Moonlight Buttress, Lowe/Weiss Route

By: Mark Anderson | Climbers: Mark Anderson, Michael Anderson |Trip Dates: Late April, 2003

Photo: Mark Jonas

® The author(s) and naclassics.com | Back to climb page NAC Home page

Prelude:

According to my Road Atlas, Zion National Park is 527 miles from Albuquerque New Mexico. I bought my Jeep Cherokee in December 1999, with just over 98,000 miles on the odometer, and let me tell you: those were the days. A Twelve-hour each-way weekend trip to Devil's Tower was considered within reason, and 8-hour trips to Red Rocks, Rocky Mountain NP or Salt Lake were common weekend ventures.

But this is a different time. At 198,012 miles, Big Red still purrs like a kitten (a really, really LOUD kitten), but I can't help but wonder, each time I head out westbound on I-40, if this will be the terminal road trip. With these consequences in mind, I hesitate to take my baby on the road at all--unless it's something big…

Part One:

April 19, 2003 (198,542 Miles)

Mike stepped off the bus at Big Bend and hoisted the haul bag on his shoulders. Despite ascents of Half Dome, The Nose, and The Salathé Wall, this was going to be the first time either of us had used an actual haul bag on a route. But this was no typical Anderson Brothers Big Wall Circus. We weren't going for speed-racing against the rock to ensure the most acute, intense, and brief period of suffering. Rather, we fully expected it would take several days of effort to complete the 11-pitch climb. It's not that we hoped to prolong the aid climbing agony, to marinate in the miserable monotony of endless C1 cam placements; we had a far more remote hope in mind. We had left behind our hooks and aid ladders in exchange for Five-Tens and chalk bags.

Mike scoped the ideal river crossing and I scampered across in pursuit before the morning sun had reached the canyon floor. I snapped off a couple photos, and continued up the short trail to the base of the towering prow. The route begins up a large, sandy ramp to the left of the plumb line. Two more traversing pitches gain the heart of the route, and the crux: a giant, flawless open-book dihedral that stretches for two difficult pitches to end below an awkward slot. Above this slot, four pitches up a classic splitter finger crack end on the detached summit platform.

I slipped on my harness and a selection of cams in preparation for the first lead. After a few ledges, I gained the giant ramp and romped on up. The relative security of the ramp lured me past the typical traverse point, so once I found myself dead-level with the belay ledge I was forced to make a balancey step across to re-gain the route. At the ledge I experimented with the joys of hauling a bag. Mike quickly joined, and I commenced the second lead. This pitch is rated somewhere between 10c and 11c, depending who you ask. The crux turns a roof via finger under clings to the right, with good stemming stances for the feet. Above the roof, thin, off-balance lie-backing gains another nice ledge.

I made short work of the roof, able to find a good stance to place gear right at the crux. Above the roof I exclaimed, "That was cake!"

"Take?!?" Mike retorted.

"Cake!"

"Take?!?"

"Cake! That was Cake! As in, synonymous with easy!"

A brief lecture ensued on the use of words that rhyme with common belaying commands.

I set up the belay and brought Mike up while hauling the bag. From my vantage point the next pitch was invisible. The aid route continues from the ledge up a blank bolt ladder in an upward traverse. The free route traverses directly right 40 feet via bolt-protected 5.11c face climbing. I clipped a high bolt at the very right edge of the ledge, and proceeded to climb down from the ledge a few feet. From this point the rest of the pitch is clearly visible. Three more bolts protect tenuous moves on the soft Navajo Sandstone.

I clipped the next bolt, and almost immediately realized I would need a #1 Camalot to augment the fixed pro. Mike slid the piece down the rope (a nice advantage to downward traverses). I stuffed in the piece and continued. Several side pulls and gastons of wandering later, I arrived on a narrow ledge that gave way to the belay. Mike followed quickly and smoothly. There is really no difference between leading and following a pitch such as this, except, Mike noted, when following it seems like you unclip a bolt just before completing a difficult move.

