Canyon Tajo Report: More
Chicken than a Turkey (Thanksgiving,
2000)
By Mike Salomon
Sitting in a Tokyo Internet cafe,
after a failed winter ascent of Mt. Fuji, I opened the e-mail announcing that
John Smallwood was hosting another trip to Canyon Tajo over the Thanksgiving
weekend. I responded right away, knowing that things were going to be either
interesting, gripping, or both.
Several thousand air miles and some
days later, I found myself following John's jeep again, in a caravan of vehicles
across the Baja backcountry. Up and down jeep roads and through winding washes,
our little caravan at last arrived at base camp.
After
setting up camp, we discussed the route options to match the needs of the group.
We settled on "North Dome" where many easy friction climbs all converge on a
spectacular granite summit block. This apex affords an incredible view of the
sierra with it's granite domes, steep escarpment, and desert far below. Dividing
into teams, we jumped onto different routes. With John giving route info and
advice for the Canyon Tajo first-timers in the group, we climbed for the top.
Simultaneously arriving at the summit, we snapped a round of photos. Two rappels
later, we were back on terra horizontal, switching routes and heading back up.
That night we enjoyed the traditional
CT campfire fiesta with margaritas, sharing our assorted snack contributions.
This group of folks had assembled largely via e-mail. There were two or three
from the Alpinistas, some others who had responded to John's message board post,
and a few CT "locals". This eclectic group really pulled together to have a
fun and cooperative "fiesta" experience. Whether it was climbing or passing
the tequila bottle, the dynamic of group participation in the wilds of Baja
is something to be appreciated.
Once again, I awoke to rounds of
blueberry pancakes. We selected gear and made the approach along an ancient
Indian trail to the "Notch" area. Just beyond the Notch, with its sweeping vertical
view of the South Face of El Gran Trono Blanco, we boulder- hopped to the base
of Bell Dome. "Spring Fever", a 5.8+ friction route, angles moderately for two
pitches toward a massive roof. Rather than follow John's low-traverse 5.8, (reportedly,
almost no one perceives that line anyway), I chose the straight-on approach
to the crux section. The big, beefy bolts inspired my confidence and the weather
was picture perfect. I was having a good day, so I thought, "Why not?" Perhaps
if the name had not been so benign, had it been named "Fall Fever", I would
have taken the easier traverse. It was a beautiful autumn day and the route
complimented it. It was like choosing a fine wine with a gourmet dinner.
From a belay anchor below the ominous
roof, I could see a protruding horn, large enough to stand on. This was the
only weakness surrendered by the 80' long roof. A tantalizing dike, sinful in
its quantity of doorknob-sized feldspar crystal jugs, rose above. Surmounting
the horn required an airy and committing step across 150+ feet of open air.
With a heave and a dyno to a balance position, I found myself nose to the vertical
dike. Invisible from below, the bolt was right where I wanted it, in front of
my face! Now with a brawny 3/8" bolt to instill courage, the steep moves above
were pure pleasure. It was a jug-fest from one big hold to another up the steep
dike. The only way I could have fallen would have been to turn around and let
go with both hands. The only way it could have been better was if it had gone
on forever. Stopping for a moment to imprint the memory, and at John's urging
that it was a "Kodak moment", I took a deep breath of the mountain air.
Looking
to my right, I could see "Hang Ten", 5.9. As told by John, the first ascent
was a roped solo escapade. He had traversed out onto the friction holds above
the roof and dared himself, after the last accomplices had retreated for home,
to hang his toes over the edge in a hang-ten surfing maneuver. Facing out away
from the rock, balancing with hands free, and meditating for several minutes,
he thought the roof resembled a wave in a breaking curl. I guess it does at
that!
