My first climbing trip to the Blue Mountains introduced me to crag climbing in the morning and peak climbing in the afternoon. My introduction to being a cragrat began on the long, Narrowneck façade, by climbing Guico Piton.
Now graded 15, Guico Piton was an easier proposition then. A convenient tree, which is now gone, allowed the crux corner off the ground to be climbed with ease. On a cold July day we assailed it with bravado, barefeet, bowline tie-ins on laid fibre ropes, with minimal protection.
In the afternoon we swung around to Echo Point, a lookout that has grand views of the distant square-topped Mt. Colong with Mt. Solitary and the Ruined Castle nestled across the open valley. Down to the left though is a peninsula that everybody comes to see – the sandstone pinnacles of The Three Sisters.
Now graded 15, Guico Piton was an easier proposition then. A convenient tree, which is now gone, allowed the crux corner off the ground to be climbed with ease. On a cold July day we assailed it with bravado, barefeet, bowline tie-ins on laid fibre ropes, with minimal protection.
In the afternoon we swung around to Echo Point, a lookout that has grand views of the distant square-topped Mt. Colong with Mt. Solitary and the Ruined Castle nestled across the open valley. Down to the left though is a peninsula that everybody comes to see – the sandstone pinnacles of The Three Sisters.
The Three Sisters pinnacles. Note the bridge between the mainland and the First Sister giving access to Honeymoon Point - a shallow cave with a seat. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
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As budding climbers, we didn't come to just look and admire The Sisters, we were there to do a skyline traverse.
Now this was back in the 1960’s when climbing these towers hadn't been banned (owing to loose rock and the recognition of the local Gundungurra and Dharug First Nations Peoples). After trudging halfway down the Giant Staircase and scrambling up a footpad, we climbed a lone easy pitch that led up to the gap between the Second and Third Sister. An easy traverse then allowed the wide, flat summit of the Third Sister to be gained. Roped scrambling led across and up to the airy, rocky summit of the Second Sister. Next, a scramble and a short abseil gained a wide ledge that was like an exposed highway to Honeymoon Point at the base of the majestic First Sister. A steep, but easy gully led to its summit. Standing on all three I felt elated, this was something that I thought that I would never do. These peaks for many years had felt inviolate and forbidding to a young schoolboy. Perhaps there is something territorial about summits. Arriving on top of a peak or tower is bit like owning, or maybe leasing, a bit of real estate. Mostly (but not always) there is only you and your partner to share the 360 degrees of ‘air’ provided. For a short time, you are up in the clouds selfishly occupying these islands in the sky. Standing atop a tower you momentarily forget the struggle and perseverance often required to get there. It would be sometime before I dared to climb The Mantleshelf, a harder and more exposed route to the summit of the First Sister pioneered by Dave Roots. But the peak bagger in me had now been piqued and I would seek many soaring summits in the years that followed. |
The author leading Dave Roots' classic climb on the First Sister - 'The Mantleshelf'. The climb starts from Honeymoon point and the abseil off lands the climber back on the bridge.
(Photo Credit: Keith Bell Collection)
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ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
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An article in a magazine sent me to the isolated, primitive and weather-beaten southwestern ranges of Tasmania. Through inclement weather, mud, scrub and steep, jagged country, my friend, Bob Gerdes and I dodged the occasional tiger snake and topped out on Federation Peak – the Monarch of Southwest on the southern end of the Eastern Arthur Range. At the end of my teens here, I learned of the suffering that is often associated with climbing peaks - where the body is subjected to the elements and exposure, while mind and muscle work to negate the effects of them.
Today, the in-roads of civilisation has made this traverse of the Eastern Arthur Range an easier proposition, but it still remains a trek of high adventure.
Today, the in-roads of civilisation has made this traverse of the Eastern Arthur Range an easier proposition, but it still remains a trek of high adventure.
The Eastern Arthur Range in southwest Tasmania taken from Mount Picton. Federation Peak can be clearly seen on its left end. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
Later, in 1965, I was bundled into a Holden station wagon with about 14 other aspirants enroute to the Warrumbungle National Park. Here there are a series of steep volcanic plugs 450 kilometres northwest of Sydney.
My first peak, Crater Bluff has been mentioned in an earlier Common Climber article. Crater Bluff was followed by an ascent of Belougerys Spire, a soaring needle when viewed from the access track but has a shorter and easier proposition on the side that we climbed (Refer to photo).
