Tailwind Nutrition Endurance Fuel

“Hydrate or die!” Camelbak admonished years ago. Curiously enough, rates of hyponatremia in endurance athletes skyrocketed in response. In their zeal for staying hydrated, runners and bikers were becoming as waterlogged as Edward Abbey’s description of Utah cowboys trying to get drunk on 3.2% beer.

As competitors waddled across the finish line — or collapsed midway from salt deficiency — wiser heads prevailed and realized that regarding hydration, quality was just as important as quantity. Replenishing the electrolytes that we sweat away is vital for preventing cramps and maintaining peak output for all-day activity.

Chuggin’ Tailwind like it’s whiskey on The Cruise.

I hate carrying lots of water on a multipitch route. Water weighs 2.2 pounds per liter, and I begrudge it every ounce. On a long route like Scenic Cruise in perfect temps, I barely get by with two liters. On top of that, I need to bring snacks laden with sugar and salt to forestall the dreaded forearm cramps. (There’s nothing worse than having your thumb lock in the crimping position and having to pry it open with your other hand).

I’ve tried many different electrolyte powders, with mixed results. Powerade and Gatorade make my stomach hurt after four hours. Cycling-specific products like HEED and Accelerade left a strange taste in my mouth. Coconut water was effective but expensive. For a while I home-brewed, mixing Kool-Aid or lemonade packets with potassium salt and sugar, or just adding salt and sugar to plain water. None of my recipes were tasty enough to drink all day.

Tailwind tastes even better above treeline.

Then one day, I stumbled across Tailwind in the local gear shop. They’re a local Durango company, so I bought a Mandarin Orange individual packet and gave it a try on a hot day climbing Comic Relief in the Black. I was immediately impressed with the subtle flavor, and it kept me going pretty well, even through the hot, disheartening exit slab pitches that I’ve done far too many times.

Since then, I’ve become a huge fan of Tailwind and use it exclusively for multipitch, backpacking, desert cragging and trail running. Here’s what I like most about it:

– Tastes good. I like all the non-caffeinated flavors, especially berry.
– Doesn’t mess with my gut, even during high-exertion trailrunning.
– Provides 100 calories per scoop. I usually load up three scoops per liter. Lately I’ve found that the caloric benefit of Tailwind wholly sufficient — I only bring snacks for “mental pro.” For what it’s worth, I’m hypoglycemic too, so nutrition is a safety concern for me.
– Good calorie to ounce ratio, especially considering you can reduce other snacks.
– At $0.70 per serving, it’s not prohibitively expensive.
– Supports the 81301 crew.

Desert dayz.

Most recently, I used Tailwind on Atlantis, a south-facing 1300′ 5.11- with some legitimate runouts. Due to scheduling constraints, we had to do climb it in early June with a high of 85 — big mistake. I drank two liters of Tailwind, without which I certainly would’ve found myself cramping or puking. I felt strong the entire day and onsighted my crux pitches. I highly recommend this product for any all-day endurance athletes, especially multipitch climbers.

(Disclaimer: I pay full retail for Tailwind and it’s worth every penny).

CNM: Kissing Couple Tower

Of all the desert towers Layton Kor put up, there’s only one that he ever repeated.

Long Dong Wall (get your mind out of the gutter; it’s a type of piton)

Between that fact and the name of the route, Jeremy and I knew we had to try it. Plus, the Colorado National Monument was in our backyard.

Long Dong Wall on Kissing Couple Tower starts with a steep, sandy finger crack with just enough footholds to keep the difficulty manageable. The pitch ends with a slabby traverse under a bolt that may have been .11a back when the edges were crisp, but nowadays is a bit harder. We gladly french-freed our way past the bolt to a belay alcove.

The second pitch features a stellar chimney whose width varies by how deeply you burrow inside. If it had gear, we didn’t notice: it’s too secure to fall out of.

Cruiser squeeze on P2

A third-class romp takes you to the base of the next pitch, a wide-hands and offwidth splitter. After some jamming, you encounter the coolest feature on the route: a knee-and-back chimney that is open on both sides. Killer exposure and no gear for thirty feet. This pitch ends in the “belfry,” an incredible viewpoint from within the heart of the tower.

Exposed chimney moves on P4. You can’t tell from this photo, but the chimney is open on climber’s right as well.

The fourth pitch requires some full-body stemming to reach a fixed pin. The first time I climbed the route, I couldn’t figure it out and had to stand on Jeremy’s shoulders to reach the holds. The second time,
I got it, but it’s a bit hairy and insecure with both feet on the wall behind you, and both hands in front.

The Belfry, getting psyched to spread-eagle it.

The pitch eases off after this, but then presents you with one last challenge: you must squeeze through a submarine-hatch of a hole. I’m 5’10 and 140 pounds, and it was doable, but I had to take off my helmet and drag all my gear on a sling. I have no idea how the giant Layton Kor managed to squeeze through there. Heck, he probably punched out the hole in the first place with his #4-Camalot-sized hands.

The hole.

