Right: Rainbow Mountain at dawn. Crimson Chrysalis climbs the Cloud Tower, which is the distinct pillar on the right end of the formation.

Finally at Red Rocks again, after almost three years! I will never forget my last adventure on these sheer walls of colored sandstone, in March 2005, when I climbed Crimson Chrysalis with Stéphane, Vanni and John. Out of shape and painfully slow, it took us 17 hours car-to-car and higher-than-average willpower to complete the climb, which is usually considered to be a casual three-four hours affair for reasonably efficient parties. Sadly, one month later Stéphane tragically died in a mountain accident in the Mont Blanc range. With the memories of our recent climbing epic still fresh in my mind, the news shook me deeply.

Now I'm speeding on the I-15 North, still occupied by these thoughts while our car eventually approaches the usual Vegas night-time debauchery. Soon the brightness of plasma screens wakes me up from my daydreaming state, and I feel the sudden urge to stop the CD of Georges Brassens, who's clearly in blatant contrast with the images which are being thrown at us through the car windows.

Left: Christian doing some stretching before climbing at the Gallery.

On our first day we have an extremely late start after a copious breakfast at Coco's, right near the Motel 6 where we're lodging. Christian wants to sniff the rock by ticking a couple of bolted one-pitch climbs before getting into more serious stuff. So sport climbing be! At about 1PM we arrive at The Gallery, which is the most popular crag in the area due to the easy access and the overall quality of the rock - mildly to severely overhanging red sandstone with solid features and plenty of sun. We start ticking some easier routes on the left (less overhanging) side and slowly work our way towards the right; Gelatin Pooch (5.10a), Pump First, Pay Later (10b) and Running Amuck (10c) are quickly dispatched. Then we move on to Gridlock (we take the new easier left start, which is about 11a), which Christian leads with one hang and I barely flash it (thanks to the preplaced draws and the beta). The highlight of the day is "A day in the life", a solid 11b that starts on the right of the obvious alcove at the base of the cliff. A very interesting and fun climb that none of us manages to red point, due to our increasing state of fatigue. At this point we are overall quite happy with our first day, and we rush down to the Strip for food, beer, and some genuine Vegas madness.

At the beginning of the trip we were both in a rather mediocre climbing shape; I had been bouldering semi-regularly for a couple of months, but I completely lacked any form of endurance or grace - which are almost essential whenever a route contains more than three moves. Christian had been climbing sporadically during his recent trip to southeastern Asia. All things considered, this first day gave us some faith in our capabilities, so we felt confident enough to jump on some easy multi-pitch trad climb the next day.

Right: On the last pitch of Dark Shadows, a nice 5.8 crack that curves right, thus avoiding the huge roof.

We start again very late. Luckily it's a week day, and when we get to the base there's only one party already engaged on this deservedly popular route. Christian takes charge of the slightly runout but easy slab at the bottom. I get the next pitch, which involves some going up and then some going left. As it will often happen during this vacation, I feel like a rabid dog on a short leash while I struggle through the henious rope drag that my less-than-courageous protection style manages to generate. The third pitch is probably the most enjoyable of the whole route, since the black varnish of the ominous-looking dihedral hides unexpectedly huge jugs that make the climbing nice and easy. The final 5.8 crack makes me sweat a little as I try to blind-place a cam while crimping a non-existent feature next to the flared crack; obviously, half a move further there was a perfect stance from where to place bomber gear; I definitely have a lot to learn about trad climbing (or about climbing in general, for that sake). While pulling the ropes from our last rappel we can't avoid getting them soaked up in the pool at the base (it's well known that there's no water in the desert - except in that place).

Left: Pine Creek Canyon as seen from the top of Dark Shadows.