My first peak, Crater Bluff has been mentioned in an earlier Common Climber article. Crater Bluff was followed by an ascent of Belougerys Spire, a soaring needle when viewed from the access track but has a shorter and easier proposition on the side that we climbed (Refer to photo).
Belougery Spire taken from the walking track into the peaks. The easier climbs start on the obvious high shoulder to the right of the peak. The formation on the extreme right of the photo is the Breadknife, a classic dyke formation. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
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 Crater Bluff with Tonduron Spire in the background, located in the Warrumbungles 450 kilometers (280 miles) northwest of Sydney. Cornerstone Rib, first ascended by Bryden Allen is the most popular climb in the Warrumbungles, it goes up the obvious rib in the centre of the formation. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
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Crater Bluff and Belougerys Spire both have expansive summits with 360-degree views of the other nearby volcanic features that emerge from the vast surrounding plains and hills. The volcanic landscape, with its red, orange and brown features jutt out sharply from the lightly forested terrain, so different to the dissected sandstone of the Blue Mountains plateau. After absorbing the moment and surroundings, care must be exercised on the descent as no matter which path is chosen, both have tricky sections. This is where I first became aware that the climb up is only half the battle.
The Warrumbungles opened a doorway for me, the view from its tops seemed to reach out beyond the immediate horizon. Achieving its summits inspired a step up in confidence and an invitation to ask questions: What else is out there? What is next?
The Warrumbungles opened a doorway for me, the view from its tops seemed to reach out beyond the immediate horizon. Achieving its summits inspired a step up in confidence and an invitation to ask questions: What else is out there? What is next?
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Balls Pyramid lies off the east coast of Australia – truly an 'island in the sky' and a veritable 'medieval castle' (560 metres high) surrounded by the vast azure-blue moat of the Tasman Sea. Prospective climbers have been severely ‘barnacled’ while attempting to land, while others have never reached its rocky shores, stuck on the nearby Lord Howe Island owing to raging seas. As one of six climbers of the 1970 expedition, we were confronted by increased fear and trepidation the closer the boat got to the Pyramid. Would our goal, the first ascent of the West Ridge be beyond us? Can we do it?
I have been fortunate enough to tread the hallowed summit of Balls Pyramid on three occasions - in 1970 and 1973 before a ban was instituted and again in 2017, as a member of a scientific expedition when six climbers were legally able to climb to the top. The summit of this Australian climbing icon is about ten metres square with knots of tussock grass on slabby rock and earth inhabited by a family of Masked Boobies. Here, magnificent views of Lord Howe Island are afforded, but most of view is of the wide moat, its waters punctuated by sinister grey shapes (or was that my imagination?). Only about 60 or so climbers have been able to attain the summit of Balls Pyramidas before climbing it was banned in 1986 over concerns about rock quality and the survival of one of its extremely rare inhabitants, a phasmid stick insect, Dryococelus australis. |
The West Ridge of Balls Pyramid is 560 metres (1836 feet) high lying 23 kilometres from Lord Howe Island and 780 kilometres from Sydney. It is the remnant of a volcanic calderaand reputed to be the highest sea stack in the world. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell Collection)
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ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
Rarity, uniqueness, originality - all shiny beacons that beckon the climber... When youth, passion, and experience intersect, the desire to expand beyond our personal boundaries pushes us to seek new places and experiences. What can I climb that few, if any, have climbed? The Pyramid seemed to fit the bill, but...
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Living and climbing in Australia during the 'early' days of climbing gave me the opportunity to undertake first ascents on many rock faces. There is a curious thrill looking at something from the ground, knowing no human has touched it, and then seeking to unlock its mystery.
Plus, there are numerous kinds of 'firsts': First ascents, personal firsts, and firsts for a nation in the broader world of nations.
Plus, there are numerous kinds of 'firsts': First ascents, personal firsts, and firsts for a nation in the broader world of nations.
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Personal firsts are ongoing, as long as we desire and strive for 'what's next.’ Balls Pyramid took me to remoteness and isolation with growing confidence, a place just beyond my Aussie shores. It was ominous, unusual and unpredictable - protected by rough seas and plagued with bad weather. But there was another environment "out there" even more extreme and foreign to most Aussies at the time – the Alps.
