looking at the tohickon from the top of high rocks

When To Go: Cool/Cold and Sunny

Rock Type: Brunswick Shale & Lockatung Agrillite (AKA petrified mud)

What To Climb: Triple Overhand (5.7), Neanderthal (5.8+), Phone Booth (5.10a)

Directions: Your GPS will send you 611 if you’re coming from Philly, but do yourself a favor and take 95 to PA 32, it will save you some time and is a much more pleasant drive. Follow River Road (PA 32) sharply right over a stone bridge, ignoring the sign for Ralph Stover State Park. Make a left onto Cafferty Road and continue for 1,8 miles, passing Tohickon Valley Park and Deerwood Campground on the left. Make the next left after Deerwood CG onto Tory Road. Follow Tory Road for 1 mile, then veer right onto gravel section to the parking area on the right.   Plan on about an hour drive time from Philadelphia to Ralph Stover (no traffic) plus another 15 minutes of driving around in the park trying to figure out where you’re going.

History:  Joe Walsh and partners established the first technical climbing routes in the 1930s and 40s using handmade pitons, carabiners, and hemp rope.  The 50s brought more climbers to High Rocks, notably George Austin and Roland Machold who were responsible for several first assents, including setting one of the first 5.8s on the East Coast, Orangutan.   Also, if you’re a local Philly rock head who frequents Livezey Rock, you’ll be proud to know that the Lou Lutz, honored in the plaque on the rock’s main wall, was a frequent route setter and pioneer at Stover.

Hazards: Copperheads, Poison Ivy, Loose Rock

Sources: Mountainproject.com; Rock Climbing New Jersey

On July 6th, 2010, Matt and I utilized every square inch of the picnic table at our Mary’s Lake campsite to sort all of our gear in anticipation of our climb the following day up the North Ridge of The Spearhead, a 5.6 classic located in the Glacier Gorge region of Rocky Mountain National Park. This climb would be our second high peaks accent this week, with the first one being the Northeast Ridge of Sharkstooths, part of the Cathedral Spires in RMNP. While we used an alpine start for Sharkstooth, leaving at 3:00am, we decided to head in the night before and bivy at the base of the climb to ensure an earlier summit and avoid the summer storms.

Sorting gear at Mary's Lake

Shortly after all of our gear was sorted, we loaded everything into Matt’s car and were quickly en route to the Bear Lake trail head, where we would start our 6 mile approach. I had been in Colorado for about 6 days at this point, so my adjustment to the altitude was pretty far along. Unlike the approach to Sharkstooth, which took me to 13,000ft 12 hours after coming from nearly sea level, this approach was bound to be easier. For me, one of the beauties of heading into the park for more remote alpine-type climbs is the added benefit of an amazing hike.  Matt and I moved fairly quickly, passing person after person returning from their day hike. With 50lb packs and dangling helmets, we fielded numerous questions about our climbing intentions. We managed to snag some good beta on the snow field from a groups of climbers who were up there the night before. They let us know that our crampons wouldn’t be necessary for the approach, which didn’t do us much good since they were already packed securely in our packs.

About 5 miles into the approach, as we climbed out of the Black Lake depression, the fog started to roll in, reducing visibility to about 20-100 ft, depending on how the wind blew. We both knew that our destination was right in front of us, but we just couldn’t see it. After about 20-30 minutes of heading in what we assumed was the right direction, the clouds started to part and we got our first look at The Spearhead. In awe, we both just stopped and stared at one of the most beautiful sites in the park. Mike, my buddy from Boulder, was spot on when he described it as a scene right out of Alaska.

With excitement and some quicker steps, we made our way towards the rock, spotting what would be home for the night- a series of rock ledges used by climbers for bivying. We decided to take the first two “seemingly” good spots that we saw. We unloaded our gear under the ledges, checked out our surroundings, and then climbed up the snow and talus to check out the next day’s climb.

After spending about 15 minutes trying to figure out the start to the route, a storm started to roll in. It seemed to come straight out of nowhere. The thunder crashes were getting shorter and shorter between each other, so we knew that it was heading right for us. Moving much faster than we went up, we quickly retreated to our bivy spots happy to know that we had some shelter from the rain. On the way down, Matt checked out some of the upper ledges, realizing that there was a way more protected bivy location. We decided that what we had was good enough, so we stayed put.