Despite our late start, and despite climbing as fast as two sleep-deprived sloths, we have still a couple of hours of daylight, so we decide to check out the Brass Wall, which is supposed to feature several quality one-pitch climbs. When we eventually get there we quickly realize that we're actually in the middle of a dense cloud of hungry mosquitoes, and that we've got less time than we initially thought. We race up Heavy Spider Karma, an easy but short 5.6 and then quickly hike back to the car promising to ourselves that we'll be back - not without a gallon of insect repellent. Now that we both reminded to ourselves how cams, stoppers and slings look like, we both feel ready to tackle a more ambitious project, which ought to be located in the Black Velvet Canyon, considered by many to be the heart of Red Rocks!

Left: Christian approaching the top of the stout second pitch (10b) of Prince of Darkness.

Right: Christian right after the crux 10c sequence in the last pitch.

Surprisingly, unlike the previous days, we wake up late. Actually it's not completely true, we wake up earlier than usual, but we are slowed down by some errands. First, we're still located in the Motel 6 on Tropicana, and we need to check out and move to the campground; it's Friday and rates for a double room skyrocket from 50 to 100 dollars per night as the weekend crowds flock to Vegas to pour their money into slot machines, roulettes and night clubs. Second, we need breakfast. Accomplishing these two tasks takes the most of our morning, and it's only at about 12:30 that we're scrambling through the dense manzanita chaparral at the base of the Black Velvet Wall, looking for a poorly marked trail that we lost at about 12:25.

We had initially three routes in mind: Prince of Darkness, Dream of the Wild Turkeys and Sour Mash. All of them are classic, and about of the same difficulty; according to the guidebook, PoD is mostly bolt-protected, while the other two follow mostly natural lines and need more gear. Since it's already late, the choice is fairly easy - we're still slow with stoppers and cams so let's jump on PoD!

I hike up the first pitch, an easy 5.6, placing a couple of pieces just for my own peace of mind. Then Christian gets started with the second pitch, which feels more sustained than the 10b rating would suggest. The climbing is stellar, on edges that are not always positive; getting to the (hanging) belay definitely requires some stamina and footwork. Today I don't have either, so I get to the top completely drained. From now on, I'll have to learn that when Christian yells: "C'est absolumment M-A-G-N-I-F-I-Q-U-E!" on lead, I better get ready to have my ass kicked big time while following. This is precisely the reason why I love climbing - one never stops learning new things.

Right: Coiling the ropes at the base of Prince of Darkness. It's pretty dark indeed.

I feel so unbelievably tired that I end up following all the route, except an easier 5.9 pitch higher up, while Christian bravely dispatches crux after crux, crimp after crimp, all the way up to the ledge marking the end of the climb (which appropriately happens right before the end of the day). The "nominal" 10c crux is short, well protected and the sequence is relatively easy to figure out (especially when you see Christian doing it just before you); the fatigue keeps it real though, and some parts of the last pitch look like they might feel slightly exciting to a beaten leader. Christian gets past this last obstacle in great style and we soon end up sitting at the top and shaking hands (or at least trying to).

Five uneventful rappels to the bottom take about forty minutes; we eventually get to drink some water, chew some Cliff Bars and pack the gear before starting our hike back in the dark. Still a long way to the beer(s), but in the end we do get our well-deserved chicken-and-ribs combo at a brewhouse on Charleston. Time for a rest day, which we spend partly at the local climbing shop (I buy a pair of tight Katana and a pair of more comfortable Mad Rock), partly at Starbucks, partly on the Strip (that is, people-watching in some unlikely-decorated casino or sipping an expensive Illy espresso at the Venetian).

Left: Consulting the guidebook on our way to the Sunny and Steep Wall. We got lost many times before this point, but eventually we found the crag. Power of the Monte Carlo algorithm.

We got new shoes to try out, our limbs are still beaten by PoD, so we decide to take another easy-going sport climbing day. The approach to the SaS wall is significantly longer than the one to the Gallery, since this crag is nested deep in the hills north of the Calico basin, and the old guidebook is sometimes tricky to interpret, but eventually we get there. It's Sunday and it's no surprise to find other people at this popular crag, which has several (guess) steep and sunny sport climbs on beautiful rock.

