Pure Pressure and Escalante’s Strict Trad Standards

Iwas pretty much doomed. I had made a mistake and set myself up to hit the ground 20 metres below. If the set of cam clusters ripped, it was going to hurt. The red walls of Escalante Canyon, on the western slope of Colorado between Grand Junction and Montrose, spanned the horizon, but I could only focus on the soft sandstone in front of me. My nails split as I torqued into the locks trying to place the f inal nest of three small pieces in the f ingertip crack. I started to shake as I struggled to slot the first cam. I had already broken two pieces on previous attempts when I’d pitched from the top of the final runout to the chains. Those pieces had exploded in an array of wires as they rocketed out. Luckily, each time I fell, one of the three cams always stayed put. After getting the f irst gear, a .2/. 1 offset tcu from Black Diamond, I reached for the second and realized I’d made a major mistake. I’d broken my second camming unit,