Chamonix, France in 1970, I was the only Australian climber there and the weather was bad. In the company of Wilber King (English then but now an Aussie), I managed to make the first Australian ascent of the Gervasutti Pillar – a magnificent climb on the Mont Blanc du Tacul. In 1971 I was joined by more Australian climbers, the weather that year was especially benign. Howard Bevan and I teamed up and climbed the red granite tower of the Grand Capucin in Chamonix by its East Face, another First Australian ascent. When you are an inveterate peak-bagger you quickly learn that reaching the peak is only half the battle - and in some cases less than half. Our descent off Grand Capucin confirmed this fact. In this instance the difficulties were not technical. Instead, Howard and I faced a descent gully that was like a real live Plinko game. The climbers above us kicked and dislodged large rocks that bounced down the gully like random head-bashing Plinko chips, ultimately forcing us to take shelter under an overhanging ledge off to one side. After climbing tne North Face of the Dru, John Fantini and I climbed the West Face of the Petit Jorasses. On reaching the ‘summit’ - a very sharp au cheval ridge - I almost fell down the other side. So, we sat down, legs straddled on either side of the ridge like we were riding a horse, and had a quick bite and a drink before descending a very steep, treacly snowfield. |
Taken on the way to climb the Grand Capucin. The author on the Vallee Blanche with the Mont Blanc du Tacul behind. The Gervasutti Pillar is the central one just left of centre. (Photo Credit: Howard Bevan)
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We soloed carefully through the mush with about 500 metres of tumble-worthy space below us. I imagined those cartoons that show a snowball rolling down a hill, accumulating snow, becoming so large it would crush a house - here John or I would be the snowball. Eventually we were able to sidle across to a rock buttress, much relieved that we had not been snowballed or avalanched off.
ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
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In between the two summer Alpine seasons (1970/71) I intended to winter in Manchester, England. But by Christmas (1970) I was thinking I would prefer to domicile myself in warmer, dryer climes.
I chose Kenya, East Africa and so began one of the great adventures of my life. As climbers we get the benefit of the approach, the climb, the peak, and the descent, but we also get the adventure of the attendant journey - getting to and from the locale. It is usually beyond a quadrella of amazing experiences. Arriving in Nairobi I was very keen to climb in the Ruwenzori (Mountains of the Moon) but this was eclipsed by the Idi Amin coup occurring on the same day. The Ugandan border was closed and there was a great deal of unrest in Nairobi. The Ruwenzori was out and adjustments needed to be made. |
The twin peaks of Mt. Kenya (Photo Credit: Mountain Club of Mt. Kenya)
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Just south of the Kenyan border in Tanzania lies the great volcanic cinder cone of Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa – I had to climb it as well. And I did, much too fast as I suffered altitude sickness while above 15,000 feet. Undeterred though, the peak bagger in me staggered on past amazing, fluted walls of ice (now largely gone) to stand proudly on Uhuru Point – alone on the roof of Africa. I was now ready for my next summit, Mt Kenya, but getting there was not going to be easy.
A Kenyan climber, Ian Allen was in Australia having a great time and had mentioned some of the crags around Nairobi specifically Hells Gate. I went to the airport to link up with climbers at the Mountain Club of East Africa meeting. Having arrived there, I must have been perceived as a colonial or the ‘invisible man’ as not a soul would speak to me. Where were you Sam Mwangi (*) when I needed you, probably not born yet? (I met another Kenyan, Ian Howell, later in Yosemite who was obviously gob smacked by the "welcome" I had received from fellow climbers – your words were much appreciated Ian.) |
"The Snows of Kilimanjaro" - The spectacular fluted ice cliffs as seen from the rim on the way around to Uhuru Point in 1971. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
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Things for my next peak were not looking good until I somehow ran into my namesake – Keith. An older climber, who had tried to climb Mt Kenya several times without success. But it was good to have a friendly, reliable partner, particularly one who had skills, transport, and a knowledge of the mountain.
We successfully climbed the Mackinders Route on this beautiful twin peaked mountain. Since Kilimanjaro (5,895 m/19,341 ft) is not much higher than Mt Kenya (5,199 m/17,057 Ft), my outing up Kilimanjaro had acclimatised me for the latter’s dual summit. |
(*) Sam Mwangi is a Facebook friend whose posts show him introducing people and guiding climbers to many of the amazing crags that surround Nairobi. He is a tireless and impressive advocate of East African climbing. Sam is highlighted in another Common Climber story.
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After we topped out on the first peak Batian, Keith demurred from crossing ‘The Gate of the Mists’ a traverse across the rock-hard ice at the top of the Diamond Couloir (now gone) to the second peak, Nelion.
I was determined to bag both peaks, so I made the perilous, exhilarating and exposed crossing alone with Keith belaying me. When I reached the rock on the other side of the breach I unroped so that I could scamble to the summit making sure that the rope ends were securely anchored. The thought of soloing across that icy crest was ‘a bridge too far’. Back on Batian we were hit by a passing fall of snow, a novelty for an Aussie so close to the Equator.