Good day for Christian, bad day for me (had a really bad sleep). My new shoes hurt, and my forearms get pumped at the speed of light. After the customary warm-up on an awkward 5.9 (Working for Peanuts), Christian takes on "Mr. Choad's Wild Ride", a burly and exciting 11b that he would have onsighted, if he hadn't briefly grabbed a draw near the top to avoid a 20' plummet while clipping. Considering the amount of time, energy and frustration that I have to endure to finally get my heavy ass up there on toprope, I feel lots of unconditional respect for him regardless of that minor ethical taint.

After this turbulent experience I sit on a rock for a while and stare at my brand new shoes, seriously considering reselling them and buying a nice chess board instead. Christian on the other hand is clearly in the zone and wants more. He ropes up at the base of a cute-looking but severely overhanging 11d pitch, aptly named "Peak Performance". After some steep, huge jugs and a one-move crux the battle is already over, resulting in a bit of an anti-climax. I flash this thing on toprope, regretting that I haven't tried it on lead. Overall, much easier than the previous 11b... mysteries of the climbing rating system.

Right: A busy day at the Magic Bus.

Today I feel better! I had a great sleep, and I feel that my body is starting to react to all the slaps and punches it's been receiving during the past week. Sport climbing again, easy approach to avoid overusing our delicate little knees... second pullout, that is.

After being apprehensive for a couple of days about the Katanas being painfully small, I start feeling like they're about to become the best climbing shoe I ever had on my feet. Yeeee! We warm up at the Black Corridor on the nice "Dancin with a God", 10a. Then we move on to the next route on the right, "Live Fast Die Young" (10d), whose description on the guidebook sounded somewhat challenging (something like "get past the initial mantle move if you can"...). I fall at the first try, get it clean the second time. Surprisingly, Christian struggles on it a lot more than I expect, and he ends up toproping it after climbing the 10b further right (Black Gold). Before leaving the corridor I quickly onsight the jug-haul 11a at the far upper end (Rebel Without a Pause), then Christian leads it with one hang - our biorhythms seem to be in a sort of phase opposition!

Left: The view from our 45$ room at the Sahara hotel.

Fully warmed up, we're now ready for something more challenging. The route I have in mind is the 12a that gives the name to the Sweet Pain Wall, located near the west exit of the BC. Not much to tell about it, apart that it's quite overhanging, it has some really nice moves, and that I send it onsight. Hard to believe that it's a 12a, since I never climbed anything at that level... and in the new guidebook it was indeed downgraded to 11d (some say even 11c). At the end of the day I don't really care. After all I probably never did an 11c onsight before, either. Soon after my "performance" some guy showed up that hiked that thing while juggling three clubs and playing the harmonica at the same time.

Time for another rest day and for a long due shower. We've been suffering from my ultralight MSR tent being too snug - usually only one of us at a time managed to get a decent sleep. We decide to hit the Strip, get a room at the Sahara hotel (not the most popular one nowadays, so rooms are sold very cheap during the week) and enjoy an afternoon at the swimming pool. In the evening I realize that I don't have on me the unique specimen of the car key. I call the security and go look at the pool, but no chance. When the situation starts to look grim, I find it still on the door of my car. We go drink several beers to compensate for the copious sweating that occurred during this incident.

We're starting to get a feeling for the local climbing style, and as our bodies keep adapting to the nuances of the stone, we both agree it's time to go back to Black Velvet Canyon and tick off another classic. During the approach hike (that we know pretty well now) we have an animated debate over the two options we're facing, Sour Mash and Dream of the Wild Turkeys; we both feel a bit like Buridan's ass. Eventually, some stochastic fluctuation of our respective moods allow us to get to a decision, Sour Mash.

