The Titan, Finger of Fate Route

By: John Peterson | Climbers: John Peterson, et al |Trip Dates: Nov. '81 through July '95

Photo: Gary Clark

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Adventures on the Titan

Every climber should have a hero. Back in the 70's there were lots of good candidates: Royal Robbins, Pat Ament, Ghastly Rubberfoot (as my old climbing instructor called him), and many others but mine was Kor. Two things set him apart from the others: his drive to climb (instead to talk about climbing!) and the places he climbed. Layton climbed everywhere - just about any area or route in Colorado back then was one of his. One of the games climbers play is getting to the top: going places nobody else can go. The sandstone of the desert southwest is where this game is reduced to its essentials: you see some impossible chunk of sandstone and get to the top by any means possible. Gotta climb it while it's still there. Before I started climbing, I read the National Geographic article about Kor on the Titan: "We Climbed Utah's Skyscraper Rock". Even then I knew I wanted to climb it too.

The Titan is an amazing piece of rock. Along with the other fantastically shaped summits of the Fisher Towers, it towers over the Colorado River just east of Moab. A hiking trail leads through a maze of spires to the base of the tallest one: the Titan. The rock of Fishers Towers is unique. At the core, it is a relatively hard (for the desert) sandstone, much better than Standing Rock or some of the wild spires on the Navajo reservation. Covering the rock is a thick coat of mud and sand, constantly refreshed by each passing storm. This rock has been eroded into bizarre Gothic shapes with towers, spires, buttresses, and fingers everywhere. The texture is unique: unlike the sharp lines of Monument Valley or Castleton tower, every surface is grooved and fluted; every corner is rounded.

The publication of the 50 Classic Climbs (a very dubious list!) demystified the route on the Titan. I had moved to Salt Lake City and it was time to follow in my hero's footsteps: on to the Titan!

November 81: Mark

Mark Bradakis was one of the few rock climbers in the CS department when I first arrived. Not knowing too much about the Titan, he foolishly agreed to join me on my first attempt. I had caught Mark at a vulnerable time: he had just divorced his wife and was probably feeling suicidal. He agreed to spend his Thanksgiving attempting the Titan.

We arrived loaded down with tons of gear. We brought 4 ropes to fix lines, lots of nuts and my old pin collection. After toiling up the trail, we started looking for the climb. After scouting around a while, we found a route up to the saddle which separates the Titan from the main cliff. The route rose above us: discontinuous cracks led up a wall toward the Finger of Fate, a thumb about 300 feet below the summit of the Titan. Four belay anchors could be seen along the cracks although it was only 300 feet to their top.

Mark graciously allowed me to take the first lead. Starting up, I was able to free climb the first 20 feet. Then, the wall steepened and it was time to start aiding. Back in the days of my youth I had done a fair amount of aid climbing (as did my hero); this was relatively easy. Good cracks got me up to the second belay stance with little trouble. Mark followed on jumars, cleaning as he went. Belaying on the Titan is rather unpleasant: a constant stream of sand and pebbles cascade down from the leader. We found that the route gets absolutely no sun in the winter (and very little in the summer); Mark was rather cold. Reaching the belay, he suggested I should take the next lead.

The climbing gets a bit harder at this point. The cracks pinch off in many places, leaving only the holes where Layton had managed to drive pins into a nearly non-existent seam. These holes were now usually about the size of large angles although they were originally made by knifeblades. They were also distressingly far apart. Fortunately, I'm an inch taller than Layton so it wasn't too bad. The next pitch went fairly fast and we arrived at the base of the third pitch. Again, Mark was not excited about leading so up I went. At this point, the crack is almost completely gone, forcing the leader to climb from hole to hole. Although this sounds easy, the pin usually bottoms out. As you stand in the top rung trying to reach the next hole, you always seem to feel the pin you are standing on slowly slide out of its hole. About halfway up I reached a bolt (placed by someone without the necessary reach). I was growing dark rapidly so we abandoned our gear and rapped off. November is really not the time to do this climb - the weather is cold and the days are too short.

The next morning we trudged back and reestablished ourselves. Upon reaching the top belay, I asked Mark "up or down?" He replied "down", ending my first effort. Mark never wanted to return. One biner lost. Score: Titan 1, Me 0.