It was now time to head south.
It took me over 6 weeks to hitchhike to Cape Town with a few adventures and misadventures along the way. This was mainly because I certainly lived up to the term ‘impecunious climber’ and had to tell some outrageous lies to cross borders.
Heading towards South Africa was also not an ideal thing to be doing at the time. The main road from Dar es Salaam (Tanzania) to Lusaka (Zambia) was a single lane dirt road (each way) with car and truck wrecks scattered at intervals along it.
I was determined to bag both peaks, so I made the perilous, exhilarating and exposed crossing alone with Keith belaying me. When I reached the rock on the other side of the breach I unroped so that I could scamble to the summit making sure that the rope ends were securely anchored. The thought of soloing across that icy crest was ‘a bridge too far’. Back on Batian we were hit by a passing fall of snow, a novelty for an Aussie so close to the Equator.
It was now time to head south.
It took me over 6 weeks to hitchhike to Cape Town with a few adventures and misadventures along the way. This was mainly because I certainly lived up to the term ‘impecunious climber’ and had to tell some outrageous lies to cross borders.
Heading towards South Africa was also not an ideal thing to be doing at the time. The main road from Dar es Salaam (Tanzania) to Lusaka (Zambia) was a single lane dirt road (each way) with car and truck wrecks scattered at intervals along it.
ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
I swung off into Malawi towards Blantyre along a narrow, muddy road where I spent a great deal of time helping drag buses and cars out of the morass. I had to smile when we eventually came to a clearing with a huge sign, the M1 emblazoned upon it.
A potentially explosive situation occurred when I was travelling through rebel territory in Mozambique. I was picked up by a truck convoy manned by Portuguese soldiers armed with machine guns. They directed me to the back to sit on top of 44-gallon drums of petrol. Never knock back a lift, you could be waiting two days for the next.
After being declared an ‘Undesirable Foreign Alien’ as I tried to enter South Africa, I was eventually allowed through after posting a 500 rand deposit. This was not easy as Australia had severed all communications with Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe).
With my funds at rock bottom, I rang the Australian Consul in South Africa: “What side of the border are you on son?” (Reply) ”Rhodesian.” (His reply) “Tough!!!!” Marooned and virtually cash strapped on the wrong side of the border. With what little remained of my cash I took a chance.
Near Arusha in Tanzania, I had met a South African guy who was heading north to Ethiopia. He asked me to ring his parents in Jo’burg and let them know his whereabouts. I rang them, gave the required information then carefully explained and asked if they could post the required deposit with the authorities. There was silence at the other end, then after about 30 seconds: “Ring back in ten minutes.” When I rang back, they said that they would post it. I was in. There are some good people around.
Seeing Table Mountain had been a dream since I was a young and after many, long hard days on the road via the Karoo I had finally made it. My first climb in Cape Town was on Lions Head a flanking pinnacle of Table Mountain lying to the north off its western end. I was honoured to swap leads with the exceptional Joan Quail, an absolute legend of South African Climbing.
A potentially explosive situation occurred when I was travelling through rebel territory in Mozambique. I was picked up by a truck convoy manned by Portuguese soldiers armed with machine guns. They directed me to the back to sit on top of 44-gallon drums of petrol. Never knock back a lift, you could be waiting two days for the next.
After being declared an ‘Undesirable Foreign Alien’ as I tried to enter South Africa, I was eventually allowed through after posting a 500 rand deposit. This was not easy as Australia had severed all communications with Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe).
With my funds at rock bottom, I rang the Australian Consul in South Africa: “What side of the border are you on son?” (Reply) ”Rhodesian.” (His reply) “Tough!!!!” Marooned and virtually cash strapped on the wrong side of the border. With what little remained of my cash I took a chance.
Near Arusha in Tanzania, I had met a South African guy who was heading north to Ethiopia. He asked me to ring his parents in Jo’burg and let them know his whereabouts. I rang them, gave the required information then carefully explained and asked if they could post the required deposit with the authorities. There was silence at the other end, then after about 30 seconds: “Ring back in ten minutes.” When I rang back, they said that they would post it. I was in. There are some good people around.
Seeing Table Mountain had been a dream since I was a young and after many, long hard days on the road via the Karoo I had finally made it. My first climb in Cape Town was on Lions Head a flanking pinnacle of Table Mountain lying to the north off its western end. I was honoured to swap leads with the exceptional Joan Quail, an absolute legend of South African Climbing.
