2/27/98 - Mt. Yonah and Tallulah Gorge

February 27th - March 1st
Mt. Yonah and Tallulah Gorge, Georgia Trip Report -

The difference between a bold move and a stupid move is success

Friday 2/27

Enlarge Yonah view

Jackie, Jeff Braund, and I pulled into Helen late Friday afternoon, detouring first to the south on SR 75 so my partners could get a look at the challenge that lay ahead. Passing the Mt.Yonah access road, we pulled into the West Family Restaurant parking lot which afforded a clear view of the mountain top high on the horizon a couple miles distant. As expected, dark streaks of water stained the ash colored granite faces as the mountain wept from the morning's rain. My last visit had been in similar conditions, sheets of water running down much of the smooth faces. Still, dry patches were visible, and these would provided a sufficient number of scalable routes. The restaurant opened at 7 a.m., a good place to rendezvous for breakfast before hiking in. My heart sank when we drove back to the access road. A large sign hangs over the gated private road, warning non-residents of the no vehicular access restriction. I now found the "Hikers Welcome" comment at the bottom of the sign painted over. As I mulled this over, a large blue bus wound down the gravel path to the gate, followed by several more cars full of military personnel. "This can't be" I though, I'd called the Army just a couple days ago and been told there were no exercises planned in the area at all this year. Not only were we prohibited from climbing during maneuvers, we couldn't get to the cliffs at all.

See larger photo of Helen

A soldier popped out of the bus to key in the gate code. I quickly asked if the road was now closed to hikers. He said they were pulling out until Monday, and the sign had been painted due to the liability concerns of the residents. As far as he was aware, access was still permitted. I breathed easier as we drove back to Helen to secure our motel room at the Super 8 downtown. Jeffs' brother Chris and wife Karen were due to arrive from South Carolina. A quick call to the car phone confirmed they were crossing the state line, and would be in soon. We walked the length of the tiny tourist village while we waited, noting the different eateries and comparing menus. The Bavarian style village was quiet during the off season, many of the businesses closed, traffic sparse. The fares and prices differed little, and we ended up at the Troll once the relatives arrived, mostly out of convenience. We went to bed early, planning on an early start the next day.

Saturday 2/28

After breakfast, we met Jason Hale, Andy Mitchel, Mary Weber, Deb Evans, Terry Keezer, and Angie McKune at the gate of the access road. Jason reported any others had cancelled due to the rainy forecast (their mistake). The early sky was clear and blue. It looked like a good opportunity to pursue my latest passion, learning to aid climb. 

View larger image od Yonah Road

I'd brought a small climbing shop with me anticipating a larger crowd - half a dozen ropes, extra harnesses and rigging gear, a second lead rack, even spare fleece garments to prepare for any eventuality. Normally a meticulous packer and organizer, I left the gear loose to make it easy to select what was needed in a hurry if a large group showed, but most had cancelled. Now, we quickly threw together a rack of gear suitable for  a three man assault on Yosemite, unsure of what I'd need for a first aid climbing experience, a burdensome load of more than 70 pounds on my back alone. Jeff and Chris Braund shouldered the remainder, and we lumbered up the serpentine road that led 2.7 miles to the primitive campground near the summit. It wasn't long before trickles of sweat traced the edge of my face, as I lagged along behind the main group. Jason came to my rescue by relieving me of 12 pounds of rope, and I rejoined the flock. An hours march brought us to the campground clearing.

Trails led uphill to the rock. We arrived in an area called Army Routes Section B, the hub of Mt. Yonah's routes. The granite before us was essentially dry, though water streaked areas flanked both sides of us. The numbers 1, 2, 3 appeared in faded spray paint on the face before us announcing the Army Ranger's use of this area for training. A heavy brown steel cable diagonaled from the  base of the cliff to our left, intersected a maze of brighter secondary cables mid cliff above us, then proceeded to the summit tier above and to the right. The cables were bolted to the cliff every 30 feet or so with anchors that ranged from shiny and new to dubiously ancient rusted hints of security. The overall attachment is sound enough to allow rigging of multiple top rope anchors to protect the climbs below. Jeff, Jason and I led up the numbered routes and fixed top ropes. We amused ourselves climbing these routes to get warmed up in the morning, then spread out a bit to find more challenging ventures by midday. It turned out to be a great afternoon. Mary Weber tasted the sharp end of the rope, leading her first climb (I think it was Army Route #B 3 5.5). Not to be left behind, Deb did her first climb ever! Jason and Andy found a decent challenge in what was probably Stairway To Heaven 5.8***. Karen did an outstanding job on this slippery climb. Overall, it was a becoming a very satisfying day. 

