Standoltam.: Among Joshua Trees and Raven Rocks

A desert is a most confusing place to be. You sense that you don't belong here and couldn't possibly survive for long on your own. Yet it also lures you deeper and deeper, by opening up wells of a primal yearning within your own arid soul. Dramatic vistas leap forth under the heavy rain clouds as the Thunderbird speeds through the basins and ranges east of Bakersfield. Every once in a while we cross a small town or see a solitary building off the highway. Who would want to live here? Who wouldn't want to live here? (We are yet to meet Bob, a desert dweller and our companion for a Yosemite stroll.)

On the road

Archetypal J-Tree landscape

In a few hours, the giant yuccas and granite monoliths of Joshua Tree National Park welcome me as an old acquaintance. How familiar can you be with a landscape in which you spent some three days? I hail Intersection Rock and the Hidden Valley campground as if I have grown up here. If the winds are not any tamer in May as they were in January, at least the days are longer and the warmth of the burning sun compensates for the heat loss as we prepare lunch and enjoy a short siesta. But the shadows of the outlandish rock formations are fast devouring the sunny spots, and we are eager to climb before the desert night falls. Intersection Rock presents us with the two short 5.7 pitches of Overhang Bypass as a convenient way to one of the most astounding sunset-watching points of this planet. After simul-seconding this easy climb, Enrique masters his first ever independent rappel (and a long one at that). We settle down for dinner in a great mood, but the shivers sliding along our spines assure us that we won't have problem with the heat in the days to come.

Enrique always enjoys belaying

Bypassing the overhang in the setting sun

The day after is our lucky day, István, the fourth horseman cometh and the team finally complete, we can start living out our rock-climbing destiny in earnest. In the two short hours that we have before heading out to Palm Springs to pick him up, Brezó and Enrique practice leading on Toe Jam (5.7) and both turn out to be really promising novices in trad climbing. As it could have been expected, we are late for our rendezvous with István and his friend Laci, but he is happy to join us nevertheless and soon catches up on our established road trip slogans ("Wanna be, you wanna gonna be." "Lick it before you kick it." etc.). Back in camp, we are anxious to explore more of the endless possibilities that ascend the faces literally within a two-minute walk from our tents. While István and Enrique jump on Buissonier (5.7), we head over to Hands Off (5.8), a weird crack/stemming route that I saw somebody lead in January, starting with a knee jam. In the end, the start is a trifle compared to the thin hands of the upper section: despite the warning of a new friend, I stay too deep within the chimney-like formation, unable to fully take advantage of the stemming options. Placing way too much gear once again, I'm glad that I didn't try this route in January with my own meager rack. Once on the top, Brezó and I descend in a much larger circle than necessary and marvel at the desert flora. Enrique and István are already at the base when we embark on our eccentric roped travel to Buissonier on the paved campground loop. Despite being rated a full grade easier, both István and I found leading this strange lieback/jamcrack more powerful and difficult than tackling the technicalities of Hands Off. To top it off, the rappel anchor is located at possibly the most inaccessible spot of the whole formation, and by the time Brezó and I touch ground and find our friends on Double Cross (5.8), the light is already waning quickly. We decide to wait till the morning with this promising delicacy and start cooking dinner instead.

Hands Off, 5.8

István Barva presents J-Tree

Buissonier, 5.7 (not really)

Our merry Hungaro-Mexican group is complemented tonight with a guy from Colorado and two California girls, who convince us, after a bit of drinking, to join them for a trip to the Space Ship. Enrique having taken refuge from the cold in the car, it's the three of us that follow our new companions on this adventure, still not quite knowing the goal or the destination. First we ascend a fairly easy chimney, but the prospect of downclimbing it scares away Brezó, who instead finds a nice meditation place atop another formation. Somewhat tipsy and unsure of the challenges lying ahead, I try to catch up with everybody by traversing and exposed ledge and finally downclimbing a five-foot slab into a hole in the rock. The Space Ship turns out to be a spacious cave high on the face of a granite monolith, easily accessible in daylight/climbing shoes/when sober, but providing a taste of adventure under different circumstances. We all write our names in the books and chat and laugh freely until somebody below calls our attention to a sleeping baby: it's time for us to land on Earth once again. On our meandering way back to the campsite, István and I lose our crowd but find Brezó and get invited by three Korean-American girls for wine. People at J-Tree are definitely super nice and friendly, but fun nights like this predictably equal less climbing the day after.

