The Creek

"Hey Andy." I looked up. "You fancy another route?" He pronounced the word 'rowt', rather than root, and drew out the 'A' of Andy into along syllable. His slow drawl sounded vaguely reminiscent of old Westerns, perfectly suiting the backdrop of sandstone cliffs and the scorching desert heat. My hands, feet, shoulders, even the pads of my thumbs, all recoil at the suggestion of more climbing; they need time to rest. "I think I'm done for the day", I try to let him down gently. And then, the same as yesterday, and probably the same as will happen tomorrow, comes Keith's charm: "but you know, Andy... you'd look real good in that offwidth over there". Before I know it I'm tying in and clipping a dozen cams to my harness. I'm so easily seduced. I'd be disgusted with myself if I didn't secretly want to do it anyway.


Keith surveying his kingdom. Or perhaps scouring the desert for his next rope-gun


"We're from Teneessee"
"What's it like?"
In unison: "great for climbing, awful for dating"
I like it when conversation gets quickly past the small-talk and into the main event. Turns out, being queer in right-wing rural America is as limiting for your romantic options as one might imagine. We made friends with Anna and Whitney, who bought a crate of beers to make friends with people despite not drinking beer themselves. They needn't have, but I helped out by drinking my share. We then met Issy and Josh, then their friends became ours. Before we knew it, we were an open team of about eight, with a few extra folk joining as and when they pleased. We spent the better part of two weeks together: breakfast, driving to the crag, climbing, dinner, beers around the fire, playing with the dogs, encouragement, amateur philosophizing, joking and laughing. Actually, mostly laughing. Happily add 'sore jaw muscles' to the list of aches and pains.




Dawson on Wildcat



Campground scenes



Issy on Scarface



"This is one of the routes I did on my two-day visit here in 2014." I announce to Marie that I'll do it again now to see how well I'm climbing. Funny, it looks harder than I recall. And it's all on ring locks, but I had no idea how to climb ring locks in 2014. A mighty effort gets me three metres off the floor. It has transpired that I'm not too sure how to climb ring locks in 2025, either. A few weeks of practice later, and I'm having more fun by trusting the jams and doubting my memory.


Coyne Crack (photo by Issy)



The view from Cat Wall, the creek lined with Cottonwood trees and parallel cracks as far as the eye can see






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