ABOVE: Towertop, South Africa (Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.)
This was followed by many forays over many months onto the Table Mountain frontal and interior mountains with Mike Scott, members of the Quail family, and several others.
My most memorable South African peak was Toverkop (Now called Towerkop), a giant split quartzite thumb sitting atop a conical mountain about 325 kilometres west of Cape Town near the town of Ladismith. I spent a magical long weekend climbing there with Mike and Doreen Scott and a few others. We put climbs up on both summits and walked through the narrow slot that divides them. The camping In Nel’s Cave was unforgettable, a virtual hotel on high. My thanks to Mike and Doreen for the kindness and care that they showed to an itinerant visitor to Cape Town.
All too soon I was heading back to Europe for the 1971 alpine season.
My most memorable South African peak was Toverkop (Now called Towerkop), a giant split quartzite thumb sitting atop a conical mountain about 325 kilometres west of Cape Town near the town of Ladismith. I spent a magical long weekend climbing there with Mike and Doreen Scott and a few others. We put climbs up on both summits and walked through the narrow slot that divides them. The camping In Nel’s Cave was unforgettable, a virtual hotel on high. My thanks to Mike and Doreen for the kindness and care that they showed to an itinerant visitor to Cape Town.
All too soon I was heading back to Europe for the 1971 alpine season.
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I returned back to Australia from Europe early in 1972. By Aussie Spring in 1973 I was ready to return to the Alps. This changed when I ran into Queenslander, Rick White at an Australia Climbing Meet near Blackheath. “Why don’t you join me in Yosemite to make the first Australian ascent of The Nose?” Sounded good, I hadn’t been there, I was in. All went well, Yvonne Chouinard had kindly organised someone to pick me up at LAX and take me to the Valley via his shop in Ventura.
Due to some layover challenges and miscommunications, I arrived in the Valley to find that Rick had already climbed The Nose. With the first Australian ascent no longer in my sights, I decided to stick around and explore The Valley along with the vast areas of American rock further afield, usually accompanied by sunny, stable weather. The first peak in The Valley to attract me was Sentinel Rock. Reminiscent of the Dru, it called to me, first by the Steck-Salathe route followed later by the West Face. Half Dome was hypnotic, but finding climbing partners for that sawn off face was challenging. I ended up on Snake Dyke, an amazing day that was like riding a rock elevator to the summit. One day, when I was hanging out at Camp Four I had a climber come up to me and ask me to climb with him. He only had the afternoon so he suggested Nutcracker, a 6-pitch route in the El Cap Picnic Area, that I hadn't yet climbed. That climber turned out to be Royal Robbins. He and his wife Liz had put up the Nutcracker in 1967. |
Jay Jensen starting the off-width section on the West Face of Sentinel in delightful conditions. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
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ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
We alternate led his route in beautiful conditions. Afterwards, we drove to his house in Fresno and I had lovely dinner with him and Liz. After dinner we sat talking - climber's talk - and he asked me what routes I had climbed in the Alps. When I said the Walker Spur he said that is such a beautiful route and one that he always wanted to do. Liz and Royal were gracious hosts, inviting me to stay the night, then dropping me back to the Valley next day.
Having never previously been to the U.S., I decided to explore further afield - Devils Tower, the Grand Teton, and the Rockies were like magnets with their rocky spires. With the help of my thumb, I managed to make the long bitumen approaches.
Arriving late in the afternoon at the Devils Tower campground I was keen to climb the Durrance the next day. Climbers were short on the ground, almost non-existent, but I managed to find two very young callow youths who said without much conviction that they would climb with me. I met them at the prearranged place and proceeded to the bottom of the climb. I led all four pitches and dragged the guys up.
Rather than a peak, the top is a vast plateau with a pimple in the middle. Having reached level ground I was surprised by the hefty packs that they carried as I had said that I would provide all the gear. I hadn’t checked so I thought that it was food and water. As they struggled over the last edge I enquired, “What manner of shit do you guys have in there."
With an embarrassed fumble they opened and unloaded their packs. A veritable climbing shop of carabiners, etriers, pitons, and other gear tumbled out accompanied with: “We thought that you were really old and would not be able to do it.” I was an ancient 27.
Having never previously been to the U.S., I decided to explore further afield - Devils Tower, the Grand Teton, and the Rockies were like magnets with their rocky spires. With the help of my thumb, I managed to make the long bitumen approaches.
