Conny and I had taken our lead climbing course only a few weeks before, and we were antsy to move beyond the single pitch routes of the Smoke Bluffs and get on a multi-pitch up the Chief.

One of the easiest, and also best quality multi-pitch routes in the Squamish, is the 700 foot Deidre, and we set our sights on it right away. Due to it’s quality, and accessible level of difficulty, Diedre is also one of the most popular routes. Our biggest problem, as it turned out, was going to be negotiating the crowds just to get on the thing.

Waking up at the crack of dawn to be first on the wall wasn’t really our bag, so we were just going to take it as it came. We were still car-less, so that made getting to the cliff an undertaking in itself. So on our first attempt we arrived just before noon. It was a turning into a blazing hot day and we could see from the the ground that were climbers on all sections of the route. When we reached the base of Diedre, we encountered 3 or 4 parties that were already waiting to climb. It was looking like a 3 hour wait just to start. Crestfallen, we took out our new climbing guide book to check out alternative options. We really wanted our first multi-pitch to be Deidre, but it didn’t look like it was going to happen. We weren’t going to wait around for 3 hours, we wanted to climb.

Leafing through the guide book, we settled on an infrequently climbed route called Sparrow that started from the same spot as Deidre but branched out right. It was graded harder than Deidre, but the hard section was really short. As it turned out the most difficult part was navigating the moss that had grown over the seldom climbed route, and once through, the rest of the way up was super easy…almost a let down, in fact. Despite being successful on our first multi-pitch, it felt anticlimactic.

Back down at the parking lot, drinking water, we looked back up the wall and were excited to see the crowds had all moved on, and no longer was anyone on the lower section of Diedre. We decided to hike back up and give Deidre another go.
Now, despite Sparrow being relatively easy (after the first section), it did take several hours, and it was cooking out…like 90F. It’s extremely rare to go up and do two multi-pitch routes up the Chief in a day.  After one multi-pitch most people call it a day and hit the lake and few beers. Some keeners may go to the bluffs or boulders and do it bit more climbing, but they are the exception.

When Conny and I arrived back at the base of Diedre, we had our hopes crushed once again. A climbing party we hadn’t seen through the trees had arrived just ahead of us and was in the process of sorting out their gear.

In a fit of ignorant invincibility I whisper to Conny that I would attempt to cut them off at the top of the second pitch by climbing Deidre Direct, a route I had spotted earlier in the guide book.

On paper Deirdre Direct is the same grade as Sparrow, harder than the proper Deirdre route, but within our ability. The problem, as I found out three quarters of the way up the thing, was that in the entire 150 foot pitch there were no cracks (to place protective gear) and only one bolt.

The first 75 feet were easy going and I didn’t really notice the unprotected distance I had gained above Conny, but after clipping the one and only bolt I had to start treading carefully as the climbing got trickier and more difficult. I kept moving higher and higher, looking for the sharpest crystal of granite on which smear my rubber shoes. The smooth slab of granite was getting steeper and steeper. I was holding onto nothing. I was standing on nothing. Just balance and friction were adhering me to the wall. I was starting to sweat really badly now, from a growing fear and from the scorching sun. I could feel my rubber shoes melting, sliding slowing, oozing on the rock. My calves were burning from the stress. I kept dipping and re-dipping my hands in my chalk bag. I looked up, then down, and couldn’t see the bolt anymore, hidden far below under a wave of granite. I inched upward and was now less that 10 feet from the wide grassy ledge that marked the top of the pitch, and the intersection with the main Deidre route. Above me I hear “Off belay!” as a guy secures himself to the anchor and hollers down to his partner. The climber then peered over the edge and gives me an impressed “Good on you mate. That’s a ballsy pitch.”
It’s one of the guys that I was trying to head off. “How…?” stopping myself as I didn’t want cop to trying to cut him off, “How did you get here so fast?”, I said anyway. He explained that he had an extra long rope that allowed him to combine the first two pitches and climb them in one go. I try not to lose concentration and let myself get bummed out as I’m in jeopardy of taking a seriously huge fall. I still had another 5 feet to go and now the rock had turned super slick under the ledge. I gingerly make the last moves and literally toss myself on the ledge in the dirt at buddy’s feet. I’m completely drained.

Eventually I bring Conny up and he leads the next couple of pitches. We top out and it was a spectacular day.

     The plan, as usual, was to head straight up to Squamish for the weekend as soon as work was over Friday.  It was mid-March, and despite a forecast of incessant rain, Eric, Shane and I were going to get out of the city.  Climbing was secondary, a bonus, being outdoors and in the companionship of good friends was what is was all about.  This meant in the event of being rained out we would always have a good time and discover some sort of adventure.  This weekend would have a twist that came in the shape of a hapless Czechoslovakian woman named Stanka.

     Stanka was working as a nanny and had been in Vancouver only a short time.  Stanka had climbed precisely three times, all indoor including the day we met.  She seemed to have genuine interest in the sport and was impressed by the prowess Shane, Eric and I showed pulling plastic.   Eric struck up conversation and quickly found out she had always dreamed of climbing on real rock.  The rather accommodating Eric quickly invited her up to Squamish with us for the weekend.  She eagerly accepted and left to get packed.  Eric, beaming with pride, walked over to Shane and I and announced the news.

