Gerald Ford was President and there was an Austin, Texas Sierra Club trip going down to Monterey Mexico for a long February weekend. I was 16, hard-headed, and full of visions of climbing big rocks. My partner, Goomba John Sanders was on the strong side of 14 and already proven as an adventurer, having led us on a successful 21 hour caving descent to the end of Airman's Cave in Austin. And, we'd spent most of a year of roping together.
In our scheme, all we needed was for it to be a "Sierra Club Trip" and we both would be given permission to go! Little did our parents know what the Goomba and I were up to. Of course this was back when the Sierra Club was still doing club adventure-outings, before primarily shifting to the political.
Goomba and I had been terrorizing the slabs of Enchanted Rock, a granite dome west of Austin, and even road tripping the 10-hour drive out to the Organ Mountains near the New Mexico-Texas border. That Christmas Goomba and I did the desert alpine backcountry thing - summiting Sugar Loaf, the largest formation in those isolated Organ Mountains. Pretty strong for a team whose average age was 15.
A year and a half previous I had met Daniel McClure, Billy Westbay, and watched Jim Dunn doing a new route in the iconic and deep Black Canyon near Grand Junction, Colorado. I had led a rope team on the Diamond of Long's Peak, Colorado to do the D7 aid route. I had met Molly Higgins and her Girl-Gang in Boulder Field at the base of the North Face descent after they had just done the first female ascent of the Diamond.
I mean when the boy has been to Paris...
We were not parent led, we were escapist. On our own and doing our thing. We had aspirations. And being young, we needed people to drive us to our goals! Like in cars...
Fellow Sierra Club climbers and co-conspirators, Bill and Paul Horton showed us photos of where the club was going and wow, it was all spires of stone -- Huasteca Canyon and the majesty of Independencia. (It should be noted that Horton Brothers were/are adult, professional engineers, etc., but more often with us most weekends when we were doing fun shit.)
One look and I knew that the Goomba and I were going! Now it was the parental sales job, "Yeah Dad, we are going with the Sierra Club!" "Ok James, be careful."
And like that we were going to Mexico. February 1976, and we were carrying the biggest rack of pitons we could gather!
Mom drove me to pick up Goomba and take us to the Sierra Club meeting place. I urgently unloaded our packs before my Mom could get a sense of the sketch and chaos what was the launch of this adventure. With her driving off, we only needed to find seats in the carpool to Mexico. Of course we had no money. A little, you know kid money...
Funny thing, my Mom knew all along, a bit, we laugh about 35 years later... I was her problem child and she knew I was up to mischief.
We ended up packed 3 in the backseat of a small Toyota sedan, driven by folks we didn't know nor have ever met. We also found out at the border that our driver had not brought his car title and all of a sudden our ride was kaput. (You had to have your title to cross in you own car, Mexican Law!)
And then fate intervened, as the guide of this adventure, a huge guy that looked like "Berl Ives," with a heavily scared left arm from a rattle snake bite, walked up and embraced Goomba like his son. This guy, whom I'll just refer to as "Berl," was a legendary caver and had done lots of caving with Goomba (which was surprising since Goomba was only 14). But I remembered how Goomba had led us, even schooled us, that previous spring in Airman's Cave - a more than 2 mile crawl and wiggle cave off Barton Creek.
I have always been blessed by great climbing partners and Goomba's blessings were strong at this moment!!!
"Berl" with his left arm draped over Goomba's shoulder and his right over mine, walked us through the whole border thing, passing pesos at the right time. I watched in a drive-induced teenage stupor, with a stupid smile on my face, while "Berl," talking miles within seconds, like the famous Texas Climber-Lawyer, George Hap-Hazard, can do. He chuckled the Mexican Border Control and, all of a sudden, the Goomba and I are across the border, placed in a new car, with climbing packs and even our 10 joints, all on the way to La Huasteca.
We stopped, it was like 2:00 am Saturday morning in Nuevo Laredo and everybody bought Tequila. It was my first bottle of that manic agave!
The drive to Monterey was a blur, bottles uncapped and a full road trip party making misses on the wild obstacles of dawn Mexican highways and border controls, and then we were dumped at the base of Independencia.
We also were informed that we did not have a ride home. The Sierra Club folks were going to somewhere else and would not pass by here again.
