Castleton Tower

5/29/23

It was the last day of our Moab weekend, and Eric and I had saved the best for last — climbing Castleton Tower before driving home to Salt Lake. I’d studied and prepped for two different routes, but our plan was to take the easiest one: the North Chimneys a 5.8, instead of the Kor Ingalls a 5.9+.

After breaking down camp, we drove out to Castle Valley, running on nothing but a single Pop-Tart and excitement. The approach was long and steep, and it wasn’t until we were halfway to the base that we realized we hadn’t eaten a real breakfast. When we finally reached the tower, we saw another party already starting up the North Chimneys. They were a party of 3 and they weren’t moving particularly fast, so instead of waiting, we decided to go for Plan B — the Kor Ingalls route. It was a bit harder, but I’d brought all the right gear and had mentally prepared to lead every pitch.

I racked up and started the first pitch. It was a mix of scrambling and chimney climbing, the sandstone coated in slick white calcite. I tried to turn around inside one of the chimneys and get my back against the opposite wall, but with a racks of cams on each hip, I was too wide. I awkwardly stemmed my way up until I pulled out of the chimney and onto a ramp, where I built the first anchor. When Eric arrived, he said if that was 5.6, he wanted no part of leading the upper pitches and higher grades. I didn’t blame him — it was tough, and the pitches were only going to get harder.

The second pitch was delicate and nerve-wracking — hollow flakes, loose blocks, and gear placements I didn’t fully trust. Slowly and carefully, I worked my way up passed chalk “X”s and loose death-blocks that might take me or Eric out until I reached the next belay ledge. But there was no celebrating yet — the third pitch was the crux, featuring the infamous off-width section.

looking down at pitch 3

After a deep breath, I started climbing. The first few feet protected a well and climbed smoothly but as I moved out of sight of Eric I soon came upon the off-width. Luckily there was a bolt protecting this section that gave me the confidence to try. After clipping an alpine draw into the bolt I called down to Eric to “take” while I tried to figure out a plan. After several failed attempts, I finally found a rhythm — jamming my left elbow high as a chicken wing, pressing my back against one wall, and thrusting my hips forward against the other. Inch by inch, I wormed upward through the slick calcite until I clipped an old, stuck hex deep in the crack. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.

When I finally pulled above the off-width and clipped the chain anchors, I let out a huge sigh of relief and radioed down that I was safe. The party in the North Chimneys called over, laughing that they’d been hearing my grunting echoing through the cracks in rock the whole time.

When it was Eric’s turn to follow, things got interesting. He was carrying the pack with our shoes and water — which meant he didn’t fit in the chimney at all. After a few failed attempts, we had to rig a haul line for the pack just so he could squeeze in without having to carry the gear. With a lot of groaning and determination, he finally made it to the anchor, completely gassed but grinning.

The final pitch was short but exposed. A little traverse led to a face climb that pulled us straight onto the summit. As soon as I topped out, I was hit by strong, refreshing wind. The La Sal Mountains were capped in snow behind us, a wild contrast to the red desert below. When Eric joined me, we just sat there catching our breath, feeling small and proud all at once. I even tried flying a drone for the first time — the footage was shaky, but it captured the incredible tower we were perched upon.

Getting to the top was hard, but getting down safely was just as important. We made four 70-meter rappels down a different face, using gri-gris and stopper knots to stay cautious. The first rappel was wild — hanging in full exposure, searching the wall for the next set of bolts while the wind whipped around me. One by one, we descended, double-checking everything until we finally reached the ground.

Completely spent but stoked out of our minds, we hiked back to the car, grabbed Wendy’s for the drive home, and called friends to let them know we’d made it down safe. The climb had taken longer than expected, but it was everything we’d hoped for — a perfect mix of challenge, adventure, and relief.

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