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Bob Van Belle
Mount Woodson occupies a curious niche in the American rock climbing scene. Although many climbers have heard of Woodson, few have actually climbed there, and it seems most rock nomads are unsure of the area’s merit. The place has no guidebook – these days, proof positive of a crag’s unworthiness – and so visitors are rare, aside from the occasional junket by a big-time media figure breezing down from Joshua Tree to tick the area and check out rumors of wicked cracks.
Although typically classified as a bouldering area, Woodson has many "boulder problems" that would surely be considered leads in other places; as often as not, an unroped Woodson whistler means serious injury at best. The climbing at Woodson takes place on giant granite boulders that litter a 3000-foot coastal peak, three hours’ drive southwest of Joshua Tree. A steep, narrow one-lane road twists its way up the mountain’s east shoulder, allowing easy access to literally thousands of boulders.
Although a diverse area, Woodson has a well-deserved reputation for steep, difficult cracks, offering probably the finest granite crack bouldering in the United States. If one were to gather the entire Yosemite collection of boulder cracks – such as Short Circuit, Bachar Crack, Badass Momma, and Generator Crack – and multiply these by a factor of, say, 20, then scatter them across a coastal hillside along with a thousand other good boulders, what you’d be left with is a place very similar to Woodson.
Woodson’s cracks are not only numerous – they can be very damaging. Many of them bear a semi-permanent spackling of crusted gore, and overly enthusiastic attempts on the tougher problems have resulted in the premature demise of more than one Sunday outing. For some unfortunate folk, the most memorable aspects of climbing at Woodson are pain, giant flappers, and alarmingly swollen finger joints. Reams of bloody tape are strewn everywhere, the grisly reminders of other climbers’ shattered hopes.
To counteract the harsh effects of repeated lunges for overhanging two-fingertip jams, many regulars carry a standardized finger-repair kit that includes Superglue, local anesthetics, a variety of athletic tapes, and plenty of ibuprofen. However, for those less enthralled with the cultish fine points of 5.12 thin-crack climbing, Woodson also offers unlimited face climbing from overhanging jug hauls to vertical edging problems to thin, super-technical slab climbs reminiscent of the hardest Suicide routes.
Climbers began visiting Woodson long ago, but the early days of the 1960s are shrouded in the mists of prehistory. One story involves Royal Robbins. It seems he was being given a tour of the hill by the resident hardmen of the day. Spotting an obvious 25-foot hand crack, Robbins made a discreet inquiry and was told that yes, the crack was indeed a fine aid climb; not surprisingly, he made short work out of it. The Robbins Crack (5.10a) is now one of Woodson’s truly classic lines and the outstanding climb of the period.
It was not until the early 1970s that things really began to happen at Woodson, when a small group of local teenagers calling themselves the Poway Mountain Boys began picking off the easier 5.11 plums. These must have been exciting times; everywhere one looked stood mint-condition cracks, of all sizes and at all angles, just awaiting first ascents. Jewels of this era included Jaws (5.11a), a remarkable finger crack on flawlessly cloven granite, and the Ogre (5.11a), an overhanging crack that offers finger, hand and offwidth-crack climbing in its 35-foot length – a perfect practice tool for mastering various crack techniques.
With routes such as these to train on, area climbers’ standards rose quickly, and by 1974 climbs at Woodson were nudging into the 5.12 zone. That year Henry Barber nearly succeeded in climbing the gently overhanging tips crack that would later become Lie Detector (5.12a), and John Bachar on-sight soloed a very steep finger crack, Driving South. Over the next ten years this notorious finger-mangler received much attention and many ascents, but was not again on-sight soloed until 1984 when Jerry Moffat found himself cranking over the top. He was, as the current jargon has it, "totally maxed." Three years later, Lynn Hill toproped Driving South, with success requiring four or five tries.
