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The
Tower By
Eric Redinger "Rock!"
Gerald screamed as he locked-down the belay and swung sideward away from danger.
I looked directly into the blinding sun, the object tumbling in the
center, falling fast while creating a surreal eclipse.
I stood my ground, calculating distance, time, location, and everything I
could before the last inevitable moment. Gerald
and Joey were both roped-in to the rock face, no chance of falling.
Whereas I was not, and a single step backward would mean a fall of about
100 feet into a craggy riverbed. I
pivoted on my right foot and dove leftward, just then the rock smashed into my
right calf. My toes still imbedded
in the loose gravel. "Are you OK?"
They asked. The cold
sickening feeling crept through my body, the exact feeling you get right before
you throw-up...Or when you've broken a bone.
I was so upset. We weren't
even there yet, and I believed my part in our trip was over.
"I think it might be broken."
I choked, blinking back the sting of tears welling up in the corners of
my eyes. Slowly, I raised myself from the ground, attempting to
stand. Immediately I was down.
I hopped on my left leg, using my hands on the ground for balance.
I hid like a wounded dog under a nearby ledge.
Eventually, the sickening feeling passed and I knew it wasn't broke.
But the pain was nearly intolerable and already my calf was dark purple. A ragged cut was drawn across the flesh a couple of inches
below the back of my knee. Throughout
this time my friends kept urging me to tell them I was OK. "I think
I might cry, Gerald." I
wheezed. "I'd cry if that rock
would have hit me." He
answered. "Dude, I'm not gonna
cry!" I chuckled though the
pain. Humor was always one if my
best qualities, and I used it to get through the worst possible situations.
I knew then that this trip had just begun.
The next day, while driving to the tower, I thought about
the chain of events that led us here...Thinking back to what Gerald had said
about week before, "Just be prepared.
We might have to make a run for it". He looked serious, although I didn't quite believe that the
Natives would actually become hostile. "What's
the big deal, everything I've read about Indian culture says that Devil's Tower
was a feared and loathed place...Why would they care if we climb it?"
For this he had no answer but, "Well, it's Native American Day and
we're going to climb something that for years they haven't wanted us to be
near". We were getting close, and the road was winding through the
plains. My right calf was pulsating
with blood. It was Columbus Day,
and we were taking advantage of the long weekend and the unseasonable break in
the weather. From what Gerald had
told me, Native Americans hated climbers, especially when they climbed this
particular tower. For years,
Natives have had a no-climbing embargo during the month of June, which coincides
with some of their Sundance rituals. Sadly,
these once great ancient rites of passage have become yet another excuse to
abuse alcohol, drugs, and even to vandalize, steal, and fight.
A long legal battle had been in the Wyoming courts for some time as to
whether climbers had a right to be there, and it seemed there would be no
resolution. Then I saw the colonnade, reaching for the sky out of the
flatlands. Its huge columns and
distinctive cracks - some large enough for a man to chimney in between all the
way to the top. No wonder climbers
from all corners of the world traveled here to face the rock.
Legend has it that it was made by God, who rose a great rock high into
the heavens to save seven Indian princesses from their brother who had fell ill
and turned into a giant bear. Their
brother, trying to climb the rock and kill his own sisters, tore the cracks with
his powerful claws. It was very early, the sun just beginning to rise up,
casting a grand imposing shadow upon all that was to the west of the tower.
We had left Gillette in darkness; all of us still shaking off the alcohol
from the previous night which had ended only a few hours earlier.
We parked, gathered our gear - ropes, harnesses, webbing, and all sorts
of passive protection. Hammering
pitons as protection was illegal and also unethical as far as most climbers were
concerned. In fact, it was the
climbers who picked up the tourists' trash and regularly cleaned-up after the
Sundance rituals which took place near the tower.
Beer cans, liquor bottles, and miscellaneous junk seemed to be all that's
left of a once great culture. About a week earlier I had asked Gerald about the poster in
his dorm room. It depicted seven
Indian girls on top of a huge rock. A
giant bear was trying to climb up after them, its claws tearing long cracks into
the surface. "That's Devil's
Tower. I worked at the campground
below it for two summers. It's
really amazing, you should see it sometime".
"You've climbed it before, right?"
I asked. "Yea, a few
times each summer. I love it."
As he spoke of the tower, his eyes widened and I could feel energy
radiate from him. After a long
oratory of the significance of the tower he asked, "You want to climb it
with me sometime?" I realized
it was time to make one of those decisions that you can't forget the rest of
your life..."Let's go this coming weekend.