As the storm rolled in, we quickly realized that we made a mistake. In my bivy, rain rolled down the rock ceiling to form several faucets that decided to empty right onto my sleeping bag. I quickly curled up under my ground cloth, trying to keep the small sections of my sleeping bag that were still dry from getting soaked. Matt didn’t make out much better. His sleeping area quickly turned to lake Bivy. While he did put up a valiant effort of bailing the water out of the site, his common sense kicked in and he decided to head for higher ground. In what came to be the quote of the trip, Matt quickly peaked his head around my wall and said “I’m flooded out, I’m heading up to the Taj Mahal”, which was Matt’s self-assigned name of the far superior bivy location. I was soon to follow after the rain eased up and we spent the next few hours laughing and trying to dry out our gear.

Taj Mahal

In the mountains, the darkness of night seems to come much sooner. Not sure of the time, we decided to try and get some sleep so we would be rested for our early start up the North Ridge. That night, I woke up sometime in the early morning to see a heavy shower of snow falling through the moonlight. I knew that it would result in an interesting start in the morning, but there was something about it that was just magical. While my friends back in Philly were most likely sweltering through a 100 degree night, I was bundled up in my mummy bag, sleeping on a rock ledge and witnessing a beautiful snowstorm in one of the most amazing places on earth.

As the darkness of night started to lift, and dawn was on the horizon, Matt and I seemed to get moving right around the same time. Still mummied up in my bag, Matt revealed his stash of Starbucks canned expresso that he picked up the day before at the grocery store. The shot of caffeine was enough to get us moving and racked up for the climb.

We marmot-proofed our bags and extra gear by wrapping it in a bag and hanging it from the ledge and then, racked up, climbed back up the snowfield and talus to the base of the climb. As we approached the first pitch, it was clear to see that we would have to wait for the sun to rise and warm things up- the entire rock was covered in snow and something neither one of us wanted to lead. We ended up waiting about an hour until the sun hit the rock.

Matt led the first pitch, which should have been easy slab climbing, but with lingering snow and wet rock everywhere, it was a pitch full of dicey moves. There were two short traverse moves across the slabs that could have produced a few nasty falls. Matt handled it like a pro and set up the belay at the suggested chimney. While he was setting up the anchor, another party of 4 (climbing in two teams) showed up at the base of the pitch. The first group decided that they would take a line to the left of us and try to move quickly. The second pair would follow them. We agreed to that plan, assuming that we would take the lead if we got to a bottleneck. I followed up the first pitch and quickly transitioned to a belay for Matt, who was gearing up to to lead the second pitch as well. We wanted to move quickly past this section to avoid the crowded belay. Matt ran through the second pitch, which was easy and straightforward climbing.  Once I cleaned the anchor, I hurried up the second pitch and we decided to swap leads.

The third pitch was super easy, allowing me to do the entire section with 2-3 pieces of pro. Matt quickly followed and we swapped leads once again. At this point it was clear to see that we were heading into a bottleneck situation with the other party. The 4^th pitch was started to provide some more enjoyable climbing, throwing out a few 5.6 moves. It was also during this pitch where we got to see over the ridge and take in the view of the surrounding peaks and glacier lakes. We were moving quickly and having fun.

I led the 5^th pitch, which required us to move left towards a blocky structure for the next belay. At this point, all three parties were starting to converge. The first pair was moving quickly and established the line to the belay ledge. The second pair were below us, but further left because of the line they took. At this point we yelled down to them and let them know that we were heading up next. The older gentleman in the pair (he was climbing with his adult son) said that they were climbing as a party of 4 and proceeded to cut us off. Although pissed off, I had to let it go and avoid a confrontation on the side of a mountain. He promised to move quickly, which turned out to be anything but the thruth. His son was on his first trad climb, let alone multi-pitch alpine climb, and was struggling with his belay and communication instructions. This pitch resulted in us waiting around at the bottleneck for nearly 45 minutes. Normally this wouldn’t be a big problem, but when storms are part of the equation, every minute counts.

Aside from this situation, the climbing was really fun. I finished the pitch and set up the belay for what would be the money pitch. While we waited for the second party to move up the to the next ledge, distant rumbles of thunder could be heard while darker clouds started to roll in. We knew that we would have to move quickly to get off of the rock. Matt led the sixth pitch, which had some really amazing moves. The move around the left facing corner about ½ way up the pitch provided some awesome hand jams a fun lieback move. As Matt finished up this pitch, we were covered in a cloud. I followed and cleaned as fast as I could, but our speed was no match for the impending storm. As I finished, we probably had the quickest transition in our history of climbing together. The next pitch, which was a long traverse around the northeast side of the mountain, was made more exciting and eventful as the rain started to move in.