I guess my 16-year-old logistics computer had not fully processed these details. (It should be noted that none of the adults, except close friends, knew we were tender aged! We looked and acted beyond our days and means.)
I held out hope that the Horton Brothers, Bill and Paul, who were already here from Austin establishing new routes, might be our ride. This notion was especially humorous as they had come down from Austin in their Porsche 914. The smallest sports car possible!
We found Bill and Paul and some others camped in the wash below three amazing blades of stone. Almost from our camp they ascended through false summits and complexity to reach a series of three thin fins - one 450-feet, one 800-feet, and one 1200-feet. These fins seemed wafer-thin, with width to height to thickness ratios of a mere fraction.
In our scheme, all we needed was for it to be a "Sierra Club Trip" and we both would be given permission to go! Little did our parents know what the Goomba and I were up to. Of course this was back when the Sierra Club was still doing club adventure-outings, before primarily shifting to the political.
Goomba and I had been terrorizing the slabs of Enchanted Rock, a granite dome west of Austin, and even road tripping the 10-hour drive out to the Organ Mountains near the New Mexico-Texas border. That Christmas Goomba and I did the desert alpine backcountry thing - summiting Sugar Loaf, the largest formation in those isolated Organ Mountains. Pretty strong for a team whose average age was 15.
A year and a half previous I had met Daniel McClure, Billy Westbay, and watched Jim Dunn doing a new route in the iconic and deep Black Canyon near Grand Junction, Colorado. I had led a rope team on the Diamond of Long's Peak, Colorado to do the D7 aid route. I had met Molly Higgins and her Girl-Gang in Boulder Field at the base of the North Face descent after they had just done the first female ascent of the Diamond.
I mean when the boy has been to Paris...
We were not parent led, we were escapist. On our own and doing our thing. We had aspirations. And being young, we needed people to drive us to our goals! Like in cars...
Fellow Sierra Club climbers and co-conspirators, Bill and Paul Horton showed us photos of where the club was going and wow, it was all spires of stone -- Huasteca Canyon and the majesty of Independencia. (It should be noted that Horton Brothers were/are adult, professional engineers, etc., but more often with us most weekends when we were doing fun shit.)
One look and I knew that the Goomba and I were going! Now it was the parental sales job, "Yeah Dad, we are going with the Sierra Club!" "Ok James, be careful."
And like that we were going to Mexico. February 1976, and we were carrying the biggest rack of pitons we could gather!
Mom drove me to pick up Goomba and take us to the Sierra Club meeting place. I urgently unloaded our packs before my Mom could get a sense of the sketch and chaos what was the launch of this adventure. With her driving off, we only needed to find seats in the carpool to Mexico. Of course we had no money. A little, you know kid money...
Funny thing, my Mom knew all along, a bit, we laugh about 35 years later... I was her problem child and she knew I was up to mischief.
We ended up packed 3 in the backseat of a small Toyota sedan, driven by folks we didn't know nor have ever met. We also found out at the border that our driver had not brought his car title and all of a sudden our ride was kaput. (You had to have your title to cross in you own car, Mexican Law!)
And then fate intervened, as the guide of this adventure, a huge guy that looked like "Berl Ives," with a heavily scared left arm from a rattle snake bite, walked up and embraced Goomba like his son. This guy, whom I'll just refer to as "Berl," was a legendary caver and had done lots of caving with Goomba (which was surprising since Goomba was only 14). But I remembered how Goomba had led us, even schooled us, that previous spring in Airman's Cave - a more than 2 mile crawl and wiggle cave off Barton Creek.
I have always been blessed by great climbing partners and Goomba's blessings were strong at this moment!!!
"Berl" with his left arm draped over Goomba's shoulder and his right over mine, walked us through the whole border thing, passing pesos at the right time. I watched in a drive-induced teenage stupor, with a stupid smile on my face, while "Berl," talking miles within seconds, like the famous Texas Climber-Lawyer, George Hap-Hazard, can do. He chuckled the Mexican Border Control and, all of a sudden, the Goomba and I are across the border, placed in a new car, with climbing packs and even our 10 joints, all on the way to La Huasteca.
We stopped, it was like 2:00 am Saturday morning in Nuevo Laredo and everybody bought Tequila. It was my first bottle of that manic agave!