October 86: Dave

Dave Youkie was one of the first climbers I met when I moved to Arizona. Dave was a fellow wild man: he was willing to try anything. This sort of gullibility is bound to get a climber into trouble and in October of 86 we made the long drive from Tucson to Moab. Dave had never done aid before but this didn't bother him. This time I knew what to bring and where to go; we reached the start of the route early. Swinging leads, we spent the day getting to the base of the finger of fate. Dave was a little slow on aid, but learned fast. His biggest problem was lack of reach, but he was able to get up anyway.

At the base of the finger is the first non-hanging belay of the climb. A small ledge with numerous dubious looking anchors marked the place where the route traverses right on bolts and then climbs into the notch behind the finger. We decided that this was a good stopping point and rapped down, leaving all our gear for the next day. As we climbed, we noticed clouds building to the west. That night the wind began to blow, almost blowing our tent out of the parking lot. Near morning it began to rain, harder and harder. The next morning was miserable. There was no question of climbing - this was a downpour. This isn't supposed to happen - this is the desert! We spent the day driving around the slickrock watching the tremendous waterfalls that had developed in the pouring rain. Every gully had a torrent of water; every cliff had a waterfall. The scenery was incredible, but all we could think about was out gear (just about everything we owned!) sitting on the Titan. That night we were soaked so we crashed at a cheesy Moab motel. The next morning, we got up and ran to the window: no more rain! It was snowing!! We had no choice - I had to be back to Tucson the next day. We trudged up to the climb wading through over a foot of snow in places. Our feet were freezing; the trail to the base of the climb was hairy. When we finally arrived at our ropes we found them completely encased in ice. Our jumars slid freely, their teeth filled with snow and mud. After scaring myself to death getting 5 feet up the rope we decided to give up. We would rather return next week and finish the climb instead of climbing 300 feet of icy ropes. We said goodbye to just about every bit of climbing gear we owned and headed back to Tucson.

The next Friday Dave and I started again on the 12 hour drive to Moab, playing endless games of trivial pursuit. All signs of snow were gone - the desert had returned to normal. The next morning we arose before dawn and were at the base of the route just after sunrise. Our gear was still there (whew!) and the ropes looked fine, although a little sandy. We quickly jumared up and started up the next pitch. Dave led. This was our first real encounter with the original Kor bolts. These had funky homebrew hangers and looked decidedly fragile. After a horrifying traverse right on a couple of these dubious bolts, Dave had to reach over a bulge and tap in the tip on an angle. After gingerly stepping up on it, he was in an easy chimney behind the finger. This led up to a nice stance at the notch behind the finger. The climb changes noticeably here. Instead of climbing a vertical wall, you are on the crest of a ridge leading up to the summit. Except for occasional walls, the climbing is usually less than vertical and real ledges appear at the belays. On the advice of the 50 crowded (oddly enough, this one isn't too crowded!) we leave a rope across the traverse for retreat. The next pitch is nice mixed free and aid and leads to another good ledge. Dave then led an easy (but scary) free pitch which traverses around a tower to the bivy ledge. We have no intention of bivouacing - we're going to bag this before the day is over. The next pitch starts with a tricky move up to a short pin filled crack (the rock can't be that soft if there's fixed pins!). After the top of the crack, the climb follows the exposed summit ridge. No more cracks till the summit overhang - it's all bolts. The exposure is tremendous - 700 feet on the left and probably 800 on the right. The second bolt is mysteriously missing - fortunately(?) someone has left an old angle with the tip driven into the bolt hole. Terrified, I step up to the next bolt as fast as possible. A few more bolts lead to the belay: a doormat sized ledge in the wildest setting imaginable. The anchor is an old Kor bolt and a couple of drilled angles which don't inspire much confidence.