The spacious summit affords great views of the rest of the Colorado National Monument, including the ultra-classic history lesson known as Otto’s Route. John Otto aided and fraided his way up the tower in 1912 in hobnail boots, drilling pipe holes and chopping steps — long before “ethics” were invented. The route now features an abundance of tricam placements and sloping feet with an old-school 5.8 roof pull that guards the summit.

Otto’s Route enshrouded by fog

The Colorado National Monument is a unique haven of excellent desert towers, all too often bypassed by Front Rangers hauling ass down I-70 to get to Moab.

Actually, it’s all choss. Keep driving.

The Guardian of the Monument says “Go climb Kor-Ingalls.”

 

 

 

 

Canyonlands: Standing Rock

“We climb it not because it’s there, but because it won’t be there much longer.”

-The Layton Kor

There are three definitions of “desert tower.” The first is dimensional: a tower is taller than it is wide. The second pertains to accessibility: the only way up a tower is to climb it. There is no walking up the backside of Castleton to set up a toprope.

The third and most important, however, is intrinsic. A desert tower looks like a desert tower. You know one when you see it.

Monument Basin

Standing Rock is a desert tower.

It’s 350’ tall, 50’ wide and has comparable Rock quality to “rye crisps sandwiched in kittylitter.” In my first attempt, I made it a hundred feet … past the car before the heavens unleashed and it started pouring, saturating the already-weak sandstone and rendering it unsafe to climb for two days.

While we were there, Josh and I figured we’d scope out the approach. Instead of a rattly day’s drive on the White Rim 4×4, we were looking for a “government trail” 4th-class scramble down the improbably steep Grandview Point Overlook.

Two hours later, we retired in disgrace. We were unable to find any non-technical descent, let alone something casual enough for a government employee to venture onto. We did find a gully where we could fix two ropes and rap, however, and resolved to return in better conditions.

Scheduling conflicts prevented Josh from accompanying me on the second attempt, so I enlisted the aid of the inimitable, nonpareil desert dirtbag, Tyler Ofsprocket Marlow of Moab.

About to drop in from the White Rim.

We returned armed with static ropes for the way down and jumars for the way up, a double set of cams to #3, and a single #4 and #5 (latter wholly unnecessary). A quick rap and downscramble led to a 150’ chimney rap and an hour of pleasant hiking to attain the start of the traditional 4WD-accessed approach. From there, a short fixed rap and a gorgeous forty-five minute stroll through Monument Basin brought us to our objective for the day: the Regular Route, four pitches of steep, shaded climbing on dubious stone. There were only a handful of places on the entire route I would have been ok with whipping. Bring your ice head.

The first pitch began with excellent 5.9 fingers in a corner, then cut under a roof to a face crux over small gear. I used an equalized #0.1 and #0.2 on this pitch and each one thereafter. Tip: don’t stop til you get to the good anchor.

“Hey Tyler, how’s the rock?”

Tyler ventured onto a photogenic traverse on the second pitch, which supposedly led to a splitter hand crack. If those eighty feet were a handcrack, you can call me Pamela Pack. Granted, it took handsized gear, but most the climbing involved awkward bulges where you cut your feet and pull on jugs of questionable parentage.

Pitch three started at the scariest belay ledge of all time. It was a horror show of antique pins and star drives with no supplemental gear. Please bring two ropes so you don’t have to rap from this anchor like we did.

The crux move used to be rated 5.11c, but then a hold broke, much to the relief of all those looking for excuses to A0 the perfectly-placed modern bolt. Nevertheless, the possibility of a factor-two fall on the Bad Ledge plagued the moves required to gain the bolt. Some mandatory spicy climbing over marginal gear and a delicate mantel around an absurd “elephant ear” flake brought me to a ledge with a wizened old star drive, which I slung long and passed by to a ledge with acceptable bolts.

Reppin’ the brand.

The last pitch was ho-hum 5.8 with great exposure. We flopped onto the summit and were greeted by 30mph winds. Is it just me, or is the whole tower creaking? We didn’t stick around to get the Last Ascent and go sandstone surfing. Three single 70m raps had us kissing the solid ground and vowing never to return … that shitshow of an intermediate rap anchor core-shot our heads something fierce.

After celebratory libations of cold chicken noodle soup, we hiked an hour, jugged forty feet, hiked another hour, jugged a hundred and fifty feet, scrambled thirty minutes, jugged forty feet, and regained the car. Car-to-car in just over twelve hours.

Overall, it was an incredible summit that did not yield itself readily to our efforts. Like the best desert towers, Standing Rock must be earned.

 

Black Canyon: Atlantis

“Black hole: a region of space having a gravitational field so intense that no matter or radiation can escape.”

View from the campsite.

I can’t look away. Beauty, despair, elation, pain, peace and pure terror — I am overwhelmed like the rocky banks of the Gunnison River two thousand feet below. The sun succumbs to the horizon; darkness falls.

The Black Canyon of the Gunnison is my favorite place on earth.

