In about 2004 I was working on The Gargoyle and Peidras Bonitas Cliff portion of the guidebook. These areas are toward the end of the East Side in the book (they're all on pages 142 - 144).
While out there I naturally looked for routes which had never been known or reported. I found the Valle de Baile stuff during my searching. Waldo later gave me the first ascent information for these climbs - and put me in touch with Holmgren for more details. While looking around then, I also saw a separate formation up on the ridge northeast of The Gargoyle (J.C. took this photo of it yesterday, against the skyline, looking over The Gargoyle):
I checked the pinnacle out then - I walked around it looking and third classed up onto an "obvious start ledge" to look around more. I even walked up to the summit just to the north - one can see down onto the larger formation's summit from there. There was no sign of any climbing activity. Nothing. I mentally marked the pinnacle though as an obvious, separate formation that had, apparently, never been summited. I told myself that someday I'd go back.
Well, yesterday was wet. So instead of climbing, the Inn Crowd went for a hike out the park fenceline from the West Side entrance. This brought it to the Piedras Bonitas Cliff area and I just had to check the pinnacle out again. Ron Skelton and I even moved up onto the obvious start ledge, and felt out some of the handholds. The rock seemed really good. John and Kathy checked out a summit just north of us too, and they took these photos from there:
I took photos also; from the ridge northwest of the formation:
It rained again last night. So things were wet this morning. But the sun was out and I thought the rock would dry some. I decided to attempt this summit, roped solo.
The ascent was easy; class three led up to the ledge, I moved 20 feet south and, near a weakness in the severe overhang, I placed a protection bolt (I belayed myself for this - the rock was so wet that I slung a stout manzanita on the other side of the pinnacle and tied in with the rope in case I slipped off while standing and drilling). A few steep, bouldery 5.8 moves over 35 feet of exposure then led to easy fifth class and the summit, 15 more feet away.
Naturally the first thing I did when I got there was look around. It's a fairly spacious and flat summit. I saw no immediate sign of any human presence: no bolts, no cairn, no anything. I looked more. Something about the rocks six feet north of where I topped out struck me. They weren't stacked, but they didn't look quite right either. I moved over for a look:
And then around to look closer, and, damn!!
I wasn't the first! A rusty old coffee can was well hidden under a rock:
Of course after my discovery, the next step was to open it. The questions were suddenly urgent: who'd been here before and when? How had they summited?
But the years had taken a toll on the can. The top was completely immobile with rust. I couldn't get the lid off! I tried several times, and with some force. But the lid was stuck completely fast; it wouldn't budge.
So I drilled the summit anchor (in bullet hard rock!). And I took a selfie to prove to my daughters that I am indeed modern:
And then I carefully tucked the can into my jacket for the rappel. I hiked it out. It's in the garage with my gear now. I'll open it in the morning in full light. It's weird though; it feels like all it contains is a rock. Maybe the size of a lemon. Something was rattling around inside the can every time I moved it. The can looked in relatively good shape in that it doesn't have any holes; but that's a lot of rust. Anyone have a guess how old it is? I'd say 1960s, anyway.
So will we learn anything when I open the can tomorrow (or break it trying)? Tune in to this same Bat station and we'll all find out.
P.S. Climberdude was out there too today, about 400 yards away, doing his own ground-up, roped solo first ascent (he's the one who suggested the name Coffee Can Pinnacle - which is the one that will stick unless there's some writing in the can giving it another name). Here are photos of Mark, low on his new route (on the bottom right of the light-colored slab in the low left corner of the photo):
See you all tomorrow, here again?