The next pitch works up a giant, Wheat Thin-esque flake and the last chance for gear before executing a daring 15-foot traverse to the left through an awkward roof at 5.10d. Above the roof a bolt, and then 20 feet of face climbing up to the Rocker Block belay.

I proceeded up the flake, which was wickedly fun to climb, though somewhat scary to protect. At the top of the flake I placed a pair of pieces, hoping that at least one would hold should I pendulum off the traverse. Aside from the lack of pro, the traverse was quite fun and not too scary. The holds were all positive, albeit sandy. I clipped the bolt and proceeded straight up towards the Rocker Block following faint chalk marks. These last 20 feet were quite sporty, featuring sustained, difficult side pulls, probably in the 5.11- range of difficulty. I was relieved to mantle onto the ledge and clip an anchor. Mike followed in suit, but traversed straight left from the bolt, and found the climbing to be probably about 5.8.

Mike took over the lead at the Rocker Block belay. The first pitch off the belay has been rated between 5.11d and 5.12b. A difficult mantle boulder problem off the block warrants the 12b rating, though the upper lie-back crack is right on at 11d.

Mike took one fall in an attempt to dyno for the distant starting holds. He then extracted a urine soaked cheater stone from the crevice behind Rocker Block that provided the two additional inches needed to reach the holds. After squeezing out the awkward mantle, Mike fired the rest of the beautiful crack on-sight. I followed cleanly, and we gazed in awe at the crux pitch above.

The crux pitch can be dissected into three distinct sections. The first section, the physical crux of the pitch, involves 30 feet of intense fingertip lie-backing up a completely blank corner. The fingertip crack opens up to an 8-inch wide flared slot, which after 15 feet or so, recedes back into a high-quality dihedral finger crack.

One particularly bizarre idiosyncrasy of free climbers is our obsession with the 'no hands rest.' A long multi-pitch route obviously cannot be climbed without intermittent belays. To preserve the validity of the 'all-free' ascent, free-climbers have adopted a compromise that allows a belay only at a 'no-hands rest' (a no-hands rest is a rest such as a stem or chimney which allows the climber to have both hands free and un-weighted). The idea being, if given enough time, and the right psychological aptitude, any climber could fully recover (physically) at a no hands rest, so its really no different than hanging on a belay.

The first pitch off the Rocker Block of the original aid route ends at a hanging belay that is not adjacent to a no-hands rest. Therefore this belay is invalid for free ascents. Instead a belay is used roughly 50 lower. The crux free-climbing pitch begins at this belay, climbs the tips lie-back section, through the flare, past the aid belay, and continues another 50 feet up the finger crack dihedral to a no-hands rest just below the Slot Pitch.

The rating of this pitch has been the cause of some confusion. Stewart Green's "Rock Climbing Utah" guidebook states "The 5.13a rating is for the on-sight; 5.12d if worked." This, of course, makes little rational sense, as no other route in the world has a separate rating for on-sight ascents. It is understood that on-sight climbing is very difficult, and burly on-sight masters should receive extra fame and fortune for on-sighting routes others had to work. When Climbing Magazine reported Seth Shaw's free ascent of Moonlight Buttress, it stated that the 13a rating applied when placing gear on lead, and the 12d rating applied to ascents using pre-placed gear.

Mike was game to try for 13a credit, so he started up the intimidating corner with a truckload of tiny cams. Ten feet above the belay he found a decent hand-jam in a short pod, allowing for a last-minute psych-out. Mike continued up, placing a couple #1 TCUs, a .2 Microcamalot, a #0 TCU, then a hang. Climbing again, another #0 TCU, a #00 TCU, then another hang. Another #0 TCU, and into the flare, and some kind of awkward rest. The back of the flare tapers down to a seam, where Mike placed the last of our #0 TCUs. After struggling fruitlessly to squirm up the flare, Mike took one more hang. After a good rest, he pulled into another strenuous lie-back up the sloping edge of the flare, racing for the fixed aid climbing belay. Mike clipped a draw to the anchor, peered around the corner and literally dove into the top of the flare. Fifty more feet of relatively easy 5.12a finger crack spit him out onto the belay.

