I should be preparing for an interview, but my mind is stuck on climbing, stuck on my last climbing trip on Valentine’s/President’s weekend. We went to Ibex . . . Have you heard of it? How about the House Range? Notch Peak? You have to know Notch Peak. Steph Davis recently did a base jump off the peak that towers 4,450 feet above the valley below. That peak is ominous, with dark grey rock. It’s a chossy mess that gives any climber the urge to tackle the eerie monster. But we’re saving it for another day.

Instead, we went to Ibex.

Ibex, in all its glory, is a half-mile stretch of warm quartzite cliffs that hover above some high-ball boulders and a dry lakebed. Consider the boulders your camping spot, as well as your playground. The lakebed attracts a few other people, not climbers, but rather rally-car enthusiasts who desire to rip up some dirt, and remote-control airplane and kite flyers, and quite possibly some drug dealers. It’s desert law out there, and anything goes. Old tin cans and other rusty items have littered the ground below the cliffs. Evidence of shot guns is common–or what some might call “bunny bombing.” This climber’s paradise is also paradise for the outlaws, thugs, and hicks who just want to escape for a weekend.

I had escaped for the weekend. Escaped the stress of finding a job and taking cold showers, making sure I’m always seen as a decent person in our society. I left my cat in my apartment with a giant bowl of food, left a light on for security. These things worry me, but not when I’m in Ibex. I forgot about home, my apartment, the daily stress I carry on my shoulders, the credit card offers I get in the mail that remind me that I’m socially poor, and the daily 6AM alarm on my phone. I didn’t care. This weekend, I was an outlaw, a hick, a thug, and a climber. I could do whatever I wanted.

There were four of us: Jake, our friend Aaron, and my newest acquaintance, Nolan. Aaron and Nolan had large a goal for this trip: The Nose Shadow. This is a four pitch sport route up the most prominent overhanging face at Ibex. It goes at 5.12c. Jake and I were excited to do some cragging, bouldering, and hop on Anti-Crack on our way out. Anti-Crack is across highway on some granite rocks better known as the Western Sawtooths, and Notch Peak looms above them.

Goals were set, and the weather was warmer and less smoggy compared to Salt Lake City. So far this West Desert thing wasn’t so bad, and we were all stoked to be there. We set up camp under a boulder known as “Cow Boulder.” Yes, there’s an abundance of cow shit and range cattle at Ibex.

The rock would light up at night by light of fire, creating a room in the partial cave we pitched our tents under. We had great views of the moon rise and could spot cars cruising by just a few miles away in the distance. How could we feel so far away and removed but ultimately be so close to other people? It was quiet out there and we had to make our own entertainment. We passed around a nice bottle of whiskey but devoured our PBR. If we were lucky, somebody would venture from the highway and explore the hardpan (dried lakebed). We watched as two cars made their way closer and closer, coming to sharp swerve when they reached the still water near our campsite. They didn’t stop at the water, but instead in our campsite after I thought they were going to slam into our truck. Once I realized one of the cars was a white Dodge Charger, I stood up and hid behind Jake. I thought it was a cop and couldn’t think of any laws I was breaking, but was frightened.

A man got out of the Charger; He was Jesse Pinkman’s doppelgänger. My mind was racing, and I didn’t know what was going on. He chatted us up, talked about bunny bombing, and drank a beer as his group of friends stood behind him. They had been driving on the dirt roads around Ibex for hours, ultimately looking for his family. A few minutes later, they left. . . tossing an empty Budweiser can out of the window. Who knows if they ever found their family.

The next morning, Jake and I headed to Newlywed Wall and hopped on some 5.9’s. They were a bit slabby at parts and often we found ourselves without handholds, trying to trust our feet on the slippery quartzite. Once we got to the top of these routes, however, we could see into the next valley. It was essentially the same: desert with hills on the other side, but didn’t have the hardpan. The view was nice, but our side was better.

We could hear Aaron screaming in the distance. He and Nolan decided to the climb the Nose Shadow that morning. Jake and I took a seat on a boulder and watched Aaron fall repeatedly on the the major roof pitch of the route. It was a good show, and things got even better when we hiked back to our very own Cow Boulder to watch them finish the last two pitches. By that time, other people had shown up to climb. Well, they all came to boulder.

Jake and I warmed up on a down climb, and then tried out a V7. Not gonna lie, it was pretty difficult, so we packed up again and walked to the Scorpion Slab on the other side of Ibex. When I say other side of Ibex, it might seem like it’s far away, but in reality it’s a ten minute walk. The place is pretty small. We hit up a 5.8 slab route hoping it would be a little more trusting than the two 5.9s at Newlywed Wall. WRONG. I hopped on lead first, but immediately got shut down going for the second bolt. I think it’s funny that I essentially learned to lead on granite slab four years ago, but just can’t pull out the routes here. I can blame the quartzite all I want, but in the end, I know it’s just a mental block that keeps shutting me down.

