I have already posted several albums covering my California adventures from 2002 but these postdate my best rock climbing years during a quarter century on the east coast from 1975 to 2000 in the famous Shawangunks. During that golden period there were several off years attending to work, family, job change and relocation, but the Gunks always drew me back before I was finally transferred to the west coast. My most active periods were from 1975 to1978, after leaving Australia, then from 1986 to1988 before being transferred to Japan. My final visits were in 1999 and 2000 to introduce my Son to the area before it became overwhelmed by crowds and lost some of its charm.
The linked photos are scanned Kodachromes from my archive before the dawn of the digital age. Usually I was too busy engaged in climbing to have much time for photography or tolerate a bulky camera cluttering up my gear loop. It was bad enough we had to drag up our approach shoes! However the best climbing camera I used was the compact folding Contax T by Kyocera with a superb Zeiss lens, but it eventually developed some circuit problem that could never be fixed. The Contax T has a cult following to this day. The random images here may not be technically and aesthetically great but they span several decades to reveal changing styles, fashion and fitness levels that some may find interesting. Without further preamble here is the PICTURE link =>
The more complete story follows:
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I first came to the US ironically on Australia Day, 1975 lured by a prestigious Post-doctoral appointment at the famous Bell Laboratories in Murray Hill, NJ. This was still the golden age of Bell Labs well before their breakup and dilution within Alcatel-Lucent. Back then I was a naive bush boy from the Queensland outback, rough around the edges like some Rockodile Dundee whose suffering from home sickness, culture and climate shock could only be assuaged by immersion in climbing. Fortunately the magnificent Shawangunks were less than a two-hour drive away from our quaint apartment in Summit so I eagerly began regular weekend pilgrimages as soon as weather allowed.
My first mentor was Jack (John) Arthur who was a member of the Bell Labs Outing Club that included an informal climbing group. Jack was a friendly, burly guy who introduced me to the proper people and places. First I established my credentials by giving a slide show on Australian climbing at the Labs during a lunch gathering of the Outing Club. Often we would sneak off early from our research and intellectual endeavors to sample local climbing at Seeley’s Pond in the Watchung Reservation just off Route 22. I was impressed by big icicles hanging down the cliff in Winter then more so by the strenuous pump the overhanging basalt wall provided. Alas, climbing was banned there many years later.
The Shawangunks, more fondly known to its devotees as The Gunks, are located above the college town of New Paltz in lower New York State, just west of Poughkeepsie on the Hudson River. My first visit there was with Jack on April 19, 1975 and at first sight I wasn’t too impressed by the long band of gleaming white quartzite that seemed a bit vegetated and broken. Back in those days finding a parking space on the weekend was trivial and you could even throw up a tent to camp overnight in the small wooded lot just before the Trapps Bridge. The famous bearded Ranger Tom Scheurer presided to dispense day permits from the back of his small pickup under the Uberfall. Our typical commute time from Summit was around an hour and half each way, as long as our aged VW beetle could sustain freeway speeds. An Elton John tape helped soothe the journey with favorites like “Tiny Dancer” or “Madman Across the Water.” Times have certainly changed.
The Gunks had a strict clean-climbing ethic forbidding pitons and bolts, except for the few historic relics allowed by consensus. The key piton on the lip of Fat City is one good example. Active camming devices like Friends had yet to appear so many leads at the Gunks were quite sporty, as most cracks were horizontal and demanded a more ingenious approach with passive protection. Thus my array of clanking tube chocks proved useless, more suited to wide vertical cracks I specialized in at Frog Buttress, one of the world's premier destinations for this unique style of climbing.
Naturally then I was first drawn to Inverted Layback with its awkward off-width start as Jack introduced me to various lines in the Near Trapps, and foolishly decided this would be a good warmup. I cruised the off width (it gave me more trouble many years later) then got horribly spooked by the 5.9 layback crux that was indeed inverted and very committing. No way, so down I came and allowed Jack the sharp end up the more mellow classic Disneyland nearby. I soon learned not to be deceived by the easy angle of the cliff as tiers of overhangs provided a formidable barrier between more slabby walls. Fresh from jam cracks I was intimidated by these beetling ceilings connected by powerful, fingery face climbing. Fortunately the white quartzite conglomerate is perfect and one rarely had to worry about loose holds.
Jack soon introduced me to the legendary John Stannard whom he knew professionally. Stannard was a Physicist at the Naval Research Labs in Maryland and would drive up most weekends in a tiny Honda Civic. He was a laconic purist whose efforts consolidated the Gunks as the east coast haven for traditional adventure climbing. John's persistence to free all aid lines pushed grades into the 5.12's, although at the time he refrained from considering anything harder than 5.10! I collected all editions of John's publication "Eastern Trade" where the clean ethic, both on and off the cliff, was clearly promoted.
