Finding Courage in the Rocks

The rock juts about 25 feet into the air, though to 9-year-old Ashley Reade, it soars as high as the Empire State Building. Fear and determination settle on her freckled face. She toys with her climbing harness once more to make sure it holds securely. Ashley is top roping, which means the rope attached to her harness loops through a chain bolted to the top of the route. Her father, Brian Reade, belays her at the other end of the rope. He will take out the slack as she goes, so she can never fall more than a few inches. “OK,” she says faintly. “Climbing.” Her arm and leg muscles flex as she takes a few tentative ballet steps, as if dancing up some tiny, invisible ladder. She’s doing fine — until she looks down. Ashley may be only 2 feet off the ground, but in her mind she’s already on top of the world's tallest building. She clings to the wall, shaking and silent.

Her sisters and parents offer encourage-ment. "Come on, Ashley. You can do it! Trust your feet!"

She thinks about her climb for a few minutes, peering up at the rock and then back down to the ground. "I want to come down," she announces.

"That's OK," Brian says. "You can come down." He lets the rope out slightly, and down she clambers, tears of frustration welling in her eyes.

"Hey, you did a good job for your first time out," he says. She shakes her head.

Climbing is not so much about brute strength as it is facing your fears. When you confront fear head-on, you're on top of the world, or at least of your route. And when you don't, you want to crawl under a rock.

We have gathered in the Queen Creek Canyon area 4 miles east of Superior in Tonto National Forest, an hours drive east of metropolitan Phoenix, for a weekend of climbing and camping. Two of our group-my husband, Matthias, and photographer Peter Noebels -have climbed for more than a decade. Brian and I have a little experience under our climbing belts, but his 12-year-old daughter, Alia, and her 13-year-old friend, Julia, already outclass us. The two youngest, Ashley and Amber, 7, have climbed only in the Phoenix Rock Gym. Their mother, Kim, came along to keep an eye on all of us.

We'll be lucky to climb a half-dozen of Queen Creek Canyon's 650 come-hither routes today because we have such a large group. The region's approximately 20 acres feature nine climbing areas, most on public land, whose routes have been mapped and bolted for safety. Their difficulty ratings, in climbing terminology, range from easy 5.5s to daunting 5.13s suitable only for experts. The area attracts visitors from around the world, including approximately 600 climbers who converge here each spring to compete in the Phoenix Bouldering Contest, the largest bouldering competition in the country.

Most "rock jocks" probably don't realize that the geology making our climbs possible was the basis for the region's mining industry. The superstructure of Shaft No. 9, the hoist mechanism for reaching the underground mining operations, rises like the Eiffel Tower over the horizon. If you descended several thousand feet beneath the earth, as Stu Herkenhoff did once, you'd discover that the ancient volcanic magma, which sometimes still stirs, causes the subterranean rock temperature to rise above 135 degrees in places. Herkenhoff, a mineral management specialist with the Forest Service, says that although BHP Copper closed its mine in 1998, a significant body of copper ore still remains beneath our rocky playground.

This morning, we climb the short routes in the old Magma Mine area that present perfect puzzles for beginning climbers. The volcanic dacite rocks, the color of caramel, offer subtle inclines and a usable mix of fissures and nubs by which to secure toes and fingers. The lunaresque rock domes, scattered over a half-mile spread, inspire our imaginations. The giggling girls point out two rocks, the size of Volkswagen Beetles, that look like Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head poised to kiss. The smoochers cradle a giant stone baby between them.

Our noisy group seems to be the only climbers. That suits Amber. She doesn't want to be crowded on her first climb, even by her oldest sister, who tackles an adjoining route. "I'm not going to climb if you keep pinchingme," she protests, while her father helps her don her harness.

With her dark hair peeking from beneath her helmet like a wispy tail, Amber takes her first unsteady steps along the rock face, looking like a baby mountain goat learning to walk. A few feet off the ground, she lets go of the rock to test the rope. Reassured, she practically bounds up the cliff, chanting a mantra: "Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh." Her hands flit over the rock face, seeking and sampling possible handholds. Two-thirds of the way up, she finds Alias foot in her path.

"Move it, get out of my way," she howls at Alia. "I need that handhold."

She reaches the top, literally hot on Alia's heels. She looks down and her mouth makes a startled "O" at how high she is. "Ohmygosh," she crows. "That was fun."

Her little sister's success makes Ashley feel worse. She sits apart from the group, with her head in hands.