View larger photo of Jeff

By early afternoon, I was eager to try out one of the aid routes we'd passed on our hike in. I recruited Jeff, and we made our way down to the Boulder. A string of rusted bolts lead 15 feet up the enormous boulder, then out another 10 feet under a mushroom-like rounded roof all the way to the top 50 feet above. The key bolt at the apex of the roof had broken off leaving a gap that had us wondering if it was possible to get to the bolt above. Smooth, round, featureless stone would prove a formidable challenge. I started up the vertical portion, but abandoned my efforts when I saw the condition of the remaining roof anchors. No wonder the key bolt was missing. Hanging only by threads of rust, the rest are soon to follow. Not to waste an opportunity, we rigged a line from the top of the boulder, and learned a bit about jugging (ascending with Jumars) up a rope by climbing to its top. That done, we'd exhausted the obvious challenges at the Boulder, and packed up to search for another route. Voices called down from above as a wave of our climbers descended upon us. A little after 4 o'clock, they were ready to start the long hike down. Chris stayed with his brother and me, and we went off in search of another section of the cliffs described as the Lowers. There were two more aid routes listed in the guide, possibly close by, and we were hot to try them out. We mistakenly chose the easiest of paths and were soon to realize we were not approaching the correct area. The false effort had eaten into our time, and I was getting increasingly fatigued from dragging nearly half my body weight all over the mountain. I convinced the guys our best action was a graceful retreat and we made for the road down. At times we found ourselves running instead of fighting the pull of gravity, trying to use the momentum provided by our heavy loads. Jason and Andy remained behind in typical fashion, climbing until darkness chased them home. The rest of us returned to town, showered, and went to dinner. Consensus was that we did not want to repeat the hike tomorrow. Fortunately, our smaller group had enough experience to tackle more challenging terrain. I suggested nearby Tallulah Gorge, and we made our plan for Sunday.

Sunday 3/1

Up early again Sunday, we returned to our breakfast spot in the morning shadows of Mt. Yonah. A half hours drive brought us to the visitor center at Tallulah Gorge State Park. Permits are required to enter the steep and rugged area, a quick task accomplished at the visitor center. Then, there was Jake - Chris and Karen's dog. The climbers access trail is so rough and dangerous, the rangers don't mention it. While it is marked with a cautionary sign, the trail is not maintained. Erosion from the wet winters' rains have made it even more treacherous. Jake wouldn't be able to negotiate the steepest sections. It was a warm and sunny day, too warm to leave the poor pooch in the car. It was decided that the guys would access the gorge via the climbers trail. Jackie and Karen would drive to the far side of the canyon, and hike down the much safer Wallenda Cable descent trail with Jake. They would cross the river at Bridal Veil Falls, then make their way upstream along the bank to join us. This is the recommended access to the climbing areas, safer, but a good bit farther.

See larger view of Flying Frog

Jason, Andy, Jeff, Chris and I loaded our gear into our packs, and worked our way down the climbers trail, crossing a "suicide slab" (a slip on the smooth wet rock would pitch you into the gorge), rappelling through the steep section that followed, leaping a small waterfall, then bushwhacking  through the brambles along the base of the cliffs. Narrow ledges led to the main climbing area. Jason and Andy set up to climb Flying Frog 5.10 b/c, a beautiful thin face climb up a dark, wet slab Jason had been yearning to tackle since our last visit. I was intent on finding something to try my new gear on, my first real aid route. The brothers Braund, who also harbor big wall dreams, would complete my team. We settled on a thin broken fissure which started under a roof, then resumed above on a face, then dissapeared through another set of roofs. No telling what lay out of sight above, but there were tell-tale chalk marks on this line that showed the route was probably climbable. I would try it.

