Classic Climbs, cont'd

AMC Outdoors, June 2007

Cannon Cliff: Whitney Gilman Ridge (5.7)
New Hampshire

In 1928, Robert Underhill determined that the Original Route on Franconia Notch’s Cannon Cliff (now called Old Cannon) was "the only possible route up." Cousins Hassler Whitney and Bradley Gilman, both in their 20s and fresh off a successful trip to the French Alps, soon proved him wrong. When they showed up at Cannon on Aug. 3, 1929, they intended on making a second ascent of the Original Route. Discovering it too wet to climb, they traversed under Cannon’s mighty big wall section to the base of a striking knife-edge that now bears their names.

The route begins on the north wall of the ridge at the base of the Black Dike, a classic Northeast ice climb in winter. The first pitch follows a broken chimney/gully festooned with several fixed pitons. Short but steep boulder problems lead to a steep bulge where all variations dead end at a plumb vertical arête known as the "pipe pitch." Underhill placed a two-foot cast iron pipe on the route’s second ascent in 1930. Unfortunately, the relic was stolen in the mid-’90s and the one you’ll find there today is a replica. When you start pulling through the crux above, think about Whitney in 1929, climbing this section on sight, in sneakers, and with no protection. Yep, no protection. All pitons were installed after the first ascent, which explains why the two climbers took 17 pitches to complete a route now done in four.

In some places, the route’s exposure can literally take your breath away. In several sections you’ll find yourself climbing the actual edge of the arête, with one leg on the sunny south side while the other dangles over the dark and forbidding Black Dike. The route has many variations, and while this is the cliff’s most obvious line, route finding can be tricky. If you take a wrong turn you may inadvertently wind up on ground that feels more like 5.9 than 5.7.

The route does have some fixed pins to show you the way, but the belays are not fixed. So rappelling can be a challenge, especially from high up. Be prepared to leave some gear if an afternoon thunderstorm rolls in. And don’t be too worried about littering the cliff—the next party up will be sure to reclaim your booty. The recommended descent is a walk-off on a faint trail leading down the south shoulder of the cliff. From the topout you have to climb upward for another 100 feet where you should be able to sniff out the start of the trail. Take the effort to make sure you’re on it before heading home. The bushwhack down will no doubt ruin the great day you’re having.

Cathedral Ledge: Standard Route (5.5)
New Hampshire

Hit one of Cathedral Ledge’s 100 different routes on a busy spring weekend and you’ll be swarmed by climbers. This wasn’t always the case. When Robert Underhill arrived at Cathedral’s base in 1931, it had never been climbed. Once more, Underhill was in the right place at the right time. After traversing back and forth under the cliff with companions Leland Pollock and Payson Newton, the trio settled on a deep chimney that split the middle of the main face. The only problem was the section leading into it. After several failed attempts, they came up with an ingenious plan. Climbing partway up the bottom of the wall, Underhill tossed a rock with a string tied around it over a tree about 30 feet overhead. Next they tied the string to their climb-ing rope and carefully pulled it over the tree. Just like that, they had a toprope for the crux move leading into the chimney.

Today most people begin the climb with Direct Start (5.7), a variation pioneered by William Allis in 1933. Start on a dead obvious staircase-stepped dike about 200 feet downhill from the start of the extremely popular route, Thin Air. Direct Start’s crux is a 20-foot off-width, which you’ll probably find easiest if you approach it right side in. Keep your eyes open for a couple pitons hidden inside the fissure. Above the crux you can belay on one of several ledges in the chimney by attaching to small trees or more fixed pitons. A final chimney pitch leads to a spacious cave and the route’s second crux.

Don’t underestimate the notorious Cave Wall, a severe sand bag at 5.5 with little room for gear for the first 15 feet. The good news is the landing is relatively soft if you fall. Fritz Wiessner climbed this classic line in 1933. When his partner, Robert Underhill, refused to follow, Wiessner untied, dropped the rope, and soloed to the top.

Otter Cliffs, Acadia National Park: Child’s Play (5.5)
Maine

Archaeologists have found artifacts on Mount Desert Island that date back to 4,000 B.C. But this slice of Maine paradise didn’t make it onto any maps until Samuel de Champlain arrived in 1604. Champlain was a veteran of 29 Atlantic crossings, but his considerable experience didn’t stop him from running his ship aground at Otter Point, within spitting distance of the now fa-mous Otter Cliffs climbing area. Rumor has it that Champlain was so smitten with the island he purposely beached his ship.

For the first half of the 18th century, the British and the French fought over the island, with the Brits eventually gaining the upper hand. The town of Bar Harbor was incorporated in 1796, and artists and wealthy tourists soon discovered its magical allure.

The summer visitors created several via ferrata trails—routes with fixed iron rungs, handles, and steps—on cliffy faces like the Precipice and the Beehive. Proper roped climbing didn’t arrive until the 1930s, with none other than Fritz Wiessner putting up many first ascents, including Mount Desert Island’s most unique rock formation, a sea stack that lies just off the edge of Otter Cliffs. The chasm that drops between the main cliff and the spire is about 60 feet deep and three feet wide at the top. And yes, you will have to make the jump.

Wiessner climbed the outer wall at low tide, by a stunning line now rated a modest 5.5. But the line is rarely led because "it doesn’t have the gear you would want if you are a 5.5 leader," says Jeff Butterfield, who owns the local Atlantic Climbing School. Like most of Otter’s routes, the climb is usually toproped. Butterfield recommends building a natural anchor in cracks in the main cliff. From this you can run a static line to the outside of the sea stack where you can hang the rope. Toprope or not, stepping back over the lip to get lowered down over the crashing surf is still intimidating.

Pounded by eons of storm tides, the stack’s sheer, cleaved-off outer face is bullet hard and devoid of anything even remotely loose. The salty air and water gives granite the texture of etched glass. But watch out at the bottom. When covered with a thin layer of green algae, the rock feels like a greased pole at the carnival. Stick to the black and brown patches instead.