Arriving late in the afternoon at the Devils Tower campground I was keen to climb the Durrance the next day. Climbers were short on the ground, almost non-existent, but I managed to find two very young callow youths who said without much conviction that they would climb with me. I met them at the prearranged place and proceeded to the bottom of the climb. I led all four pitches and dragged the guys up.
Rather than a peak, the top is a vast plateau with a pimple in the middle. Having reached level ground I was surprised by the hefty packs that they carried as I had said that I would provide all the gear. I hadn’t checked so I thought that it was food and water. As they struggled over the last edge I enquired, “What manner of shit do you guys have in there."
With an embarrassed fumble they opened and unloaded their packs. A veritable climbing shop of carabiners, etriers, pitons, and other gear tumbled out accompanied with: “We thought that you were really old and would not be able to do it.” I was an ancient 27.
ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
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Moving on to Jackson Hole I spent an uproarious night or two with Sheridan Anderson at Pete Carmen’s place (thanks Pete) before meeting up with Galen Rowell again. I had met Galen on my first night in America as he had given a lecture at ‘The Great Pacific Ironworks’ in Ventura. Sadly, I was so jet lagged that I fell asleep standing against a wooden column, but fortunately didn’t snore or fall over. Galen, like me was keen to top out on the Grand Teton.
We left Jackson Hole at sparrows and were soon high on the flanks of the mountain. Our route to the top was via the Exum Ridge. Sunny rock, good weather, we were climbing well. The view from the summit was breathtaking. After that my memory is a jumble. We tumbled down the mountain to arrive back to Jackson Hole for a reasonably early supper. We had completed the Grand Teton in a day. |
The Grand Teton with the Snake River in the Foreground. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
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ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
Soon after, I was sitting in Steve Komito’s shop at Estes Park, Colorado when a young whippersnapper came up and invited me to climb with him. He said he had just the climb for me. And he was right, the Petit Grepon was spot on.
The next morning, with a reasonably early start, we were soon sharing leads up this spectacular tower. What a day, what a climb and what a summit. Even at the time the summit block reminded me of the slender dyke of the Breadknife in our Warrumbungle Mountains NW of Sydney. (Vale Billy Westbay, your kind gesture has resonated with me throughout the years.)
The next morning, with a reasonably early start, we were soon sharing leads up this spectacular tower. What a day, what a climb and what a summit. Even at the time the summit block reminded me of the slender dyke of the Breadknife in our Warrumbungle Mountains NW of Sydney. (Vale Billy Westbay, your kind gesture has resonated with me throughout the years.)
ABOVE: The amazing tower of the Petit Grepon (slightly left of centre), Rocky Mountains National Park. (Photo Credit Keith Bell) (Click on the image to enlarge)
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From the Rockies I circled back to California. Meeting Doug Robinson somewhere along the way in 1973 showed me that there was more to the Sierra Nevada than Yosemite. The ‘Gentle Wilderness’ was so appealing, with road heads that had tracks leading to serene lakes nestled in rocky cirques with jagged peaks soaring above. From such places we did some magnificent, wild climbing to the summits of Mt Sill, Temple Crag, Cardinal Pinnacle, and the Stonehouse Buttress. Apart from introducing me to the Sierras, through Doug I got to meet several Sierra Nevada devotees.
Vern Clevenger was younger than me but had the most astonishing mop of hair that was always flopping across his forehead. Vern was a Sampson when it came to climbing – strong, confident and skilful – just the man to go onto the Keeler Needle with. We did the second ascent of Galen’s Route and spent a freezing night in the stone hut within a stone’s throw of Mt Whitney’s summit. A much warmer excursion was up Adams Rib, part of the Rabbits Ears on the Wheeler Crest. Earlier, I had climbed the Devils Smokestack to its left with Jay Jensen. Both climbs are soaring buttresses first ascended by Doug and Galen. Again, we did the second ascents. Doug had a climbing mate who had a brother who flew a single engine Cessna. When we met him, he invited Doug and me for a joyride. The next morning we dutifully appeared at Bishop airport and were ushered into the back seats for the jaunt. What a ride it was. We flew over the White Mountains, skirted around Death Valley then across the Mojave Desert winging towards the Wheeler Crest. At this stage Doug and I were taking deep breaths as we appeared to be below the top of the crest. But just as we were about to close our eyes and start mumbling a few prayers we hit an almighty thermal from the desert below, ensuring that we easily cleared the crest. |
Vern Clevenger approaching Keeler Needle, Mount Whitney, Sierra Nevadas, California (U.S.), 1973. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
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ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
From there we flew across the peaks of the Sierra which were spread out like a contour map below. Heading northwards, we eventually flew at the appropriate ceiling directly above the middle of ‘The Valley’ - What a sight! Unforgettable! Somewhere above Half Dome the pilot headed northeast towards Mono Lake. Here he performed a series of vertical stall-outs with ever increasing intensity and spin. When we arrived back at Bishop, we promptly kissed the ground as we alighted.