As Matt made his way around the corner, and just out of ear shot, the rain turned to hail and the thunder got closer and closer.  The next few minutes would be the most terrifying moment that I have ever had climbing.  As I raised my and to feed rope through the belay device to Matt, there was a strange buzzing that sounded when my arm got above my head. It took me about 5 seconds to realize what it was- the static field of lightning. I never experienced anything like that before, but instincts told me that it wasn’t good. I crouched down as much as I could. When the lighting struck in the distance, I breathed a short sigh of relief. Just moments later, the buzz came back, but this time it was everywehere. I felt the hair on my legs and arms start to stand on end and no matter how I moved, I couldn’t escape it. It was the most eerie feeling that I ever felt. I was covered in metal, had Matt on belay, and was standing on a rock ledge with a 1000′ drop in every direction. I had no option but to wait it out and brace for anything. I seriously figured I had a 50/50 chance of getting out of it. While my chances may have been much better or much worse (I’ll never know), I just had to wait it out. Those 10-15 seconds seemed to last minutes. As soon as the thunder sounded, Matt simultaneously started to pull the rope. I cleaned that anchor in less than 5 seconds and was climbing up the next pitch, covered in ice, much much faster than matt was able to take in the rope. As I moved around the northeast corner, I started to relax a bit. Matt placed maybe 2 pieces of gear over the 125′ traverse. He ran the rope around some blocks and horns to minimize a fall, but sensed the urgency and made a great lead in difficult conditions. When I reached Matt, probably as white as a ghost, I asked him if he was buzzing too. He said no, but the look on my face must have given him the message, because we both moved as quickly as possible to the decent route. We decided that the short scramble up to the true summit wasn’t worth the lightning dangers.

The decent heads down to the east of the ridge, following a foot path on a talus slope which is littered with a lot of very loose rock and dirt. Also, the path looks like it’s taking you to a ledge, but it does continue down to the base of the rock, where it’s just short hop across the snow field to the base of the climb. We made our way back to the Taj Mahal and started laughing, partly because there wasn’t much else to do after a situation like that. I think Matt said something like “well, at least we have a good story to tell”. It was also good that the other party was not within site, because they would have surely got an earful from me.

We hung out for about ½ hour, had some snacks, organized our gear, and packed up for the hike back out. Just as we started to leave, the rain came in and followed us for about 3 miles. We got back to the car around 5:30 pm and made a final push to Boulder where we had a hot shower, cold beer, and soft couch waiting for us.

All in all, the whole experience was amazing. From the approach, to the snow, to the lightning, it all added up to create a memorable climb that I’ll never forget. There is just something special about the mountains that can’t be described in words- When you out there totally immersed in it- the rock, the weather, the challenge- all of it, it does something to you. It keeps calling you back for more…at least it always has.

]]> http://climbwiththecrimps.com/?feed=rss2&p=547 0 http://climbwiththecrimps.com/?p=527 http://climbwiththecrimps.com/?p=527#comments Thu, 08 Jul 2010 19:34:03 +0000 Dominic http://climbwiththecrimps.com/?p=527 Continue reading →]]>

All loaded up and ready to head out from Young Woman's Creek.

A weird thing happens when you set foot on Pennsylvania’s Donut Hole Trail: it tends to disappear just like the treat it’s named after. But, if you’re lucky enough to have a keen sense of direction and pathfinding skills and you don’t mind a bit of bushwhacking, you’d be hard pressed to find a more secluded and challenging backpacking trail in the Keystone State.

For the second year in a row, Tom, our friend Chris, and I headed up to Tom’s cabin outside Renovo, PA, for what’s become an annual summer backpacking trip. The cabin, which Tom always generously allows us to use as basecamp, is a stone’s throw from some of Pennsylvania’s greatest trails: the Chuck Keiper loop, the Susquehannock Trail System, the Black Forrest Trail, and, of course, the Donut Hole Trail, which you can pick up less than a mile or two from where the cabin sits.