I know how she feels. I was the kid who would never climb to the top of the hay-mow. During a family vacation, when I was 4, it took my family three hours to convince me to go up in the St. Louis Arch, and I screamed the whole way. The palms of my hands still sweat every time I fly in an airplane. I feel uncomfortable climbing near serious rock climbers because I never know whether I'll actually go up a route or simply babble in terror.

I sit beside Ashley and tell her about my first climb in Queen Creek. I had accidentally swung from my route into another one, then clipped a too-long safety strap into a bolt above an overhang to rest. When I tried to unclip to descend, I could not reach the bolt. I had given myself a pep talk and pushed, but my spent legs quivered like gelatin and my fingers lost purchase on the rock, inches short.

Ashley laughs.

"It gets worse," I tell her. When I had scrabbled at the wall in overturned beetle fashion, a couple with two young boys had stopped to watch. Though 30-something, I am small for my age, and they mistook my predicament for an opportunity to encourage their sons to take up the sport. "See, there's a little girl climbing," they told their boys. "If she can do it, you can too." Afterthey had left, Matthias climbed up to rescue me.

Push your girl-power button'*

I hope my confession makes Ashley feel better. Pretty soon, she'll climb better than I ever will. Kids have a greater muscle-toweight ratio and take to climbing readily.

Alia and Julia already proved this. During one of their first outings, two military guys had peppered them with unsolicited advice. However, the critics themselves struggled on the challenging "Ride the Wild" route, just outside the wash in an area known to rock climbers as the Lower Looner Land grouping, a 60-foot intermediate tour that requires climbers to negotiate a sharp vertical ridge with several tricky bulges and passages with microscopic handholds.

One climber never even reached the top. After my husband put the rope up the same route, the girls had zipped through the climb. The self-proclaimed "experts" looked suitably abashed. The girls joined me in the shade and smirked. "We showed them, didn't we?" Alia whispered. "We pushed our girl-power buttons."

The girls love to compete. Yesterday, we saw which one could hold her breath the longest as we drove through the U.S. Route 60 tunnel that penetrates the stone fortress guarding Queen Creek Canyon. Then a cutthroat game of hide-and-seek topped the evening's agenda, as the girls flitted like bats around the rocks and cacti of Oak Flat Campground, bouncing sonar squeals off each other.

A real bat, hunting for insects, looped briefly by. Perhaps it lived in one of Queen Creek's 80 defunct mining structures that BHP Copper and Bat Conservation International have people-proofed and made wildlife friendly. The bat could have been one of four local species: a Western big-eared bat, a big brown bat, a Western pipistrelle or a fringed myotis. None of us could tell the difference.

After we set up our tents at Oak Flat Campground and cooked supper over open flames, we told ghost stories around the campfire. The girls told classic gross yarns, such as "Ghost With the Bloody Fingers," and Brian made us jumpy with a ravenous monster he dubbed the "Hideybehind."

I wonder if real ghosts haunt Queen Creek Canyon. In the 1870s, according to Indian oral tradition, soldiers garrisoned at nearby Picketpost drove a band of Apache men over the cliffs above Superior. The dark, translucent obsidian marbles found in caves west of town are said to have formed from the tears of grieving Apache women and hence are dubbed "Apache Tears." A rocky trail to the foot of Apache Leap apparently offers access to some nice climbs, but visiting the scene of a massacre, real or legendary, unsettles me, so we have never climbed there.

The girls seemed more worried about things that went bump in the night than their upcoming climbing challenge.

After having heard them giggle and talk into the night in their nearby tent, I wonder how they have so much energy today.

The rocks broil as the sun rises higher in the sky, but we want to climb one more route before we break for lunch. Afterward, we adult climbers will tackle some routes in the upper Devils Canyon area, where the climbs are taller and more intimidating, at least to me, but the towering walls themselves provide ample shade. In the meantime, an intermittent breeze provides some relief.

We choose another beginner's route, which the girls eye with interest. The promise of an ice-cream treat motivates Julia and Alia, while Amber seems to be well on her way to becoming an adrenaline junkie. Ashley changes her mind several times.

"That's OK," her father assures her. "We'll just go to the gym, and you can climb there. Nothing wrong with that."

After Amber scampers up this climb, Ashley issues her final verdict. "OK," she says. "I want to try it." But she sets her own goal: She'll climb until she reaches some yellow flowers growing halfway up the wall.

This time, the route looms no higher than the roof of a ranch-style home, which bolsters Ashley's confidence. She again hesitates after she has climbed 2 feet, crying the climber's common lament: "Where did you get up here? I can't find any handholds."