Dave soon arrives and looks at the next pitch. He generously offers it to me but I politely decline. It starts with a bit of free climbing, them another antique bolt. Above the bolt is a mystery. We see another bolt about 10 feet higher but nothing in between. I prod Dave to go take a look. Standing in his top rung, he sees no cracks or bolts. Hmmm - what did Layton do here? After fiddling around for a while, Dave decides to free climb a little. A small ledge is just out of reach. Dave bravely steps out of his stirrups onto the sandy rock. He works up, getting his hands on the small ledge. As he begins to pull up, suddenly the ledge crumbles. I have no time to react - suddenly Dave is flying through space. The Kor bolt barely tightens the rope before it pops. Everything is on the anchor. Dave flies by and I stare at the anchor, wondering how old those pins are. Suddenly, the rope tightens and Dave is swinging about 20 feet below after falling almost 40 feet through space. I look down and ask if he's OK. He's shaken but alright.

"Dave, we go down now. OK?"

"OK!"

We have no bolt kit, so there's not much choice anyway. We rap the now tested anchors to the bivi ledge, then reverse the traverse on the free pitch. Then down to the notch behind the finger. Using our fixed rope, we manage to reverse the next pitch but are not having fun. Finally, two long raps and we're down. It's almost dark and we're exhausted. I have a brilliant idea: I'll lower Dave and all the gear off the other side of the saddle down to the trail, saving almost a mile of hiking. Dave agrees and off he goes. Halfway down we realize it's more than 150' so I get Dave to wait on a tiny ledge while I tie on another rope. Finally he hits the trail; I hike around and join him. The next day we visit Indian Creek and cower up a 5.8 before we realize just how wasted, both mentally and physically, we are. Dave may still have a "go for it" attitude, but that no longer includes the Titan. He gets to keep Layton's bolt. This bolt is a joke: less than an inch long and probably 1/4" diameter. Builds confidence when clipping that final bolt ladder! Score: Titan 2, Me 0.

July 88: Jim

The Lisp conference is in Snowbird this year so I head back to Utah. After climbing some old familiar routes in Little Cottonwood (and getting my car nearly totalled) the conference is over and we head for Moab in a rented car. I've managed to dig up yet another willing partner. I've only climbed with Jim a few times but he is highly regarded by another partner of mine. Jim had left Tucson to seek fame and fortune in Telluride. He also has a "go for it" attitude (definitely necessary on this route!) and actually has some wall experience: he had done Half Dome a few years ago. However, Jim's big thing is expeditions. He's been to G-IV and is in tremendous physical shape.

We plan to do the whole thing in one day. I've got the route wired and know just how much rack to bring (lots of those 1.5 inch angles!). We're on the rock right at sunrise and cruise up. Jim really isn't that fast on aid but we're doing OK. Up the wall, around the finger, up to the bivi ledge. As I climb I notice I'm not feeling too good - maybe I'm dehydrated. Anyway, I lead above the bivi ledge knowing Jim is going to save my butt and get us up that last pitch. Someone has been up replacing bolts - two shiny bolts have replaced the angle and the bolt Dave pulled. Unknown to me, Jim decides to leave our pack at the bivi ledge when he follows. Arriving at the belay, he, as expected, generously offers me the lead. Sorry, Jim, the honor is yours. Go for the glory. I still have no clue what to do above the first bolt - the pitch looks the same as when Dave fell. Jim goes up to stand on the new, shiny bolt and sees nothing. Foo. After he steps down, I go up for a look. At this point I realize I'm really not feeling too hot. As much as I want to finally bag the climb, I just can't seem to do anything. I step down and talk with Jim. We have a bolt kit but he left it in the pack on the bivi ledge. He doesn't even want to stand on the bolt again - he's had enough. Damn. Nowhere to go but down.

We rap down just past the bivi ledge and arrive at a rap anchor Dave & I had seen previously. It appears to go straight down without those stupid traverses so we go for it. Sure enough, another anchor appears just before the rope ends. I'm so wasted I can barely feed the rope through my brake system but I figure it's dehydration. One more rap and we're down. Well, not really. We land on a rubble covered ledge 30' up. The only anchor is an antique piton driven into a non-existent crack with an old sling. No cracks anywhere. I had seen this anchor on the climb up and wondered how it got there. Well, there was no choice - we had to trust it (I was too wasted to think about a bolt). It was only 30 feet and it's SOFT rock, right? Easy landings! Well, the pin holds and we're down. Not even dark yet. I eat and drink and start to feel a little better. Jim wants to get going. He doesn't hike - he runs. Gotta keep in shape. We divide the gear - probably 50 pounds apiece. He says "see you!" and disappears. About 5 minutes later I figure out than I'm not healthy. I feel awful. I can barely move. Since Jim is way gone, there's nothing to do but stagger down. It seemed to take hours to get down. I kept hearing voices but nobody came. I think I see my 6 month old kid crawling up the trail to take my pack but it's an illusion. Finally I stagger to the car to find Jim sipping a beer while my wife fixes him dinner.

