High Adventure in the Santa Teresas

a ROCK CLIMBER'S

"RED ON YELLOW WILL KILL A FELLOW; RED ON BLACK CAN'T HURT JACK,"

I yell up to Dennis Cozzetti who is perched on a cliff

a hundred feet above me. We are both several hun-

dred feet off the ground, following a crack up the side

SHANGRILA DISCOVERED IN THE SANTA TERESAS

of a steep granite dome in the Santa Teresa Wilderness Area in southern Arizona. There is a red-, black-, and yellow-striped snake in the crack, and Cozzetti won't move. He's afraid it's a deadly coral snake. I remember coral snakes are rare and am pretty sure about the sequence of stripes that distinguish the coral from harmless lookalikes, so I offer the reassuring ditty. Cozzetti replies the red bands are next to the black ones and climbs past the mountain king snake. A cornucopia of natural beauty, solitude, and surprise, that is the treasure of the Santa Teresa Mountains. You can't spend it; you can't save it; you just enjoy it. For rock-climbers the bonus is an abundance of huge unclimbed granite domes. The chance to experience a first ascent of a new climbing route is rare, and the sight of literally hundreds of unclimbed routes inspired veteran backcountry climber Karl Rickson to describe this area as a climber's Shangri-la. Cozzetti had taken off from building cabins on Mount Lemmon

S H A N G R I · LA

To join photographer Marc Muench and me for a five-day climbing trip in the Teresas. Our schedules had forced us to push the envelope of weather and do the trip later than we had wanted, in mid-May, when the thermometer often soars above 100° F. here. But we were lucky. We got ideal climbing conditions: little wind and warm temperatures. Day after day, we climbed early and rested or hiked through the middle of the day, enjoying another route in the light of the setting sun.

We set up camp on a rise above a trickling creek. Beautiful rock pools set among juniper trees and grassy swales held the lass of the winter runoff. Unfortunately the water was as green as the grass, and we had to filter it before filling our canteens. Here and there, the sand glittered with the remnants of crystals gathered in years past. Nowadays it is rare to find a really good one, but the eye is constantly drawn to the sparkles. Wanting to maintain the pristine quality of the area, and leery about fire danger with the heavy underbrush, we built no campfires, relying solely on our backpacking stove.

The view from the camp was of endless climbing possibilities, but the jumble of rocks also produced confusion about where to start. Fortunately Dave Webster, who pioneered rock-climbing here in Upper Holdout Canyon, had given us some sketchy descriptions of climbs he and his friends had done. These routes bore such HIS JARRED ME OUT OF MY FEAR LONG ENOUGH TO CONTINUE UP PIECES OF ROCK SHAPED LIKE TWO-FOOT-HIGH PIANO KEYS. BUT AS I GRABBED ONE, I DISCOVERED TO MY HORROR THAT THEY FIT LOOSELY INTO THE CLIFF. IF I PULLED OUT, I WOULD FALL WITH MY TOMBSTONE IN MY ARMS.

names as Vulture Cafe, Code 4 in Produce, and Crack of the Leaping Demons, suggesting hair-raising adventure. Zorro, a 600-foot dome marked with a "Z" in cracks 200 feet high, produced excellent adventure. Fine climbing over vertical fields of golden granite brought us to a small cave lined with crystal pockets, including two linked by a little tunnel, very convenient for tying the anchor rope. But the climbing over the granite face was largely unprotected except by placing temporary devices called chocks in crystal pockets on the face. The protection was insecure, to say the least, and we entertained each other by placing the devices in novel ways: stacking two at a time to fill pockets too big to accept a standard-size chock. Also we concentrated very hard on not falling. Cozzetti says that one slip was arrested only when he dragged his cheek on the rock a real close shave.

The delight of discovery continued day after day. Topping out at the summit of 800-foot Great Wide Dome, we found a complex series of ledges with wild cherry trees flourishing. Violet-green swallows zipped past at warp speeds, crosses between Tinkerbell and F-16s. To the east was an unobstructed view of Black Rock, a looming volcanic plug guarding the east entrance to Holdout Canyon. We rappelled the rope down a nasty brush-filled gully to get to the base of the dome and our packs. But while swingingdown the side of the dome, I noticed a small hole and rappelled into it. Just as I ran out of rope, my feet came to rest on a ledge at the mouth of a cave. We explored its cool depths for a while and then continued down the gully, passing under a natural arch. Soon we encountered lowangle slabs that we downclimbed to the base.

(PRECEDING PANEL, PAGE 17) Dennis Cozzetti sorts removable anchors on a climbing rack. Proper equipment and experience, along with a respect for the terrain, help ensure a safe climb.

(BELOW) Kerry explores one of the many caves in the Santa Teresas.

(RIGHT) Cozzetti ascends the second pitch of the Great Wide Dome, an 800-foot-high climb that leads to unexpected treats, including a stand of wild cherry trees.

