siren - A dangerously seductive and alluring creature with the
head and bust of a beautiful woman but otherwise the body and
wings of a bird.

If you have been to Provo, Utah, you have seen the south face of
Squaw peak. If you are a climber, you noticed it. It first got
my attention in September of 1992. NNE of Cougar stadium
Mt Timpanogos (meaning "river of rock") dominates the panorama,
but to the ENE, and much closer in, is Squaw peak.
     The south face of Squaw peak is a cliff in two tiers.
On the north side of Rock Canyon, a steep talus slope rises
hundreds of feet to the base of a limestone cliff. For nearly 600
vertical feet the cliff rises above this slope, terminating at a second 
talus slope. 600 feet up the second talus slope is the base of 
the second tier of cliff. The second tier terminates high above 
at a ridge. While the upper tier looks loose and chossy, I gradually
became convinced that a good line could be found up the lower tier of
cliff. From there, I decided, the talus slope could be ascended
diagonally up and to the left. This would bring you out on the west
slope of the mountain which could be descended to the valley.
Every time I visited the short crags near the floor of
Rock Canyon, my gaze would wander up to the huge cliff that
is the lower tier on the south face of Squaw peak. In November
of that year I convinced a fellow climber to go up and take a look.
We hiked up a talus filled gully to the base of the cliff and
traversed nearly the full length of its base. The cliff is
slightly convex (L to R) and near the center, where the wall swoops
back on both sides, there is an arching ramp which steepens into a
dihedral. This is the start of what I deemed to be the most
solid looking (and most classic) line on the buttress. We climbed
one pitch up the ramp until the rope ran out. This was just at
the base of the dihedral. This was as far as prudence would allow
us to go since it was afternoon and we were not prepared for
a major climb. I was inspired. There was a beautiful hand crack
in the dihedral and I was sure that it would "go".
     Last year I met a new climbing partner, John. We did quite
a lot of climbing on the small crags near the floor of Rock
Canyon. Gradually I began to tell John of my idea about climbing
the lower tier of the south face on Squaw peak. Just after Christmas
we had a spell of really warm weather and John and I made our
first effort on the lower tier. I wrote up this account about
one week later.