While flying towards Mono Lake, Doug had spotted an unclimbed face. We decided it had to be climbed. A day or two later we made our way to the face and started climbing, swinging leads up some excellent rock. As we neared the top, we thought that we could hear voices, but nobody was in sight. The top third offered some steep to overhung climbing through grooves, so we put the voices down to our imaginations and concentrated on the climbing. As we topped out another group topped out to our right.
We met up, it was Lito Tejada-Flores and British ex-pat Chris Jones. Chris said he was really perplexed hearing what sounded like an Australian voice. We laughed and had lunch together, a little international gathering on top of Blacksmiths Peak all amazed that two separate parties had put up a first ascent on the same day and arrived simultaneously at the summit.
So many towers, so many memories. I was so glad that I got to experience it.
The end of 1973 saw me return to Australia, thankful that Rick had talked me into going to the States.
While flying towards Mono Lake, Doug had spotted an unclimbed face. We decided it had to be climbed. A day or two later we made our way to the face and started climbing, swinging leads up some excellent rock. As we neared the top, we thought that we could hear voices, but nobody was in sight. The top third offered some steep to overhung climbing through grooves, so we put the voices down to our imaginations and concentrated on the climbing. As we topped out another group topped out to our right.
We met up, it was Lito Tejada-Flores and British ex-pat Chris Jones. Chris said he was really perplexed hearing what sounded like an Australian voice. We laughed and had lunch together, a little international gathering on top of Blacksmiths Peak all amazed that two separate parties had put up a first ascent on the same day and arrived simultaneously at the summit.
So many towers, so many memories. I was so glad that I got to experience it.
The end of 1973 saw me return to Australia, thankful that Rick had talked me into going to the States.
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Back in Sydney over time, studies, work, and family started to intrude on my climbing. I became a ‘weekend climber’. My preference for peaks had not diminished, but it would largely now be assuaged by trips to the Warrumbungles.
This was not a problem as the largely then deserted Bluff Mountain and Tonduron Spire offered some of the best multi-pitch climbing in NSW if not Australia. Just north of Brisbane in Queensland lie the Glasshouse Mountains, volcanic plugs similar in nature to the Warrumbungles. Years ago, I slipped away from crag climbing at Frog Buttress with Rick White to climb the East Face of Crookneck (Mt Coonowrin – now banned), a striking pinnacle in the range. More recently, I finally topped out on nearby Tibrogargan, a large triangular feature, after climbing the route Black Orpheus then weaving through a series of unusual caves to the summit with my friend, Mike Meadows. |
Billie Wilkinson climbing "Black Orpheus" on The East Face of Tibrogargan. (Photo Credit: Mike Meadows)
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Panoramic View of the Glasshouse Mountains. The three major peaks (L-R) Mts Beerwah, Coonowrin and Tibrogargan. (Photo Credit: Mike Meadows)
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In 2012, I got a ‘Green Card’ to go back to America for a month with a few friends. On my 1973 trip Vern had driven me from Boulder, Colorado through New Mexico, Arizona, and Nevada to the Sierras. On the way we viewed many desert towers in the distance. I was smitten, but climbing them was still in its infancy. The memory remained, but time, distance, and commitments intervened.
On return my goal was to bag one, but I managed to climb three – Ancient Art on the Fisher Towers, Castleton Tower via the North Chimney and Otto’s Route on the Independence Monument. On the summit of Ancient Art there is little room to stand or have a leisurely lunch, it is barely standing room with huge drops either side on the weirdest rock formation that you will ever see or climb. Castleton Tower’s, North Chimney has some solid jamming at the bottom, widening into a chimney near the top. On entering the chimney there are unique calcite deposits, standing stark white against the red desert sandstone. The summit, though, is flat with plenty of room to move about. |
At the base of the Fisher Towers. The Ancient Art Pinnacle can be seen on top of the tower. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
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ABOVE: Author Keith Bell in various stages of climbing the Ancient Art Pinnacle. (Photo Credits: Brian Mattick) (Click on the image to enlarge.)
On the trek up to the Castleton Tower high on the right. (Photo Credit: Keith Bell)
ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
We were going to drive through Grand Junction, Colorado going west until some friendly American climbers said, “You have gotta call in and climb Otto’s."