Running 90 miles through the Sproul State Forest, with termini in Jericho (Cameron County) and Farrandsville (near Lock Haven), the Donut Hole is rife with steep, rocky climbs and descents, rare blazes in sections, and very nice vistas. The chances of encountering another person on the trail are slim, which provides some serious backcountry feel to any trips along the trail.

Last year, we conquered nearly 20 miles of the Donut Hole, heading eastward from Kettle Creek State Park back to the cabin. After two days and one night of serious bushwhacking, rain, high humidity, a hurried camp set up due to a very loud and ominous thunderstorm, a barefoot (and terribly rocky) creek crossing, and several thousand feet of elevation gain and loss, we returned in late June to tack on another 20 miles.

This year’s trip had us heading in the opposite direction (west), from the intersection of Young Woman’s Creek and Bull Run. There is some limited parking here, though its mainly in the form of pull-offs that are often occupied by daytime fisherman. The first blaze can be tricky to find since the trail has been diverted slightly, rendering the maps available from PA’s Department of Conservation and Natural Resources out of date. Instead of running directly along Bull Run, sections of the trail run higher up on the ridge to avoid numerous stream crossings. After a few minutes of getting our bearings and preparing ourselves to tackle the elbow high stinging nettles, we were off. (As a sidenote, if you start from here, make sure to check out the first purchase of forest land marker located right near the bridge.)

Thirty minutes in and we had to check the map, hoping we'd stay on the trail unlike last year's trip.

The first section of the trail here heads north, following Bull Run until it makes a sharp turn to the west with an accompanying 600 foot climb out to Fork Hill Road. The Donut Hole follows Fork Hill Road northeast until it joins the Susquehannock Trail System and heads west back into the woods. We stopped for a quick lunch of salami coated liberally in herbs de provence (very tasty) and Australian cheddar while fighting the vicious swarm of blow flies that would, unfortunately, follow us for the rest of our hike.

The Donut Hole and S.T.S. trail meet up for a large section of this trip.

For about the next 10 miles, the S.T.S. and Donut Hole join forces to create some kind of westward-leading super trail, and fellow hikers can look forward to what was definitely the low point of our trek. After a meandering through a very beautiful fern forest, the trail makes a very sudden and very steep 600-foot descent that is filled with obnoxious nettles that, at points, were neck high. Much swearing and itching followed us down the ridge. After crossing a nice wooden bridge called Ted’s Truss, be careful as this is another section of the map that’s out of date. The map would lead you to believe you are on the road for much longer than you actually are. We added an extra mile to our trip while looking for the orange blaze.

Chris nears the bottom of the vicious descent. The picture does not do it justice.

From the road, a short climb leads to a short descent where the trail heads west along (I believe) Little Greenlick creek, popping into Potter County at points. The three of us were incredibly thankful to see someone had recently been through with either a brush mower and/or weed whacker to do some trail maintenance. The trail, which had to have been severely overgrown just weeks before, was now clear and easy, allowing quick passage with great scenery. Most of the morning haze had burned off at this point, leaving us with sunny, blue skies. The weather, just a few hours in, was already 1,000 times better than last year.

Nice hiking under clear skies.

Following a quick snack break, we mounted another brief climb to Little Greenlick Road, where we were greeted with the wilderness-marring signs of Pennsylvania’s natural gas industry. A crew digging a new well was the first sign of other humans we’d seen all day.

After another flat and easy half mile, we started to think about making camp, but with no easy access to a very small and muddy creek, we decided to push on, mounting our last very steep and strenuous climb for the day. A mile later, we were plopping down in the middle of a man-made meadow along a natural gas pipeline.

Setting up Tom's famous Nemo Losi along the pipeline.

Two Backpacker’s Pantry meals and a pouch of tuna and mac and cheese later, we were passing a flask of Jameson back and forth, anxiously awaiting what we assumed would be a great star night. We weren’t disappointed.

Day two started off with a rumble at about 5 a.m. as a quick thunderstorm rolled through. Thankfully, it lasted all of 30 minutes before we ate a quick breakfast, broke, camp, and headed along the pipeline before the trail headed south and back into the woods.

Jaunty bandanas are all the rage.