The first roof proved to be quite a fearsome challenge. Starting in an undercut area of the cliff, I climbed back and up onto a large block and examined the tiny crack in the cavern ceiling above my head. It was too small for most of my gear, with almost parallel sides. Standard nuts seemed a poor choice. My smallest cam didn't fit. This first piece was critical. I would hang a set of nylon climbing ladders (etriers) from it, and climb onto them. If the piece of gear pulled out, I would crash down on the rock below. There was no doubt of severe injury. I sifted through the vast assortment of wires, cams, nuts, and hooks looking for something that would hold. Then, I saw it. I'd never used it before, another new toy received at Christmas from my future Colorado big wall buddies Dede and Guy. Karmic connection. The #2 Lowe Ball slipped into the crevice and set tight. I clipped on my etriers and climbed aboard, the first step into a new world of aid climbing. The piece held solidly. I stared at the tiny taught wire from which I hung, thinking how stupid this really was, was it worth the risk? Then I put that behind me and started flailing to get out from under the roof, trying to get a piece of gear into the next crevice out on the face. It was impossible. Too far, too high. I grew increasingly nervous about taking a fall as my attempts grew more vicious. I rested, hanging under the cave after half an hour of pitiful attempts. Soaked in sweat, I looked for another way out of this trap. Maybe I'd bitten off more than I could chew. Changing course, I located a second tiny crack under the roof that would accept my smallest of camming units, and I was much relieved to have my first piece backed up. This second route was a dead end. I rested. More secure, I returned to my previous course and learned a first lesson about etriers - don't let them keep you down. I climbed up and out of them (except for my left foot), finally reaching my goal. I tested the size of the horizontal crack above with my fingers, selected the appropriate cam, slotted it, and clipped on my second set of etriers. I climbed onto them, and looked at the face above for the next gear placement.

The climb went much faster out on the face. I moved from feature to feature alternately clipping my etriers to each successive piece of gear, climbing ever higher, working through each problem as it presented. The last roof required a very long reach that put me in the top steps, balancing precariously, my weight entrusted to a ancient knotted loop of nylon webbing wedged tightly in a crack. I was relieved when I saw a collection of old slings above, the end of this pitch. The climbing eased, and I free climbed the last 30 feet to the large ledge above me. I had done it! It was more relief than elation that I felt as I rigged a solid anchor and attached the static line to it. Jeff ascended the static line with Jumars, removing the gear I had placed on the way up. He reported it was a lot of fun cleaning the roofs, as he'd take a big swing each time he removed a piece of gear. He arrived at the ledge sooner than I expected, and handed me the rotted piece of faded blue webbing I'd put so much faith in. It pulled out, no problem. Chris was up even faster. The three of us exchanged congratulations, standing in the warm sun, the falls roaring hundreds of feet below, spectacular view of the gorge. This was a first step toward bigger things, and we took pride in our accomplishment. Next time, it's my turn to wait on the ground while one of the bro's receives his initiation into the new world of leading an aid climb.

We rappelled from the ledge back to the base of the climb and  packed up our gear. A couple climbers passed, and I asked if they knew the route we'd just been on. "I think it's called I Eats Me Spinach, a 5.11 b/c. Wicked boulder problem start". We agreed. I later found the climbers Popeye theme correct, though the guidebook lists the route as I Am What I Am 5.11 b/c. Since Jackie and Karen never showed, we assumed the water was too deep to cross (it was). We'd leave via the climbers trail, free climbing the 40 foot section we'd previously rappelled. It was a bit awkward with our heavy packs, but we surmounted the challenge, skirted around the wet suicide slab, and worked our way back to the parking lot. Jackie, Karen, and Jake were enjoying lunch in the feild near the cars, prudently unwilling to challenge the swift water crossing at the falls. Jason and Andy emerged from the pine grove and joined us in the parking lot a few minutes later.

Enlarge view of The Buttinski's

Jeff put his pack in the back of the van, then handed me a copy of the Yosemite Big Walls Guidebook. We laughed. It was different now though. No longer was it a book of dreams. With time it could become a book of possibilities. "I've a long way to go" I thought to myself as I thumbed through the pages, "but the journey has started".

Submitted by Wayne Busch

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