Wyoming, Flying Ants and Western Hospitality
It was early September and we were sitting on my parent's porch in Calgary, Marco was drinking beer like it was his last in life, talking to my Dad, the Chef a la Broil King and Melissa was chatting with my Mom about a wedding that seemed like years in the future. Marco's wife Lori had just returned to Toronto the day before.
The Tower She was pregnant and needed to get back to work so they could afford to have a baby and sustain Marco's regular climbing forays. Semi-oblivious to all those around me, I was sitting, reading the weather forecast for Squamish, our intended destination for the next 10 days, the outlook was terrible, rain for two weeks straight. This should be the forecast for November! We were barely out of August! Normally this wouldn't be a problem, considering we were within an hour of some kick ass Rockies alpine and rock climbing. The issue at the moment was that the same forecast was being read for all of the possible climbing within BC and Alberta. This was seriously problematic, Melissa and I had just raced up the North East face of Ha-Ling Peak the day before with rain clouds tickling our necks all day, we didn't feel like repeating that contest. We were screwed, we had 10 days left and no dry rock within 10 hours of us. What do you do? What else, hop in the parent's mini van and head south. Before I could finish saying "Devil's Tow….", Marco was like "ja mang, let's do it! Why no?!" Melissa looked at me with a cocked eye and said "Devil's Tower? What the hell is that?" I said "Don't worry baby, you'll love it, it's only a quick 14 hours to Wyoming……..I swear we'll stop at Yellowstone on the way back……promise!!"
Climbing! So there I was, immediately after supper out in the garage firing all our gear into any bag with handles and loading the mini van like a criminal at a getaway. We all piled in with our cooler full of beer and all the condiments and snacks that my mom could think of. We had driven 12 hours to Kentucky multiple times from Ontario for a weekend, what was 14 hours? We had 5 days before Melissa had to leave! Tons of time!
Three hours of dusty southern Alberta blacktop and a ridiculously easy border crossing (considering the Venezuelan dude in the back seat), and I was exhausted. I was suffering from the post dinner (with beer) mind pump. It was time to give up the helm. Melissa, the trooper, put in 4 long hours of dusk driving through Montana flatness, and then it was Marcito's turn. Sweet, I can get another few hours of sleep. Turns out that our buddy Marco ended up with the stretch from hell. A few close encounters with deer and antelope, not to mention some insane truck drivers, ensured that none of us would see a wink of sleep for the next few hours.
The line My turn again, by my watch and the few inches left on the map, I figured we'd have two, maybe three hours to go. Then the construction came, miles upon miles (that's what they call 1.6 kilometers) of torn up asphalt and gravel stood in our path to the sacred tower. Two hours of choking on dust and dodging potholes and suddenly there was smooth road. Sweet jimminy that was nice. Mini vans loaded with gear and beer (not to mention people) do not have good suspension. Through all the bliss of no road noise or pilons we almost didn't notice the sunrise, it dawned a clear day, our first since leaving Toronto. Within minutes we began the last windy, up and down stretch of Wyoming high plains before coming within sight of the mighty tower. What a beauty. There's nothing like the stark contrast of shrubby drought ridden plains laying prostrate at the feet of a sudden rising monolith of alien strata shooting up to the sky. We were all breathless, the moment seemed magical, and I swear that every one of us could have just turned around and went home having seen such an amazing formation.
The belay The next half hour consisted of paying our entrance fee at the gate, throwing up our tents in the park campground, which was about 20 sites in an open field in the shadow of the tower, and hitting the pillow for a much needed nap before tackling anything harder than stairs. Once we arose, feeling not so refreshed, but telling ourselves that we were fired up, we ate and headed up to the visitor center to see what this big hunk of rock was all about. We spent 20 minutes perusing the historic display and picking out anything resembling a guidebook. We were then instructed by the park official that we must sign in if we were going to climb. They required names, license plates, emergency contacts and intended route names. After running our fingers down the pages of the guide book and picking the first moderate route available, we slung our pack and headed out the door. Immediately we were confronted by a nice old southern lady with a sweet twang, "ya'll gawna climb that?" we all nodded yes and then she nodded to Melissa, "and you too dawlin?" Melissa nodded yes and the lady replied "dayam, I caynt climb stairs on a good day!" With that we were on our way, when 30 seconds later out of the clear blue comes "hey ya'll rockstars!" "where ya'll gawna climb today?!".
Summit Meet Frank Sanders, a permanent fixture at the tower, and willing custodian of good karma and climbing passion. Within minutes of this encounter we had a new place to stay, all the beta on shade chasing on the tower and countless classics to climb. It was a meeting I'll never forget, one of those people who makes you chuckle everytime you think of them. It was the highlight of our trip, the climbing was amazing, the scenery stunning, but when you meet someone local who opens their hearts and home to you like Frank did, you never forget. We proceeded to enjoy clear skies and beautiful, gear eating cracks of impenetrable rock. After crack climbing for four days straight, sidestepping multiple rattlesnakes and being chased by rabid flying ants on a tower top with sheer drops of 300 metres, we were all ready to head home. It was a sad ordeal leaving Devil's Tower Lodge and all the new friends we had made, namely Frank, but Melissa had a plane to catch and a national park to see and Marco and I needed to nurse our hands for another 5 days in the Rockies. Our trip home included a leisurely jaunt through Yellowstone, where we ran into black bears, defiant road-blocking bison and tripod weilding tourists. The border crossing wasn't so kind this time 'round, we were all but stripped searched and poor Marco was given the special treatment by a sinsister looking border guard. Our only consolation was the fact that they had to dig through our smelly gear bags full of sweaty clothes and interesting white powder that made them all excited with the big let down of it being chalk. A Tim Horton's and a fill up and we were home, safe and sound.
Alpine breakfast With all the telling of the fun and adventure I've barely touched on the feelings of magic and wonder that we all felt when visiting the tower. There is so much more to see and learn about the legends and history of the indigenous people that inhabited the base of the tower for centuries. Climbing is only part of the thrill of being there. The rest lies in your imagination of how it came to be and what it means to those who hold it sacred. Read about it before you go, and you won't pull up ready to climb in June to find that it's closed for ceremonial purposes. Say hi to Frank.
The End.
