The aspen trees had laid their leaves down for us, transforming the trail into a golden-tiled tunnel. Just a few months prior, American Fork Canyon was a pool of emerald maples and firs. But summer had come and gone, and autumn had sunk its teeth into the Wasatch Range, leaving blood-splattered foliage throughout the canyons.... The post Southbound: The Flow of Climbing Between the High Country and Desert appeared first on Wasatch Magazine.
The aspen trees had laid their leaves down for us, transforming the trail into a golden-tiled tunnel. Just a few months prior, American Fork Canyon was a pool of emerald maples and firs. But summer had come and gone, and autumn had sunk its teeth into the Wasatch Range, leaving blood-splattered foliage throughout the canyons. We rose up the gully and into the Hard Rock crag. A crisp stillness seeped from the wall. It was early enough that the sun had yet to croon its way into view, and the rock became possessive of warmth.
As I climbed the jagged, cool rock, I began thinking back to a week prior. With some friends, I had driven from the Salt Lake Valley down onto the Colorado Plateau, replacing alpine ranges with the rusted cliffs of the Grand Staircase. Having never climbed in Moab before, it was a stark contrast to what I was familiar with. While climbing along Potash Road, I met Will. Fully immersed in van life, he was traveling the country with his Jack Russell Terrier. Originally hailing from Nebraska, he told me how he came to Moab from a summer job in Jackson, seeking refuge from the winter storms that were soon to flow into the Tetons. He came to Moab with a caravan of fellow climbers and was fervent in explaining to me why sandstone climbing was worthy of the journey.
As temperatures continue to drop throughout the American West and high alpine sites replace foot traffic with snow drifts, certain desert cliffs are unlocked, leading many to venture into the vermilion sea.
From Granite to Sandstone
As he enters his final semester, I talked with geoscience student Harrison Patton about how studying geology changed the way he experiences climbing. “I would say significantly. I think a lot of climbers are learning about geology without realizing it. When you ask a person what they like to climb on, and they think about it really hard, and they’re like, ‘Oh, is it sandstone or granite?’ They’re considering things that are results of geology, whether they realize it or not. Learning about geology opens your eyes to the different details in climbing. What I got into during the pandemic, and ever since then, was going and hunting for boulders that haven’t been climbed yet. And in that specific part of the sport, knowing about geology is really helpful.”
Patton gave me some insight into the many differences between the two biomes. “The way the rock fractures. It’s generally totally different. Granite is a mass of intergrown crystals that all have grain boundaries that the rock tends to break on, and the result is that you get a lot more big, smooth shapes. You still get cracks, crimps, and holds, but just the way that they all feel is different.” He went on to say, “Sandstone is really small grains that are all pretty well cemented together. If your sandstone is good and it’s got internal bedding structures, that can turn into interesting features when you start weathering away the surface. It’s generally not a completely featureless mass of sand; it’s got some internal structure that will come out in interesting ways. There’s a boulder down in the desert that I did the first ascent of, that is a really nice slab, and all of the crimps on it are what used to be the front leading edge of a sand dune, growing and then turned into sandstone, broke off into a boulder, and rolled down the hill. Now this face has all these lines in it, from the growth and movement of that dune.”
Listening to Patton, I began to notice how these geological differences echoed the contrast I had felt climbing in both regions. Granite seems to reward precision and balance, its features born from the clean breaks between crystals. Sandstone, on the other hand, invites a different sort of reading, one tied to the ancient movement of dunes and sediment.
Wasatch Climbs
Little Hellion, Little Cottonwood Canyon, 5.9. One Pitch
Located in the infamous Hellgate Cliffs overlooking Alta Ski Area, Little Hellion rides the corner of Tower One in one graceful stroke. With two distinct sections, the first being a well-protected arete that, once overcome, opens up to the typical LCC granite slab, which is a bit runout. The crux sits somewhere in the transition between the two portions. In my opinion, this is one of the most aesthetic sport routes in the area, with the climb starting at the base of an evergreen. The roots flowed gracefully, unbroken, through the milky white granite, unperturbed by the crushing stone.
Moss Lords of the Wasatch, Big Cottonwood Canyon, 5.7. Two Pitches
This easy multipitch sport route begins tucked between two massive quartzite fins, 1000 feet above Big Cottonwood Canyon Road. The approach took us 45 minutes, up a never-ending, dry river bed. The first pitch is simple, climbing above patches of scrub oak to a two-bolt anchor. The second pitch meanders up the large face, exposing a full view of the tree-clad corridor of Big Cottonwood. This pitch is also the namesake of the route, climbing through a vertical field of velvety green moss to reach the final, overlooking ledge.
Desert Climbs
Chuckwalla Wall, St. George
“Chuckwalla Wall is possibly the most dense and diverse in difficulty sport crag I’ve ever been to. It is just outside Saint George and boasts maybe 30 or more climbs on a wall about 100 yards long. What is cool is that it basically scales in order, right to left, 5.8 to 5.13. We went there with a crew of newer climbers, and it was awesome. Very few places allow you to try a hard project and belay new climbers on routes they can do!” said Aiden Cooley, a member of the Utah climbing team.
Brown Banana, Wall Street, Moab, 5.9
Sitting across the Colorado River and bordering Potash Road, Brown Banana was the first sandstone route I had ever climbed. Even in the middle of October, the desert sun was beating down onto the road, infusing it with radiation to the point where holding onto a ledge or pocket was only bearable for a few moments. With the famous petroglyphs and dinosaur prints just down the road, the climb only enhanced the primeval feeling of the riverway.
Reflections on Seasonal Shifts
Returning from the desert to the Salt Lake basin, the contrasts between the two regions of our state became even more apparent. The stone of the Cottonwoods felt steadier and more predictable, its features shaped by long geologic timescales rather than seasonal shifts.
As winter settles into the high country and desert cliffs enter their prime, many climbers make the seasonal migration between the two. Understanding the geologic stories behind these landscapes adds another layer to that movement. Whether on a granite arete in Little Cottonwood or a shaded corner above the Colorado River, each route reflects forces far older than the sport itself. And for many, that awareness becomes part of the draw, an added dimension to the places they return to year after year.
The post Southbound: The Flow of Climbing Between the High Country and Desert appeared first on Wasatch Magazine.
