We'd posted a few old videos and images of late featuring our buddy Rob Goodman. Ironically, Rob up and passed away last weekend after a somewhat rapid illness. Totally unexpected by us.
A bit of fond remembrance. Most images we may have posted previously:
Our boy, summit of Seneca Rocks, WV
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New River Gorge, '84 - '85
Rob (lookin' for a fight): "You think I'm a 'woodland faerie' wearin' these tights, don't ya'!!"
Me: "Yea"
We had made some exploratory trips into the New River Gorge, WV. This was initially around '84 and following a cover article in Climbing Magazine extolling the then seemingly endless climbing potential. We had prior connected with local NRG climber Bruce Burgin, referenced as contact in the article. Burgin responded with some hand drawn area mapping including established climbing routes. Think less than fifty - nowhere near the over thousand listed in the many guidebook editions available today. We made an initial trip, found and climbed a few of the mapped routes, explored around a bit, and left impressed with the area and potential, as advertised.
Our interest was later further piqued from several conversations we had with local climbing hero Cal Swoager, while climbing at (Derry) High Rocks, PA. Cal had been involved in a bit of the current route development. He described a few new areas he was working, recent ascents, and alluded to the potential of a multitude of untouched splitter hand cracks, long layback corner cracks and roofs. Following his directions, our second weekend trip down we climbed what were probably the second ascents of both Leave It To Jesus and Team Jesus, recent ascents by Swoager, both led by Rob. On the negative end, we were caught in a heavy regional rain system and spent the remainder of the weekend socked inside a soaking wet tent in a claustrophobic mud patch in the woods.
I personally made two more weekend trips with Rob. Both times we climbed a few undocumented routes which were most probably first ascents - one a very cool dihedral which was as good as it gets. Alas, the second of the two trips we again spent the majority of the weekend tent bound in the rain soaked mud patch. That was enough for me. Considering the distance from home, that was a bit too much commitment and effort for single pitch climbing and persnickety weather. And there was plenty similar climbing, albeit on a bit smaller volume and scale, within minutes of the home front door. And we still preferred big sky Seneca Rocks.
The book, Big Wall Climbing (Doug Scott, 1974) was pretty much our personal standard reference. Frolicking around in pastel tights (still haven't fathomed that trend) deep in the heart of heavy coal and timber industry West Virginia was a bit of a contrast to the image of British climber Rusty Baillie anchored high on Norway's highly exposed Troll Wall, working ropes, cigarette dangling from his lip. To over-romanticize a bit, we looked at climbing as serious exploration. Guys like Brits Tony Howard and Leo Dickinson. Flying hot air balloons over Everest. Trekking into foreign lands with exotic named areas like Wadi Rum and Baintha Brakk (aka: The Ogre) in search of unclimbed several thousand foot walls and peaks. Into the mountains of madness. Scott himself with a harrowing descent from the Ogre with two broken legs. There be dragons. Modern day Ulysses and Sinbad the Sailor. Men who would be king. Never once saw 'em in flashy tights.
Rob persevered onward. He linked up with a few other sequential partners. Always with issues. He them found a steady girlfriend who climbed and would commit to the frequent journey south. Problem was, the area was gettin' more popular every weekend. A group social gathering vibe was becoming the norm (and with climbing in general). A few of Rob's earlier ascents were claimed as first by others - some after the addition of a few protection bolts. That included our dihedral, which has since been listed as a "classic". The final straw was when his girlfriend ran off with another spandex tight-clad climber. Don't think he'd been back there since except to maybe hike around. Never asked 'em. Such is life.
A few early images - Goodman at NRG:
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Bellefonte Quarry, '80's
The Soloist
We're layin' back catchin' some rays while lounging on some large breakdown boulders along the edge of the quarry pool. Always clear aqua-blue water. Said to be over 100ft deep - supposedly confirmed by scuba divers. The pool formed when the open pit limestone mine struck an artesian aquifer during mining operations. Hit a gusher resulting in the pit filling to its current level within hours. The operators didn't even have time to evacuate some heavy equipment, said to remain on the bottom to this day. At least that's what the locals told us.
We're viewing the length of the north facing, east-west striking quarry wall from opposite side of the pool. From approximate wall mid-length, extending east, is the real climbing. A couple classic "western-style" splitter cracks, large flakes formed along detached vertical fractures within the limestone bedding which itself separates like stacked dinner plates. All etched in a steep angled, near vertical billiard table top slab. The western wall length is a bit more broken (as we recall, been many years) and more featured regarding hand and foot holds, and not as dramatic. Was referred to as the "Beginner Wall" by several locals we initially ran into. We scoped it out but had to agree - never really messed around on it. Still, it's no walk up.
