Day 11 - Climbing on the 4th of July

Day 11 -

Today is the day for climbing. Well, eventually. There is still coffee to be drunk, and we don’t move too quickly. Actually, that is a fib, for this morning around 7 am we hear the deepest, most imposing crack of thunder that either of us have ever heard in our entire lives. This is not hyperbole, as the title of this blog suggests, but simply the merits of the vastness of the Montana sky. We quickly move our gigantic borrowed condo tent into the garage, put the car windows up, and move a pair of bikes indoors as well.

The morning is then enjoyed with our warm breakfast beverages on the porch, watching the sky fall down all around us. Later in the morning we run to the local grocery to fetch the makings for some blue-cheese-with-scallops burgers, and a couple of Montana microbrews. A quick lunch back at the cabin, and we are finally off to explore the Stone Hill climbing area. Mike and Mike’s dad join us, and we get on down the road by 1 in the afternoon.


We start on a fun looking roof-filled line that our collective guidebooks tell us is a 5.7, called Block Dance. I scramble around to the top of the formation and set a toprope to rappel down, and Mike starts up. The route is incredibly diverse in its need to use liebacks, slabby open palm moves, half-mantles and hand jams all in about ’70. Mike makes it up, and liz follows in her pretty pink helmet. I make the third trip, and then move the rope over two routes left to a shorter hand crack line that the book calls a 5.9. The crux is the very first move of the route, and I make it past the first bolt simply by virtue of it being early in the afternoon and the pinch strength required of my outstretched right hand is enough to find a decent high left foot.

From there, I take the rope from the top over to another ’50 face a few dozen foot south on the formation for another odd 5.9 hand crack route. It has more than just a crack, though, which is good because the thing is strangely intermittent. Liz heads up the route without me being able to see (that is, I was getting lost attempting to scramble down while she was ascending) and when I get down, it is my turn to head up. Apparently I complete the thing (I think it may have been called Fear and Smear) with a whole different sequence, and am rewarded by its finalization by moving the rope again to a fun looking 100’ crack line that is supposed to rate about 5.7.


I can’t remember what it was called, and the Mountain Project databanks are less than stellar for the area, so you’ll just have to trust the pictorial evidence that it was a wonderful, consistent climb with bomber holds at just the right spots.


By the time this climb is over, it is time to return to the cabin to get ready for the Fourth of July BBQ that a neighbor is throwing up the hill. Liz and I make our salad and prep the burgers, and also manage to pre-pack the car for the following morning’s exodus. We arrive on the party scene to find about a dozen neighbors and friends enjoying our host Don’s amazing view of the valley and the Canadian Rockies. We drink too much, eat too much, and then get to watch two grown men light fireworks precariously close to the viewing deck – one of the gentlemen being the town’s old fire chiefs. He lit most celebratory incendiaries with a camel in his mouth, if not directly with said camel. Gotta love mountain livin.


Shots from the day can be found here, while the entire trip is documented over here. Again, click on 'all sizes' for the larger versions of the pictures.