One Way Sunset, III 5.10c and Soler, II 5.9 Devil’s Tower, Wyoming Noah Gostout (‘10)
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fter struggling through traffic in Colorado Springs, and then again in Denver, I finally made it to the rendezvous point where my climbing partner Sam Dexter (‘10) and myself would start our journey. I had intended to go climbing at Devils Tower almost a year earlier, but injuries had turned me away. This time I was determined to make it. Our car was loaded down with a blast cooker designed for deep-frying a full turkey and numerous snacks from Cindy Dexter, Sam’s mom. However, we still needed more sustenance. We finnally succumbed to our temptations and what seemed like natural choice for supper, the 50-piece chicken McNugget. Filled with nuggets and a variety of complimentary sauces, we forged on towards the tower. Sam dodged wandering antelope throughout the rest of the drive and we arrived at the tower around midnight. We quickly rolled out our sleeping bags, and crashed hard underneath a stunning fall moon. The morning light brought views of the spectacular monolithic structure standing out of the gentile hills. After fighting off a gaggle of climbers from Boulder who seemed positive that there was such a thing as “extra gear”, and that we were the sole proprietors of such gear, we ambled up the boulder field to the mighty Devil. On a tower that’s 360° of identical basalt columns, route finding is like distinguishing blades of grass in a meadow. After some light free soloing and scrambling, however, we found our route. One Way Sunset begings with a pristine finger crack that slowly widens to tight hands and finally hands; a 150-plus foot splitter from .4’s to 3’s. Cranking my way up the first pitch, I was instantly in love with this sacred formation. While most of the finger crack only allowed thin tips, pods perfect for good finger locks and slotted nuts saved me from resorting to fingernails and teeth. Sam led the second pitch, bringing even more delight with tricky thin hands into meter after meter of bomber jams. I was enjoying myself so thoroughly that I decided to tune up some Beach Boys on my phone, reaching Sam at the anchors and preparing for the third and fourth pitch that we would link. “Fun, Fun, Fun,” was then interrupted by a stuck tag-line. We decided to leave the rope and just rap on a single so as to free the line on the way down. The stuck-rope, though, was an omen of the climbing to come. As I began the chossy chimney to the summit, scraping holds and placements from the crack, I realized why so few people climbed the second half of the route. Sketching out on loose rock, sandy feet, and angry pigeon calls, I had to perch very insecurely. I made the decision to turn off the Beach Boys, and focus on the climb.
Sam, formerly amused by my antics, now worried by the lack of harmonization with surf rock, shouted encouragement from his belay stance. As I found anchors, and Sam followed, he was horrified by the placements, which pulled easily from the crack amongst clouds of rock and pigeon poop. After Sam led the final scramble to the summit, I topped out the formation and embraced the primordial sense of conquering yet another tower by removing all clothes but my chalk bag and absorbing the vista that lay before us. After rapping and freeing the lost rope, an inquisitive tourist approached Sam and me. After a short and surprising chat, we agreed to carry the ashes of the man’s deceased son to the top of the tower. He had died before the father and son could climb the Devil’s Tower themselves. We chose a cruiser, but phenomenal, dihedral Soler that we fired up quickly. As per everything else we had climbed here, the route was amazing, and we left the ashes among a small cairn we built up top. A sacred place to the Native Americans of Wyoming, Devil’s tower had now become sacred for myself, for Sam, and for the father and son who had finally made it up the tower. Feeling tired and proud that we could help, we packed into the car for the drive South. The Tower had provided us with stories and adventure. I am sure that one day I’ll make it back to climb again and I look forward to that day.
CCAJ 59