Natural Rejection

Although I grew up camping quite frequently – and thoroughly enjoying it – I was always squeamish about creepy crawly things. This doesn’t mean I hated nature or the outdoors; I simply preferred that insects kept their distance while I enjoyed everything else that nature had to offer. However, I have been impressed with how little I have been fazed by insects and spiders on this trip, and chalked it up to maturity. It turns out the difference wasn’t me, but rather the fact that we had spent most of time in dry, desert climates where the bug population isn’t nearly as prevalent. Unfortunately, the lush, fertile forests of southern Illinois provided a startling reminder of just how much I dislike insects/worms/arachnids/etc.

We spent two days climbing in the southern tip of Illinois at Jackson Falls. In those two short days, we encountered a turtle, a leech, millipedes, and so many spiders. Most alarming, though, was a bat that made a rather menacing noise and bared its teeth threateningly at John when he tried to use the bat’s hole as a climbing hold; fortunately he waited until after John had clipped in to do so.

Leeches, turtles, and bats, oh my!

There were so many spiders that we had to alternate shifts as the designated Spidey Stick Holder – the person who takes the lead on trails and holds a stick out in front in order to remove all the spider webs in our path. There were so many webbed bandits that sticks had to be rotated every 15 minutes or so as they became covered in spiders and web remnants. In addition, there were so many climbs – and not many climbers – that we often found ourselves cleaning webs out of holds while climbing (plus millipedes, bats, and leeches, naturally).

John demonstrating the difference between a good (on the right) and bad Spidey Stick. Spidey Stick criteria includes 135 degree bend for optimal grip, hip stock to reduce wrist torsion, and multiple far-forward branches to absorb spider webs prior to face.

As if all the creatures weren’t enough, the area was also inundated by poison ivy. The fact that we got completely lost and overshot by a mile one day – where the path was slightly less traversed – didn’t help the matter. Additionally, on our first day there, we heard a loud noise that sounded like a massive rock fall. While we were relieved to see that it was a tree (climbers never want to hear falling rocks), the fact that a tree over 3 feet in diameter and seemingly still alive could suddenly snap off a large portion of itself in calm weather was a little unnerving.

The portion of the tree still standing

The fallen tree

On our last climb there (Venom “5.10a”*), John was trying to clip the second bolt – with rope slack pulled out in order to clip – when both his feet suddenly slipped. I frantically tried to pull in the slack, but couldn’t pull up fast enough to keep him from hitting the ground. In desperation, I grabbed high on the rope with my free hand and held on. His fall slowed enough to result in a gentle tap on the ground, but I was left with some painful rope burns on every finger of my left hand. While it’s hard to blame this one on nature, I’m going to accuse the rock of not providing solid footholds and thereby being the cause of the whole situation. I have every intention of irrationally blaming nature for any pain or climbing limitations in the upcoming days.

It doesn’t look too bad, but each place where the rope rubbed the dirt off had a bit of skin rubbed off as well.

*Every single move on Venom, 5.10a was at least 5.11a. In general, Jackson Falls grading was arbitrary; I nearly flashed a 5.11a, after previously struggling through a 5.10a that John also found difficult to lead. On our first day, it took three attempts for John to pink point a horizontal roof we later determined was a 5.10b (Snake Something), and yet he got to the top of a 12a immediately after.

John at Jackson Falls