing. It seemed awfully stout for 5.9. I was thinking to myself, if this is 5.9, I'm really going to have trouble at the 10d on P4. (It later turned out that it was really 10c, which somewhat salvaged my wounded pride.) P3 was relatively mellow, and after moving the belay to a more promising spot (I wanted to make sure that Erin was comfortable while absorbing the body blows of my whips), I spouted my usual stream of pre-excuses as to why I was not going to be able to make it, and carefully thrutched ahead.

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First pitch of Wailing Wall, and Charles at the comfy belay ledge before the nausea inducing 10d, not knowing what's about to hit him.

I was cheerfully encouraged by the noises of grown men giving birth on the o/w section of the Yawn, just around the corner. For some reason, hearing them in so much pain gave me hope and strength. I went up and down like a yo-yo, placing gear, checking out the crack, then coming back down to a rest. I finally ran out of both excuses and gear, sucked it up, took a last longing look back at the safety of the belay, where Erin gave me the thumbs up and braced her body for the inevitable impact, and went for it. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. I didn't even have the energy to grunt as I pulled the moves. By the time I was done, I felt like tossing my cookies, and my left hand was spasming, unable to open or close fully. It's rather interesting how 10d can feel so much harder than 11d. After resting for a few minutes, I carefully examined the remains of my rack. #4, #1, red aliens and smaller. A look at the crack showed that it took a #4 at my feet, and then #1s and #2 for the next 100 feet or so. The choices were to set up a belay there, or go on, running it out until I found a nice ledge with a smaller crack. The decision was obvious - run it out. Luckily, a suitable ledge was found just before I ran out of rope. Of course I hadn't placed the #1 or #4, just in case I needed them for the belay... The last couple of pitches were fun 5.7 adventure climbing. The crack peters out at one point, so I traversed to the right and went up the arete above Lighter Side (NB: looks like you can continue up after Lighter Side to the top). I don't know if this is the "correct" finish, but it was way fun. After unroping, we soloed/hiked to the very top of the dome, where we had a lovely lunch of steak and mushroom sandwiches. Now that was a great reward!

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Summit shots

When we got back to the car (after having traversed Medlicott Dome 4 times in one day), we discovered a sudoku puzzle on the windshield of Erin's truck. Upon careful inspection, it was revealed to be a note from Matt, explaining that Bailey's ass had taken a turn for the worse, and that they were not in fact going to the east side for another day, but were in fact returning to the Bay area. Oh oh.... This required a swift reappraisal of our plans. The options were to drive down to the Mobil station, see if they had a guide, try to find a campground, and climb at Patricia Bowl assuming success on all previous fronts, or stay in the Meadows for another day. After not too much discussion, we decided upon the latter course. We returned to the campground, and trolled the loops looking for a free site, and for abandoned firewood. We found a number of the former, but none of the latter. After driving around a bit more, we amazingly discovered a whole bunch of deadfall in the back of Erin's truck, that we had brought all the way from the Bay area, but somehow forgotten about. What a coincidence! We poached a site, made another great dinner, and sat around a blazing fire (pine burns bright!) 'till it was time for bed. On monday morning, we broke camp again, and made for Daff Dome. Our initial plan was to check out the south flank, but the sun was too blazingly hot, so we rerouted for Cooke Book. We decided to try one of the alternate starts, instead of the 5.8 o/w (hey, who upgraded it to 5.9 in the new guide?). Erin took the sharp end, and began some exploratory adventure climbing. Turns out, the variations are not much climbed for a reason - the rock sucks, and is full of lichen. After spending some time exploring various options, she down-led back to the base, and we gave up in disgust. Anyway, it was time for lunch. After lunch, we did Bombs over Tokyo (5.10c).

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Bombs over Tokyo

It was so much fun, that we each did multiple laps, spending the rest of the day trying various things on it. A superlative line! We headed back to the car, and made for Harlequin Dome where I wanted to check out Chinese Handcuffs. I wasn't up to leading it though - for some reason I had developed a ranging headache, probably from sitting too much in the sun. After being good samaritans by feeding some cytomax to a butterfly, we took a very refreshing dip in the lake, and pointed the truck for home.

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Feeding cytomax to a butterfly

Despite the toils and travails of Bailey's ass, it was a most fine weekend. We somehow managed to choose routes where we climbed in almost total seclusion, but still had a great campsite party experience. Classic climbs, fine food, and wonderful company. I hope it won't be too long 'till I get back again! NB: post trip ass update: Bailey's ass seems to have improved. We all breathed a sigh of relief when we learned that his ass was safely out of harm's way. Postscript: I think that this TR sets the record for the most uses of the word "ass".