Although Driving South has been rated 5.11c for as long as anyone can remember, these events illustrate a perennial problem peculiar to Woodson: the combination of brevity and difficulty often elicits unrealistic ratings by locals. How does one rate a miniature climb that fingers barely fit into? A good question, and it is easy enough to lose perspective after one’s umpteenth ascent of a route. One may readily forget the 25 tries it took to do the thing in the first place.
In hindsight, it appears that Driving South, albeit very short, was one of the hardest crack climbs in the country at the time. Another futuristic crack climb from this ear is Mother Superior (5.11d), climbed by wide-crack master Greg Cameron. A long and severely overhanging offwidth, it waited many, many years for a second ascent and is rated 5.11d only by Leavittation standards. One can imagine that when climbed via arm bars, as Cameron did it, the route is even harder still.
Why were climbs of such high standards appearing at what was essentially an obscure Southern California practice area? To this question there are several speculative answers. A partial explanation lies in the plethora of obvious classic possibilities at Woodson. How can a striking crack ten feet from the road be ignored? Another factor was the presence of a group of unusually talented activists. During the early and mid-1970’s such climbers as Kevin Worral, Greg Cameron, and Rick Piggot haunted the Woodson slopes, while their Yosemite compatriots – folks like John Long and Ron Kauk – were occasional visitors. With so many high-caliber cragsters on the prowl, something was bound to happen.
Also, there is the curt length of the climbs to consider. Many Woodson routes inhabit the queer gray zone that lies somewhere between bouldering and cragging; things seem too short to lead, yet way to high to boulder. This makes the area a natural for toproping, a medium in which most climbers will push their ability to its limit.
Also worth noting is the Great Western Bouldering Championship. Held at Woodson and other nearby areas, these were the first organized free-climbing competitions in the world. Conceived by Werner Landry, they underlined the existence of local test-pieces and prodded climbers into attempting them before they might have done so on their own.
In one early contest, a thin, overhanging Bachar product that had not seen a second ascent (although not for lack of trying) lured many with its big points. The contest turned the route, California Night (5.11b) into a venerable Woodson classic. During the most recent Bouldering Championship, held in March 1986 and swept by Ron Kauk, the rarely attempted Starving In Stereo (5.12a) was brought into play as a means of breaking a four-way tie for second place. Although the cheese-grater tips crack stopped all four contestants (including Mike Paul, who had done the climb many times), Starving In Stereo saw more action on that afternoon than in all its previous years combined. In the contest’s aftermath, it became a route to do and its status has since been reduced to that of a lowly 5.12 trade route.
In recent years, the Great Western Bouldering Championship has outgrown its early "locals’ party" atmosphere. Held in locations far outside San Diego county, it has attracted participants from such remote lands as Colorado, New York, and Britain. However cosmopolitan the contest may become, for old-timer San Diegans it will always remain a celebration of San Diego climbers, open to all comers willing to have a good time.
Although some very hard climbing was happening at Woodson during the 1970s, ascents of the hardest routes were sporadic and only a small number of resident climbers performed at the highest standards. This changed in 1983 when sticky boots, a wealth of young up-and-coming local talent, and a sudden influx of big-gun transplants from Los Angeles and beyond led to what might be described as a Woodson Renaissance.
Caked chalk began to appear on the hard classics and explorative outings turned abruptly from a meager trickle into a torrent of new-route activism. With handsaws and pruning shears, climbers blazed adventurous new trails through the thick chaparral, penetrating deep into Woodson’s many unexplored quadrants. Ambitious pioneers were rewarded with vintage gems easily as fine as anything yet climbed around San Diego. Perhaps the bulk of Woodson’s best routes were produced in the 1983-1987 epoch. This is mostly due to the sheer amount of then-uncharted terrain on Woodson, offering excellent new routes merely for the asking. Many recent discoveries are easily seen from the road, just a moment’s walk off the pavement.