I first met up with John a week later on April 26, 1975 at the famed New Paltz Diner and he kindly offered to show me around some of the easier classics, even though he was not so impressed with this Australian's unintelligible accent and colloquialisms. Additionally my performance on the rock left some locals askance as I approached every problem as an exercise in jamming, given my proficiency in crack climbing. This focus was forcibly brought home when John allowed me the sharp end on the famous Shockley’s Ceiling and I turned a simple 5.6 crux over the ceiling into an epic 5.10 jam move! John refrained from commenting on my peculiar style at the time and later went on to be a major influence by example. I redeemed myself in his eyes on the intimidating Fat City and strenuous direct finish to Outer Space. Then a few months later my crack climbing ability was vindicated on Low Exposure that was my first 5.11 at the Gunks.
My expertise in the Gunks was honed from 1975 through 1978 when I rapidly adjusted to the rock, grading (quite conservative) and protection, or more properly lack thereof. During these years I worked up to leading many of the great 5.9 and 5.10 climbs in good style without prior knowledge. This lack of local information caused some consternation as my most thoughtful leads were the technically easier second pitches of Criss Cross and Bird Cage that were rarely repeated for reasons I later discovered. I found no runners at all on P2 of Bird Cage that ended up being a dangerous 5.7 X. Fortunately Doug Randall was very solid in the grade so we made a safe team for such scary terrain. Other partners during this period were his brother Mike, Doug Auld and my Bell Labs colleagues Robert Romestain, Vic Benes and Neil Sloane.
Around this time we took up cross-country skiing coached by Vic and Carol, also members of the Bell Labs Outing Club, and would practice on the trails winding through Jockey Hollow near Mendham. Cross-country skiing was a delightful novelty for us Australians with such an exhilarating workout we eagerly joined Club trips farther afield to the Gunks and Adirondaks. Once we stayed overnight in the decrepit old Lake Minnewaska Cliff House that exuded a spooky atmosphere from a bygone era. The hotel barely kept up a facade of operations with a few functional rooms that struggled to keep the elements at bay. Even now I have flashbacks to that hotel should I rewatch “The Shining” - Stanley Kubricks masterpiece of horror!
Neil is a highly regarded mathematician and also graduate from Australia. We collaborated later on a research paper about polymer sequence statistics. One surprisingly gripping climb we did together was the Art Gran and Dick Williams '65 classic Silhouette. The grade was reasonable enough but it took some nerve to start by traversing over instant exposure without any protection. A lovely pitch of crack climbing followed to the GT ledge.
Another memorable partner was George Harrison, a most genial and funny Brit (not the Beatle), whom I knew from Australia. He bivouacked briefly with us in Summit then accompanied me enthusiastically to the Gunks for a two-day feast on the classics. We sampled Shockley's Ceiling, Classic, Horseman, Directissima, High Exposure, Dirty Gerdie, Garbage Can, Handy Andy, Keyhole, Rhododendron and Cascading Crystal Kaleidoscope. George almost distinguished himself on Directissima by throwing up on the pumpy traverse after a late night searching for his "spoonj" (foam mattress) through a haze induced by hearty English ale.
Sometimes I'd drive up alone to connect with other climbers at the Uberfall meeting spot like Ivan Rezucha, Spaff Ackerly, Romuald Houdre and Brian Mahon. Ivan and Spaff are well known luminaries in Gunks history, while others were just passing through. Even so, Romuald was a suave French physicist who gave excellent encouragement on the sustained test piece Stirrup Trouble then cheerfully removed wired stoppers jammed in the most strenuous of positions.
A big change came in 1978 when we moved from the Summit apartment to the quaint rural village of Califon in the central western half of New Jersey near the border of Morris and Hunterdon Counties. We bought a house and started a family so climbing took a back seat to these new responsibilities and lay dormant for a while. Occasionally I'd potter around on local crags at Waterloo in Allamuchy or various outcrops in Jenny Jump.
Then a classic mid-life crisis propelled me back into the fray with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. I devised a strict training regimen based on running and biking for aerobic endurance and free weights for strength and power. I was well ahead of the fitness craze and industry so climbing gyms were still rare and I improvised my own wall in the basement.
This dedication ensured my best technical climbing years were from 1986 to 1988 when fitness and experience peaked synchronously. My resurgence into climbing was aided by Jacques Hauser, a dear friend from Bell Labs whose wit, intellect and enthusiasm closely matched my own. He too was adrift in a cultural wasteland and we made a good support group. Sad to say I've lost touch with Jacques after he retired back to his beloved Chamonix so I raise a glass of fine wine in the remote possibility he reads this. Afterwards I'd connect with Seeleys Pond regulars like John McEldowney, Jock van Patten, Doug Auld or Doug Allcock to arrange the coming weekend Gunks outing.
