City of Rocks and the Devil's Tower

I introduced myself to our campground neighbour, who in turn introduced himself. Vern is a local, so I ask him about Idaho.

“Idaho? Well gee, just look around you, it’s full of rednecks”

Unsure of the direction this conversation is taking, I go for a non-committal response: “How so?”

“We’ve got our trucks, our flags, our guns… We're all rednecks round these parts. Heck, even I’m a redneck!”

Treating the ‘R’ word as more pejorative than Vern’s usage of the term, I hesitate to respond. Fortunately Marie, who had joined us by this point, has no such qualms: “Cool, can I hold one of your guns?”.

And thus the ice was broken.

We set about getting to know the City of Rocks, Idaho’s premier climbing destination. Just because it is also Idaho’s sole climbing destination however, doesn’t mean it isn’t amazing. This is small-town potato-farming America’s answer to Brimham Rocks: a labyrinth jumble of granite, heavily patina’d and lightly bolted, phantastical forms of stone demanding inventive movement to reach their tops.

City of Rocks

Every route seems to be a hidden gem. Literally, amongst the plethora of blocks and boulders, and figuratively, as this eccentric backwater hides classics in plain sight. I even manage to persuade Marie to do another multi-pitch so we can get to the top of the Lost Arrow Spire. There are a few tears on the way down but we agree that this is just part and parcel of abseiling now.

Walking in to the Lost Arrow Spire

Marie on the first pitch

After climbing by day, we hang out with Vern – and his friend, Roger – by evening. They’ve been climbing together forty years, mostly at the City. Wisened old rock cats, they furtively make plans for the following day of climbing but refuse to let on where they are going, lest it becomes busy. Vern gifts us some of his special recipe freeze-dried Idaho potatoes with banana chips then lends us his guidebook, and Roger invites us to his cabin near Yellowstone. Vern has added his own prologue to his guidebook which reads “Vern’s book: let me die on the rocks”. I sense that this is all just part of the redneck way.

As we are leaving we stop at the Tracy General Stores, which has been serving travellers for over a hundred years. A cowboy walks in, complete with heel spurs and a Stetson. He’s come to see his mama and an old friend who is visiting Almo, the outpost town of about 30 people which neighbours the City. I double take, but quickly catch myself as I realise that no one else bats an eyelid.

The Devil's Tower

A week later and we are at the Devil’s Tower. We have driven through Ten Sleep (so named because it is ten sleeps ride from anywhere, thus predating the 2010's fashion of using 'sleeps' as a unit of time by about one hundred years). Marie had hoped that Wyoming would be full of cool cowboy stuff but the only wild west we saw was the fake kind, purpose built for tourists. Being visiting climbers rather than tourists, we baulked. We'd had our hunger for cowboys sated in Idaho anyhow. Speaking of which, when in Idaho every local would raise a finger from the wheel as they drove past; here there is no such friendly salute. We move further Eastwards to the Tower. We climbed it, by it’s easiest route. Awkward, mediocre climbing but on an excellent feature, we thought. A bit like doing six one-star E1s at Curbar (and much like the Durrance route, they would be graded VS). We shared the climb with Miles and Elizabeth, newlyweds who were climbing in their wedding attire. We were well upstaged. We get back to the ground with minimal drama (one stuck rope, freed by Miles and Elizabeth who were just behind us) and no tears. Back at the campground we realise that we have miscalculated our food stocks and we don’t have a meal. The shops are either closed or too far, but alas! we have Vern’s freeze-dried Idaho potatoes with banana chips. And it dawns on us… potatoes with banana chips, is that really what he said? He's packaged them together, so..? Maybe it's an Idaho thing. Could it be a practical joke? Hungry and without any better options, we add boiling water and devour it.

Marie on the second pitch

Another week later and we’re at the cabin with Roger and his wife, Wendy, on our way to visit Yellowstone. We casually mention the Idahoan tradition of having banana chips with potatoes. Roger and Wendy stare at us uncomprehendingly. That redneck spirit sure pulled a fast one on us.