Cynical Pinnacle. I'll never forget the first time I saw this cover photo on the 1998 South Platte Climber's Guide. While perusing through the narrow aisles of Red Letter Bookstore, I pulled out a weathered copy from a cryptically organized pile and was immediately in awe of this formation. The rounded summit, beige granite, its perch above the trees, and the mysterious fog that guards its detail. Right there, squeezed between the bookshelves, intoxicated by feigned existential confidence induced by the smell of stale books, a spark ignited a flame in the back of my mind. I was determined to climb this tower, without any idea of what that actually entailed...
I poured over the guidebook's confusing topos, tried exploring other areas in the South Platte, but always returned to the cover and then to the page that contained the climbs on Cynical Pinnacle. As a young and aspiring traditional climber at the time, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. I still had a lot to learn to make this a manageable and safe endeavor. But like any kid that wants glory without having to work for it, I managed to convince some of my close friends to share the load with me, with a little campfire lore and a bottle of whiskey. What I hadn't realized as I crawled into my sleeping bag that night, was that I had asked them for more than any of us were capable of at the time. And we quickly found that out the next day...
The morning started cold, with a lingering resentment and slight hangover. Yet as we brewed coffee and ate breakfast in silence, I ignored all of this due to selfish ignorance. After the long, sweaty approach, we managed to waddle our way up to the base of Center Route and Wunch's Dihedral. As I sank my hands into the first 5.8 pitch, the size and vertical nature of the climb came crashing down on me. I hardly even new what I was doing, and had not only chose a climb above my skill level but brought my friends into the line of fire with me. As I sat and doubted my anchor building skills at the first chockstone belay, my fears were solidified when my buddy arrived and told me straight up,
-"I'm not ready for this man"-
. So before digging ourselves deeper into the whole I had found for us, we made one of the hardest decisions that a climber's ego has to make, and bailed. As we sombered down the hillside with our tails between our legs, I swore I would be back, but I also new that I had work to do.
The Pinnacle had reserved a seat in my self-conscience. I not only wanted to redeem myself but I wanted to exceed my expectations, and I used it (along with many other climbs) as a mechanism to train my mind and my body to be ready for a solid attempt. It would be nearly three years until that day finally came.
While working trails with a diverse group of climbers a little over a week ago, Cynical Pinnacle came up in conversation, and I half-hazardly mentioned how I really wanted to climb it. Jeff, someone I had just met a few days prior, spoke up and expressed equal enthusiasm. Not expecting a partnership to form there, I suggested that we give Wunch's Dihedral a go, just to move the conversation onward. Only a few days later, I was picking Jeff up in Golden at Cafe 13, with a trunk full of climbing gear and a belly full of coffee.
I started off the ground and dug my cuticles into the Breashear's finger crack feeling good and moving quick, with a grey camalot clenched in my teeth. I sunk in the cam about 20 feet off the deck, placed another nut and was almost through the major difficulties on the pitch when my foot popped and I fell. With an onsight in the dust, reality struck again, "Don't be a hero Maxito, just try to climb this thing". I quickly pulled back into the finger locks and finished off the pitch. As I sat on the huge belay ledge about 100 feet up, and Jeff pulled over the lip and sat there with me, the sun disappeared behind wispey grey clouds and would not provide us warmth for the rest of the day. Our attempt had officially begun.
- "I'd trade my sunglasses for a beanie right about now". -
While Jeff moved into the unrelenting hand crack that followed, I sat on the comfortable ledge looking out. He sunk in a cam about twenty feet from the ledge, and kept moving. While he pulled out slack to clip his next piece about seven feet higher, his foot pooped and he came sailing down at me. Before I could pull in not more than a foot of rope, there dangled Jeff, right in front of me, about six inches from cracking his ankles on the very ledge I was sitting on. Hardly phased, he quickly pulled back up to his high point and safely finished off the pitch.
As we both squeezed into the tight bombay chimney that guarded the final crack climbing pitch, I struggled to rack our cams on my harness, with the cold and fatigue wearing on me. Fisting my way out of the roof and into the dihedral, my confidence dwindled as I awkwardly tried to walk my feet up the smooth face while placing gear and sinking my fingers into the good but distant finger locks. About fifteen feet out of the chimney, my foot slipped and I went airborne. I new the rope would catch me but I was still scared by that fall. I scurried back up to the cam that caught me and fought and cursed my way up that pitch, trying to rest but unable to shake the icy pump that lingered in my arms. After what felt like an hour I finally pulled over the bulge to my belay. Snowy clouds had descended upon the formations surrounding us and appeared to be closing in.
By the time Jeff arrived, it was evident that we needed to move quick given the clothes we had on and the dropping temperatures. My plan to attempt free climbing the final head-wall guarding the summit was shrouded by our concerns for warmth and safety. We switched to aid and were quickly on the summit.
Rapping down the face past a few precarious hanging belays, I felt both defeat and success. I was glad we had made it, but I knew that I would not be fully content with this route and with Cynical Pinnacle until I was able to free every pitch. Just like years before, that flame still burned in the back of my mind, now brighter than ever...