Either we got stronger or the climbing is significantly easier, but compared to PoD this route is almost a walk in the park. In order to keep it challenging I decide to create an enormous rope drag by linking pitches three and four while placing too much pro and not taking advantage at all of the double rope I'm using. When I eventually get to the 5.9 section (the last 15 meters before the belay) it feels like if a cow were hanging from my harness.

Christian keeps complaining that he's having a bad day, but at the same time he sends pitch number five (the crux) in great style. At some point he even mumbles: "Magnifique!", which scares me a little (see my comments on PoD above), but this time the climbing is really not that hard, just stellar!

While ascending such a fantastic-looking ocean of vertical desert varnish like the Black Velvet Wall, it's always a bit disappointing to stop midway and rappel down to the bottom. This steep 600m face calls to be topped out! While complimenting each other at the top anchor of Sour Mash, before starting the rappels we cannot prevent ourselves from glancing at the Black Tower... so close, it looks like we could almost touch it with one hand. That's Epinephrine, of course. We'll be there on Friday.

Anyway, rappelling down Sour Mash is great fun, because one uses the anchors of Fiddler on the Roof and one of the rappels is 60 m en fil d'araignée (in the void)! While leaning back with my feet on the lip of the roof and BIG air under my butt, I have a quick parasite thought about the European death knot that we used to link the two skinny 8.2 mm ropes I'm hanging from... oh well, whatever.

Enough for the warm-up, it's time now to do some real business. I've been dreaming of this route ever since I first opened the Todd Swain guidebook, four years ago. These dark and slick chimneys are truly intimidating, the route is long and the climbing sustained. There's a walk-off descent which is somewhat tricky to find. Overall, the stage is set for a big journey and an adventure to be remembered.

We wake up at 4AM in our brand new tent that I bought the day before. For the price of about 80$ we have now a comfortable place where to crash, as opposed to my smaller tent (a tight two-people ultralight MSR, see above). I get out of my sleeping bag and start fiddling with the stove to prepare some coffee. The "morning" is a bit chilly but there's no wind... not too bad apart from the sensation of not having slept a single minute. Christian pops out as soon as the coffee is ready, and we both force ourselves to eat some muffins. At 5AM we're speeding through Route 159 first, then 160 and then slowly wobbling our way through the dirt road that leads to the Black Velvet Canyon parking lot. Actually we never made it all the way to the end, as the last stretch is significantly rougher and I was worried about damaging the car. We park in the usual place, which adds about 25 (flat) minutes to the standard approach.

Before getting started we sort gear, food and water, trying to get what we need and stay light at the same time. We decide that we carry everything with us (i.e. nothing will be left at the base), which is probably a wise decision. Then we decide to fill the backpack with all kind of amenities, including heavy clothing and two tasty sandwiches generously filled with hormones-free prosciutto crudo freshly purchased at Whole Foods the night before. This is probably a much less wise decision, which we will pay heavy cash in the following.

Left: Epinephrine as seen from the bottom. The first pitch climbs past the bushy ledge to the base of the small left-leaning chimney; the second pitch gets to the base of the Black Tower proper, three long pitches of "wiggling and thrashing" follow. The second part of the climb continues through the sun-lit dihedral barely visible up and right with respect to the top of the tower, for a total of 2000' of climbing.

We make it to the base in exactly one hour from where we parked our car. We're slightly late on schedule (the sun rises while we're not far from the beginning of our hike, which means that we could have easily gained one hour by speeding up the breakfast and pre-hike operations). What we're facing today is finally towering above our heads in all its staggering beauty. I decide to start leading the first pitch and we rack up accordingly. We take a good assortment of stoppers and TCUs, plus doubles of everything from Camalot number 0.5 to 2, one each of 3, 3.5 and 4. I have a 3-liter Camelbak and my sneakers, I leave to Christian the backpack with the rest of the water and the refreshments.

