Kelly’s can get sandy — like any sandstone area. However, the variety in angles and the friendliness of the holds more than make up for it. And like most areas in Flagstaff, you won’t hear names or grades; their absence only enhances the pure pleasure of grabbing comfortable grips, 10 feet above riverbed cobbles in a quiet forest. Nelson and I explore, wondering if each new problem will measure up to the last. We try lines well into darkness, climbing by headlamp, as animals, insects, and maybe even gun-toting locals move around us in the enveloping woods. Maybe.
In the spirit of exploration and full Flagstaff immersion, we venture into Buffalo Park to sample the gritty, quick-fix basalt the next day. It’s, well, OK. As with most of Flagstaff, Buffalo Park offers cliffbands, but on average there are too many holds to milk a lot of true lines from this small area. The local Tony Disanto and I huck ourselves at a challenging dyno to a slopey ledge, and then hop into a corner to try an overhanging V10. The rock probably wouldn’t be too bad, but because this is our fourth day on, our skin groans. We pull out for the day, more psyched for sushi and sake than climbing.
That night, while waiting for a table, we overhear a local climber explaining to his girlfriend (with proper embellishment) why she won’t see a photo of him in Climbing: “I climb 5.13, and I would be in the magazine, but it’s all about who you know,” he brags. (He’d likely seen the Spray parked across the street and noticed our chalky hands.) Nelson and Jenn squirm with delight, but I anxiously wonder if the guy isn’t passive-aggressively telling us to get the hell out of Dodge. My stomach churns. I imagine a brawl erupting here and now: a ninja tosses sake into someone’s eyes, a Ginsu knife fight set to Japanese techno music, choreographed dancing, shrimp tempura embedded in open wounds… I later approach the loudmouth and ask if he’d like join us the following day, to let him know it’s not about who you know. He’s not a climber, he says. His girlfriend looks shocked by his answer. Whatever. I return to wasabi-soaked raw tuna and warm sake, anticipating the following day’s visit to Flagstaff’s crown jewel, Cherry Canyon.