Chataugua Park, that is.
After a hellaciously over-long week of work, I needed to take a mental break outdoors on something that wouldn't rob me of the little remaining fumes my body was running on. I texted my daughter Meaghan who needed a similar break from the evils of sport climbing and teaching middle school math. I chose the uber-classic North Ridge of the First Flatiron as our objective.
I met my partner roadside. She had to recoil her rope to ditch the rope bag.
The wildflowers were out in full bloom on the hike.
Meaghan points out our objective.
We draw close after tens of minutes of arduous uphill trudging.
Somehow we ended up below some mystery slabs which we later discovered to be the First Flatironette. "Shall we solo it," asked Meaghan. I could solo it. Meg could solo it. Could I solo it with my only daughter? Nope, I prefer to not be told about such things, which is the same respect I show my mom. "There will be no soloing today, Meg."
And then I proceeded to lead the first pitch.
The view became sweeping.
From the top of the Flatironette we simul climbed 2 pitches of fourth class to get to the ridge proper.
There was a crow mooning me as I ascended the ridge. I said, "hello" and he gave me a fierce runway pose.
It's hard to get off route.
At the final notch before the summit the wind, which was blowing hard all day, started wreaking havoc with the rope. I would later have to saddle coil the ends over a sling to make the rap descent. There was no good whatsoever to come from just hucking coils off the summit and into the maelstrom.
At last, the final chimney.
In embarrassingly typical fashion we forgot to snap a summit selfie (and I've been practicing my "duck lips" too...) but I did get this cool shot of Meaghan on the free hanging rappel.
On the walk out I asked this nice lady to take a pic for us. "Oooh, you betcha." She had just moved here from Minnesota.
Did I mention the spring flowers were in bloom? Pretty, aren't they?