The first time I set foot on the inner canyon, everything went wrong. My partner injured her knee downclimbing the Cruise Gulley, then I wasted precious October daylight on an unforgivable routefinding blunder. We were benighted on the easiest route in the canyon, and stumbled out by headlamp.

Since then, I’ve climbed in the Black twenty-six times. Every route brings a new level of appreciation for the place. I cherish my hours spent on the steep, splitter granite that erupts heavenward from the river.

Having recently climbed the classic 1700′ Layton Kor line, the Cruise, I set my sights on the next step: Atlantis (IV, 5.11-, 1600′). Whereas the Cruise is a jolly joyride of obvious, never-ending handcracks, Atlantis was reputed to deliver a more varied (and scaried) experience with face climbing and traverses. My longtime friend and best Black Canyon partner, Tim, was all too happy to oblige.

Top of P5 chimney slot.

The day began at 02:30 after a restless night. Is there any other kind when you’re dreaming of mandatory onsight terrain? The morning routine was seamless: shovel yogurt and granola and a half-liter of water down my gullet. Stuff gummy worms and Slim Jims in pockets. Tape up. Pinch off the first, feeble attempt at excretion, knowing full well that your bowels will revolt the moment you tie in for the first pitch. Struggle into a harness chock-full (ha) of heavy metal. Embark, stricken with bravado-masked anxiety and furtive hopes for a type-one day.

We stumbled down Prisoner of Your Hairdo Gully, thankful for the previous trip’s recon on Buzz Cut. A short fixed rap led to a ropestretcher rap off a tree (to avoid an exposed but easy traverse), then then a bushwhack to another short fixed rap. PoyH Gully met up with Grizzly Gully and dumped us at the river, 1:30 elapsed. The base of the route was easy to find after some easy-fifth scrambling.

The first pitch was a good, nondescript warmup, which Tim styled. The second had some suspect flakes, but was mostly good clean fun. I ended up further left than I should have and was uncertain about the topo, and belayed early. Tim finished up the pitch and brought us to the base of the first crux.

Excellent stone.

The route gets serious at this point. Tim plugged a piece off the belay, then launched into a completely unprotected fifty-foot 5.8 peg traverse. The topo promised a fixed pin, but there was none. The climbing was all there, but the consequences were dire. At the end of the traverse, he plugged in a few thank-the- maker pieces and continued into some excellent, balancy 5.11-, clipping one bolt and adequate gear along the way. Following the pitch wasn’t anywhere near as spicy, but still required care.

Pitch four had some great face climbing on good gear. It was dripping wet, however, and I had my only fall of the day onto a bomber #3.

This pitch was wet, even after a week of dry weather.

The next pitch would have been more fun without the rope drag. Tim got a workout pulling slack with one hand and climbing with the other.

Six entailed some routefinding shenanigans, seven elicited copious profanity due to even more rope drag.

On the eighth pitch, I had the pleasure of pulling a stellar 5.11- roof over a bolt. That pleasure soon dissipated as I belated realized I should have extended the sling. The rest of the pitch was
marginally protected .9-10a (running twenty feet over an equalized grey Metolius and #4 Stopper!). It felt far more serious due to drag. The pitch ended in a mercifully-shaded chimney.

Bike arm warmers are super handy and easily stuff into walkoff shoes.

A fun, rompy chimney led to an exposed chockstone belay below the next crux. As soon as I cut left under the roof and lost sight of my belayer, the climbing dialed up a notch — sustained, awkward 5.11- fingers and sweaty stemming.

By pitch eleven, we were feeling the effects of the heat. It would’ve been nice to have chalk on the thirty feet of unprotected 5.8 peg before the bolt.

Twelve was marked 5.10R. Despite harder moves, it didn’t seem as runout as the previous pitch. However, you’d come pretty close to decking if you blew it after the bolt — make sure the belayer has a good upward-pull piece.

Pitch thirteen dumped us onto a terrace after one awkward face move. From there, we had the choice of bushwhacking back up Prisoner, or climbing an extra three hundred feet of 5.10-11. We were really hoping to finish in vertical style on the rim, but there was no way we had the gas (or water) to do so. We may have won the pitched battle, but the June sun was wining the war.

After puzzling over our walkoff route (yes, you hike back up Prisoner), we thrashed through interminable scrub oak, jugged our first rap, slogged up the steep dirt of the gully, and finally crawled onto the glorious terra firma of the North Rim.

“I would trade half my rack for a muthafuggin’ ice cream cone right now.”

Cold chicken soup, chocolate milk and Gatorade awaited us. Car to car: sixteen hours, twenty minutes for 1300′ vert. (In contrast, we did Scenic two years prior in thirteen hours flat for 1700′). It wasn’t our most efficient day, but considering the severity and inobviousness of the route and the heat index, we were pretty happy.

Looking back, there were some serious objective hazards to the route. I wouldn’t hesitate to get back on Atlantis, but if I were leading P3, I’d ask the FA if I could replace the blown pin on the peg traverse. All in all, it was an incredible, thought-provoking route on excellent stone.

Next stop: Astrodog!

 

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