Ed Zimmerer then provided motivation to excel after I met him by chance along with Herb and Lorry Gaidus when they were on an adjacent climb. We soon discovered a common bond based on age, ambition and ability. We both trained like maniacs and engaged in friendly competition. Sometimes we became too focused on top roping extreme climbs for technical difficulty alone rather than developing the head space for sporting leads. Most days we'd run top rope laps on extremes like To Be or Not to Be or To Have or Have Not but this paid dividends later on committing leads like Erect Direction, Yellow Wall, Scary Area, Crash and Burn and a host of others.
The experience showed during a brief return to Australia in 1987 when I cruised challenging routes selected for me by Rick White at Frog Buttress. Then I finally achieved my ultimate Gunks goals, the outrageous Foops at Skytop, before the area was deemed off limits, followed by Persistence at Lost City. Both are signature routes of John Stannard and a rite of passage for hard-core Gunks aspirants. After that my zeal mellowed, particularly as over training provoked tendon injuries and lowered immunity to colds and flu that plagued me through the season.
Besides, I discovered top roping was not always such a safe option. One of my most harrowing experiences was at the hands of the late Jack Mileski who offered me a lap on his setup over Reign of Terror (aptly named as it turned out) at Skytop. He was using a retired single 8.8mm rope with the core showing in several spots so I was hesitant to accept. Jack seemed comfortable enough I acquiesced and sallied forth over the initial back-breaking overhang. All went smoothly until I reached the anchor that was a forlorn, single #2 Friend wiggling in a shallow pocket. It was so used the lobes were bare of teeth! Naturally then I weighted the system gingerly for the lower but to no avail as I almost reached terminal velocity with massive rope stretch and slack. Perhaps Jack thought I might enjoy some improvised bungee jumping as I slumped to the ground completely unnerved. The final straw was to find him languidly reclining in a fog of dope smoke advising me to chill out. Jack was quite the character and fun to be around.
This mid-life climbing era wound down with my fortieth birthday being celebrated near the Casa Emilio block down at the Sleepy Hollow end of The Trapps. We made early TR repeats with Mike Siacca, Morrie and Ed of (No) Strings Attached and some wild overhanging arete to the left. Meanwhile, my kids were being entertained and inducted into the tenets of Capitalism by top roping the start to Casablanca after I stuck a $1 note in the eye of the first pin! Afterwards, we retired to the Conca D'oro in New Paltz and relished a lusty Italian dinner. It was a bitter-sweet affair as I bade farewell to impetuous youth.
In all I must have sampled over 150 great classics at The Gunks, and the only area I never visited was the remote and forbidding Millbrook that had access issues. Most Gunks climbs still hold their own special memory. I took several thrilling lead falls, unintentional of course, followed some scary traverses and indulged in uninhibited bouldering after being fortified with an ale or two from the famous Mountain Brauhaus in Gardiner. Bouldering pads were nonexistent then so it was safer to be in a relaxed state. Perhaps I should have listened more to Jack Mileski?
I met some great people and notable climbers like Kevin and Barbara Bein, Steve Wunsch, Russ Raffa, Jack Mileski, Tim Toula, John Bercaw, Scott Franklin, Paul Pomerantz, Jason Stern, Bill Ravitch, Mike Freeman, Mike Siacca, "Jersey" Jeff Gruenberg, Dick Williams and others whose names escape me now. If there's one special memory that epitomizes my experience best it was at the pine-tree belay on Land of Milk and Honey. I had just done an impeccable on-sight lead, the Fall colors were peaking in the valley under a brilliant blue sky, it was a balmy no-shirts day and these propitious circumstances harmonized briefly like a reverent Bach chord.
All good things come to an end. I resigned from Bell Labs in 1988 when the writing was on the wall after the breakup of the Bell System and took a new job closer to home in Hackettstown. Another and even greater culture shock was in store as I worked for a Japanese company developing new materials for the photocopy and printing business. Soon my family and I were posted to Japan for three years where I continued at the Central Research Laboratory in Yokohama. The stress of Japanese salary-man life soon made me pine for the Land of Milk and Honey. After repatriation I was transferred to Virginia Beach, far away from any decent rocks, and kept in shape at the local rock gym and on occasional trips to Stone Mountain, Caderock, Seneca and the Blue Mountains in Australia. My last trips to the Gunks were in 1999 and 2000 to pass on my treasured experiences there to my Son.
I have since lost touch with all my east coast climbing friends. Quite coincidentally, John Stannard retired in Santa Barbara so I arranged a meeting in July 2008 while we were living there. We hiked together in the foothills above Gibraltar Rock but never really yarned much about the good old days. Curt Shannon once confided I had established a dubious reputation as that poor Australian who got terrorized following John at the Gunks. So at least I wasn't quite the Mr. Nobody back then, 8 years before Sydney climber Mike Law (The Claw) properly upheld the Flag with his charmingly named Burning Babies in the Near Trapps.