The drive to Monterey was a blur, bottles uncapped and a full road trip party making misses on the wild obstacles of dawn Mexican highways and border controls, and then we were dumped at the base of Independencia.
We also were informed that we did not have a ride home. The Sierra Club folks were going to somewhere else and would not pass by here again.
I guess my 16-year-old logistics computer had not fully processed these details. (It should be noted that none of the adults, except close friends, knew we were tender aged! We looked and acted beyond our days and means.)
I held out hope that the Horton Brothers, Bill and Paul, who were already here from Austin establishing new routes, might be our ride. This notion was especially humorous as they had come down from Austin in their Porsche 914. The smallest sports car possible!
We found Bill and Paul and some others camped in the wash below three amazing blades of stone. Almost from our camp they ascended through false summits and complexity to reach a series of three thin fins - one 450-feet, one 800-feet, and one 1200-feet. These fins seemed wafer-thin, with width to height to thickness ratios of a mere fraction.
|
I tried to rub the road, the morning, and the tequila out of my eyes and felt the raw fear of the verticality of the rocks. I turned and tried to envision Goomba and me and our gear riding on the engine compartment of the Horton's 914 back to Austin.
But what the fuck. We are here to climb, so Goomba and I racked up and hiked up to one of the most intriguing features I have seen in my years of climbing. Poised in the notch between the 450' spire and the 800' spire was this cement balcony apartment complex. It was old and had rusty gates like it was a jail, but wow, what a balcony view. The story we were told is that it had been built by a rich mad-scientist who would lock himself in there and experiment on himself with drugs and stuff. He had built a switchback road up to it behind the spires, and his old home was at the turn of the switchback. It was all spooky cool with a starting belay off the balcony for the 450' spire. If I were to compare the climb to something, it would remind me of Montezuma in the Garden of the Gods in Colorado Springs - a classic 5.7-ish ridge. We were using pins for pro and placements seemed good. I summited and Goomba followed and cleaned the pins. The summit was spectacular, not even butt-sized perch. And as Goomba was tapping out my last pin I could feel the whole summit move. |
La Huasteca, Mexico - from the James Crump photo files.
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A blurry, old photo of days long past in the rusty, old mad-scientist's house tucked up in the rock
"Ah, John, ah... I will git that one on the way down!"
It was a relief to return to the Madman's balcony and head back to the camp in the wash. Our smiles grew as we eyeballed a VW Van that we both knew well but had no clue was going to be here.
La Huasteca, Mexico - from the James Crump photo files.
We walked up and it was my often, though recently absent, Dallas-based Enchanted Rock partner Bill Thomas, his wife Vicky, and the new guy he had started climbing with.
I eyed this newcomer suspiciously, especially being informed that he was from Oklahoma. It seems that the WHY of my not having seen Bill, was that he had been crossing the Oklahoma border and climbing with this guy. I mean Okla-F-ing-land-thieving-homa. (Sorry, I am a Texas Longhorn)... so then Bill introduced me to Duane.
That would be Duane Raleigh. Soon to become my friendly rival to the north. This was his first road trip, but I could tell, that Bill was fully Duane's partner now. But the biggest smile was that they had to drive through Austin to get home to Dallas and Oklahoma and they had room, and yes, Goomba and I had a ride home, but on Tuesday...
We had told our folks Sunday Night! :-). No phone, no worries...
The party that night was epic!
Pretty soon my bottle of T-Juice was gone and everyone was happy and wanted more. We all piled into the van and drove to the first dive-bar out of the wash. Vicky announcing as we enter, "Lets buy all the Tequila they got!" Driving back to campfire and cactus-dancing into the night.
The next morning Bill and Duane and the Horton Brothers headed up to that wild unique cave-hole that penetrates through the upper third of the fin of Independencia - like an eye in the sky, or a cannon-shot hole through the dorsal fin of a shark.
The Goomba and I had our eye on some things above the Madman's house on the 800' fin that had caught our eye the day before.
It was a classic Texas-Alpine start, with mucho java, and stalling, but we all scrubbed the night out of our eyes and got going.
This was '76, we were in that odd schism between aid, free, pins versus clean, we were young, we were stupid, we were fed on the climbing literature of our time. Our tactic was free, pins on lead, ground up.
