PEAK EXPERIENCES AT SMITH ROCK
TERREBONNE, OREGON >> In the rock climbing world, a visit to Oregon’s Smith Rock State Park is like making a pilgrimage to Mecca. This high desert landmark is hailed as the birthplace of sport climbing — rock climbing with permanent anchors — which is why my 6-year-old, Daphne, could not wait to get there. She’s part monkey so it’s always been easy for her to shimmy up a climbing wall at the gym, usually chirping like a bird while she does it.
I’ve always enjoyed watching her ascend to those dizzying heights, occasionally trying out a bit of a climb myself, just out of camaraderie. That’s why I thought I would rise to the occasion at Smith Rock, a gorgeous state park brimming with stately crimson rocks and towering spires, divided by a snaking green river. Spoiler alert: Sometimes mother does not know best.
Indeed, when the friendly folks at Smith Rock Climbing School mentioned that it’s always the parents, and not the kiddos, who struggle on a family climb, I didn’t quite take the hint. Given the variety of climbing routes here, it’s the perfect place for beginners as well as old hands. Surely I could keep up with a first-grader.
We met our guide near the colorful yurt that serves as a ranger station (and the last restroom, too).
Spring and fall are the peak seasons, but Smith Rock offers year-round climbing. In the summer, you may have to battle the broiling sun as you scale columns of volcanic tuff and cliffs of basalt. In the winter, daytime temperatures are in the mid-40s, but evening sends the mercury down, so beware of slick and icy rocks.
Of course, the scenery of the Crooked River Gorge is stunning in any season. Our intrepid guide, Elliott Reed, got us up to speed on the basics of climbing
etiquette, such as never crowd someone’s else route and make sure you either know a crack from a crimp or find a reliable guide.
As you head out to do your first climb, you’ll also learn to drink in the views while you gear up for your climb. Check your climbing shoes and harness for a good tight fit. Suck down as much water as you can. Once you start getting vertical, you’ve got to keep your eyes on the rock. So now is the time to gaze at this deep river canyon, teeming with golden eagles, prairie falcons, mule deer, river otters and beavers.
As you make your way to your climbing spot — for us, walking along the cheerily dubbed Pumpkin Patch route — you can watch hikers trudging up the Misery Ridge trail, winding up the red-rock face as eagles circle above. There are thousands of trails here, but it seems many visitors feel compelled to experience Misery. Not us.
Unlike traditional rock climbers, sport climbers clip into bolts that have already been placed along a route — so our packs are light — and the routes can vary in difficulty from a 5.0 rating (easy) to 5.15 (extremely difficult). Smith Rock had the first 5.14 rating in North America. Needless to say, we are going nowhere near it.
We edged over to the part of the park riddled with basalt caves and volcanic rock. This is where I noticed that Daphne has no fear of heights, which may be why she can scramble over boulders like a baby goat while I huff and puff in her dust.
Of course, even she had a learning curve. Once the guide had anchored our rope at the top of the climb, Daphne was the first to climb — and surprised to learn that real-life rocks are hard and dusty and they can really hurt your knees, if you swing into them hard.
It wasn’t until her second climb that she got the knack of it, swinging from one end of a crack in the rock to another to find the best holds. She also learned that you never cling to a rock marked “X.” The X means another climber found it was loose. Apparently volcanic rock formations can be very soft and crumbly.
We all learned that it’s hard to drink enough water to stay hydrated during extreme exertion and that you can never pack enough snacks.
And me? What did I learn? Well, ashamed as I am to admit it, I learned that I just didn’t put in enough time at the climbing gym to stave off terror when staring down into gaps with names like Troglodyte Chasm.
In the end I cut my rock climbing short, quite content to watch someone else wiggle and wedge her way to the top of one route after another — then demand a sundae. With a cherry.