Squaw Peak, lower tier, first real try. ------------------------------X

     My office-mate and I tried to climb the lower tier of cliff
on the south face of Squaw peak. The first thing to note is that
this is a *big* cliff. John (my partner-officemate) got a couple of 
new 55m ropes for Christmas, however, so we were ready for that:). 
Monday the 27th we set out before 8:00 AM and started to scramble
up the gully to the base. The gully is full of talus which, at the
time, was covered with 2 or 3 inches of fresh snow. Just as we were
approaching the top of the gully, with the cliff looming above, I
heard a tremendous "crack" reminiscent of an avalanche breaking loose.
We both bolted for cover along the sides of the gully. I could not
imagine that there was sufficient snow to slide, as there were only
isolated patches above us, but I wasn't going to stick around to find 
out after hearing that noise. I was too busy scrambling for cover to
see anything, but John reported that a block of rock "like much bigger
than me" came careening off the cliff, and crashed down the gully.
This episode set my stomach feeling queasy. We traversed right over to
and across a 4th class rib of rock separating the gully that we ascended
from the base of the buttress we intended to climb. We were very well
organized and in no time I was leading up the first pitch. I followed
an arching ramp which became a near-vertical inside corner. I hoped to
get to an (apparent) ledge in one pitch. Near the top of the corner
a foot hold broke off leaving me in a classic Disney-movie position.
I was hanging from my hands with both feet swinging in space. The 
hand-holds were solid and I had good pro' at my chest, but it was
pretty exciting. The 55m rope just ran out as I got to the little
ledge. I found a reasonable crack for an anchor and brought John up.
This belay has *fantastic* exposure. The route we were attempting
follows a prow in the cliff so in addition to being 55m above a 35 degree
slope which drops several hundred feet to the valley floor, the rock
sweeps back on both the left and the right. This was John's first
experience with such awesome exposure and he was clearly impressed. 
    Things went sour in a hurry after this first pitch. The rock
type changed from light colored limestone with reasonable cracks,
to a darker limestone with lots of sharp loose flakes. There is plenty
of loose stuff on the first pitch but you can deal with it because 
there is good protection. On the darker rock of the second pitch
there were many holds so loose that I didn't even dare test them.
I headed up and things went like this: Climb 10 feet on questionable
holds being careful to avoid the obviously loose stuff. Finally reach
a crack and place manky protection. Repeat until you are scared
silly. Actually I did get several reasonable placements but I had
to wander left and right to do so and the rope drag got to be more
than a nuisance. The crux was a slightly overhanging bulge which
I struggled up and down for at least half an hour before I worked out
the moves. Following this was the (now commonplace) 20 feet of loose
junk. This gained me a respectable ledge at another change in rock
type. The next band was a sort of concrete-like stuff. Tiny pebbles
(about 2mm in diameter) were "glued" together with stuff that looked 
like a cross between sand and mud. There were no cracks. I headed
left for about 30 or 40 feet to a small bush growing out of the
cliff. I was still on the ledge which was about a foot wide, but I was
20 feet above, and 40 feet to the left, of my last protection. A fall
was near certain death. I was unwiling to go on without protection.
The climbing did not look to be at my limit but the rock was not
trustworthy and a fall was simply not an option. In addition there
was the rope drag problem which I knew would become prohibitive if 
I could find a placement. I really wanted to set up a belay but
there was nothing to anchor on and nothing to brace against. I
finally found a placement for a 0.5 Lowe TriCam(TM) but I evaluated 
its chances of holding a fall at less than 50 percent. I also slung
the bush but when I shook the darn thing dirt and mud fell out
of the cliff around the roots. It was only an inch thick anyway.
    As I wanted to live to my first wedding anniversary (which was the 
next day) more than I wanted to bag Squaw peak just then, I decided 
that the only reasonable option was to retreat. A rappel was clearly
not an option since I could find no anchor. (If there were a reasonable
anchor I would have brought John up and started a third pitch.)
This left down climbing as the only option. I left the manky anchor
in and started down. It was a slow process since I knew that a fall
could be very serious. I should have used the haul line as a top-rope
and then reversed the lead, but I didn't think of this. I just used
the lead rope as a top rope and pulled the gear as I descended.
If I had fallen and the anchor not held, It might have been very bad.
This did not happen. We left two nuts at the belay and did a double
rope rappel to the base. 
    Since it had been snowing lightly that morning, we opted to
rappel the 4th class section into the gully. We were home by mid 
afternoon. We stopped by MountainWorks to talk with the locals
but they have no record of previous ascents. 

End of flashback.-----------------------------------------------

At the time, I wrote to a friend:

>    In evaluating our progress, we were 2/3 of the way up the lower
>tier of cliff and about 20 feet below a huge ledge with two big trees
>on it. I am sure that I can solve the rope drag problem with a
>double rope technique, but I *must* get some protection in
>before I can move above that ledge at the base of the mud-rock
>layer. What do you think? Can I bang a couple of lost arrows into
>that stuff? Any other ideas?
>    My success rate on alpine-style climbs is now 2/5. It is clear to
>me that if you want to climb with a reasonable safety margin,
>you must accept a high failure rate on big climbs. 

     John and I decided that a double-rope technique was absolutely
essential for the second pitch. This would solve the rope
drag problem. The protection problem would be more difficult.
I did not want to use pins, mostly because I didn't want to buy
a hammer, but also because I am a strong advocate of "clean climbing"
if I may use that archaic phrase. In addition, I didn't recall
any likely placements for pins anyway. We decided to try to make
some screamers. The leader would sling every small bush
in sight on the runout section of this second pitch using these
screamers.

(aside: screamers, besides being a euphemism for
long lead falls, are devices that consist of a loop of webbing
which is sewn with two sets of stitching. The webbing is formed into a
loop or "sling" with one set of stitching. This stitching has a
breaking force of several thousand pounds and is supposed to
hold in the event of a fall. The second set of stitching is
designed to tear out slowly under forces slightly in excess
of body weight. In a fall, this second set of stitching tears slowly,
limiting the force on the protection device. In the event that the 
fall is so severe that *all* of the second set of stitching tears out,
what remains is a conventional loop of webbing called a runner.
The idea is to increase the margin of safety in using points of
protection that can hold several hundred pounds, but may fail
due to the high forces in a severe fall.)
      