"Hey, there's someone up there" I mention to Rob after I spot a climber about 3/4 way up the most obvious line on the 80ft Beginner Wall. First other soul we saw all day and it's mid-afternoon. We're watchin' his progress - movin' slow and deliberate. Rob, suddenly posturing to upright, exclaims "He's not roped up." He's focused on the climber like a hawk now. A lengthy pause and Rob now shouts to the guy "YOU'RE GETTIN' PRETTY HIGH THERE FELLA - THAT'S PRETTY DANGEROUS!" I'm now thinkin' "Aw f*k, here we go." The guy shouts somethin' back. Rob shouts somethin' back. The guy shouts somethin' back. Now we've got a 300ft cross-quarry shoutin' match goin' on, with one guy danglin' from fingertips 70ft up a stone wall, unprotected. "Rob - will you shut the f*k up and let the guy climb on - you're breakin' his concentration - you're gonna' make 'em fall off the f*k'n wall!!!" For a moment Rob's silenced and the guy continues moving up the wall. He does a mantle finish and is now standing atop the wall. Rob gotta' get in a last shout, YOU'RE LUCKY!!".
A bit later we're ropin' up at the base of Coleman's Crack, which we've climbed a dozen times over the course of our visits. Here comes the "soloist" strolling over our direction. He stops. Never mentions the shouting match. Rob just glaring, waiting for a comment to set him off. The guy gestures toward the upper height of the route, "Hey, I had to bail on that route yesterday - I left a piece (small stopper) higher up - could you guys grab it for me - it's really wedged in there, though." "Sure, no problem" I reply. The guy strolls off. He's a bit unique looking to say the least - mullet-style hair with twin lightening bolts etched either side in the close-cropped sidewalls.
About sixty-five feet of climbing and I get to the wedged bail stopper - a fairly small wire. It lifts right out. Zero effort. I wonder, "Why couldn't he retrieve it initially?" The only thing I could figure was that the guy was rope soloing and bailed about 15ft from the top for some reason. No point for a second to leave the nut. Never saw the guy after that. Later, inquired around to other climbers, "Oh, that's Rick (Rick Mix - a local climber we learned later) - he climbs around here by himself all the time".
Rob held on to the stopper as he was occasionally goin' to the quarry, in between our visits, with a girl he met up there. Never ran into Mix again. Sure that Rob has had the piece to this day.
Goodman at Bellefonte Quarry:
Dismal World Left
Colemans Crack
Bouldering Wall
Flyin' Blind
There's a second quarry, named the Dark Star quarry, adjacent the main quarry. We knew that strongman eastern PA climber, Eric Horst, had ventured into there and put up a few super hard routes. After a day of climbing at the regular quarry we decided to hike over and try to find it. Still lots of daylight left. And, "It's only supposed to be right over there." After a bit of bushwalking we found the place. A "bit of bushwhacking" is an understatement as we didn't bring along the necessary proper brush cutting tools, having not anticipating such endeavor. We decided to circumnavigate the quarry - didn't really matter backtracking as we really hadn't been cutting trail. That way we can check out the whole wall. Besides, returning didn't appear much better than forging ahead. Moving forward, the just-above-head height brush kept getting thicker. Don't know what type of vegetation we were in. It eventually was like trying to penetrate thru garden hedges - the upper three foot just that with the bottom three foot thick wooden stalks. We had to finally resort to stooping and crawling, weaving in and out of the stalks. Eventually had no guess as to what direction we're heading. "Wonder what the poisonous viper situation is around here, sure is the habitat for 'em." On top of that, there's gonna' be no moon out tonight for sight, and that also means that once the remaining twilight is gone it's gonna be DARK - you won't see your hand in front of your face. And we didn't bring along any lighting either. Left 'em back at camp. Who the f*k would have expected to get lost literally in the middle of town in these conditions. We could have been 50ft or 500ft from camp for all we knew. With daylight fading, I'm thinkin' that this is suddenly turning into a lighter version of a script for the old Sea Hunt TV series, and we're both Mike Nelson, 60ft down, trapped in a sunken steamer cabin with six minutes of air remaining. Luckily, we finally broke thru the "hedges" and into waist high grass, maybe another 200ft to camp. Hey, I can see the top of the tent over there!" We weren't a long spell from having to just bed down and wait 'till morning, though. It was shortly pitch black after arriving back to the tent. We'd probably have never made our way out of that tangled mess in the dark with no lights. A compass would have been nice. Had one of those, too, in the top flap of my pack, back at the tent. We were never in any physical peril, but were both pretty f*k'n starved after not eating since breakfast and climbing all day. It would have been a long hungry night thinking about a cooler full of food and drinks settin' a short distance away.
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Seneca Rocks, WV, 80's - '90's
High on Green Wall
Finger Stinger
A great old Herb Laeger route. That short traverse could be a bit gripping. Had been a few broken ankles falling from that position. Someone fell and either broke a leg or was actually killed a week after this photo was taken. Just remember the timing, not the actual details.
Soler
I had got some aluminum tubing from the scrap yard and fabricated a few "tuber" chocks to protect the wide crack that starts the route (upper image). Boy is that route steep and fun. Rob said that he was setting on the summit one day when two hands popped over the edge and one of Markwell's guides (John Markwell, then owner of the local Gendarme climbing shop) comes mantling onto the top, unroped. He'd just soloed the route. Rob was a bit aghast. He mentioned the incident later to Markwell. Typical Markwell reaction, "Hey, you're free to kill yourself any way ya' want to in this country." Markell was a great guy. Pretty sure that the soloist was Fly'n Brian McCray. A Seneca guide at the time. He went on to become one of America's best (and fearless) climbers throughout the late 90's and into the millennium. Bouldered with 'em down there one rainy day on some secret boulders he had stashed aside. Good guy as well.