We had chosen the backside, shorter side of the fin because we wanted to gain the ridge and were drawn to this huge Fear-of-Flying-like dihedral on the backside of the top of the fin.
We were stupid. The corner was wide. Our biggest piece was a 2 inch bong. But wow, we rode that fin like cowboys, climbing an overhanging 5.9 pitch to the ridge line and skylines to the slabs below the daunting corner.
Goomba looked at me from his scrappy belay at the base of the corner. Our teenage sketch-rack had run out and even he was scared of what he brought me up on, and what was above him. A gaping maul of death...
He shook his head and I nodded and said ok, "lets git off this!"
We were on these slabby plates and I found a horn that I could sling. I tapped a pin to trap the sling and Goomba and I began our get-away.
It took two stations on slightly overhanging rock to ground, and I felt like a hobo trying to build anchors out of whatever-the-fuck, as we were kid poor and gear was gold. And ropes were shorter 40 years ago...
We made it down and the next day we went to Monterey.
It was tourist shopping and a rest from the terror... being 16 I wanted a beer, so we stopped and everyone else scattered. I walked into a street bar and did my best , "Uno crevasa por favor". The tender nodded and asked the brand and I said "Tecarte," but this was a Carta Blanca place. all the old men at the bar shook their heads and said "Carta Blanca!"
A cold one was opened and placed before me and I held out my hand with coins as I had no clue what I owed. The old man next to me kindly picked a few coins and soon he had a beer too and we were toasting and trying to chat.
He was curious, as I was a bit of a sight. I was gringo, in a ragged shirt, wool climbing knickers and I had scabs and wounds on my hands from pounding pins. And, I was clearly young, with one of those young man beards... He pointed at my hands asking why, and as I struggled to explain that I had been rock climbing in Huasteca , alpinista, etc. when I said Independencia, the whole bar reacted. Immediately I was the center of a beer passing, toasting circle where the beer in my hand, after I had sipped was taken and past and another was placed in my hand. It was a loud roar of which I knew none of the words. Every beer place in my hand had been freshly opened and handed to me.
Apparently Independencia was a big deal. And they all thought I had climbed it.
This went on, with few coherent words for me, but much boisterous celebration from all the men in the bar. I needed to extract myself my further explanations were not understood, and as the gang was waiting. I finally walked out with two full Carta Blanca's in my hands, and an entourage of back slapping old men from the bar.
Duane was shaking his head wondering, "Who is this guy? Everywhere he goes it's a party?"
We next went to a market place and there were a bunch of youths playing soccer/football in the street in front of it. Seeing me in my knickers, they challenged me into their game. I thrilled with plastic-ball-kicking with smiling boys and much laughter. That was a blur, but I got this great photo of Duane with a sombrero and a machete! The shop owner is holding a knife to Duane's throat! Blurry some how fits, its was almost 40 years ago.
The next day we drove home back to Texas, and were so packed in the van that at the border, when the agent asked us to open the back, a helmet and pack rolled out complete with rope. The Agent just shook his head and told us to go on.
We drove past the in-land boarder check and pulled into a gas station. Then Bill taught me a real trick! I think today we call it Geo-Caching.
We had a smiling drive home! Nods and grins and jokes and jabs. It had been a good weekend and good that our parents did not know. Mexico is like Vegas - what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.
And, my Mom had to write me a note for school...
Ah, Old Mexico.
....
Don't ask about the next weekend... that one had Game Wardens, Sheriffs and the all the arms of Texas Law involved... You should be glad you were not my parents!
I eyed this newcomer suspiciously, especially being informed that he was from Oklahoma. It seems that the WHY of my not having seen Bill, was that he had been crossing the Oklahoma border and climbing with this guy. I mean Okla-F-ing-land-thieving-homa. (Sorry, I am a Texas Longhorn)... so then Bill introduced me to Duane.
That would be Duane Raleigh. Soon to become my friendly rival to the north. This was his first road trip, but I could tell, that Bill was fully Duane's partner now. But the biggest smile was that they had to drive through Austin to get home to Dallas and Oklahoma and they had room, and yes, Goomba and I had a ride home, but on Tuesday...
We had told our folks Sunday Night! :-). No phone, no worries...
The party that night was epic!
