We’re on route to Smith Rocks, one of the wonders of the climbing world. You’ll often find the world’s top climbers clinging to them. I’ve got to learn the ropes, and fast.
“Loop three times around, snake it through, then pull hard,” Alex shows off his safety knot skills.
“Your turn. Now, repeat 80 times,” he’s serious. My skills will be tested tomorrow.
I secure a practice rope around the headrest in front of me. 66. 67. I pass hand over hand, tying, untying.
Making knots becomes automatic, like knitting but with a more do-or-die feeling.
I watch the highway signs flash “TIRE CHAINS REQUIRED” from the cramped backseat of a chain-less rental Honda. Who knew we’d brave a flash snowstorm on route to the desert?
The Cascade Mountains form a boundary between Oregon’s rain forest coasts and parched desert plateau. I’m about to discover it’s also a portal to an ancient time.
68. 69. I focus on the knots.
Morning Glory
At 7:00am, we’re rewarded by the iridescent orange of the park’s Morning Glory wall. The vertical faces of Smith Rocks shoot straight out of the earth.
The first 5.14 rated climb in the U.S. was christened here. For reference, the difficulty scale maxes out at 5.15.
Yet, with over 1,000 routes in the park there’s a climb for everyone.
Micro-caves speckle the cliffs, some large enough to sleep inside. Other pockets form natural ladders and are a easy place for newbies to get a grip.
“They’re called huecos meaning hollows. They’re big climbing holds,” Alex explains.
He tugs on my knots, checks the harness, and gives a nod.
“OK, you’re good.”
I can do this, I tell myself even though I’ve never done anything like it before.
My neck kinks from looking straight up.
I wonder: Can you feel vertigo from below?
Hand up, grip. Foot up, plant. I reach the top of the rope and squirrel inside a mini cave. I feel like a nested bird.
Looking outwards, the sprawling stadium of the Rocks seems too perfect. I watch climbers wedge their gear and hands into thin cracks, pinch onto outcrops, and latch onto massive jugs (climber lingo for large hand holds).
How does a place this climbable exist?
First Descent
“Now, let go,” Alex calls from below. “Trust the rope.”
I feel every survival instinct raise up at once. What? Despite having no fear of heights and a bolted in line, it takes several deep breaths to loosen my grip. My heart pounds in my eyes, blurring my vision.
I lay back horizontal from the wall held safe by the tension in the rope. Feet placed flat against the rock. Alex slowly lowers me as foot by foot I move backwards towards the ground, walking away from the sky.
To truly understand Smith Rocks, you need an even higher and more ancient perspective.
As Alex spots for another climber, I hike up a trail that overlooks the park atop the cliffs.
The scenery could be mistaken for a cresting mountain from where deer graze in the parched valley.
From above, the sight changes. A plain extends without interruption all around, only meeting the snowy Cascade Mountains on the horizon. Smith Rocks sit like a lonely crown in the middle of this nothingness.
If it’s not part of the mountain range, then what is it?
Destruction and Creation
It’s shaped like a meteor crater, but this was once a volcano.
The sunken valley below was its heart, a caldera filled with hundreds of thousands of litres of magma.
It erupted with such violence that lava and rock were jettisoned kilometres away. Then, the remaining shell of the mountain collapsed inward, leaving just the outer rim visible today.
This explosion caused such extreme heat and pressure that even dusty ash become solid rock.
Smith Rock’s famous Monkey Face formation stands tribute to the awesome power.
This pillar of ash was twisted by the eruption’s mounting pressure. It became so intense that pockets of gas burst out of the rock. It cracked the head into shape, giving it eyes and puckered lips.
The huecos bubbled out from the cliffs in the same way.
Climbers say that the rock here is “hard ash that’s as reliable as granite.” Geologists call it “welded tuff.”
Soon, the sun bleaches the cliffs. Climbers descend and nap in the shade. Sitting at 3,000 metres on Oregon’s high desert plateau, the midday heat here is brutal.
Pass Time
I retreat into the valley and hike over to the shaded Asterix Pass. Here, a lone boulder sits saddled between two peaks, like a jewel on the crown of rocks.
As I scamper up towards the pass, my bulky camera plays pendulum around my neck. I stop. There’s not even a breeze here, but it sounds like a train is approaching.
Two climbers slide down the scree gravel from the pass, slowly and deliberately. They’re wearing fluorescent jackets and helmets. Each has an X of ropes wrapped around their chest.
“Don’t go up there, you’ll need gear. The wind is crazy today,” one says as they slide past me. The wind howls from beyond in agreement.
With this sound advice, I return to see where my friends are hanging out, or hanging off I guess.
Problem Solving
Alex and our group have moved on to more aggressive routes. I catch him, almost literally, clinging upside down from an outcrop. He keeps throwing a hand up to grab a hold. He’s trying to manoeuvre above it.
The flat hold looks just like a shadow.
His hand slips and he swings suspended from the rope like a spider.
“I’ve tried this problem eight times,” he says. “It’s just this one move I haven’t gotten.”
For climbers, routes are problems to be solved. Many have a very specific sequence of holds you have to use in order to complete them.
It’s like Twister — right hand here, left toe there — but vertical.
“Got it!” He yells five minutes later, smiling down from the ledge.
Hands clap and he descends to end the day on a high note.
We reverently inspect and coil the climbing gear, and join the crowds heading back to the campsites.
“How was it?” He asks as he fires up the Coleman stove.
Beside us, friends are washing their hands and picking off and patching off any wounds.
“I think I’m getting the hang of it,” I wink. “I survived.”
After a full day scaling the ashy bones of this ancient volcano, I settle in to sleep inside its open heart.
“Count knots in your sleep,” Alex calls. “You’re no newbie tomorrow.”