Notable finds from this era include the beautiful Stairway To Heaven (5.11c), an overhanging pocket climb that works its way up an unusual concave face. The rock is highly textured, bright orange, and split by seams that make the boulder look like an enormous piece of Raku, the work of some titanic potter; deep, incut holds cross the face in a irresistible come-hither fashion. Since Stairway To Heaven is probably the single most popular route at Woodson, it is a great place to meet people. Most weekend evenings a crowd will gather there to drink beer, listen to tunes, admire the view, and savor the lurid sunset while mindlessly wiring the route into oblivion.
Another period piece is the Uncertainty Principal (5.11d), climbed by Smith Rock transplant Bill Ramsey. Uncertainty threads a course across a sea of tiny, incut flakes that litter a sheer triangular face of flawless golden granite. Although only 40 feet long, the route is worth crossing oceans for. In 1986 Kurt Smith added a companion route several feet to the left of Ramsey’s; dubbed Kurtains for Certain (5.12a), the climb provides a new thrill for those weary of running laps on Uncertainty.
Rick Piggot continued his exemplary 20-year string of first ascents at Woodson when, in 1985, he discovered and climbed what may be San Diego’s most punishing route. The Vice Principal’s Office (5.12a) is an awkward, wide-fist roof crack tucked into the back of a 15-foot double-overhanging dihedral that eventually eases to an overhanging thin-hands crack. Just getting to this thing is an adventure – the approach involves first hiking to the summit of Mount Woodson, then descending the steep backside on a vague, hellish trail that traverses the deepest and most primeval chaparral terrain on earth. Of the approach and first ascent, Piggot says only, "I got paddled pretty good."
A very surprising modern-era find was the massive Undertow Roof, a 20-foot ceiling split by a crack that widens from off-fingers all the way to offwidth. Just minutes from the road, Tom Linder stumbled upon it one afternoon while wandering lost in the rain. Unable to sleep that night, Linder was back the very next morning with two hastily recruited belayers in tow, ready to give the route an all-out effort. In a stunning display of poor judgment, Linder, shattered from an attempt to offwidth the thing, allowed one of his belayers a shot at the roof while he rested. Somewhat predictably, the belayer chanced upon an obscure undercling approach, flashing the route and turning the stiff Leavittation problem into a simple 5.11 romp. Linder was crushed. Although an easy undercling toprope, as a lead, Undertow retains a 5.12 rating as a lead, because protecting the crack from the undercling position is impossible.
Most unusual of al the routes at Woodson is The Widow Bereft (5.12a), a wildly overhanging off-size finger crack that soon pinches into a seam and down into a blank, shallow 80-degree dihedral. But what makes Widow so unique is the fact that it was entirely manufactured. Car jacks and come-alongs were used to remove massive blocks that obscured the overhanging thin crack, while hammer and chisel were employed to create the fingertip jams that allow access to the upper dihedral. Quite apart from your usual case of hold-hacking, where one or two holds are chipped or enlarged in order to make a move go, The Widow Bereft was conjured entirely from scratch, sculpted into existence from an imaginary line.
This may seem a strange sort of behavior, especially since it happened at what has always been a hard-core traditionalists’ area. But not a squeak of protest was heard, and since its construction the line has been universally recognized as a creation of exceptional quality, regardless of its test-tube origins. The reasons behind the complacency surrounding this forthright new route engineering (not to mention the enthusiasm regarding the result) lie in some unique Woodson characteristics.
Woodson’s slopes are laden with vast amounts of unclimbable rock, countless acres of utterly featureless boulders that stretch as far as the eye can see. On rare occasions one will find, amid this wasteland of dim prospects a flush, holdless rurp seam, or more rarely a perfect Dale’s Pin Job-type lost arrow crack, 1/4 inch wide and overhanging. Cracks such as these make unlikely free climbing candidates unless nailed repeatedly.
With the artist’s touch, however, this pin-scarring process can be greatly accelerated and a useless seam quickly transformed into a desperate and enjoyable tips-jams problem. This is, as I understand it, the rationale behind this odious ethical perversion and the prevailing positive reaction. People say, "Fantastic, another killer route to work on."