Two miles later, we were bidding the well-maintained S.T.S. good bye as the two trails split at a creek crossing. The Donut Hole continues south for a about a mile along some very nice beaver ponds, before heading west again through Merriman Hollow. This section marked the last decent climb of this trip, so our tired legs and blistered feet were thankful. The climb was made a bit more difficult, though, by the numerous downed trees that seemed to fall directly across the trail in the more difficult sections. Additionally, there’s a vista near the top of the climb along Pfoutz Valley Road, but we forgot to make the side trek to take a look.

Where the trail meets Pfoutz Valley Road, it heads southwest along the road before heading along McNereny Run and more beaver dams. This was the last section of trail for us, a welcomed flat, level, and scenic amble to Sand Run Road. Sand Run leads easily to a few ATV and snowmobile trails and Tom’s cabin, where we collapsed, showered, and spent the rest of the weekend drinking a few cold ones.

Hopefully, in 2011, we’ll add put in some more mileage on the Donut Hole. If I can get the sequence of events correct, I’ll add a trip report on last year’s section. In the meantime, you can find more about the trail here and a trail map here. You can also get a nice topo map of the trail from the Sproul State Forest offices.

The second pitch is where the magic begins- especially on your first go at it.  To start this pitch, you have to move to the right about 30′-40′ just below a noticable overhang.  Climb straight up to the overhang and, just when you’re underneath it, get prepared to be rewarded with some of the best 5.6 climbing that the gunks has to offer. Traverse left for about 10 feet until you find yourself needing to bring yourself around the buldge (crux).  You’ll want to start moving left and up, while saying a small prayer that the next hold is just within your reach.  There are no bomber jugs, obvious rest holds, or straightforward foot placements- just pull it and enjoy the airy move.  It seems much harder than it actually is, but that’s what makes is so much fun.  After the move- the adreniline will pull you up the next 75′ of classic gunks horizontals to the top of the climb.  Now, I have climbed many of the classic 5’6 routes in the Trapps- Moonlight is right up there at the top…every bit as entertaining as High E, in my book (plus, fewer crowds).

Wierdly enough, it was Jon Krakauer’s seminal book, Into Thin Air, that made me want to start climbing. It figures that it would take a retelling of a horrible disaster to make me want to take up what some see as a semi-dangerous fringe sport.

That said, I’ve been rather obsessed with Everest, the culture and controversy that surrounds it, and its long and deadly history. Krakauer’s book did a tremendous job encapsulating all of that, but one thing was missing: the epic visuals. 

After watching both seasons of the Discovery Channel’s Everest: Beyond the Limit, which pretty much just chronicled goofy L.A. biker Tim Medvetz’s two summit attempts, via Netflix, I discovered that the service has the most awesome Storm Over Everest available both on DVD and instantly. 

Originally aired as part of PBS’ inimitable Frontline series, Storm Over Everest is filmmaker and multiple Everest summiter David Breashears’ recounting of the 1996 Everest disaster. With interviews with the survivors, some of whom bear the horrible scars the mountain gave them, it’s a perfect match  to Krakauer’s book. And if you’re feeling chilly, the sweeping winds and -30-degree temperatures will remind you that 20 degrees is downright balmy by comparison. 

Unfortunately, due to rights restrictions, the documentary isn’t available online, like much of the Frontline series. Check out an excerpt here. 

Photo via davidbreashears.com.

Located in the relatively flat state of Delaware, less than 10 miles from the PA Border outside of Wilmington, you’ll find some surprisingly fun climbing. Now, when I originally heard about climbing opportunities at Alapocas Run State Park, I instantly turned down the dial of my expectations to a slow simmer…I was expecting a few chossy boulder routes. I did a little more research and found out that there is a pretty good downloadable guide, which managed to peak my interest a little more. So, with a curious mind, I managed to talk some coworkers into heading out to the park to give it a try.

Prior to climbing, you have to get a permit at the park office, which basically consists of just signing a waiver. The permits are free, and from what I was told, will be good for a year. Getting to the park is a little tricky, and being that I wasn’t navigating, I don’t feel qualified to spell out directions. The parking lot is located in a really strange area that feels more like a back alley than a park entrance. If you follow directions from the guide and feel like you’re in the wrong area, you’re probably right where you need to be.