Mike lowered back down to my stance, checked the quality of the now-placed gear, and ensured none of the gear interfered with critical finger placements. We pulled the rope and I tied into sharp end, eager to give it a go now that the hard work (placing the gear) was done. I chalked up and let 'er rip. Literally racing against the impending pump, I stormed up the corner, occasionally skipping clips in an effort to conserve strength. I powered through the crux tips section, and reached the bottom of the flare. After a few seconds rest I continued to lie-back madly up the flare, racing to stab my foot into the bottom of the flare.

Before I knew what happened I was whipping wildly through the air, then hanging on the end of the rope, twenty feet below the flare. Apparently a #0 TCU will hold a good lead fall in Zion's notoriously soft Navajo Sandstone. In my haste to reach the rest in the flare I let my feet lag behind my hands, ultimately skating off the slick sandstone wall.

I then winched up to my high point and fired the rest of the pitch without falling. Man, it woulda' been sweet to flash that thing….

I lowered off from the belay and pulled the rope. Mike was rested and ready for another go. Inspired by my near-success, encouraged by the pre-placed gear, and enlightened by my strategy of speed, Mike flew through the crux section and dove into the awkward flare rest. Once the heavy breathing abated, Mike continued, lie-backed up the flare, clipped the fixed aid anchor, and dove back into the crack. The remainder was nothing but sweet reward as he cruised steadily to the no-hands rest, and the end of the pitch.

Again it was my turn, but I was unable to reproduce the speed of my first attempt. My progress was far too slow for me to reach the crux before the pump hit, and soon I was hanging on the rope again. It was 6pm. Somehow we had squandered an entire day. I decided to rest and give it one last go. My arms were completely dead, more so than my fingers, but I relished the thought of downing beer and pizza in town that night with the crux pitch already under my belt.

I pulled the rope, tied back in, and went for it, but I just didn't have it. We fixed our ropes for an early attempt the next day, and caught the next bus into Springdale….

Part 2

April 20, 2003 (Still 198,542 Miles)

Moonlight Buttress faces due east. The wall sees first morning light, but is fully shaded by about 1:00 or 2:00pm. Concerned about the prospect of leading the crux pitch in full heat, Mike and I awoke just before dawn. After a quick jug I arrived at the Rocker Block. Mike belayed me as I top-roped the 12b pitch for my warm-up. I felt pretty good, but I was definitely fatigued from yesterday's climbing marathon. I reached the belay just as the sun peeked over Observation Point, flooding the massive dihedral with warmth. Mike jugged up the rope as I prepared for my lead. For the fourth time in two days I chalked up, inserted my fingers, pulled up my feet and blasted upward. I still wasn't feeling as good as I had on the previous day's first attempt, but I had enough to squeak through the crux. I reached the flare rest and shook out as best I could. Eager to get things over with, I busted up the flare, clipped the aid anchor and launched into the finger crack. Several minutes later I emerged with numb fingers and an anchor in my face. I clipped the slings, and stemmed out right into the no-hands rest to finish the pitch.

Mike Jugged quickly up, cleaning the gear as he climbed. The next pitch climbs through an awkward chimney slot that makes up the aid crux of the route. Jason Campbell rated this pitch 5.12b, describing the climbing as akin to "wrestling a team of grizzly bears." This pitch is the "Harding Slot" of Moonlight Buttress.

Mike led off, grunting, moaning and generally using every known groveling technique to gain altitude. At one point the slot spat Mike out, to which Mike responded by lowering to a no-hands rest and trying again, all the more resolved to tame the beast. Above the slot section relentless lie-backing up a one-inch crack delivered him onto the only decent ledge between Rocker Block and the Summit. I followed the pitch cleanly, thanks to some of Mike's key beta, and motivated by an intense desire to never climb the ungodly pitch ever again.

We lounged at the ledge, shared a small lunch and bargained for the next lead. I won out, arguing that since I had already climbed three 5.12 pitches that day to Mike's one, this would likely be my last opportunity to lead anything before fatigue overwhelmed me. I was right.