The bolted 5.8 slab goes pretty fast, and in no time I'm on the ledge. I like the feeling of my new pair of blue MadRock shoes, they seem to be stiff enough for trad climbing to be a pleasant experience. Above the ledge there's an easy overhang to get past, I place a piece right below the lip and extend it with a sling that ends up being too short, so again I'm fighting with a monster rope drag right from the start, which slows me down and saps a good deal of my energies.

Christian quickly follows and hands me the backpack, then he gets started with the second pitch, supposedly an easy 5.6 chimney - a mere appetizer compared to the "main course" looming above us. Unexpectedly I hear him yelling: "Putain, c'est dur!", which worries me a little (hey, these should be the easish approach pitches!). Some time later he shouts: "Relais!" and I follow without too much trouble... I'm probably slightly more used than him to cracks and chimneys since I climbed a handful of times in Joshua Tree and Yosemite lately. When I get to his stance I immediately realize we're off route - he's belaying me from an anchor which lies outside on the face of the tower. I quickly downclimb and traverse to the correct anchor, from where the real chimney system could be admired in full, and belay Christian while he joins me. We've been dramatically slow, it's 9:30AM and the real battle has yet to start.

Left: Me leading the first 5.9 chimney pitch. So far, so good.

Here I am now, after four years spent fantasizing about this chimney and shivering in fear at the mere thought of it. Here I am on the sharp end, me little shaky sport climber, getting there and looking forward to feeling the touch of those slick patina walls, to squeezing and thrashing my body through these slick featureless surfaces. It's with deep happiness and feverish anticipation that I scramble up past the easy beginning, that I jam and lieback through the moderate first section, enjoying every inch of climbing that gets me closer to the moment of truth, to what I've been regarding for years as the ultimate test of my abilities and courage.

Here it goes, my back on the left wall and my feet on the right wall, working my butt up and then my feet, a couple of inches at the time for the length of the next fifty feet. I place a piece of gear now and then, but not too many, I feel secure and not really scared (ok, just a lil' bit). At some point the chimney gets narrower and it's too tight for me to keep working this way. The crack in the back is too wide for jamming but an arm bar works nicely, and that's the way I go.

Right: Christian struggling his way through the second hard chimney. The fun is about to start, as you can tell from his slightly puzzled expression ("De dieu, ce machin!").

Up to a point where I get stuck just below a small platform, and while trying to get past this impasse I pull too hard on the arm bar and I hear a nasty popping sound from my shoulder. After the platform it's easier, thanks to some bomber jams in the now narrower crack, so I manage to finish the pitch despite my injury. Man, I'm done! I'm sweating like a pig, my legs are shaking and I feel weak as if I had high fever. I prepare the belay for Christian and take a quick glance at the next pitch which looks even more intimidating than the first. Hoorah!

Christian initially didn't plan on leading any of the chimney pitches, but after having climbed the first 40 m with two backpacks, two pair of sneakers, a copy of Encyclopaedia Britannica and a 25 lb dumbbell hanging from his harness, he starts to consider pretty seriously the idea of leading the next one in order to avoid the heavy load. So here he goes... things look pretty casual up to a hueco in the right wall, which constitutes the last foothold in the next 50' or so. Then it gets tricky.

First, there's a overhanging flake to get past, which is more easily said than done. Second, after the overhang the chimney becomes narrower and more slippery - almost at the same time. Christian bravely works his way up, not without a sizeable amount of frustration and cursing. At the end he gets to a ledge with an intermediate anchor. He keeps on climbing deep in the bowels of the chimney up to a point where things get sketchy again. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts he decides to carefully downclimb and try instead the alternative route, indicated by a good bolt, which leads to the scary outside world.

Left: Probably not that much of a victory, but certainly it was the hell of a good fight!