I climbed on the Main Wall, which seems to be the most popular place to climb. I believe the other permitted areas are mostly for bouldering. The park is a former quarry, which seems to make sense when you look at the geography. It surprisingly didn’t have the same feeling as other quarry sites- particularly Birdsboro. You can, however, see the remnants of drill holes and blasting marks on many of the rock faces. Overall, the Main wall was pretty dirty, especially if you made your way to some of the upper climbs. Also, lots of Poison Ivy everywhere- beware if you’re allergic. I was climbing in October, a day after a rainstorm; so much of the rock was cold and wet. It started to dry pretty quickly, but the excessive vegetation and soil made it pretty messy.

The first climb that I set up on was the Junior Slab, an easy 5.3…this was my coworkers first time climbing outside. It was really easy to rig a top rope, thanks to the well placed bolted anchors. The hardest thing about this climb is finding a suitable belay location…avoiding loose dirt, tree branches, and poison ivy. The climb itself was super easy, but did offer some fun slabby moves. I climbed this in boots-mostly because I was being lazy.

I then went on to set up a toprope on the east side of the wall. I set up on Old Granddad, which is a 5.2 slab. A 60 meter rope just barely made it to the base which allowed us to link the climb with the lower section. I would recommend walking around the back side to set up the toprope. I free soloed the 5.2 arête, which looked really easy, but wet rock, loose dirt, and the occasional snake (saw 4 on this trip) made it a little less than enjoyable. Shaun and Lisa both climbed the 5.2 and had some fun moving around on the face to make it slightly more challenging. I tried to head up the dihedral, which isn’t rated in the guide, and found it quite amusing I would put it at a 5.5 or 5.6 (one or two moves). When I get back, I really want to try some of the harder stuff on the lower east face (5.6, 5.9. and 5.10’s). I believe that there are some bolts on this wall for sport leading.

Overall, I definitely wouldn’t consider Alapocas a destination crag by any means…you could blow through all of the worthwhile climbs in one trip; but if you’re a Philadelphian looking for a quick fix, it’s worth the 30 minute drive (quicker than wrestling traffic to get to Livesey).

Fearing a New Paltz rainout this past weekend, Tom and I, who had been talking about heading up to the Gunks for a few weeks, decided to switch things up and head to the great state of … Maryland? We’d heard rumors of the appropriately named Rocks State Park from a friend at our climbing gym, but we hadn’t made the 1.5-hour drive down to check it out. With the weather looking nice along the Mason-Dixon Line, we packed up and headed out early Sunday morning.

It took a bit of tooling around the park for us to find the right road to lead us up to the King and Queen Seat, an outcrop that served as a sacred gathering place for Native Americans, which we were prepared to smear liberally with chalk.

We spent the early part of the morning on the Biceps Wall, with Tom leading The Crux, 5.5, on gear. I must not have been providing a nice belay since Tom decided to try and drop a number 6 BD nut on my head from about 20 feet up. It’s a fun route, one of two on the wall that takes gear, with a surprisingly uncomfortable, pumpy crux for a 5.5. We followed that up with by dropping a top rope on Critter Crack a.k.a. Peanut Brittle and the Flake, a 5.5 with some fun laybacking on giant flakes. Though we were warmed up, we opted to skip the three 5.10 through 5.11c routes on the Biceps Wall to check out Rocks’ freestanding pinnacle.

The pinnacle, probably the highlight of climbing at Rocks, is about 50 feet high, the south side of which features the delicious looking Strawberry Jam, a 5.8 hand crack that goes straight up the middle. While eyeing that up and figuring out whether to lead it or take an easier route to set up a top rope, we saw about 30 wasps buzzing in and out of the crack. Slightly disheartened, we figured there was probably a nest in there, and, with my luck, I’d probably send a hand jam right into it.

Instead, Tom tied in and took Rick’s Way, 5.4, which, in reality, is two or three bouldering moves followed by a fourth-class scramble to the pinnacle’s two bolts. I followed Tom to the top, which affords a beautiful view of the park. Rapping down, we decided the best plan of attack was to tackle the north side of the pinnacle, which appeared wasp free. On top rope, we took on First Line, a 5.6 crack with an eerily loose block near the top, and Scared Straight, a 5.9 with some fun, tough moves. Scared Straight was easily the best climb of the day. 

All said and done, we tromped out and hit 95 back to the city, making a quick stop for a chipwich and ice cream sandwich.

Rocks is definitely worth a day trip, especially since we didn’t even hit the crag’s main face, the Breakaway Wall. Apparently, with all the sun it gets, Rocks makes a nice winter crag, too. Nice to know in case Tom and I decide to do another February Freeze Fest.