Ant Killer

June 7, 1999

by Michael Gardner

It rained continuously from St. Louis to Carbondale. This came as no surprise since I had been checking the weather channel several times daily and it had been raining continuously for the past week. The Geo Metro I picked up at the airport started hydroplaning whenever I approached 60 m.p.h. so the going was slow, especially considering the road to Marion, IL was a two lane highway, or so I thought. Still there was a lot of lightning in the clouds I found this both beautiful and terrifying. Having moved away from the Midwest in '78 it is only the thunderstorms that I can really say I miss about the place, family excepted.

I first heard of Carbondale in one of the climbing mags nearly a decade ago. "Carbondale got da Rocks" was the name of the article. As with most articles it made one want to visit the area almost as a destination. I wasn't going to go that far but I did frequently check out the distance to Carbondale from any Midwest destination that work or recreation might take me to. And so it was that I found myself in St. Louis, 96 miles from Carbondale, with a whole day free to climb. All I needed was a partner and a way to get there. I went trolling for partners in rec.climbing and got a response from Kevin Nilson. Kevin offered to provide me with any information I might need about climbing in Carbondale and hopefully could spend a day at the crags showing me around. I never did locate the article that initially whetted my appetite for the area but now I didn't need it. I had Kevin!

Before leaving St. Louis I stopped at White Castle to pick up some sliders (aptly named for the ease with which they transit the digestive tract) and a large drink. Several hours later I found myself looking for a bathroom and the cutoff from S.R.13 to S.R.3. Kevin had assured me that Marion was nearer the climbing than Carbondale and that the Super 8 was right off the freeway. The map I had didn't show the town of Marion, IL (the rental place being in Missouri and all) but I knew it must be near Carbondale and there had to be a road sign, right? Right! It just took a little longer than I expected to find it. I was still wondering when S.R. 3 was going to turn into a freeway when I saw the Super 8 AND the freeway. The freeway which I never realized was even there. The freeway which would have saved me over an hour in travel time. The freeway which, in fact, could barely be located on the Illinois portion of the map I got from National when I picked up the car. Needless to say I made better time on the way back to St. Louis, although I had been looking forward to stopping at the 50 foot Popeye statue in Chester, but now it was 12:45 a.m. and I needed some rest if I was going to get any decent climbing in. My body was still on P.D.T. and I had arranged not to meet Kevin until 10:00 the next morning. No problem.

Events, however, conspired against me. My mind continued to race along at 55 m.p.h. as the freeway buzz persisted. I finally did get to sleep, but at 2:30 my bladder had refilled to the point of discomfort and I had to get up. At 4:55 a.m. the sliders demanded passage and passage could not be denied. The alarm went off at 8:30 a.m. sharp (I was sure I had set it for 9:30!) and it was pointless to try getting any more rest. I was still groggy as I got up and tentatively peeked out the window. Blue sky! No clouds! No way! Maybe this was going to turn out well after all. I tried reviving myself with a cold shower (since I now had plenty of time for one) and headed for the "express breakfast" of day-old donuts (that tasted like two-day old donuts) and stale toast. At least there was coffee and juice. I had packed a lunch for the day, but it would turn out that I wasn't really going to need it.

Kevin was right on time and, for a change, so was I. He said he drove a red Toyota pickup truck. I told him I would be the only one in the lobby dressed to go climbing. I had the advantage but only slightly since I also happened to be the only person in the lobby...period. We hopped in his truck and we were off. We'd decided beforehand to go out to Draper's Bluff, an area of predominantly traditional climbs with an assortment of cracks. There was a classic 5.9 crack climb there named "Ant Killer" which had been featured in a Climbing magazine article, "Ten Under Ten". For all his knowledge about the area, though, he couldn't come up with a reason for the name. About 90 feet, sustained and, being topped by a huge roof, most likely to be dry even after all the recent rain. After 20 minutes of driving we cut across a muddy field to get to the trailhead. Apparently the bluff and the field had been recently purchased by a gentleman who sidelines in climbing instruction. How convenient.