It took me a couple of days to recover - some sort of stomache flu. Jim heads back - he's had enough of the Titan for one lifetime. We arrive in SLC to find a message - our condo's been broken into and ransacked. Oh well. Score: Me 0, Titan 3.

July 95: Jared

I've moved from Arizona to Connecticut. I met Jared while he was still in high school. He had only been climbing seriously for a couple of years and had never been west. He trusted me completely. And, he had never heard of the Titan - the perfect partner!

The first task was to teach him the way of the aid climber. Dragging out my aid gear, we tackled a local 60' crag. I threw Jared on the sharp and told him to have at it. Two or three hours later, he arrived at the top, overwhelmed by his first aid lead: "This sucks! The reason they climb 5.13's is so they won't have to do this garbage!". Ah, another enthusiastic partner.

We lacked the time for further training. With the plane leaving in a couple of days, I started the search for my long-buried Titan rack. Aarg! I could only find a few of my pins! Since nobody in Connecticut has any pins, I called an old partner in Denver and managed to borrow a few more. In the end, I had to make do with just a couple of lost arrows, one each of the angles 3/4" - 2" (plus an extra 1.5"), and a bunch of tri-cams for the pin holes. Oh well - I'll just have to back-clean a little. The one vital piece of equipment we did obtain was a climbing helmet for Jared. I, on the other hand, decided not to bring mine. Since we had our boating gear along, I would use my kayaking helmet.

Jared joined the trip in LA. We started off with an epic to Charlotte Dome. This was Jared's first honest epic and he was starting to doubt the wisdom of the 50 classics. After that, we abandoned the 50 for a while and climbed fun routes instead. Eventually, we arrived in Moab. Our favorite camp site, a wash down the road from the Fisher Towers, was now closed to camping so we set up in the picnic area at the end of the road. At first light, I roused Jared and started to assemble the rack.

Our plan was to do the climb in two days. We would fix ropes to the base of the finger of fate (just as I had with Dave), rap off, and return the next day. This would give us more than enough time to finish this stupid climb off.

The pre-dawn hike in was pleasant enough. Jared was suitably impressed by the size of the rocks but immediately noticed everything was made of mud. Damn! The secret's out already! Back up the all too familiar path to the base of the route. Jared is more than happy to let me lead the whole route - his one aid climbing experience has taught him well. Actually, he would be even happier to just head back for the car, but he feels he owes me something for being his mentor (Sucker!!). Jared wonders why I want to come here again - I explain it's sort of a "Moby Dick" thing: "Towards thee I stomp, thou all-decaying but unconquering pile of mud; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I pound pins in thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee." Or something like that. Maybe I've been brainwashed by Roper & Steck.

The first pitches are the same as ever. The fresh mud brought down with every rain keeps the climb from acquiring any signs of previous travel other than the dirt-coated fixed gear. On the free climbing, holds are covered in baked mud instead of chalk. Jared slowly adapts to the constant stream of pebbles and mud. He quickly learns never to look up - just sit there holding the rope, looking out at the view and listening to the debris whistle by or ping off the helmet. He has no problems cleaning the pitches - all the pins come out with a few taps. Jared is impressed by the old bolts where the rock has eroded (probably wind erosion) except for a small anthill around the head. These things look like they are ready to snap off at any time! Let's see - if the rock loses 1/4 inch in 30 years, how long before it's completely gone??

I quickly found that kayaking helmets are designed for situations where you can stick your head in the water if you get hot. No such luck here - I was sweating up a storm in the thing! The crux pitch was worse than I remembered - it looked like a crack but was nothing but a crack in the mud. I popped one nut and then banged in a lost arrow - Jared was able to clean it with a single tug. This part of the climb was no longer very enjoyable; I just wanted to get everything over with. Arriving at the final belay, I found a fixed rope draped down the next pitch. Cool - less to do tomorrow. We rapped and started the hike back.