At this point I can interpret from his comments that he's in a state of unusual physical exhaustion. He spent probably two hours fighting with this thing, and he's now too worked out to finish the long pitch. So I lower him and take the sharp end, which means toproping to the highest point he reached and then leading the remaining bit to the anchors. I distinctly feel that the long wait has consumed my motivation a little bit, and I'm now definitely less daring than I'd like to be. Well, at least I can take advantage of a comfortable toprope through the tough section...

Or at least that's what I think! The rope actually gets stuck and I'm obliged to self-belay on a prussik, which makes things more interesting. Just in case this weren't enough, I make a super-tight prussik that doesn't slide at all, so I end up making a misery of myself - I quickly abandon any known form of elegance or technique and start working my way up the good ol' way, cursing and yelling. Not surprisingly, when I eventually get to the highest point reached by Christian I'm more thrashed than Robinson Crusoe right after the shipwreck.

Thanks to a couple of pieces that I recovered from below I manage to safely get past the bulge and the easy handcrack leading to the belay. At this point it's clear to us that it's not today that we're gonna reach the top of Epinephrine, so Christian hangs all the luggage to the belay number 3 and follows me up to the top of pitch number 4; we shoot a couple of pictures and without too many regrets we call it a day.

Right: Looking unbelievably tired, just before starting the rappels that will bring us back to the comfort of the riverbed.

Despite the fact that we had to bail, it was a good day and we learned a lot. We both had little or no previous chimney experience - this stuff requires a completely different body English than the limestone overhangs we're most used to. In addition to the lack of pure technical preparation we were a bit weak on logistics. We started the climb way too heavy, we brought too many clothes and food, and we wasted a lot of time in the lower easy part.

These are all excellent lessons to learn. I had the clear sensation that, once we manage to polish our trad style a bit, this intimidating climb will be well within our capabilities... can't wait to get back! The bad thing for the continuation of our climbing trip is that my shoulder hurts, and it's probably not a good idea to take the risk of making the injury even worse.

After a day spent wandering through the human zoo on the Strip; after getting a flattering compliment from a couple of full-figured ladies at the bar of the MGM Grand ("You guys look like shit!"); after all this, we decide it's time to take a break and go sightseeing while our bodies hopefully heal from the energy-draining fight against Epi. So we hit Interstate 15 North, direction Zion National Park.

In Vegas again! I've been missing the relentless ringing sound of the slot machines, and our beloved six-lanes boulevard. For some reason I don't remember, we started our day pretty late (very odd for us). The goal is to scrutiny my shoulder and verify whether it's solid enough to survive another stupidly hard multipitch epic. The Stone Wall seems a good place to tick some moderates without getting too much worked out.

I lead "Haunted Hooks", without really knowing that it's a 10d. Towards the top I start to be seriously pumped and I have to hang once on the last bolt before powering through the final sequence to the anchors. An interesting route with a sometimes interesting rock (a flake that I used as a clipping hold was next to come off - but I realized this later). Here Christian fully expresses his legendary endurance by sending it in great style (I think he said something like: "Mag-nifique!" on his way down).

The second route, Roto Hammer (10c), is an easier affair for both of us. Just before dark Christian courageously leads Nirvana (11a), which features a thin crux with somewhat less dense protection. He takes a hang on the pumpy second crux at the top, while I barely make it without hangs on toprope (silently asking to myself: "how the hell did he lead THIS?"). The outcome of the day is that my shoulder still sucks, so let's jump tomorrow on something way harder than Epinephrine!

Some say it's the best climb in Red Rocks. Lynn Hill says it's the best climb on this planet (and she's climbed a lot of damn good stuff). The approach is one of the longest in the Canyon, 2-3 hours of scrambling through bouldery riverbeds, exposed slabs and manzanita bushes. Nine pitches: 10-, 11-, 8, 10, 11, 10, 10+, 9 and 8, but most folks climb the first seven and then rappel down to the base. The name comes from Joanne Urioste, who turned 29 the same day of the first ascent (1981), done with her husband Jorge; she followed free-climbing all pitches, hence "levitation".