Our idea was to try to protect this runout section with an
array of bushes and tiny wired nuts. John made three attempts to sew
screamers but with no success. Under test conditions (hanging
from a chin-up bar) the stitching tore too easily. We would
have to rely on our climbing skills (a sobering thought),
excellent nut craft, and slinging a veritable
orchard of bushes to protect the runout section.
     Last Saturday (4-2-1994 for the record) we returned to
Squaw peak.

     John showed up at my apartment by 7:40 AM and by 8:00 we
were scrambling up the now-familiar gully to the base of the
cliff. As we were roping up for the climb, I asked John, "Would
you like to lead the first pitch?" My motives were not entirely
honorable here. I knew that the second pitch would be mentally
challenging and I thought that if I could warm-up by following
the first pitch, I would not have to start up the second pitch
slightly jazzed from having led a pitch already. John quickly
accepted my offer. I offered the advice that since the pitch
was 180 feet and rope drag could become a problem, he should
run it out about 40 feet on the easier ramp section
and save his protection for the steep dihedral where it was
more critical. He quickly dispensed with the first pitch,
bringing us to the cozy, airy ledge at the top of the good
limestone. To nobody's surprise, our rappel anchor was still 
intact.
     I wanted to work out the second pitch so my
turn was next. We set up for a double rope technique. This time
I followed a crack about six feet to the left of my line on
our previous attempt. This was only slightly harder, and in 
addition to offering better protection, took a direct line to the 
overhanging bulge which is the crux of this pitch. This time
I dispatched the crux in no time flat with only a comment
to the effect that, "this is definitely a 5.9 move" and traversed the 
ledge to the bush that had marked my previous high point. I reclipped
to the sling on the bush and the 0.5 TriCam and started a serious
search for protection. I inserted a medium nut into a shallow crack
that I had considered using the previous time. This time I got
a much better placement. The real find was a thin crack that took
a #2 BD stopper perfectly. I know those tiny wires look flimsy
but this was a super placement. With four pieces in, I started
to evaluate the best line to the ledge above. I opted to traverse
*over* the bush and along the ledge still further to two more
bushes. I put slings around both of these bushes and put a cam
in a crack. I then ascended between the two bushes. The stiff
branches poked and prodded me and tried to peel me off the cliff.
I found one of those bombproof big hex placements that climbers
salivate over on the way to the belay ledge. With a couple
of cracks and a big juniper to choose from I had an anchor
with protection to spare. John followed the pitch and joined me
on the ledge. We had breached obstacle that stopped our previous
attempt. 
     This ledge is really a vegetated shelf about twenty feet deep.
We are quite sure that it can be reached by way of a forth-class
scramble. There was, in fact, evidence of camping here. This
gives you an excellent opportunity to bail out of the climb if
such action is called for (bad weather etc.). We broke out
lunch. Well... I broke out lunch. John had but a single apple.
I split my lunch with him as I have a habit of bringing along
too much food anyway. This habit has served many a hiking companion
well in the past, but that is another story.
     The next order of business was to scope out the best line
to the top of the lower tier. The very prow of the cliff was
about 10 or 20 feet to our left. It terminates in a jutting horizontal
obelisk which is quite impressive. This line, unfortunately,
looks poorly protected and loose. Directly in front of us was a
shallow, broken inside corner (ICFL) with a crack in it. This
very gradually moves right as it ascends the cliff, terminating
at what appeared to be a good ledge. Above this the cliff 
looked quite featureless and very slightly overhanging,
although it did appear to be split by two crack lines. It
was John's turn to lead so I suggested that if he took us to
the ledge, I would lead us to the top. Don't let this
pitch sucker you. It *looks* easy but is in fact a steep,
sustained 5.8 crack climb with a 5.9 crux move just below the
ledge. In addition, it sucks up nearly 50 meters of rope.
John placed something like 15 pieces along the way. I was
scared just following this beast. I was carrying the pack and
it felt like it was trying to rip me off the cliff. It took
me quite a long time to work out the crux move near the top.
The move involves hauling yourself over a bulge and then mantling
onto a two-inch shelf in order to gain enough height to reach
a solid fist jam. By this time the exposure was getting pretty
phenomenal and with that monkey on my back it took a lot of effort.
