It is soft. Really soft.
We set up camp and hiked right over to do Ancient Art. This classic climb is four pitches and rises about 400'. The crux pitch is about 10+ or 11a. What is most odd about this tower though is it's shape. It's like a shaky-handed giant was playing with silly sand.
I'm pointing to the screwy summit of Ancient Art in that photo. Off we went to climb it.
The crux is a pebble pulling section. It was balancy and fun. I was certain I'd rip a pebble out and smack myself in the face. All around the pebbles still in the sandstone were holes where pebbles once resided.
The nature of the rock and the climb prompted helmet wearing. I know I should wear one all the time, but admit to rarely doing so. This may be the second trip in 11 years I've done so. I was loving that helmet.
To climb the final pitch, one has to walk across a narrow section of rock - a plank of sorts - with about 400' of air beneath them on each side. I confidently approached this section to "walk the plank". And then I stopped. And stared. The wind was howling. "Go!" I urged myself, but somewhere deep inside, I responded "HELL NO!" I stared some more.
It grew darker. And windier.
Finally I sat and scooted my way across the cursed plank. Undignified, but I didn't want to be dignified anymore. Making it across without the plunge, I turned back to look at Dave. My low level of confidence was obvious. Gack.
I could claim that we forgot to take photos of me at the actual summit. But that'd be untrue. Truth is after 10 minutes (or 4 hours it seemed) I just wouldn't/couldn't do it. Tears welled in my eyes as I said "I, sniff, just, snort, don't want, sniff sniff, do it..." So I retreated with my tail between my cowardly (though live) legs.
My first desert tower summit denied.
I could still belay though. And Dave could get to the summit.
Happily, he still wanted to climb with my chicken self. Next time, the summit will be mine! I guarantee I'll scoot across the plank, but I think I'll go further. Maybe...
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