My cell phone rings at 5AM. I start the coffee and at the same time call the BLM for a late exit pass (the loop road closes at 7PM and park rangers tend to be generous writers). We start hiking from the Oak Creek Canyon parking lot at 7, soon after dawn (that's when the picture of Rainbow Mountain at the top of this page was taken - Levitation 29 climbs a hidden wall on the left side of the mountain). After endless boulder hopping in the riverbed we start scrambling on the slabs on our right, choosing what the guidebook mentions as "4th class, faster and more convenient option than the traditional 3rd class approach". Soon I find myself sketched out on an exposed slab without holds but with lots of hollow sandstone flakes cracking under my feet. This is when we decide that we'd choose the other option for our way down.

Eventually, we're at the base of the Eagle Wall, exactly two and a half hours from the car. I'm beaten, and my only comforting thought is that the adventure hasn't even started yet. Sure it does sound like there will be some pretty soon! The roof of the second pitch looks horrendous indeed, and I try not to look at it for too long.

Left: Christian getting started with the first pitch (10-). Much of the route is visible here: the blocky overhang above the white rock is the second pitch roof (11-); the distinct discontinuous crack originating from the smaller roof above is the fifth pitch crux (11).

Right: Me leading the fourth pitch (10). The chick who did the same job right before me was all like: "Oh this is so nice and easy, can't believe it's 5.10!" My comments while leading it were slightly more colorful.

While I'm following the first pitch, soon after Christian led it, somewhere in the back of my mind I have this insistent thought: "What the hell am I doing here?" There are two parties at the base waiting for us to clear the road, and they all look pretty damn strong and fast. As a trad climber, usually I can barely get my shaky ass up a one-pitch five-nine ten minutes away from the car. Now I'm taking on a seven-pitch five-eleven about one hundred and fifty minutes away from the car. Sounds like too much of a jump to me, especially with the grown-ups watching me from down low. I hate climbing when there are other people watching, particularly when they're so much stronger than me. I have issues with my fragile male ego I guess. What the hell, name me a singer that would feel comfortable performing with Frank Sinatra sitting in the audience.

This first pitch feels crazy stout for a Red Rocks 10a (not that I have a great experience of RR 10a, for that sake). Happily, I already knew that the first pitch was supposed to be rather juicy, so I'm nowhere surprised or intimidated. I arrive at the belay without too much trouble and take the lead for the second pitch, the 11- roof. Now, one of the most powerful weapons in the deadly arsenal of the experienced climber is his mind. Confidence and positive thinking can do wonders to help a climber succeed when working at his/her physical limit. I've been climbing for almost ten years now, and these are no longer secrets to me. Therefore, while I make the first couple of moves away from the security of the belay anchors towards the enormous bulge above, I picture myself up there hanging on the rope like a sausage in a butcher shop, cursing in every known language, pulling on gear, scratching myself on the rock, dislodging a shower of giant loose flakes on the people below, trying to use slings and rudimentary aid techniques to cheat my way up, and eventually miserably failing after two hours of ludicrous nonsense. Hmmm... did I say positive thinking? What happens instead is that the whole pitch turns out to be amazingly awesome, and to my surprise I send it onsight, with a very enjoyable gym-like sequence of moves at the lip. Hey, this route is actually FUN!

Left: Christian enjoying the last part of the fourth pitch. Looks like we're getting some air under our feet!

Two easier, very pleasant pitches lead to the real business, which will be Christian's affair. The wall above us is slightly but insistently overhanging, with no apparent places to rest. An intermittent crack system runs through it, but the predominant style is face, thanks to the abundant (albeit small) crimps. Christian leaves the belay anchor with a smile, which will soon be replaced by puffs and pants and the occasional: "C'est extraordinaire!" A fierce battle and a couple of hangs later he's at the next hanging belay, and in no time it's my turn.