By the time I gained the ledge and clipped into the anchor,
I was panting.  Both John and I were somewhat rattled after that
monstrous pitch. Fortunately, the belay ledge is about two feet deep
and perfectly flat.
     At this point, I knew two things: 1) John had just led
the most impressive pitch of his life, and 2) The slightly
overhanging wall above looked smooth, and as close to impossible
as any I had ever contemplated actually climbing. There was
no way I could let us down now. I *had* to find a way up the last
20 meters. By the time I had reassembled the rack I wasn't
feeling rattled any more. In fact, I was enjoying the warm
sun and exposure like only climbers and birds get to see. This,
however, did not alter the fact that I had no idea how I was
going to get us to the top. From below we had seen that the
wall above was split by two cracks, and both of them were to
my right so I walked across the ledge about 15 feet to where a
nose-shaped hunk of rock is resting on the ledge. This nose-rock
is about 20 feet high and where it meets the cliff, there is a
beautiful lieback crack. I moved up the crack, finally 
gaining enough elevation to loop a long sling around the top 
of the nose-rock. This is the most wonderful and exposed
position on the route. The cliff plunges about 500 feet
beneath your feet. (two 50 meter pitches and a 55 meter pitch,
plus 20 feet of a fourth pitch) I paused to gawk in awe at the
abyss before climbing down to the ledge on the other side
of the nose-rock. Back on the ledge, I saw that a finger crack
rises to the top of the cliff. The crack is finger size for 10 feet
up to the top of the overhanging section and then widens as the cliff
kicks back to a reasonable angle the rest of the way to the top.
For those first ten feet or so the wall is otherwise featureless.
I would judge it to be 5.10b or 5.10c. This is just beyond the
ragged edge of my ability and so after a few brief efforts (more
or less to confirm that it was out of my skill range) I opted
to aid the crack. On a clean face I might have been willing
to risk a fall, but with a ledge below and out of sight
of my belayer this would have been nothing short of foolish.
It only took about 6 or 8 feet of C1 aid on medium small nuts
to reach reasonable free climbing again and in short order after 
this, my eyes rose over the top. This climb ends very abruptly.
The cliff and the slope above make a virtual right angle.
I mantled onto the top and reported to John that the climb,
"was ours". The nearest anchor was a pair of junipers about
30 meters from the top of the cliff so I used the haul rope 
to anchor to them. I put John on belay.
     As John bridged the nose-rock, I suggested that he pause
to enjoy the exposure. It is truly remarkable. We are no
experts at aid but John hauled on a few slings and joined me at
the top.  When John was safe, we shook hands and remarked
that it was an outstanding climb... then what we had done hit me. 
I felt short of breath like when you are 13 and the cutest
girl in the class speaks to you. This climb required every bit
skill we had to give.
     As all climbers know, the top of the climb is not the end
of the story, and the "down climb" was, as we expected, quite 
exhausting also. We diagonaled up to the left on the grassy
slope eventually crossing over two gullies and emerging at the
top of a precipice. Now I don't get vertigo when climbing, but when
I come up to the top of a cliff when I am walking, it makes me
a wee bit uneasy. "Uh, we are going to have to go up the gully
and try to traverse left further up." I noted. Finally, several
hundred vertical feet above the top of the lower tier of cliff,
we came out on the southwest ridge and could descend the west
slope of the mountain, a long Long way, back to the Rock Canyon
access road. Along the descent there are several excellent profile
views of the cliff. Here it really began to sink in how big
the climb is. I was secretly hoping to gloat about the
experience to all of the sport climbers near the 
carpark, but there were few to be found and when we finally
got there I didn't feel like it any more. We were home 
to my apartment about 5:00 PM. I live less than half a mile
from the carpark.
    With humble apologies to anyone who *has* gone before,
to the best of our knowledge, this is a new route.
We therefore report:

CALL OF THE SIRENS II  Four pitches (5.7/5.9/5.9/5.7 C1)

     Do not let the grade II and low YDS numbers fool you.
Three of the pitches are 50 meters or more. The second pitch
requires some runouts even with excellent nut craft (albeit on
easy ground). The third pitch is sustained and looks several
grades easier than it is. There is some loose rock to contend
with and the "down climb" requires 600+ vertical feet *UP* on
3rd and 4th class terrain. Nevertheless, it is a classic
line and the exposure is a real thrill.

Karl Sohlberg and John Welch, 4-2-1994