As we hike, we wonder about the flaws in the American educational system. Surely he should have learned "Friends don't let friends climb the Titan" or "Dare to keep off the Titan" in high school? Maybe they could pay to have ex-climbers come in and explain the evils of climbing mud.

So far, the plan was working just fine. No sun on the climb, hike in while it's cool. We now found the flaw: hiking down in the mid-afternoon heat. The trip to the cars was brutally hot but at least we didn't have much to carry. The rest of the family was there waiting for us (right on schedule!) and we rolled into Moab to be tourists. That evening, we drove out to the island in the sky. We could see Standing Rock casting a straight, black shadow in the evening light. Fortunately for Jared, I'm not at all interested in climbing it!

The next morning, I get out my secret weapon: my official Layton Kor T-Shirt. It shows the Diamond, not the Titan, but it's good enough. Back up the trail - whip out the jumars and we're off. Damn - this is tiring! Finally we arrive at the top of our ropes. I'm really happy the next pitch is fixed - the overhang on this pitch is one of the scariest parts of the whole climb. I've already paid my dues and jumar happily up the fixed rope.

Arriving at the belay (it's only about a 40' pitch) I see the fixed rope continuing on up. Clipping fixed gear as I go, I bag the next pitch too. Another fixed rope leads around the "duck shaped tower" to the bivi ledge. Someone must have more rope than they know what to do with! The whole thing seems to be set up to get you around all the traversing on the descent. Totally unnecessary - the straight down descent is easy enough to do. However, I had better things to do than cut down unneeded ropes; anyway, they were saving lots of time.

Jared took the lead up to the bivi ledge. This part of the climb is much more enjoyable for the belayer - nice ledges, no rain of mud. He's almost, kind of, enjoying himself.

The next lead is mostly fixed and takes us to my previous high point. It's early - my threat is to spend the rest of the day cutting steps if that's what it takes! On to the final lead: unknown territory at last! I clip the bolt above the belay with no problem. Wow - there's a new bolt here, a couple of feet higher. I clip, stand in the top step, step up onto a ledge, and the next bolt in the ladder is within reach. Trivial!! I could have done the same thing without the new bolt - just a bigger step. No doubt that's how it's traditionally been done: Dave had stood on this same ledge before his fall. Throughout the pitch, I noticed that whenever I stepped up onto a ledge like this, the next bolt was right at the end of my reach. Of course, I'm just as tall as Layton, so that makes sense. Unfortunately, little guys like Dave have to make an extra move (or carry a cheater stick!) in these situations. The upper part of the ledge was made of pure mud - that's probably what Dave was trying to stand on when he took the dive.

The rest of the lead is similar - bolts, occasional free moves, big exposure. I was really enjoying it! Should have had my #4 Camalot at the top but a few free moves get me by the wide crack. I'm finally on the capstone - seems like solid granite compared to the mud below. Hey - the anchor! We're up! Jared cleans and then leads to the true summit. God, it feels good to get this over with! Great view, nice breeze. No register, though. Bozos have made off with it - a pox on them!! Lots of pictures, then back down.

The descent is no problem - one rap to the bivi ledge, a short rap to the anchor before the duck, then 3 raps down the gully. Nice new bolt at the last anchor! Yes! Since I'm going first, Jared takes great joy in the amount of mud he's dropping on me. We're down and I DON'T have to come back anymore!!

I decide to try the shortcut down again - we attach the ropes together and tie them to the tree. I take all the gear and head down on the single strand. I hit a ledge about 15' before the knot so I pull up 15', tie it off, pass the knot on the ledge, and continue. This maneuver cuts off over a mile of hiking - I'm happy. Jared tosses the rope and starts jogging to catch up. The last two miles are miserable in the heat - I had offered my 7 year old $10 to meet us and carry a rope but he refused to leave the car.

So that's it - no more Titan adventures for me. With prodding, Jared admits there were some pleasures amid the misery. A couple years back, I commissioned a friend to paint a scene based on one of my old Titan slides. It turned out wonderfully and now hangs in my living room to remind me of beauties of climbing in this area. As for the misery, that's quickly forgotten - in fact, I've almost convinced myself that I was actually having fun up there!