The 12a pitch ascends an unbelievable, splitter finger crack with good footholds except for one 15-foot blank stretch - the crux.

I set off from the belay, locking like a champ from enormous footholds. As the edges disappeared, so did any trace of good style. Before I knew it I found myself six feet above the last piece, with no hope of placing another. I resolved to push through in hopes of placing gear from a better stance higher up. As I flailed my left hand higher, my right popped, and I proceeded to sail towards the Virgin River.

A quick inventory revealed a jagged gash on my left thumb, which must have scraped along the edge of the crack as I pitched off. I lowered to the ledge, taped up my thumb, and surrendered the lead to Mike.

Mike quickly cruised the straight in finger crack, which is truly his forte. I jugged to the belay, as I now considered myself done for the day. We gazed upon the intimidating splitter above, noted the 5.12c rating on the topo, and decided to call it a weekend. The hour was late, and I had 527 miles of driving to make it to work the next day. Four quick 60m raps put us back at the beginning of the route and the long journey home….

Part 3

April 25, 2003 (199,673 Miles)

Four days of staring at a computer seemed to be just what my thumb needed to recover from its ghastly wound. Still not 100%, but with tape, it was quite climbable. The day's approach was a little different than normal. Since we had only four pitches to go (three for Mike), and had fixed no ropes the previous weekend, we rappelled from the summit down to the large ledge. The sun was well up by the time we slogged up the Angel's Landing Trail. I donned the rack and headed down, eager to get a close-up look of the day's objective.

I led off once again from the big ledge, but this time well rested. Without a warm-up I was anything but solid on the difficult crack, but I did sketch my way up to the anchor for the redpoint.

The next pitch begins up the most intimidating splitter I've ever set eyes on. From the belay it looks like 40 feet of the crux of Indian Creek's notorious Coyne Crack-ring-locking finger stacks with no feet whatsoever. Our various topos said anything form 5.12a to 5.12c, but it definitely looked more like 12c. Legend has it that some have more difficulty with this pitch than the so-called crux dihedral pitch below.

Mike warmed up by following my lead. After a brief rest he charged confidently up the flawless fissure. With little hesitation Mike fired in cams seemingly at will as he steadily gained ground up the headwall. Before long he clambered up onto a tiny ledge halfway to the chains where a no-hands rest provided a full recovery. Mike cruised the final section of tricky lie-backing and thin finger locks and set up the belay.

Much to my amazement I followed cleanly, and was even able to re-rack the gear as I climbed. Usually on desperate ground I employ the bumbly method of frantically yanking pieces out, leaving them clipped to the rope, ultimately arriving at the belay with 5 or 10 cams dangling above my knot.

I racked up for the final lead. I left the stoppers and micro-stoppers behind, despite objections from Mike.

"Uh, ya, Doug's topo says to bring two sets of small nuts for this pitch."

"I'm gonna have to go ahead and disagree with your friend Doug, I'm not placing any nuts in sandstone," was my stupid reply.

The last two pitches can be combined into one full 60m-rope length. The first of these two pitches checks in at 5.12a/b, which I would probably amend to 12a/b R- considering my ineptitude at cramming TCUs into perfect nut placements. [Later that week Mike ran into Doug Heinrich, who confirmed that he would typically place 7-8 stoppers on this pitch during any of his numerous free ascents]

Fortunately for a sporto like me the bad gear section was mostly 5.11+ face climbing. The crack-climbing crux comes higher once the footholds disappear, and the gear becomes bomber. I sketched my way through this final crux, and continued through the 5.10c pitch above. I turned a short roof directly, then stemmed my way up rewarding knobs to the final 5.7 slab. I clipped into the summit tree, tossed off any excess gear, and belayed Mike up.

After a few high fives and photos we saddled up and headed for the long descent.

Epilogue

April 28, 2003 (200,000.0 Miles)

Nine-tenths of a mile East of Keams Canyon, Arizona. About 200 miles 'till home, and she's still purrin' like a kitty.

Editor's Note: The author is a Major Contributor to the North American Classics project.