Not all the surprises were pleasant. On a climb called Abracadabra, I had taken the lead on the third pitch up a crack. The crack pinched off about 40 feet above the belay, and I was forced to climb up a featureless section with no handholds and no reliable protection. Worse, there was fuzzy lichen growing on the rock making the footing very slippery. Facing a long fall and certain injury, I felt the icy grip of fear. Only then did I remember that the person who had established this climb was an overly bold young man nicknamed Crater Dave by other climbers for his unfortunate habit of hitting the ground hard after falling on ascents. Somehow, he had been incredibly lucky and managed to survive to contrive the horror I was now climbing. I am old enough to be Crater Dave's father, and I couldn't help thinking how dumb I'd look if I got myself killed on one of his routes.

SHANGRI-LA

This jarred me out of my fear long enough to continue up the buttress to a horizontal band, or “dike,” in the rock about two feet thick. It was made of fragmented piec-es of rock shaped like two-foot-high piano keys. They offered handholds, but as I grabbed one I discovered to my horror that they fit loosely into the cliff. If I pulled out, I would fall with my tomb-stone in my arms.

Although I was scared nearly breathless, I managed to pull sideways on the “keys” and reach the belay. The climb contin-ued upward, but I did not. I had absolutely no interest in discovering what Crater Dave thought was a good time on the rest of this rock. We rap-pelled the route instead.

“Abra” even gave us a spanking on the descent. I had rappelled down to Cozzetti and then to the ground. Cozzetti followed, but we made a mistake about the fall line from the rappel anchor, so as he unclipped the belay anchor and stepped off the rock, he whipped around the dome like a tether ball, landing in the top of a tree in the gully. Scratched, bat-tered, and chastened, we headed for camp to lick our wounds and look for easier prey.

The trip was not all harum-scarum. Midday usually found us having a siesta around our camp set on soft sand among the sensuous boulders of the canyon. Staring at the play of light in the canyon and listening to the chorus of birds was mesmerizing, a delightful counterpoint to the tension of climbing. Hours were spent wandering the ridges, climbing over and under house-size boulders. We explored caves and marveled at the enormous red-barked madrona trees in full white bloom.

(LEFT) On Abracadabra, Kerry recalls, too late, that this route was established by an “overly bold” young climber he doesn't want to emulate. After assessing the danger, he must decide whether to continue to the summit. It is on this pitch that Dennis Cozzetti encounters a mountain king snake.

(ABOVE) Kerry ascends an unnamed pinnacle in search of a good route on which to shoot the last photographs of the day.

Most of all, we soaked in the silence and sense of isolation in the Holdout.

Remote and seldom visited, the Santa Teresa Mountains are located just southeast of the Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness Area, about 60 dirt-road miles north of Willcox. Its rugged canyons, winding among golden granite domes and boulders, are clothed in pine and manzanita, oak and yucca. Ancient alligator junipers and Arizona cypresses line the creeks. Although much of the area is at an elevation of about 4,800 feet, the south boundary is described by the spectacular Pinnacle Ridge towering above at 7,300 feet.

Bears abound here, feeding on manzanita berries and the occasional deer. Mountain lions compete for the deer. There is no recent evidence of cattle grazing in Upper Holdout Canyon, even though the area is held under a Forest Service grazing permit, “grandfathered in” when the Wilderness Area was established in 1984. The “Hold-out” moniker was acquired when local out-laws used the canyon's fastness to escape justice in the 1880s.

Several years ago, I reconnoitered the Teresas in my small plane before trying to hike to Upper Holdout Canyon. Even with aerial photographs and topographic maps, I failed in the first three attempts. The roads were confusing and in terrible shape; the trail, virtually nonexistent. The eastern approach from near Safford was not feasible STARING AT THE PLAY OF LIGHT IN THE CANYON AND LISTENING TO THE CHORUS OF BIRDS WAS MESMERIZING, A DELIGHTFUL COUNTERPOINT TO THE TENSION OF CLIMBING. HOURS WERE SPENT WANDERING RIDGES, CLIMBING OVER AND UNDER HOUSE-SIZE BOULDERS.

because access is restricted by private land. More importantly, I had been warned by friends that the hike from the east side was a bushwhack through stands of blood-thirsty manzanita and catclaw thickets, both grueling and painful.

Getting into Holdout Canyon from the west side presents its own special problems. It takes at least three and a half hours to drive from either Phoenix or Tucson. A high-clearance vehicle is required to navigate the jeep road connecting the Holdout Canyon trailhead to Aravaipa Road. The hike takes three hours, assuming you can find and follow the unsigned, vague, and bushy trail, which the Forest Service has not maintained for 50 years. In warm weather, pack at least one gallon of water per person per day.

A final note for rock-climbers: back-country climbing is not like rock-climbing at the local crag or in the climbing gym. The routes are often hard to follow and protection may be scarce. The rock is sometimes loose or covered with slippery lichen. If you are injured, a rescue will probably take a long time. If you go, vaya con Dios.

Tucson-based Bob Kerry is a writer, photographer, and trial lawyer. He has rock climbed in the United States, Canada, and Europe and is the author of Backcountry Rockclimbing in Southern Arizona. Marc Muench lives in California and has climbed extensively in the Sierras.