Pretty soon my bottle of T-Juice was gone and everyone was happy and wanted more. We all piled into the van and drove to the first dive-bar out of the wash. Vicky announcing as we enter, "Lets buy all the Tequila they got!" Driving back to campfire and cactus-dancing into the night.
The next morning Bill and Duane and the Horton Brothers headed up to that wild unique cave-hole that penetrates through the upper third of the fin of Independencia - like an eye in the sky, or a cannon-shot hole through the dorsal fin of a shark.
The Goomba and I had our eye on some things above the Madman's house on the 800' fin that had caught our eye the day before.
It was a classic Texas-Alpine start, with mucho java, and stalling, but we all scrubbed the night out of our eyes and got going.
This was '76, we were in that odd schism between aid, free, pins versus clean, we were young, we were stupid, we were fed on the climbing literature of our time. Our tactic was free, pins on lead, ground up.
We had chosen the backside, shorter side of the fin because we wanted to gain the ridge and were drawn to this huge Fear-of-Flying-like dihedral on the backside of the top of the fin.
We were stupid. The corner was wide. Our biggest piece was a 2 inch bong. But wow, we rode that fin like cowboys, climbing an overhanging 5.9 pitch to the ridge line and skylines to the slabs below the daunting corner.
Goomba looked at me from his scrappy belay at the base of the corner. Our teenage sketch-rack had run out and even he was scared of what he brought me up on, and what was above him. A gaping maul of death...
He shook his head and I nodded and said ok, "lets git off this!"
We were on these slabby plates and I found a horn that I could sling. I tapped a pin to trap the sling and Goomba and I began our get-away.
It took two stations on slightly overhanging rock to ground, and I felt like a hobo trying to build anchors out of whatever-the-fuck, as we were kid poor and gear was gold. And ropes were shorter 40 years ago...
We made it down and the next day we went to Monterey.
It was tourist shopping and a rest from the terror... being 16 I wanted a beer, so we stopped and everyone else scattered. I walked into a street bar and did my best , "Uno crevasa por favor". The tender nodded and asked the brand and I said "Tecarte," but this was a Carta Blanca place. all the old men at the bar shook their heads and said "Carta Blanca!"
A cold one was opened and placed before me and I held out my hand with coins as I had no clue what I owed. The old man next to me kindly picked a few coins and soon he had a beer too and we were toasting and trying to chat.
He was curious, as I was a bit of a sight. I was gringo, in a ragged shirt, wool climbing knickers and I had scabs and wounds on my hands from pounding pins. And, I was clearly young, with one of those young man beards... He pointed at my hands asking why, and as I struggled to explain that I had been rock climbing in Huasteca , alpinista, etc. when I said Independencia, the whole bar reacted. Immediately I was the center of a beer passing, toasting circle where the beer in my hand, after I had sipped was taken and past and another was placed in my hand. It was a loud roar of which I knew none of the words. Every beer place in my hand had been freshly opened and handed to me.
Apparently Independencia was a big deal. And they all thought I had climbed it.
This went on, with few coherent words for me, but much boisterous celebration from all the men in the bar. I needed to extract myself my further explanations were not understood, and as the gang was waiting. I finally walked out with two full Carta Blanca's in my hands, and an entourage of back slapping old men from the bar.
Duane was shaking his head wondering, "Who is this guy? Everywhere he goes it's a party?"
We next went to a market place and there were a bunch of youths playing soccer/football in the street in front of it. Seeing me in my knickers, they challenged me into their game. I thrilled with plastic-ball-kicking with smiling boys and much laughter. That was a blur, but I got this great photo of Duane with a sombrero and a machete! The shop owner is holding a knife to Duane's throat! Blurry some how fits, its was almost 40 years ago.
The next day we drove home back to Texas, and were so packed in the van that at the border, when the agent asked us to open the back, a helmet and pack rolled out complete with rope. The Agent just shook his head and told us to go on.
We drove past the in-land boarder check and pulled into a gas station. Then Bill taught me a real trick! I think today we call it Geo-Caching.
We had a smiling drive home! Nods and grins and jokes and jabs. It had been a good weekend and good that our parents did not know. Mexico is like Vegas - what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.
And, my Mom had to write me a note for school...
Ah, Old Mexico.
....
Don't ask about the next weekend... that one had Game Wardens, Sheriffs and the all the arms of Texas Law involved... You should be glad you were not my parents!