Will that work for you?" I
knew he couldn't resist my offer. Not
only did I see that Gerald yearned for climbing the monstrous rock, but also I
could tell that he took it as a challenge.
A challenge to prove to me that we could do it, and a challenge to the
Natives who tried to keep climbers away. At
the time, I didn't understand his contempt for Native Americans.
I'm part Native myself but being so far removed from this area, raised in
a small urban Iowa town, I had no reason to think that Indians had long ago lost
their sacred heritage. After a few days of excitement deliberating our plan, we
put together a team of close friends. Each
special and unique in their own way. There
was Blasé, who was afraid of heights; Joey, who's parents lived in the hills
near Rapid City and who lied consistently of his bravery; Gerald and I, who were
the prime instigators of mischief in our close group of friends.
This sorted band of people would be the core of the team.
Joey, using his parent's connections, talked a local climber into leading
us up the Tower on, of all the weekends and all the days, Native American Day.
All in all, the team was seven members strong.
Blasé, Joey, Gerald, Myself, were joined by Lonn - a small Asian man who
was the best climber of the group, Jaquie - a svelte raven-haired Native
herself, and Angie - a true Aryan complete with fair-skin, blonde hair, and blue
eyes. As I neared the summit, I remember thinking how astonishing
a feat I was attaining. I was only
a few hundred feet from the top of the monolith, nearly one mile into the air.
Could it be that one day earlier a large, flat portion of shale had
fallen sixty feet down a sheer rock face before connecting soundly with my lower
leg? Amazingly, it was such...My
right calf was now swollen to nearly twice its normal size; and weighting the
toes proved unbearable. But I had
reached so far, relying mostly on my hands - using them as wedges into cracks of
the rock face - losing skin and bleeding well.
Had I been slower to dodge the falling shale from the day
before, it would have landed squarely on my head and probably killed me.
Luck, then, was on my side. Only
by sheer determination and capacity to tolerate pain had I made it so far.
The next pitch was easy enough, my spirit rejuvenated by the gusting
winds that encircled the tower, brandishing my face and numbing my grip.
At this altitude the rock was cold and made every scrape and cut hurt
worse than normal. It was then a ten-foot traverse to the next ledge.
A very tricky move, skating sideways alongside the rock...Becoming part
of it, feeling every groove with my bloody hands before turning the next blind
corner. Then a slip, and I realized
I would swing down and smash into the wall beneath the sanctity of the ledge I
had just left minutes ago. Perhaps
it was fate that kept me to the face, but I did not fall.
I hoisted my legs up and over the horn of the next ledge.
Lonn, our lead-man, was already across the traverse yelling to me to make
it - not to stop until I was with him. I made it with a powerful pull, using all my resolve.
Sitting next to him, in awe of how easily he made the traverse look, I
realized that I was meant to climb this tower.
Two of the team made the traverse after me - Jaquie, whose tight-muscled
body would fuel my dreams for many nights to come, and Angie.
The rest of the original team did not make the traverse, and after many
failed attempts, they decided to hold up on the refuge of their perch.
Blasé was nearly hyperventilating, exhausted from adrenaline.
Joey, the bravehearted, was having trouble as well.
Gerald, always obligated to tend to the needs of his friends - whom he
considered brothers - stayed on the pitch and told me to go on.
He had already seen the top many times.
I knew he would have liked to go with me, pat me on the back and perhaps
give me a brotherly hug on the top. But
he was content with staying with our friends.
The last two hundred feet, a fabled section called
"The Meadows", was all that was left between me and the top of the
monument. This section was where
most accidents happened, for there was loose rock and no possible way to set
protection. A fall here would
likely mean death. A horrible rocky
scrape, then a fall of over a mile. I
scurried up, knowing if I stopped to let the realization of the situation sink
in I would be paralyzed. I was
bounding up so fast that a few times I stepped on my own hands, mantling
rapidly. Then I saw it...The top.
It wasn't like I had seen it in my mind's eye at all.
On top of this cold, hard rock was moss and grass; even small brush and
lizards and squirrels. I walked to the edge, far above the team nested below, and
howled. A deep, guttural sound of
both triumph for me and forlorn for my friends below. They told me later that they answered my cry, but not even
their voices could carry up to the sacred ground I was walking on. I spent the next ten minutes reading the log that was
tucked away inside a weatherproof capsule.
So many stories of success - all common yet all significantly different.
Then I wrote our tale, including the names of all on the team.
The sun fled under the horizon and I sat in the zodiacal mist.
It was time to leave this consecrated tower, for a descent in the dark
was far more treacherous than during the light hours. |