The Space Ship (bottom right corner) at dusk

Desert still life

First thing in the morning (after breakfast and related activities, of course), Brezó and I hit Double Cross (5.8) and promptly find out that István was not exaggerating. This is by far our most fun and technical J-Tree trad climb so far, almost as enjoyable following as leading. (Nevertheless, I'm also grateful to whatever fate guided our choice of routes on our earlier visit, because many of these 5.7s and 5.8s would have been rather sketchy with the meager rack I had back then.) The wind is extremely strong and chilly, I feel just as miserable as in January, and we can't wait finding a more protected spot. In the meantime, István, Enrique, and our friends from last night grapple with a 5.10c on toprope. We join them in sitting around and watching the solitary climber suffer, we are shielded from the ferocious wind here among the tall boulders. When it's my turn, I tire myself by strenuous liebacking before the crux handjam and soon find myself hanging on the rope. Nobody succeeds in onsighting this tricky fellow, so finally Greg (who is already in the know) shows us how it's done: instead of liebacking, he hipjams (!) up the wide crack all the way to the crux, barely breaking a sweat. No wonder he manages to pull through the few crucial handjam moves to easier terrain, next time we will do it just like him. In the early afternoon, we all drive over to another area and say goodbye to Greg and the girls, who plan to climb at some obscure location. Enrique decides to conserve his energies for Red Rocks, our next climbing destination, so it is only the three of us who head out towards the Dairy Queen area among Joshua trees and other desert plants. István and I lead a 5.7 on a big flake first and a technical, crimpy 5.10a/b bolted slab route afterwards, both of which Brezó masters without falling on second. But the granite around us is turning orange once again, and we have miles to go in the direction of Las Vegas before we sleep, therefore we hit the road after some group photos and inescapable posing by a Joshua tree. As the wind-sculpted monoliths and ridges fall back into the eastern darkness behind us, I wonder when will be the next time I can enjoy the ungraspable desert solitude of this unique park. After two hours of driving, we decide to take a brake from camping--in two days and two nights the J-Tree winds eroded our machismo--and check into a cheap motel.

Our most beloved J-Tree route, Double Cross (5.8)

Brezó follows on the 5.7 flake route

István on the sharp end on the 5.10a/b slab

Dancing with J-Trees

"Tonight we're going hard"

The following morning it's not exactly easy to leave the comfort and coziness of our motel room, but leave we must by 11. With the late start and another two hours of driving ahead, there's virtually no chance of climbing today at Red Rocks, and István makes the fateful suggestion of stopping by New Jack City, a random but promising sportclimbing area near Barstow. As I have been struggling with weird nail bed inflammations for some days by now, I opt out of climbing for the day and after taking a few pics of the guys, I wander off to marvel at the desert flora and the shapes of the cliffs. I get back late in the afternoon, only to face the most depressing piece of news of the entire trip: István got injured. First I think it's a really lame joke, he looks fine enough to me, but he keeps pretending that he cannot bend his knee long enough to convince me. Apparently he was climbing a less challenging section of a 5.11, when he put some undue pressure to one of his knees and experienced instant excruciating pain. He let go of the wall right away and Brezó skilfully handled his fall, but his knee is no better even hours later, when we check back into the same motel to save him from the distress of camping. Regardless of the bird's role in Hungarian history and heraldry (King Mathias etc.), the Raven Rocks of New Jack City brought us rotten luck.

Welcome to New Jack City

Nutella-colored cliffs

István sends it

Desert vista with cloud herds

Raven Rocks

Everybody conscious of the fact that István's condition can put the entire plan in jeopardy, our mood is more than gloomy when he reports no improvement in the morning. Dreams of climbing at Red Rocks are already dissolving for Enrique, who has to get back to work in two days. Brezó and I are still hopeful that István's knee heals to the extent that he can drive up to Yosemite with us at the end of the week. In the meantime, it's obvious that he shouldn't camp and gradually it becomes clear that he shouldn't even leave the bed for the time being, so providing him with ample supplies of ice, the three of us leave him behind in the motel room with heavy hearts. We intend to pass the time by climbing at New Jack City once again, hoping that a rest day will facilitate István's recovery (and nobody else gets hurt). First we all lead an easy warm-up route and then we project harder stuff (Enrique and Brezó on toprope) for the rest of the day. The two routes we work on later turn out to be rated 5.11 or 5.12, no wonder that I keep falling and cannot piece them together even after figuring out all the cruxes. The tendon that I must have overstrained while training also protests the several tiny crimps, but we want to believe that our current suffering will pay off eventually in Yosemite. At the end of the day, we all climb atop a beautiful exposed 5.9 to look at another stunning desert sunset. Back in the motel, István has no good news for us: his knee in practically the same lousy shape, the best he can do is wait it out in LA in his friend Laci's home. One day ahead of schedule, we decide to drive to LA the following day. Feeling incredibly sorry for my friend, with whom I spent so many hours planning and dreaming about this trip, I also cannot help wondering if Brezó and I will be able to cope with the potential loss of the third musketeer financially. At this low point of the trip, we nevertheless all enjoy each other's company more than ever, cooking delicious camp food in the comfort of the room.