     I wasn’t going to get out the gym that night until 10:30 so I told Shane and Eric that I’d meet them up in Squamish and get a lift with Stanka. Later that night Stanka came to pick me up in her clunker 1974 Toyota Corolla.  The car rolled up to the gym, lurched forward, backfired profanely and shuttered to a stop.  I dashed out to the car in the torrential downpour, tore open the door and jumped into the musty, ripped up front seat.  In broken English, Stanka apologized and said she’s been driving about as long as she’s been climbing.

     By the time we got out of the city and onto the Sea to Sky Highway I was ashen and searching for a vomit bag.  My hands have become permanently fixed to the door handle and the seat cushion.  I ask repeatedly if I may drive, Stanka declines each time and mumbles something about insurance.  The rain is coming down harder than I’ve ever seen it, and the windshield wipers are useless. There is a rock cliff scraping by to our right and ocean thundering hundreds of feet below on our left, this winding road is not nicknamed the Sea-to-Die for nothing…I’m terrified.

     At midnight we rattle into Squamish, pull off onto a dirt road at the foot of the Squamish Chief and wobble to a stop.  “Sorry”, says Stanka timidly.  Eric, damn you for inviting this person, and Shaner, I hope you bought a lot of beer.

     Stanka and I gather our things and make our way through the soaking forest to the sound of guitar and to the light of a fire.  “Hey guys, how was the ride?” cries Eric enthusiastically.   I say nothing and Shane tosses me a beer.  “Rob was little scared,” says Stanka with a little laugh.  Shane sees I’m not too amused and tosses me another beer.  “We waited for you”. I quickly drain the brew and crack another. I’m starting to relax and forget the past hour and half. Stanka declines the beer, but does decide to join us as we decide to make the most of the night and take journey through the forest beneath the Chief.

   We kept pounding the beers, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she was thinking as the three wholesome climbers she had met only a few hours earlier were transformed into hysterical Indiana Jones’s.

     Somewhere in the middle of this journey I completely forget about the nights epic car ride and was start enjoying myself immensely.   We discover a little pond sometime in the second hour where we become trapped.  We couldn’t go back we had to continue the journey.  I notice some clumps of ground in the middle of the pond connected by fallen logs.  With a lot of concentration, some precision footwork and luck, Eric, Shane and I make it to the other side of the pond and across the slick logs.  Stanka, on the other hand, unfortunately slips off somewhere in the middle and has to wade through the waist deep muck to shore.  Tough luck.  After a little more bush whacking we miraculously make it back to camp and fall asleep.

     We awake the next morning to the steady downfall of more rain.  Disappointed, but not surprised, we regroup at our favorite diner in Squamish and discuss a plan of action.  Looking up from my coffee, through the rain, my gaze settles on the Apron of the Squamish Chief.  “We could do Banana Peel?” I suggest in an offhand way.  Shane and Eric look mildly interested.  “What’s that?” asks Stanka.  I explain it’s a 6 pitch 5.7 slab route up the Apron, dead easy…when dry.  The idea gained momentum and soon we were racking up at the base of the cliff.  A short scramble through the trees leads from the car to the start of the climb.  Usually uneventful, this particular approach was marred by Stanka not looking where she was going and smashing her face into a rock and knocking out her two front teeth.  There was little blood and the brave girl insisted we carry on and do the climb.

Impressed we carry on.

     A short while later, I am forty foot runout on the crux second pitch and am contemplating the shrewdness of our decision.  The climb is usually a cakewalk and I am amazed at how my climbing shoes stick to the soaking granite. But now, still ten feet from the first bolt, I’m having my doubts.  It’s pouring rain again and the water is running down the rock and into the sleeves of my Gore-Tex jacket. I hated that feeling, the cold water running into my jacket, along my arm, into my armpit and down my sides.  I haven’t had anything to hold onto this entire time on the rock, friction is keeping me here.  I looked down at my feet and marveled at the little wakes forming around my shoes as the water ran by.  I begin to wonder if the effects of last night’s debauchery were indeed over.

     I look between my legs and see Eric and Shane huddled around Stanka on the ledge inspecting her mouth.  I’m not sure who’s belaying me, not that it matters at this point.  I look up at the bolt and gingerly take another step towards it, careful to avoid any algae on the rock.  Two more moves and I’m there. Right on! What a day!  With my confidence restored I quickly finish off the pitch and belay the others up.

     The rest of the climb is easier and even Eric can’t resist wanting to lead a pitch.  It’s still raining as we walk off and say goodbye to Stanka.  She’s off to Vancouver to do some shopping…$500 worth of new teeth.  Shane, Eric and I head back to our campsite and crack a few beers and play some guitar.  Tomorrow’s our last day in Squamish for another week and we planned to make the most of it.

Stanka never came into our climbing gym again.