Although Widow Bereft is the extreme example of this sort of activity, many Woodson testpieces have been doctored to one degree or another, all of them seam climbs: The Aids Victim, The Sin Eater, Starving In Stereo and Ph.D.
As of this writing, other doctored routes exist that still await first ascents. Simply because some marginal jams have been installed doesn’t mean the freshly minted climb can be immediately bagged. The Widow Bereft once fell into this category. After the construction crew finishes work, the route waited a short time for a maiden ascent, until Dick Cilley torpedoed in from Arizona to grab the first, adding to his many previous coups in the area and creating a minor stir among the locals.
Although this cavalier discussion of hold chiseling at Woodson may give the impression of widespread local approval of such practices, this is not always so. Quiet controversy over these affairs has been simmering for years, and recently a minor eruption occurred over what was in retrospect the most innocuous of indiscretions. During the winter of 1987, Ray Olsen (a San Diego activist responsible for over a decade’s worth of superb new routes) used a small file to dull some razor edges on the outside of an old aid crack, then fixed pins on rappel in preparation for a lead effort.
The hubbub that followed was the most exciting thing to happen to San Diego climbing in years. The furor soon died down and the resulting free climb The Sin Eater (5.12b) is considered by many to be the finest of Woodson’s obscure outback routes. Ironically, The Sin Eater is yet another route that was snatched from the hands of locals after they had done all the prep work. Brooke Sandahl, a Smith Rock local, was the first to tick it, drastically underrating the climb and leaving the heartbroken locals to wonder why things keep happening to them.
More recently, Randy Leavitt gave the bucket a further stir, raising the ire of many by rappel-placing four bolts on a new route attempted the previous year by Sandahl. Cool Jerk (5.12c) presented the first rappel-placed bolts at Woodson, and from day one their tenure was uncertain. Although removal of the offending bolts seemed like a silly idea, particularly in light of the warped antics that had already transpired on Woodson, much grumbling was heard and chopping threats were constant.
However arbitrary the distinction, many Woodson regulars choose to distinguish between a Widow Bereft-type creation, which is ultimately attempted in traditional style, and a Euro-tactic effort such as Cool Jerk. Paradoxical and illogical as it may seem, it was the feeling of many – myself included – that the bolts should be removed. In May 1988, the bolts were extracted and their holes filled.
It is now 1989, and the direction Woodson climbing will take is anyone’s guess. Veteran locals understandably prefer that Woodson remain as it has always been – a proud enclave of traditional values, richly endowed with a long history of hard climbing, bold solos, and stylish effort. Many newer faces on the scene seem equally committed to their goal of dragging Woodson – kicking and screaming, if necessary – into the Lycra-clad future. Whatever the case, it seems unlikely that Woodson will every flower as a modern climbing mecca filled with high-profile 5.13s and 5.14s.
Woodson’s greatest significance lies in its past, as a repository and showcase for the history, ideals, and ambitions of a previous era. A contemporary virtuoso seeking insight into the standards and accomplishments of yesterday’s hardmen will do wel to don a pair of old EBs, crush some chalk into a backpacker’s ditty bag slung over the shoulder, and perform onsight solos of Woodson classics like Hear My Train A Coming, a wildly overhanging 30-foot finger crack, and Driving South, just as John Bachar did, quietly and without fanfare, a decade and a half ago.
Another recent development that the locals of old would never have expected is the emergence of genuine anger between climbers of differing factions. Although one would hope that the friendly competition and easy co-existence that the many various camps have so far enjoyed will continue, this is probably asking too much. Recent events such as a Leavitt’s establishment of Cool Jerk represent a radical departure from the Woodson norm, and bitter feelings are beginning to develop between climbers unwilling or unable to recognize the validity of approaches to climbing different from their own.
In any event, the times are quickly changing, and the diverse tribe of kin who share the "Big Hill" have some critical decisions to make. What kind of place is Woodson going become? Preserving Woodson’s easygoing, pleasant atmosphere and preventing the sort of idiotic bolt wars that plague Tucson, Joshua Tree and Yosemite are the tasks at hand. Keeping an eye on the common goal – cracks and cold beer – is a good way to start.
