Cows and Sand: South Face (5.7 II) of South Sixshooter Tower

 I looked around. Off in the distance the tower was behind us now, and we had definitely gone too far. The group of curious calves watched me from the bushes in the distance, their mothers giving frequent bants to remind them not to get too close. They’d probably never seen a hairless bipedal monkey on a bike before.

Months before, the previous spring, Sarah and I had planned to check one of the easier tower’s in Utah’s southeast expanse of desert off our list- Sixshooter Tower, one of the trademark fingers of rock that rose out of the outer skyline of Indian Creek. There was only one issue. The road was rough, and our vehicle of choice at the time wasn’t the right choice to get over all that mess at the beginning of the Lavender Canyon road. That, and I may have forgotten a rope at our campsite in Moab, but we won’t further expand on that part of the story. As a result of our miscalculations, a plan for an even better day out on the tower was beginning to materialize.

Living out of a truck bed camper as we do, I’ve developed a skill for being able to identify roads that would wreck our “house.” The Lavender Canyon road used to approach South Sixshooter was still rough, but in the year following our blunder, we decided to make the day more exciting with the introduction of mountain bikes into the approach. On our frequent visits to our “second home” in Moab, we’ve had trouble being able to fit everything in to each trip. At times, this meant sacrificing mountain biking for climbing, but this time we were able to figure out how to meld the two into one little backcountry mission.

Our plan was simple: pack everything that we would need for the day into two packs: one small enough for the follower on the climb, and the other that we could stash near our bikes. We would ride our bikes from the Superbowl Campground where we were camped in Indian Creek, to the backcountry entrance to Canyonlands that marked the start of the rough Lavender Canyon road to the final approach to the tower. From there, we would ride our bikes with gear in tow on the rough two track, get to the base of the final approach, hike the approach, climb the tower, and repeat the process in reverse. Simple enough. In essence, the day went about as simply and smoothly as one could have hoped for. Yet, no day out is without little blunders.

We began earlier in the morning after arriving at our campsite the night before. It was late February, and the air was still chilly before the sun had a chance to rise high enough to burn the frost off. I wore more layers than what I would have liked to bring with, but the sky was clear and the air was cold. It was going to be a good day. Sarah shouldered the follower pack and I threw on the pack with the rope and rack. The load was heavy enough for me to notice, but I would only really have to worry about its weight for the duration of the ride. We made our way quickly down the road that led to the highway out of the campground. The cold gravel crunched under the knobby front tire of my bike. I couldn’t help but smile.

Not before long I was opening the gate to Lavender Canyon road that started off of the main highway. It seemed almost insignificant to me that this was the thing stopping us from ticking South Sixshooter off of our list in the past. The rocks near the beginning of the road that once made entrance to cars of a lower clearance posed not even a slight challenge anymore. We rode quickly on the dirt road until the tire tracks turned to soft southeast Utah sand. The sand was challenging, but not enough to hamper our progress significantly. In the distance periodically I could spot a lone heifer or calf stalking us curiously through the sagebrush. It was amusing to me, as many of the ranches near our home between Buena Vista and Leadville, Colorado had tons of cattle, but they were never shy of people. I could only imagine that the cattle of this rough and beautiful country only see people about a few times a year. Let alone when their rancher comes around. We rode on, the stopping point for where we would launch for the final approach not being entirely clear.

As our mountain bike tires continued to churn through the soft sand of the wash the road ran through, both Sarah and I began to develop a slight sinking feeling. South Sixshooter was becoming more and more to our backs, and the road wasn’t showing any signs of curving the correct direction. That among the fact that we had ridden farther than expected, though mileages in these instances are always a bit of rough assumptions. I stopped first and checked my GPS. The approach trail (or where it should be) appeared to be behind us, accessed via the way we had already come. We both agreed to backtrack, shrugged, re-loaded our packs onto our shoulders, and made our way back through familiar tracks to a large wash that could be a parking area. From there, I was able to find cairns in the brush and we had confirmation that we had found the correct place.

I locked our bikes together while Sarah took a deep drink of the camelbak. We had only been going for about an hour or so, but the sun was beginning to heat the February air enough to be warm. I shed a layer and started up the approach trail. I couldn’t believe that everything was coming together this smoothly. What a little bit of planning can do. The approach trail in it’s own right was fantastic. We ascended through two washes, many rock benches, and a large talus field. The colors of the countryside were not shy in showing themselves, especially in the many striations that showed on the rock around us. I loved this sort of country. Rough, yet strikingly beautiful regardless of the season. Above, the shield of the south face of South Sixshooter rose to full height. A splitting crack ran up, and then left across the shield of the face, showing the full route of one of the 5.10+ lines that could be used as a substitute for the traditional first pitch of the route. It was starkly quiet at the base of the tower atop the talus field. Not even a bird could be heard. The wind was perfectly still. I believe we could have not even designed ourselves a better day.

Sarah and I wasted no time at the base putting on our harnesses and arranging the gear for climbing. The route up was pretty chill in terms of technical difficulty, but I brought a little more than a single rack in case there was the ability to link pitches. Unfortunately those wishes (and those wishes only) would prove to not reach fruition, as nearly every party going up the south face is forced to do about three short pitches due to rope drag. I began up the first pitch. It was still cold in the shaded areas of the climb, and I fought off the screaming barfies in my fingers a few times. Regardless, the first 60 feet or so passed indiscriminately, without notable moment, nor difficulty. The first belay on the route positions parties on the large ledge directly above the shield. There is a bundle of slings with recently replaced quick-links on them. I can only imagine why nearly every other belay is bolted on the route but not this one, but who am I to question ethics, especially in the desert?

The next pitch was amusing enough to make up for how short it is. A squat 5.6-7ish corner, that would be a classic in it’s own right if longer, moves up to the next sizable ledge where a chain anchor and nice belay position is achieved. As I mentioned previous, I would have preferred to at least link some of the pitches together, but the chunky nature of the tower really presents a challenge to anyone trying to keep the rope drag within reasonable limits. From the second belay comes what is, in my opinion, the best and most exciting part of the route-the mantle move. From the second anchor, the climber makes a few moves directly upwards, being mindful not to kick their belayer in the head. Shortly after, you are forced right, from which you can place one last good piece. This piece sits at about right below your feet when performing the mantle move proper, so try to be solid at the grade before attempting this tower. As I moved into the mantle I could not help but giggle. There was a bolt right in front of me at about slightly higher than eye level. In the position that I rose onto the mantle ledge with, I was stuck sitting there, my knees supporting me while I tried to free the rope out from them in order to clip the bolt in front of me. I made a few rude noises, and a couple more remarks along the lines of “fuck,” and then clipped the bolt and was able to stand up all the way. A few sporty, and honestly enjoyable, moves later, and I was beached atop the small summit of the tower. From all around, in a full 360, the view was downright grand. To the north and south one would be able to see most of Indian Creek, and have a great view of the Bridger Jacks. As many people as that make their way up to this little tower, I still couldn’t help but feel special in our little place up so high and alone. Sarah beamed. I beamed back. What a great day out.

Two rappels later and we were back down to the base of the tower. A hike later and we were back to our bikes. Two sandy washes, a couple more curious calves, and the gravel beneath our tires changed to the same gravel that our truck was parked on. All in all, I honestly prefer approaching some objectives of this sort this way. The use of bikes brings about more a spice to the day out that I believe we would have otherwise missed. Thinking about doing South Sixshooter? Entirely worth the trip. Maybe bring bikes with and use them. Just be prepared for a lot of cows and a lot of sand.