This time, she doesn't look down, but concentrates on solving the climbing puzzle. She inches closer to the flowers, while we hold our breath and lean in to help her. What's at stake today is her pride, but if she can clasp her newfound courage to her heart, then just about anything will seem assailable.

"Push your girl-power button," her father calls to her.

The last part of the climb is always the hardest because every inch seems like a mile, and your destination teeters at the edge of the world. Ashley tentatively reaches out to touch the flowers, balancing her 69 pounds on rock ledges the width of Popsicle sticks. When her hand makes contact, we cheer. A look of disbelief crosses her face, followed quickly by a grin. Ashley has overcome her fears and rightfully earned her ice cream trophy.

humas beat strokes

"Hospitals can work miracles. They can turn an ordinary Band-Aid into a $6.75 item on your bill." * IF VULTURES COULD GET LAW DEGREES "See, technically we're not forcing him to eat the poison carrot; therefore, we have not broken the law of our species."

Early Arizona golf courses used oiled sand instead of grass. It made the game a lot faster. You'd tee off on the first hole and the ball would slide all the way t o the 18th.

Unusual Perspective

By Linda Perret

CRIMINAL SPEED

A young cowboy from an Arizona border town was arrested for bigamy. He had a wife in Phoenix, one in Tucson and another in Mexico. A judge asked him, "How could you do such a thing?" "Well," replied the bigamist, "I do have a pretty fast horse."

WRANGLER TRAINING

As we hiked into Indian Garden on the way out of the Grand Canyon, a string of mules came in on the Bright Angel Trail. Most of our group sat and rested before continuing out of the Canyon. My 12-year-old daughter and I wandered over to chat with the wrangler. After talking about the dusty trail, my daughter asked, "What is required to become a wrangler?" "Well, Morgan," he replied, "it's like this. You have to sit straight on your mule. Then we'll send you and your

DE-LIGHTFUL LANGUAGE

Years ago a school teacher asked that everyone in English class make a sentence with the words "defense," "defeat" and "detail" in it. She read the completed sentences to the class. One student had written, "De cow jumped over de fence, de feet before de tail."

TRUTH IN LABELING

My wife, Lynne, and I recently spent a memorable week as guests at a working ranch in southeast Arizona. Shortly after sunrise one morning, just as she was going to mount up, Lynne From the Witworks humor book HMOs, Home Remedies & Other Medical Jokes by Linda Perret. To order, call toll-free (800) 543-5432 or visit arizonahighways.com.

EARLY-DAY ARIZONA

Tramp: "Yes, lady, there was a time when I had money to burn. And I burned it." Lady: "And what did you burn it with?" Tramp: "With an old flame of mine."

string of mules on the South Kaibab Trail hauling supplies to Phantom Ranch. After you unload the supplies, we'll give you a bag of marbles and send you back up the trail. As you cross the Kaibab Bridge, you toss a marble into the Colorado River. Then when you get to Panorama Point, you toss out another marble over the edge. When you get to The Tipoff, The Red and Whites, Skeleton Point, Mormon Flats, Cedar Ridge and The Chimney, you toss a marble out at each of those places, too. You're qualified when you are back on the South Rim, and you've lost all of your marbles."

Asked the young wrangler the name of the horse she was about to ride. "Oh, we call him 'Dub'," he said dryly. Then, after a perfectly timed pause, the cowboy added, "We used to call him 'Widow Maker, but that tended to spook the guests."

FRIENDLY QUESTION

An elderly Eastern motorist and his wife driving through Arizona on vacation saw a horseman riding alongside the road and stopped to ask if he were a real cowboy. The man answered, "Yes." "We recognize your hat, shirt, leather vest and Levi's as authentic Western wear," the motorist said, "but why are you wearing tennis shoes?" "Because if I wore boots people would think I was a truck driver," he replied.

Send your jokes and humorous Arizona anecdotes to Humor, Arizona Highways, 2039 W. Lewis Ave., Phoenix, AZ 85009 or e-mail us at [email protected]. We'll pay $50 for each item used. Please include your name, address and telephone number with each submission.

TO SUBMIT HUMOR Reader's Corner

A typical menu for a roadrunner is grasshoppers, scorpions, sowbugs, caterpillars, lizards, spiders, worms, moths, snakes, mice and Pepto-Bismol.

This month's joke category is roadrunners. Send us your roadrunner jokes, and we'll pay $50 for each one we use.