Although typically classified as a bouldering area, Woodson has many "boulder problems" that would surely be considered leads in other places; as often as not, an unroped Woodson whistler means serious injury at best. The climbing at Woodson takes place on giant granite boulders that litter a 3000-foot coastal peak, three hours’ drive southwest of Joshua Tree. A steep, narrow one-lane road twists its way up the mountain’s east shoulder, allowing easy access to literally thousands of boulders.
Although a diverse area, Woodson has a well-deserved reputation for steep, difficult cracks, offering probably the finest granite crack bouldering in the United States. If one were to gather the entire Yosemite collection of boulder cracks – such as Short Circuit, Bachar Crack, Badass Momma, and Generator Crack – and multiply these by a factor of, say, 20, then scatter them across a coastal hillside along with a thousand other good boulders, what you’d be left with is a place very similar to Woodson.
Woodson’s cracks are not only numerous – they can be very damaging. Many of them bear a semi-permanent spackling of crusted gore, and overly enthusiastic attempts on the tougher problems have resulted in the premature demise of more than one Sunday outing. For some unfortunate folk, the most memorable aspects of climbing at Woodson are pain, giant flappers, and alarmingly swollen finger joints. Reams of bloody tape are strewn everywhere, the grisly reminders of other climbers’ shattered hopes.
To counteract the harsh effects of repeated lunges for overhanging two-fingertip jams, many regulars carry a standardized finger-repair kit that includes Superglue, local anesthetics, a variety of athletic tapes, and plenty of ibuprofen. However, for those less enthralled with the cultish fine points of 5.12 thin-crack climbing, Woodson also offers unlimited face climbing from overhanging jug hauls to vertical edging problems to thin, super-technical slab climbs reminiscent of the hardest Suicide routes.
Climbers began visiting Woodson long ago, but the early days of the 1960s are shrouded in the mists of prehistory. One story involves Royal Robbins. It seems he was being given a tour of the hill by the resident hardmen of the day. Spotting an obvious 25-foot hand crack, Robbins made a discreet inquiry and was told that yes, the crack was indeed a fine aid climb; not surprisingly, he made short work out of it. The Robbins Crack (5.10a) is now one of Woodson’s truly classic lines and the outstanding climb of the period.
It was not until the early 1970s that things really began to happen at Woodson, when a small group of local teenagers calling themselves the Poway Mountain Boys began picking off the easier 5.11 plums. These must have been exciting times; everywhere one looked stood mint-condition cracks, of all sizes and at all angles, just awaiting first ascents. Jewels of this era included Jaws (5.11a), a remarkable finger crack on flawlessly cloven granite, and the Ogre (5.11a), an overhanging crack that offers finger, hand and offwidth-crack climbing in its 35-foot length – a perfect practice tool for mastering various crack techniques.
With routes such as these to train on, area climbers’ standards rose quickly, and by 1974 climbs at Woodson were nudging into the 5.12 zone. That year Henry Barber nearly succeeded in climbing the gently overhanging tips crack that would later become Lie Detector (5.12a), and John Bachar on-sight soloed a very steep finger crack, Driving South. Over the next ten years this notorious finger-mangler received much attention and many ascents, but was not again on-sight soloed until 1984 when Jerry Moffat found himself cranking over the top. He was, as the current jargon has it, "totally maxed." Three years later, Lynn Hill toproped Driving South, with success requiring four or five tries.
Although Driving South has been rated 5.11c for as long as anyone can remember, these events illustrate a perennial problem peculiar to Woodson: the combination of brevity and difficulty often elicits unrealistic ratings by locals. How does one rate a miniature climb that fingers barely fit into? A good question, and it is easy enough to lose perspective after one’s umpteenth ascent of a route. One may readily forget the 25 tries it took to do the thing in the first place.
