The wakeup call in the morning following Rebel Yell was as good as one could hope for. In a campsite with the austerity of Burgundy Col, the typical greeting is high winds or storm clouds—we lucked out with calm, clear skies and sunshine. Despite our ideal conditions, my body was in revolt. I had struggled to gain headway on recovery in the night, leaving me with an aching body and fully blocked sinuses. With a leisurely start and a slow breakfast, Bjorn had won me over enough to ignore my better judgement and submit ourselves to the rock once again.
Rampage is a fairly steep line beginning a few hundred yards downhill from Burgundy Col. Four pitches (5.7, 5.10d, 5.10c, 5.9+, respectively) of crack and dihedral climbing spits you out atop Paisano Pinnacle.
We found the route quickly and soon enough I was headed up the first pitch. Battling my cold and the rock had the climbing feeling harder than the 5.7 grade and I moved sluggishly up through cracks and a chimney to the first belay.
Bjorn made quick work of the pitch and got me set up with some jolly ranchers to occupy my mind while he worked the steep moves of pitch 2. After some grunting, cursing, a dropped chalk bag and a good whipper or two Bjorn reached a good spot for an anchor. The long belay hadn't felt like enough of a break, but I pulled on our small pack and threw myself back into the thick of it. The second pitch was a struggle for me but I still somehow managed to booty a rusty nut below the crux. I told myself to eat something as I dead-fished my way to the belay stance and collapsed.
At the base of the route Bjorn had offered to give me the lead on the second crux, but after seeing me struggle up to the belay there was little discussion that followed. What felt like an hour later I was cleaning the anchor and off once more. Wide, flaring cracks provided sloppy hand jams and I was sure that I had tapped the remainder of my energy when I arrived to the base of the final pitch.
I tried to keep my attitude positive despite my low energy and throbbing headache (courtesy of the downward spiraling cold) and began to rack up for the last pitch. We lacked wide gear to protect the off-width not far off the belay, but the climbing felt pretty secure as I locked my thigh in to the crack and slogged upward. A short, lower angle section stood between me and the summit, and after a dozen moves of crack climbing I enjoyed some long awaited rest.
Bjorn and I took in the summit views for a while as we ate some food and talked about our options. I was toast—all I knew was that I was not ready for another day of hard climbing. We decided to call it and after a couple of rappels we were packing up our camp and heading down.
The hike out was hot, dry, and ripe with mosquitos. Bjorn's van came back into immediate view around 945pm, but not before we stopped for a cold rinse in the creek. The van offered clean, dry clothes, water, and the end of our would-be sufferfest. While the views were epic and the climbing incredible—I might opt for a recovery day next time around.
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