(The climb was close to, but not connected to, Monkey Face -- either the back side or the front side. Some years ago I climbed a route on the front side. The only way we could ever get up the back side would be with a rocket engine up our bum. -- The pictures of Monkey Face are irrelevant to this blog, but I think it's an interesting formation.)
The approach hike to the climb really took a toll on us. It was down into the gorge of Crooked River, up the aptly named Misery Ridge. Down the backside of Misery Ridge, up the climb. Back down to the base of the climb to get our stuff. By that time we weren't interested in re-ascending Misery Ridge (front side or back) so we descended clear down to the river and did the three or four mile hike along the river to get back to the car -- not forgetting the climb to reverse the original descent to the river. I'd say it knocked the stuffing out of me, but part of the problem is the too much stuffing still in me.
Anyway, Bob led off the first pitch which to our mind was notably harder than advertised. I did the second which was supposed to be the hardest pitch and which was, again, notably harder than advertised -- it was as much as I was ready to deal with. Bob started the third (a traverse) and after a lot of difficulty communicating (out of sight, a traverse, and wind) reached a point where he didn't want to continue. He reversed the pitch (I had largely lost my "eye of the tiger" and didn't want to try it myself) and we then exited the climb via a short easy pitch.
It was a longish hike with a hard middle section and a bit of climbing thrown in.
During the hike I noticed that many of the young people we met addressed me as "sir", which was nice and certainly polite. Much more polite than what they really meant: "OMG. Look at that geezer on crutches." (I have a bad knee and use crutches when walking any distance)*
On the drive back to Portland I commented on the "sirs" to Bob.
Bob: "Well, if you'd shave that stupid beard and dye your hair, you'd look ten years younger."
"Maybe so, but this way it looks like I have a child bride."
"Yeah, and poor (dw) is married to an old geezer."
Later in the drive I commented on how tired I was and said I was glad I wouldn't be doing much of the driving on our trip -- (dw and I --leaving tomorrow) -- to the Tetons. Bob: "So you're going to let The Deerslayer drive?" -- referring to an earlier trip that started out with dw smooshing Bambi's Brother.
* --- I use elbow, or Canadian crutches. Invented in Canada I guess. In any case small recompense for all the honking, befowling (sic) geese they keep sending south.
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