By that time, the wind had picked up, and Jake had led the pitch. After both hopping on the route, and getting caught in horrendous gusts just 40 feet above the ground, we took off again. This time to the Corral Crags. Jake pointed out a route that he found the previous day and said he really wanted to lead it. It was a semi-run-out 5.12, but he seemed very excited. From what I can decipher in James Garrett’s West Desert guide book, the route is called “Ewe Betch Ewe” and runs at 5.12a. Jake did well on this pitch, but couldn’t quite get the move to the anchors. Aaron and Nolan approached us from the road, after finishing their epic day on the Nose Shadow, but Nolan still found the energy to borrow my harness and hop on the route to get the anchors.

The route was in the shade, and I cannot emphasize enough how awful the wind was. I took every break I could to walk back 100ft and stand in the warmth of the sun. The wind, however, still found me. After each of the guys took a run at the route, we headed back to camp. . . against the wind. It was so strong it was blowing the spit out of my mouth, snot ran down my upper lip. There was nothing I could do to prevent it. Would we have to sleep in this tonight? When is it going to stop? Should we just pack up and go home? But I don’t want to go home. . .

The walk back to the campsite took twice as long as we battled the chilly gusts. The group of boulderers were still doing their thing. It was nearing dark, and the wind didn’t show any signs of dying off. Why were they still bouldering? To escape the hell, I sat in the front seat of the truck and got caught up in the latest copy of the Alpinist. (Thank God I packed it.) I watched the boulderers set up a barrier with their crash pads. I couldn’t imagine it possibly helping. One by one, Aaron, Jake, and Nolan each joined me in my pursuit to stay warm.

After an hour of sitting in truck, it was dark, and the wind magically stopped out of nowhere. The boulderers packed up and drove off to their campsite on the other side of the highway. Why did they wait it out? Why didn’t they just leave earlier when it was windy?

We started a fire, and immediately cooked dinner in fear of the wind starting up again. It was cold. The fire wasn’t keeping me warm enough, and I didn’t have the patience to dodge the smoke tonight. The headlights slowly making their way across the horizon reminded me how happy I was to be here in Ibex. Even though the weather wasn’t the greatest, I truly saw this place as a home away from home, a place of peace and solitude. I was glad to be there.

I ended my night early, knowing the next morning we would pack up and head to Anti-Crack. The night was long, and I didn’t sleep well. My sleeping bag wasn’t warm enough for the cool air, and my head froze. I had a beanie nearby, but couldn’t bring myself to pull my arms out of my sleeping bag to grab it. I should have.

The next morning, as we drove out across the hardpan, a small black object lurked in the distance. As we approached, we realized it was familiar–an object we all recognize from our childhood afternoons at the bowling alley: a bowling ball. And for that moment, we all became children again and couldn’t resist playing catch. If only we had some pins.

The drive to the Western Sawtooths didn’t take quite as long as expected, and it was rather easy to find the correct dirt road that led us to the canyon. NOT. We took a road that evidently took us directly to the bottom of Notch Peak. We hadn’t realized how steep the road was until we hit the end and had to turn around. Nolan and I hopped out of the truck to spot Jake as he made a multiple point turn. We feared the truck would tip over, and we all agreed this was the scariest, most adrenaline pumping part of the entire trip. After handing the guide book over to Aaron, he correctly navigated us to the right place (without contacts, I may add.).

I bundled up, still cold from the night before, and nauseous from the drive in. Half-way up the loose, bouldery approach, I stopped to rid of my winter coat. The canyon was strange to me; extremely quiet and I wouldn’t be surprised if a mountain lion popped out of nowhere. We discovered an old mine shaft and ventured inside until the light disappeared. A bit spooky if you ask me. It seemed like the entire hillside had mine tunnels stretching throughout.

Finally, we made it to Anti-Crack. This was our (our being me and Jake) main goal for the trip, and the most aesthetic route for the photos we hoped to capture.

By my surprise, I was thrilled to see “The Loneliest Stretch of Highway in the United States,” according to James Garrett’s guide book. We were starving, dirty, constipated. The silent ride was long, often disturbed by iPhone tweeting noises. . . the sound of reality setting back in. Tomorrow we had to go back to work–the daily commute. Jake to head back to the cubicle. For Aaron and Nolan, the slopes of the Canyons and then off to Moab to continue their annual summer guiding jobs. And for me, the smell of paint and the endless job searching will continue.

Until next time, it’s been good Ibex. Thanks for the windy welcome.

Trip report by Makaela Herran