In hindsight, it appears that Driving South, albeit very short, was one of the hardest crack climbs in the country at the time. Another futuristic crack climb from this ear is Mother Superior (5.11d), climbed by wide-crack master Greg Cameron. A long and severely overhanging offwidth, it waited many, many years for a second ascent and is rated 5.11d only by Leavittation standards. One can imagine that when climbed via arm bars, as Cameron did it, the route is even harder still.
Why were climbs of such high standards appearing at what was essentially an obscure Southern California practice area? To this question there are several speculative answers. A partial explanation lies in the plethora of obvious classic possibilities at Woodson. How can a striking crack ten feet from the road be ignored? Another factor was the presence of a group of unusually talented activists. During the early and mid-1970’s such climbers as Kevin Worral, Greg Cameron, and Rick Piggot haunted the Woodson slopes, while their Yosemite compatriots – folks like John Long and Ron Kauk – were occasional visitors. With so many high-caliber cragsters on the prowl, something was bound to happen.
Also, there is the curt length of the climbs to consider. Many Woodson routes inhabit the queer gray zone that lies somewhere between bouldering and cragging; things seem too short to lead, yet way to high to boulder. This makes the area a natural for toproping, a medium in which most climbers will push their ability to its limit.
Also worth noting is the Great Western Bouldering Championship. Held at Woodson and other nearby areas, these were the first organized free-climbing competitions in the world. Conceived by Werner Landry, they underlined the existence of local test-pieces and prodded climbers into attempting them before they might have done so on their own.
In one early contest, a thin, overhanging Bachar product that had not seen a second ascent (although not for lack of trying) lured many with its big points. The contest turned the route, California Night (5.11b) into a venerable Woodson classic. During the most recent Bouldering Championship, held in March 1986 and swept by Ron Kauk, the rarely attempted Starving In Stereo (5.12a) was brought into play as a means of breaking a four-way tie for second place. Although the cheese-grater tips crack stopped all four contestants (including Mike Paul, who had done the climb many times), Starving In Stereo saw more action on that afternoon than in all its previous years combined. In the contest’s aftermath, it became a route to do and its status has since been reduced to that of a lowly 5.12 trade route.
In recent years, the Great Western Bouldering Championship has outgrown its early "locals’ party" atmosphere. Held in locations far outside San Diego county, it has attracted participants from such remote lands as Colorado, New York, and Britain. However cosmopolitan the contest may become, for old-timer San Diegans it will always remain a celebration of San Diego climbers, open to all comers willing to have a good time.
Although some very hard climbing was happening at Woodson during the 1970s, ascents of the hardest routes were sporadic and only a small number of resident climbers performed at the highest standards. This changed in 1983 when sticky boots, a wealth of young up-and-coming local talent, and a sudden influx of big-gun transplants from Los Angeles and beyond led to what might be described as a Woodson Renaissance.
Caked chalk began to appear on the hard classics and explorative outings turned abruptly from a meager trickle into a torrent of new-route activism. With handsaws and pruning shears, climbers blazed adventurous new trails through the thick chaparral, penetrating deep into Woodson’s many unexplored quadrants. Ambitious pioneers were rewarded with vintage gems easily as fine as anything yet climbed around San Diego. Perhaps the bulk of Woodson’s best routes were produced in the 1983-1987 epoch. This is mostly due to the sheer amount of then-uncharted terrain on Woodson, offering excellent new routes merely for the asking. Many recent discoveries are easily seen from the road, just a moment’s walk off the pavement.
Notable finds from this era include the beautiful Stairway To Heaven (5.11c), an overhanging pocket climb that works its way up an unusual concave face. The rock is highly textured, bright orange, and split by seams that make the boulder look like an enormous piece of Raku, the work of some titanic potter; deep, incut holds cross the face in a irresistible come-hither fashion. Since Stairway To Heaven is probably the single most popular route at Woodson, it is a great place to meet people. Most weekend evenings a crowd will gather there to drink beer, listen to tunes, admire the view, and savor the lurid sunset while mindlessly wiring the route into oblivion.