Otto’s is largely climbed with and protected by the holes that he drilled to construct his ladder to the summit. The larger #2.5 - #4 cams are swallowed by the drillholes, providing excellent protection as well as handholds.
(Thanks for the tip guys!)
Otto’s is largely climbed with and protected by the holes that he drilled to construct his ladder to the summit. The larger #2.5 - #4 cams are swallowed by the drillholes, providing excellent protection as well as handholds.
(Thanks for the tip guys!)
ABOVE: Independence Monument (Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.)
In addition to the above, a real bonus was climbing Montezumas Needle in the Garden of the Gods, near Colorado Springs, Colorado. Garden of the Gods is a veritable Eden of tilted multi-coloured rock layers, slabs, and multiple towers set amid stunning pine trees.
Back in Tuolumne Meadows I got to swing leads with Peter Cunningham up the classic route on Fairview Dome, a climb that escaped me in 1973.
Climbing gives us so much. From the eye-opening shared experiences that trigger us to chase more and push ourselves, to the rich memories we carry until our end.
Back in Tuolumne Meadows I got to swing leads with Peter Cunningham up the classic route on Fairview Dome, a climb that escaped me in 1973.
Climbing gives us so much. From the eye-opening shared experiences that trigger us to chase more and push ourselves, to the rich memories we carry until our end.
ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
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In a 60 year career of climbing, there are also the ‘ones that got away’ - I touched the base of the Piz Badile in the Bregalia, Switzerland, but had to opt out owing to heavy rain. Such a beautiful peak. (As a consolation, John Fantini and I moved on to the Dolomites and climbed the Comici on the Cima Grande as well as the Squirrels Arete on the Cima Ovest.)
ABOVE: Click on the image to enlarge and see the caption.
The Candlestick east of Hobart, Tasmania is a tower that I always wanted to climb, perhaps because it is another seaside excursion. In 2023 I walked to the end of Cape Hauy and gazed upon The Candlestick's elusive and formerly distant summit.
As my age increases, naturally my climbing adapts. Some peaks that am I attracted to will sadly remain in my dreams, but there are others that will spring me into action.
Tasmania is the ‘New Frontier’ for me. After drawing my broadsword on Rysavvy Ridge surfing the slab of Whitewater Wall the Moai is set to be the subject of my towering ambition in 2025. Common Climber Assistant Editor, Dave Barnes and I have discussed it but haven’t set a date as yet.
As we develop and progress as climbers, ultimately it is our dreaming that keeps us going. Our skills and fitness wax and wane along with the phases of life, while our dreaming adapts and motivates us.
As my age increases, naturally my climbing adapts. Some peaks that am I attracted to will sadly remain in my dreams, but there are others that will spring me into action.
Tasmania is the ‘New Frontier’ for me. After drawing my broadsword on Rysavvy Ridge surfing the slab of Whitewater Wall the Moai is set to be the subject of my towering ambition in 2025. Common Climber Assistant Editor, Dave Barnes and I have discussed it but haven’t set a date as yet.
As we develop and progress as climbers, ultimately it is our dreaming that keeps us going. Our skills and fitness wax and wane along with the phases of life, while our dreaming adapts and motivates us.
As Common Climbers, most of us will frequent crags more than peaks, towers, pinnacles and outcrops, which makes the opportunities and experiences on them all the more special. To add to their specialness, almost all of these ‘islands in the sky’ (no matter the grade) can only be reached by climbers. In addition, their often discrete summits can offer magnificent, inspiring views of the surrounding countryside.
Naturally, the most important aspect of reaching these high places is getting down safely. Watching the sun setting behind the peak you have just climbed is the ultimate satisfaction and stimulates dreams of the next adventure.
Naturally, the most important aspect of reaching these high places is getting down safely. Watching the sun setting behind the peak you have just climbed is the ultimate satisfaction and stimulates dreams of the next adventure.
This edition sees the sun setting on Common Climber. It is with great sorrow that we slowly see the curtain close on what has been a wonderful and inclusive concept. Thank you Stefani for bringing to us the joy of climbing at all levels and modes therein. May we wish you and Rick good health and good fortune on the future roads (and routes) that you travel or climb.
Thanks also to the Assistant Editor, Dave Barnes. Your back story and your writing have been inspirational. You, however, do not escape that easily, see you and the other ‘Tasmaniacs’ in Hobart next year."
-- Keith Bell
And as the sun sets ... (Photo Credit: Rohan Cleaves, Courtesy of the Melbourne Zoo)
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