I probably paid a heavy toll during the approach and the first four pitches, and I'm not feeling that fresh anymore. One of my most serious worries on multi-pitch climbs is that I sweat A LOT, and I need a correspondingly enormous water intake to compensate the fluids - otherwise I get cramps. I take numerous hangs on this crux pitch, which feels infinitely harder than my earlier casual stroll through the roof. I climb it in very bad style, which gives a somewhat bitter taste to the whole ascent. I'm not having that fun or feeling strong anymore, I just want it to be over. With some whining I convince Christian to lead the next short pitch up to a better ledge above.

Right: The pumpfest business (11).

I cleanly follow this shorter and much easier pitch to the ledge, and this is when the dreaded cramps start to show up. To make a short story longer, I start leading the last pitch (which is beautiful and sustained on less than beautiful rock) but I have to stop halfway up because, surprise! my left hand doesn't open anymore. No big deal if you're just using your hand to pull on the rock, bigger trouble if you're using it to perform a task that requires a minimum of dexterity, like clipping a quickdraw to a bolt. I hang on the rope for a long minute, feeling like if Mike Tyson had just chewed my ear off and staring into the void like a beaten dog. Then, after a couple of brave but unsuccessful attempts at going up, I yell: "Descends-moi, j'en peux plus!"

I feel sorry for Christian as he curses his way through this pesky last pitch. I can feel he's at least as worked out as I am, that he just wants to get to the top. I follow this pitch with one hang at the final lieback (again, my left hand was locked - I had to force it open and put a fatty sidepull in it to keep it busy). We made it! We climbed Levitation 29! What a fight... I don't know who's the winner - the route looks certainly in much better shape than us at the end of the day (this sounds like a famous quote by some bad ass climber that escapes my memory right now). By the way, did I say "end"? Well, we just managed to get to the furthest point from our car, which means that we're about half way through our adventure - and some good times are yet to come!

We quickly rappel down the route, and we get to the base at 6PM, about the time when it starts to get dark. Not too bad: 8 hours pack-to-pack. The lightning fast dudes & chick are long gone, and we're left alone with the sound of the night falling. A quick eye contact suffices to silently communicate our respective worries about the descent back to the bottom of the canyon, in the dark through a non-existent trail that we don't know.

One hour and a half later I don't know if I'm more amused or desperate as I try to cut a new path through the dense manzanita chaparral, live oaks and various spiky desert scrubs. Every step is hilariously hard, with clouds of dust rising from the dead wood and my feet sinking deep into the layers of leaves and detritus accumulated on the floor. We spend probably another hour trying to find a reasonable way out of this mess. At some point we end up onto a ledge close to a pillar of rock which sounds promising, but it leads to dangerously steep slabs. Crap! So we enter again the vegetative hell and tentatively aim downwards. It's hard to tell how fun and exciting this situation feels in our physically challenged state. Eventually Christian finds a cairn, and I immediately promise a gallon of beer as a reward. Yes, we're back en route!

Following the cairns we quickly lose altitude and get closer and closer to the bottom of the canyon. There are some short easy downclimbs and some low-angle slabs... overall not too bad. Down to a point where a cairn seems to tell us something that we have a hard time to interpret. After some thinking we crawl inside a squeeze chimney between two boulders, and this ends up being the key of the descent. Kinda funny. One hour of boulder-hopping and scrambling in the creek brings us to the official Oak Creek Canyon path and to the safety of the car.

We enter Chili's at 9:25PM and I don't have the energy to be nice and thankful to the lovely waitress that seats us anyway, although closing time is 9:30PM. Waitress, if you're reading this... I'm sorry, I appreciated so much that you served us food in such a moment of dire need. Christian would like another beer or two and is probably ready for a long Vegas night. I feel at least as worthless as during my botched up attempt at leading pitch seven. Back to the tent, I fall asleep in about three seconds and a half.