Another period piece is the Uncertainty Principal (5.11d), climbed by Smith Rock transplant Bill Ramsey. Uncertainty threads a course across a sea of tiny, incut flakes that litter a sheer triangular face of flawless golden granite. Although only 40 feet long, the route is worth crossing oceans for. In 1986 Kurt Smith added a companion route several feet to the left of Ramsey’s; dubbed Kurtains for Certain (5.12a), the climb provides a new thrill for those weary of running laps on Uncertainty.
Rick Piggot continued his exemplary 20-year string of first ascents at Woodson when, in 1985, he discovered and climbed what may be San Diego’s most punishing route. The Vice Principal’s Office (5.12a) is an awkward, wide-fist roof crack tucked into the back of a 15-foot double-overhanging dihedral that eventually eases to an overhanging thin-hands crack. Just getting to this thing is an adventure – the approach involves first hiking to the summit of Mount Woodson, then descending the steep backside on a vague, hellish trail that traverses the deepest and most primeval chaparral terrain on earth. Of the approach and first ascent, Piggot says only, "I got paddled pretty good."
A very surprising modern-era find was the massive Undertow Roof, a 20-foot ceiling split by a crack that widens from off-fingers all the way to offwidth. Just minutes from the road, Tom Linder stumbled upon it one afternoon while wandering lost in the rain. Unable to sleep that night, Linder was back the very next morning with two hastily recruited belayers in tow, ready to give the route an all-out effort. In a stunning display of poor judgment, Linder, shattered from an attempt to offwidth the thing, allowed one of his belayers a shot at the roof while he rested. Somewhat predictably, the belayer chanced upon an obscure undercling approach, flashing the route and turning the stiff Leavittation problem into a simple 5.11 romp. Linder was crushed. Although an easy undercling toprope, as a lead, Undertow retains a 5.12 rating as a lead, because protecting the crack from the undercling position is impossible.
Most unusual of al the routes at Woodson is The Widow Bereft (5.12a), a wildly overhanging off-size finger crack that soon pinches into a seam and down into a blank, shallow 80-degree dihedral. But what makes Widow so unique is the fact that it was entirely manufactured. Car jacks and come-alongs were used to remove massive blocks that obscured the overhanging thin crack, while hammer and chisel were employed to create the fingertip jams that allow access to the upper dihedral. Quite apart from your usual case of hold-hacking, where one or two holds are chipped or enlarged in order to make a move go, The Widow Bereft was conjured entirely from scratch, sculpted into existence from an imaginary line.
This may seem a strange sort of behavior, especially since it happened at what has always been a hard-core traditionalists’ area. But not a squeak of protest was heard, and since its construction the line has been universally recognized as a creation of exceptional quality, regardless of its test-tube origins. The reasons behind the complacency surrounding this forthright new route engineering (not to mention the enthusiasm regarding the result) lie in some unique Woodson characteristics.
Woodson’s slopes are laden with vast amounts of unclimbable rock, countless acres of utterly featureless boulders that stretch as far as the eye can see. On rare occasions one will find, amid this wasteland of dim prospects a flush, holdless rurp seam, or more rarely a perfect Dale’s Pin Job-type lost arrow crack, 1/4 inch wide and overhanging. Cracks such as these make unlikely free climbing candidates unless nailed repeatedly.
With the artist’s touch, however, this pin-scarring process can be greatly accelerated and a useless seam quickly transformed into a desperate and enjoyable tips-jams problem. This is, as I understand it, the rationale behind this odious ethical perversion and the prevailing positive reaction. People say, "Fantastic, another killer route to work on."
Although Widow Bereft is the extreme example of this sort of activity, many Woodson testpieces have been doctored to one degree or another, all of them seam climbs: The Aids Victim, The Sin Eater, Starving In Stereo and Ph.D.
