The following July I crossed the border alone. I had called Andy Genereux over the winter and was headed for his place in Calgary. During the twenty-hour drive, I constructed an elaborate vision of my trip north as a pilgrimage to find some important knowledge. I could learn a ton from Genereux. Though he only vaguely remembered me from our meeting three years earlier below Yam, he welcomed me, and over breakfast we laid plans to climb in the Ghost.
On our first day out, I got an up-close view of Andy’s famed energy and efficient workmanship. We shouldered debilitating loads of ropes, drills, batteries, and bolts, and humped them three hours to the top of the Wild West Wall, up the trail Andy had built. From the clifftop, I rapped in to finish equipping the top of Premonition and Andy dropped down a new line.
I obsessed about every bolt placement on my route for hours, then finally joined Andy — who was already two pitches down and starting on a third. I watched as he rapped each pitch, casually, in his boson’s chair, occasionally brushing a hold or two, rapidly firing in well-spaced bolts as he descended. We’d burned through four batteries by the time we reached the ground.
Premonition had taken me over a week of work for six pitches, most of that time spent working with Allan in a team of two. In one day, Andy single-handedly finished the five top pitches to a two-pitch start he’d already established from the ground: Hired Gun (5.12b) was born. Andy’s accuracy and efficiency made me feel like a toad. I watched and learned over the next weeks as the dust flew on other new projects.

After ten glorious days of fine weather, Andy had to return to work as a fireman among the high-rises and warehouses of downtown Calgary. Alone in the valley again, I was ready to put my new knowledge to the test on a ground-up first ascent, Genereux style. I used Andy’s system, carrying the drill on a shoulder sling so it hung handle-out under my armpit, making me look like some sort of Uzi-toting thug. The system allowed quick one-handed drilling from free stances, requiring no unclipping of the drill, which hung high on my torso, rather than dangling and swaying from my harness. Genereux typically bolted and freed most of the pitches onsight, on the go —- an incredibly efficient method. Using this style, combined with other variations, Andy reckons that in the last ten years he has put up 500 pitches in the Ghost and Bow Valleys alone.
Genereux seldom used hooks and almost never carried aiders, but I decided both might provide a safety net if I couldn’t hang on to drill. Armed like this, I set out to solo bolt what looked to be a single-pitch 5.10 sport climb near the start of Hired Gun. The daring apprentice was breaking out on his own!
Right off the deck, my “free stances” experiment ended and I resorted to straight hooking on the deceptively difficult ground. Slowly, however, on the easier climbing between cruxes, I forced myself out of the aiders. I found myself gasping for air from the effort of drilling even from good stances. Climbing into unknown ground looking for a drill stance was an experience like no other — stepping off a hook, praying that holds appear, knowing that a miscalculation will send you pitching off onto the self-belay with the whirring drill still smoking. I managed to avoid this scenario, but played it in my mind every time I prepared to pull the trigger of the drill.
Scrapping my way up the steep limestone, I started to see firsthand how the rock dictated my technique. Each section was a balancing act between pushing my climbing, finding stances or hook placements — and not risking my life completely, since I was virtually alone in the valley. I wanted to create a fun and safe climb, not make a “statement” that would rust and fall down before anyone repeated it. I wanted people to climb my route and recommend it. Also, secretly, I wanted Andy to approve.
After two rigorous days I had established four pitches of climbing, two of 5.11 and two of 5.12. Remembering the rats, I avoided fixed lines and re-climbed the lower pitches each day — which quickly became tedious. I changed tactics, established the top pitches on rappel, and finally had Cowboy Poetry, a steep, seven-pitch 5.12c on excellent gray and orange limestone. I had learned more from the experience than I had in years of repeating routes. I knew that longer bolted routes twice as hard existed all over the world, but this baby was all mine.
Andy graciously agreed to help me redpoint the route. On that glorious day in the Ghost, he and I both climbed as well and as hard as we ever had. The master and the apprentice met eye to eye and ushered in a new era in the valley.
I pull the last drag from the rolled smoke and shoulder my pack to head back to camp. My fourth summer in the Ghost is drawing to a close. In April, Andy had pulled a block while new routing on Yam, fell, clipped a ledge, and broke an ankle and ruptured both Achilles tendons. Still, he hobbled up to the cliff with me a few days ago and we put up two new pitches, despite having to elevate his feet between redpoints.
Premonition was repeated just days ago with rave reviews. This year, I was privately delighted to find that my residency in the Ghost had been assimilated into the stories. More than once I had heard, “So you’re the guy from Colorado that was putting up routes in the Ghost last summer? I heard about you ... ” Drums from a nearby youth camp begin echoing off the walls — it is the Stoney Elders, teaching troubled kids from the reservation to use their heritage as a source of strength. The sound resonates in my imagination. The ghost warriors pass through my shadows as I head up river to camp. I believe that climbers are the modern version of those ancient warriors. I am proud to walk in their footsteps.

Chris Kalous, 33, teaches high-school English in Carbondale, Colorado. This is his first feature for Climbing.