Banana
Ecstasy
A view of the rocks from a parking lot. That's Rob's old '80's Subaru GL wagon. He's kept that thing running all these years and still has it. Rebuilt the engine himself a few years back. Pistons, rings, lifters, valves - complete overhaul. Knowin' him I'll bet all tolerance was within microns.
Note that the Gendarme rock formation is present in the windy notch. A few years before it's demise.
Coastin' in to our North Fork River-side campsite at the old (pre flood) Yokum's Campground after a long day on the rocks. During our absence someone had checked in to the campsite two or three spots over. Rob brings the vehicle to a short stop. We're both settin' silent, gaze fixed on a pretty magnificent, dark crimson/brown Yurt tent. "Wow - look at that - pretty cool!" There's no one about. No vehicle to be seen. Some boxes and a large cooler on the picnic table. The Yurt is closed up. We continue on to our site, park, and stroll over and do an admiring walk-around inspection of the Yurt. Natural animal fabric and lace stitched. Definitely authentic and not a cheap sporting goods imitation. We return to our site and go about busy work unloading our gear from Rob's wagon, emptying packs and sorting gear and such. Every one in a while snatchin' a return glance over at the Yurt. Looks like it dropped in from outer space. Is mid-week, late June. There's not another party in the campground other than us and whoever occupies the Yurt.
Just about twilight when a white Land Rover Defender comes rolling in, right up to the Yurt. A guy and gal hop out. They spot us hangin' out, wave and shout hello and go about unloading the Land Rover. They're obviously climbers as well, judging by the sound of clanging gear upon tossing a large pack on the picnic table. That was it for the evening. We ran into 'em the next morning up at Yokum's restaurant during breakfast. Exchanged some friendly banter. They said that they were going up to climb Pleasant Overhangs that day, and "We'll see you guys later today back at camp."
That evening we got together with 'em at their site. Had a good campfire goin'. The guy spoke with a Balkan accent. His name (which I remember and will explain a bit later) we'll keep private. We'll call him the "Sultan". The gal was his wife. What a doll. Resembled and put ya' in mind of actress Barbara Eden of the old I Dream of Jeannie TV series. She was from the states (Rhode Island plates on the Land Rover). They were on a four month cross-country climbing trip headin' out to the west coast. Thet were then havin' a rally car they owned shipped out to their place in California for some desert rally race in the fall, in which they were entered. Four month climbing trip, Yurt tent (authentic, sheep wool, picked up on a trek thru to Central Asia. They modified it with some quick connect aluminum tube framing), homes on both coasts, rally cars - obviously high rollers.
I got the above and all other information from exchange with "Jeannie". Within an hour of meetin'
them I had never gotten a chance to speak to the Sultan nor Rob for the remainder of the evening. Jeannie cracked open a bottle of pretty good wine. Once the conversation got around to climbing it was over. The Sultan commented that he only climbed with a rack of cams - Friends and TCU's at the time. No passive gear - stoppers, hexes, none. Rob makes some (typical) dismissive comment about that. The Sultan makes a comment. Rob makes a comment. The Sultan tells him that he doesn't know what he's talking about. They're now goin' at it. The Sultan grabs his climbing rack and the two hightail it over to our campsite, where Rob grabbed his rack. The two soon had gear spread all over the picnic table. Some absurd overheard comments:
Sultan: "You would be laughed out of the Dolomites...."
Rob: "That's why you got your two cams fixed on the route today...."
Sultan: "You would never last with that weight...."
Rob: "You must never climb anything harder than 5.8..."
What the f*k - my racks bigger than your rack... two numb-nuts.
This went on for at least two hours. Jeannie and I just hung out. Conversing, occasionally stoking the fire, enjoying the warm full moonlit night, sipping wine. She offers one of the Sultans cigars - Romeo y Juliet's ta' boot (Sean Connery smokes 'em) - about an $8 cigar todays prices. At her suggestion, I grabbed two additional for later. The Sultans buck I reason. Although a bit muffled across the span of two campsites, we'd occasionally listen in on the debate and chuckle. She obviously loved the Sultan, laughing "Let 'em argue all night. He does this all the time. Everywhere we go". "I know what ya' mean" I reply.
"More wine?'
"Sure"
A couple of months later I receive a mail order catalog from an international climbing gear manufacturer. Used to get multiples of those things - Black Diamond, Wild Things, Mammut, Climb High... still have a shelf full of 'em. I'm thumbin' thru the catalog lookin' at the photos - they always had good photography of exotic places. There's a photo of a team climbing Gasherbrum II, a serious big mountain in the Karakoram Mountain Range of the Himalaya. I look at the photo credit. Damned if it ain't the Sultan. That's how I remember his name.
The guy was apparently a no bull*hit serious climber.
End of Part 1 - we'll follow with a Part II
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