The day turned out to be perfect. Not too hot, not too cold and not even too humid. As we hiked the short trail I looked for the poison ivy that I had read was so abundant in this area. The ground cover was heavy and I had trouble spotting it. It was early in the season so the leaves were still young and green. Finally I found that the poison ivy wasn't hidden in the ground cover. It was the ground cover! Yikes! Fortunatley I don't seem to be allergic so it was mostly a curiosity for me. When we reached the climb it turned out to be mostly dry with only a short section near the top (where Kevin indicated the crux was) showing any water. I decided to give it a shot. If I couldn't work around the wet section we could always rap down, albeit with some difficulty due to the overhang, and retrieve the gear. Kevin had a new rope and one each of almost every piece of climbing gear which had been invented so I had no excuse but, then again, I wasn't really looking for one.

I started up to the first lip. The rock was sandstone and my first impression was how similar it felt to Yorkshire grit. Not black like grit but compressed and possessing incredible friction. The initial moves were freaky and unprotected. The landing, however, was good and I asked Kevin to spot me. I got in a bomber piece and was on belay. At the lip I sunk another piece and checked it out. It was tough. I was getting a little pumped figuring out the move and was relieved when Kevin hollered up some beta. It was a cool move! (BETA ALERT!) Hand traverse a little to the left , high step almost to a heel hook with the right, and then roll over onto it with the fingers reaching desperately for purchase in the crack. The stance provided an opportunity to rest and place another piece. (END ALERT!) Man, was I getting tired though and this was supposed to be a warm-up! I made a few more moves up and by this time was nearly half way. Kevin asked if I could see the wet part. I could but of more immediate concern was that the crack I was jamming was now wet inside. I didn't like this at all. The jam was slimy, the stance was shaky, it was move or blow. So I moved. I got another piece in fast. Knowing that a flash was now out of the question and a rest was badly needed I shouted "Take!" and proceded to hang. Now that my body was having a chance to relax I realized just how exhausted I was. Whether it was the exertion, the lack of sleep, the exposure, the residual sliders or the adrenaline rush from the lead, I wasn't sure. I suspected that it was a combination of all of these and for the third time in my climbing career I started to hurl on a climb. I just couldn't contain it. I finally had to cut loose all over the rock, my shoes, the gear and, worst of all, Kevin's new rope. Man, I felt bad. Kevin fortunately had NOT had a chance to move to a better stance as that would have put him directly in the line of fire. Once I recovered I lowered and began rinsing off his rope and gear. Boy was this embarrassing. Kevin was magnanimous. He even offered to rappel and clean the route. I assured him, that in this context cleaning was going to take on an entirely new meaning. He didn't push it.

After I changed and had a chance to recover we worked our way around the rock checking out climbs and heading to the top to set up a rappel. It was a great view. The local bluffs comprise some of the highest points in central Illinois and you could see forever. Unfortunately the rain seemed to be moving in and we had work to do. We rapped down and I cleaned the gear (along with the rock). Not wanting to be stuck on anything we couldn't tear down rapidly (not such a problem with an 80 foot cliff) we headed for a short sport climb with chains. At 25 feet with three bolts and one natural piece of pro, it felt comfortable at 5.6 and I managed to flash at least one climb that day.

Kevin suggested a short drive over to Cedar Bluff where there were a few other easy climbs to set up and tear down. There we top-roped "Africa", so named after the South America shaped flake that starts the climb. Next to it was a 5.10 called "Detention" but after a second lap on "Africa" I was finished. I hadn't wanted to eat much so I was feeling rather weak, still better weak than sick. I still felt bad for Kevin. The best I could do was offer to wash his gear and buy him lunch. He accepted the latter. When we got back to the truck his regular partner and some friends drove up. We stopped to chat and they just had to ask what we did, of course. I had to confess. I couldn't let Kevin claim we'd done Ant Killer, but it was painful reliving the moment.

On the way back to the Super 8 we stopped at an Italian place called Fazoli's for baked subs. Yum! Now that the climbing was over we spent some time getting to know each other. He mentioned that he and his girlfriend were planning a trip out west next year. I told him to be sure to contact me if it happens and promised to show him around. We'll see if he takes me up on it, though. I guess I can't blame him if he doesn't.

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