After climbing "Spring Fever", we
had a few hours of daylight left, so John proposed that for a safe thrill we
top rope "Boulder than Most", a short classic. About halfway up the
dome was a modest 5.10c that he had put up in the early 90s. He called it "a
fun little route". I thought, "Ok, it doesn't look to bad". Well, I was
wrong. This was a deceptive 80' piece of rock. The steep opening moves were
relatively straightforward. Above, the easy left-leaning ramp turned out to
be a balancy, no-hands nightmare. The feet weren't much better. My toes struggled
to find some rough edge for friction. The ramp was bad, but when it petered
out at a blank vertical face the only choice was to make a balance traverse
to the right. I might as well have been clutching a cerveza bottle for all that
my hands were worth on these miniscule edges. Several feet above a bolt and
grateful that I wasn't on lead, I peeled off twice at the crux.
The sustained friction above required
my full attention, but seemed less terrifying. This "fun little route" ended
up being an exercise in friction frustration. Finally, after cursing my way
to the top, I wanted to rename it "Slicker than Most", "Blanker
than Most", or "More Desperate than Most". Then it occurred to
me that this thing had been put up on lead. If I couldn't top rope it without
falling, I couldn't imagine what it would have been like to be drilling on lead.
"Sicker than most", I thought. I couldn't quite picture what it would
be like to work out such a delicate lead with the added weight of a rotohammer
and without falling. When I asked him about it, he mumbled something about being,
"too frightened to fall." Hmmm, another potential route name?
Back
at camp, temperature plummeting, the evening commenced with more liquid antifreeze.
This time we polished off the numerous bottles of Sauza, Jose Cuervo Especial,
Bacardi rum, and Cervezas de Corona, Bohemia, y Dos Equis. The stereo was cranked
up until the battery of one vehicle was depleted. Techno trance consumed another
battery before we finally did justice to both batteries and bottles.
On our last day, while others celebrated
their craft on routes with names like "Pasa Tiempo", "Skywalker", and "Argocide",
I led "Argos" 5.9. This 130' friction pitch has bolts spaced far enough apart
to earn the respect of solid 5.10 climbers. It is done in traditional 1970s
style, when men were men and bolts were too expensive for climbing bums to waste
by spacing them at reasonable runouts. My only consolation was that the rusty
¼" bolts had been replaced and would hold a fall. The sustained friction
on Argos is a representative taste of what the moderate climbs at Canyon Tajo
are all about. These routes are often a point or two harder than they appear.
The protection is always strong, though usually transgress that extra 15 feet
beyond the comfort zone. Then, just when the leader has had enough adrenaline,
there appears a big beautiful chain anchor to clip into. Once tied off securely,
I can count on turning around and relaxing into a splendid vista of the sierra.
After
setting up camp, we discussed the route options to match the needs of the group.
We settled on "North Dome" where many easy friction climbs all converge on a
spectacular granite summit block. This apex affords an incredible view of the
sierra with it's granite domes, steep escarpment, and desert far below. Dividing
into teams, we jumped onto different routes. With John giving route info and
advice for the Canyon Tajo first-timers in the group, we climbed for the top.
Simultaneously arriving at the summit, we snapped a round of photos. Two rappels
later, we were back on terra horizontal, switching routes and heading back up.
Looking
to my right, I could see "Hang Ten", 5.9. As told by John, the first ascent
was a roped solo escapade. He had traversed out onto the friction holds above
the roof and dared himself, after the last accomplices had retreated for home,
to hang his toes over the edge in a hang-ten surfing maneuver. Facing out away
from the rock, balancing with hands free, and meditating for several minutes,
he thought the roof resembled a wave in a breaking curl. I guess it does at
that! 
Back
at camp, temperature plummeting, the evening commenced with more liquid antifreeze.
This time we polished off the numerous bottles of Sauza, Jose Cuervo Especial,
Bacardi rum, and Cervezas de Corona, Bohemia, y Dos Equis. The stereo was cranked
up until the battery of one vehicle was depleted. Techno trance consumed another
battery before we finally did justice to both batteries and bottles.