Shelf Road

It seems like eons ago that I bumped into Bob D’Antonio while I was bouldering at the Snakepit at Garden of the Gods. It was actually 22 years ago, and he and I are now much older, and none the less wise. Bob and I hit it off immediately, since we were both a bit warped, and he invited down to his next foray to Shelf Road. It would be my first of many trips down to the pocketed faces of Shelf, many with Bob, and some with the other ragtag and close knit group of climbers that frequented the area at the time. Many of the climbers and I became great friends, and we all continued are adventures at other areas besides Shelf Road.

I had only been climbing a relatively short period of time, and I had mostly bouldered with only a few ventures onto some 5.8′s and 5.9′s. I had climbed some bolted and traditional routes at Eldorado Canyon, Clear Creek and Garden of the Gods (or is that Garbage of the Gods?), but they were all moderate in technicality. The first time I jumped onto the Shelf Road limestone (Fremont Dolomite) it was a humbling experience, the technical and gymnastic moves required to decipher the intricate dynamics of the pockets, flakes and gastons were intense. Although the routes were many grades beyond my capabilities at the time, I was hooked and wanted to come back for more learning and punishment. Climbing was a chess game on the rock, and learning a repertoire of moves and banking those into the recessed sections of your neural networks was a requirement. It became an obsessive and compulsive sport, one in which you are always comparing oneself against a set criteria, the numerical rating. I think it about drove the ex Wife off the deep end many times?

Since I had only been a boulderer, and was new to the climbing scene, I had never been indoctrinated into the traditionalist aspects of rock climbing. I had no ethics as concerned bolting, so the ‘Sport Climbing is Neither’ never really applied to my sensibilities. When I was handed a Bosch Bulldog hammer drill to put up a route, it seemed like the correct thing to do, and it made perfect sense to me. Our Bosch of the Immaculate Conception! The blank faced limestone of Shelf Road fit in perfectly with the rap placed bolting techniques and methodologies that the French had been popularizing at the time. As I recall, the first route I ever put up down at Shelf Road was at the Bank, and it was called the Moaner. It was named for a woman who was climbing next to us while we were working on the route, and she made the loudest bedroom grunting noises while she was climbing. I don’t think I could stop laughing for a long period of time!

My climbing abilities progressed at a fast rate, as did my many route creations. I spent time roaming all around the Shelf Road climbing area putting up new routes, in the Bank, Dark Side, Dead Colt Canyon, Sand Gulch, The Gallery and the Great Black North. I really became hooked on the solitude I got from The Gallery, even though it was a hike to get to the cliffs. I climbed with a lot of partners, but it was predominantly with my ex Wife Melanie and Charles Walters. A few of my treasured routes I put up in the varying canyons were Menses in the Gallery, and Enchanted Porkfist over on the Dark Side. I truly lost track of the number of routes that I either created or participated on, but it was a lot.  I went through many boxes of bolts, hangers, drill bits and even a few battery packs during my route creations. I even burdened my poor dog down with bolting gear in his doggie pack to assist in the endeavors. I had an incredible assortment of route names I used, some coming from the many strange punk rock group bands I listened to at the time, and others from my potty mouthed brain. Lunch at the Y, My What a Big Bulge, Well Hung and Turbo Charged Intercooled Meat Machine venture to the potty, while I can Smell Your Thoughts, Muted by Reality and Wading Through a Ventilator venture elsewhere.

I had some interesting encounters with some of the local ranchers in the early days, some friendly and some not so friendly. I was shot at once as a warning while I was putting up a route at Cactus Cliff, and again accidentally by some idiot hunters on the lower road while they were illegally poaching a deer.

I really enjoyed the wonderful days I had at Shelf Road, wandering in and out of the canyons, finding untouched tracks of routes, and just loving those nice warm sunny days, vegging and climbing on the walls. Shelf has a fairly temperate climate, so much of the Fall through Winter and back to Spring is easily climbable, and the cliffs have enough of a rotation that you can either hide or imbue yourself with the sun. We even left a folding lounge chair down in the canyons so that we could enjoy belaying, hence another route ‘Bourgeois Belay Dog’. I also enjoyed climbing as many of the routes as I could at Shelf, and I ticked off almost everything I could climb at the time. Even when it got crowded, it always felt like you could have some serenity at Shelf Road, and it seemed imbued with a certain aura and mystique. I became addicted to climbing on pockets, and the many facets of climbing on the Shelf Road limestone. The different shades of the rock color, from white to tan to red, gray to black, gave rise to different textures and differing climbing techniques. Sometimes you worked your way through a crux mono to a massive jug, maybe pulling on a flake, or perhaps some delicate foot and hand work on the fine black rock. You needed to use an entire roster of techniques when you climbed at Shelf Road, which always kept it entertaining and enjoyable.