As of this writing, other doctored routes exist that still await first ascents. Simply because some marginal jams have been installed doesn’t mean the freshly minted climb can be immediately bagged. The Widow Bereft once fell into this category. After the construction crew finishes work, the route waited a short time for a maiden ascent, until Dick Cilley torpedoed in from Arizona to grab the first, adding to his many previous coups in the area and creating a minor stir among the locals.
Although this cavalier discussion of hold chiseling at Woodson may give the impression of widespread local approval of such practices, this is not always so. Quiet controversy over these affairs has been simmering for years, and recently a minor eruption occurred over what was in retrospect the most innocuous of indiscretions. During the winter of 1987, Ray Olsen (a San Diego activist responsible for over a decade’s worth of superb new routes) used a small file to dull some razor edges on the outside of an old aid crack, then fixed pins on rappel in preparation for a lead effort.
The hubbub that followed was the most exciting thing to happen to San Diego climbing in years. The furor soon died down and the resulting free climb The Sin Eater (5.12b) is considered by many to be the finest of Woodson’s obscure outback routes. Ironically, The Sin Eater is yet another route that was snatched from the hands of locals after they had done all the prep work. Brooke Sandahl, a Smith Rock local, was the first to tick it, drastically underrating the climb and leaving the heartbroken locals to wonder why things keep happening to them.
More recently, Randy Leavitt gave the bucket a further stir, raising the ire of many by rappel-placing four bolts on a new route attempted the previous year by Sandahl. Cool Jerk (5.12c) presented the first rappel-placed bolts at Woodson, and from day one their tenure was uncertain. Although removal of the offending bolts seemed like a silly idea, particularly in light of the warped antics that had already transpired on Woodson, much grumbling was heard and chopping threats were constant.
However arbitrary the distinction, many Woodson regulars choose to distinguish between a Widow Bereft-type creation, which is ultimately attempted in traditional style, and a Euro-tactic effort such as Cool Jerk. Paradoxical and illogical as it may seem, it was the feeling of many – myself included – that the bolts should be removed. In May 1988, the bolts were extracted and their holes filled.
It is now 1989, and the direction Woodson climbing will take is anyone’s guess. Veteran locals understandably prefer that Woodson remain as it has always been – a proud enclave of traditional values, richly endowed with a long history of hard climbing, bold solos, and stylish effort. Many newer faces on the scene seem equally committed to their goal of dragging Woodson – kicking and screaming, if necessary – into the Lycra-clad future. Whatever the case, it seems unlikely that Woodson will every flower as a modern climbing mecca filled with high-profile 5.13s and 5.14s.
Woodson’s greatest significance lies in its past, as a repository and showcase for the history, ideals, and ambitions of a previous era. A contemporary virtuoso seeking insight into the standards and accomplishments of yesterday’s hardmen will do wel to don a pair of old EBs, crush some chalk into a backpacker’s ditty bag slung over the shoulder, and perform onsight solos of Woodson classics like Hear My Train A Coming, a wildly overhanging 30-foot finger crack, and Driving South, just as John Bachar did, quietly and without fanfare, a decade and a half ago.
Another recent development that the locals of old would never have expected is the emergence of genuine anger between climbers of differing factions. Although one would hope that the friendly competition and easy co-existence that the many various camps have so far enjoyed will continue, this is probably asking too much. Recent events such as a Leavitt’s establishment of Cool Jerk represent a radical departure from the Woodson norm, and bitter feelings are beginning to develop between climbers unwilling or unable to recognize the validity of approaches to climbing different from their own.
In any event, the times are quickly changing, and the diverse tribe of kin who share the "Big Hill" have some critical decisions to make. What kind of place is Woodson going become? Preserving Woodson’s easygoing, pleasant atmosphere and preventing the sort of idiotic bolt wars that plague Tucson, Joshua Tree and Yosemite are the tasks at hand. Keeping an eye on the common goal – cracks and cold beer – is a good way to start.
Climbing 112, February 1989