After many weeks of short sport routes at Exit 32, it was time for a change. It was a long while since our trip to Squamish, so John and I were itchin' for climbing of a more meaty variety: multipitch trad. Our destination was Leavenworth, a good distance away from Seattle. We figured we could make it there in three hours, and I wanted to get in a full day. I suggested we meet at my house at 7am.

Betsy and I were up late, and when the knock on the door came at 7am, I stumbled to answer it in my underwear. John and his friend Mike were amused at me, I think, and the torrent of jokes at my expense began. I would be continually abused throughout the day. Betsy and I headed upstairs to make breakfast and sandwiches for the day. "You guys are making breakfast! Seven AM, man!"

We picked up Chris near North Bend and continued down the road. Mike entertained us with his tales of kayaking and other assorted bullshit. We missed the turnoff for 970 and stopped at a rest area filled with Memorial Day tourists. It was a breathtaking sight: hordes of average Americans picnicing on car hoods, on their way to the recreation areas of the Pacific Northwest.

Amazingly, as we pulled into the parking lot for Castle Rock many miles later, there was only one other car already present. It was easily 11am on a mild, sunny Memorial Day weekend, and only one other party was in sight! Our luck, if not our punctuality, was outstanding. I left most of my gear in the car, since John's Backbreaking Rack of Doom would surely serve us well enough.

First stop: Jello Tower. Mike pointed out two routes around the east side of the tower, one a 5.8 crack climb (South Face) and the other a 5.5 chimney (Midway, Fred Beckey's original route of ascent at Castle Rock). Both led to the top of the tower, and Midway continued up the rock in several variations. Chris and Mike jumped on the South Face crack, while John, Betsy, and I opted for the easier chimney. It was Betsy's first day on a gear route, and her first multipitch climb, too. Our party of three climbed that day with two ropes. The second (usually me) brought up the second rope, used by the third climber. That way, we didn't have to worry about throwing down the lead rope and re-stacking it once the third got to the belay.

Climbing in the chimney was interesting, with fun stemming and pushing moves. I followed John's lead and left a couple of pieces for Betsy to clean. She grunted and swore up the pitch, cursing us for leaving any slack in the toprope. I took the next lead and tentatively tried the step across the top of the chimney. Finally, I got a good waist-level yellow Alien in and just did it. Avoiding the gaping chimney just above the ledge I stepped onto, I went far right and into a short crack system, which led to some broken face climbing, then back left into the top of the chimney I avoided. Glad to reach a roomy, flat ledge, I set up a solid anchor and brought up John and Betsy in turn.

The last pitch was easiest, and ended with some slab climbing to the top. Betsy was doing great, but still cursing any inattention we gave to pulling up the rope. Chipmunks and lizards populated the summit, where we enjoyed the sun and views of Tumwater Canyon. All the while swallows swooped around and the Wenatchee River churned below.

We walked down to the base of Canary, where Chris and Mike were waiting on a party to get through the first pitch. Canary is a classic climb on the rock, famous for a step across space to start the second pitch. We ate some lunch and got some sun, then headed back to Jello Tower to do the South Face route. John led again and had some trouble with his third placement, about 20' up. He fiddled a green Alien into place, but his arms were tired from his awkward position, and he greased off. The poorly-seated Alien popped out and he slipped down another three feet, where a Micro Camalot caught his fall. His next (and last) piece was several feet below, and probably wouldn't have been high enough to keep him off the ground if the mini-Camalot hadn't held. "Best forty dollars I ever spent," said John. I followed him and found a comfy hand jam among the chalky, greasy holds. A great climb overall, with some variety and fun moves. Betsy cruised up last and we sat again on the top of the tower.

There was still time left for one more good climb, so we headed around the corner, hoping to get on Canary. A couple of guys just beat us to it, so we looked in the guidebook and decided on Saber (5.5), starting on the right-hand end of the ledge. We started off badly, beginning the route too far right (true to the topo in Smoot's guide... ugh) on crappy rock and inducing annoying rope drag around a tiny buttress. John stopped short of the belay ledge, instead setting up a hanging belay about six feet short of a better spot. I came up next, and stupidly forgot the second rope. As I balanced on flakes and leaned into the face, John belayed Betsy up on the same rope. For some reason, I left no gear to protect the traverses, and Betsy didn't feel comfortable coming across the thin ledge to where we hung. We lowered her off on the second rope running through a three-cam anchor.

My feet were glad to get moving again as I set off traversing left to find the dihedral that continued up to the top. I couldn't get in much good gear before I was faced with a lichen-covered descending traverse with sloping handholds. Yuck. It wasn't hard climbing, but I didn't want to fall. I looked back right to see the ledge we should have belayed on, and once I was into the dihedral I could see the traverse I should have made, too. It was fast becoming a day of head-smacking idiocy for me. Climbing up a series of small ledges in the chimney, I tried to keep rope drag down, and wimped out after half a rope length, setting up a fine anchor and bringing John across and up. I should have just kept going, as the route quickly turned into fourth-class scrambling. John kicked down some small rocks as he led past me, but we both reached the top unharmed by our bumbling. Light was fading in the sky, so we ran down to our packs, where Chris, Mike, and Betsy waited patiently.

As we packed, Chris and Mike relayed some news: one of the guys who beat us to Canary had hurt his shoulder on the move out around the roof at the top of the first pitch. They had helped belay the second up to retrieve some gear. John and I dug out headlamps and we tromped back to the car before total darkness arrived: about nine-thirty. There was no stopping for food or brew this time -- our only rest before Seattle was a tour of Chris' house after we dropped him off.