When the man began his tale I was waiting to laugh at the punch line, but by now his fear is obvious — and contagious. I bid the man farewell and stuff my rock shoes into my pack with trembling hands.
An alabaster Mormon Temple dominates the skyline of downtown St. George, a peaceful, Leave-It-To-Beaver-esque church- and tourism-based community. Brigham Young brought the Church of Latter Day Saints to St. George in 1861, and today over 75 percent of the population is Mormon. St. George is one of the fastest-growing retirement communities in the country, and is reputed to have the highest
concentration of cops in Utah; crime is virtually non-existent, and people commonly leave cars and homes unlocked at night. The town frowns on all nefarious activities, and the Blarney Stone, St. George’s only bar, caters to a very small clientele of locals and the occasional visiting climber.
Tourists and RV warriors flock here from around the country, and a multitude of signs indicates the remaining miles to Zion and Bryce Canyon national parks, and Las Vegas, 120 miles distant. St. George is the LDS equivalent of Daytona Beach, and young Mormons come to party here during their spring breaks or before decamping for their overseas mission, adding to the tourist mayhem. During spring months St. George Boulevard is the place to see and be seen among the LDS “in” crowd.
Among climbers, St. George has been touted as “the land of 10,000 bolts,” a moniker that isn’t far off. Word of newly discovered crags circulates quickly among the closely knit community of roughly a dozen resident climbers, and new walls are developed at a feverish pace. The climate makes St. George an obvious winter cragging destination, but what separates it from other areas is its wealth of moderate, safely bolted routes on three types of stone, sandstone, limestone, and basalt.
So why isn’t St. George better known? The answer lies in geography: the nearest population centers for climbers — Las Vegas; the Wasatch Front, Utah; and Flagstaff, Arizona — each boast several lifetimes’ worth of climbable stone. “I like St. George, but I have to consider how much time I’m gonna spend driving, and how much time I’m gonna spend climbing,” says Jeff Pederson, owner of The Quarry rock gym in Provo, Utah. “Same thing’s true for people on the Vegas side ... and the ratings are softer at Red Rocks.”
“The VRG is the whole reason for climbing around here,” says Jorge Visser with a jovial laugh. “The rest is what you do on rest days, or where you take girls.” Visser, a So-Cal native widely recognized as the father of St. George climbing, relocated here in 1991 to escape Los Angeles and be closer to the nearby Virgin River Gorge (VRG), which during the early 1990s was America’s hotspot sport-climbing venue. “I came to be with Jorge,” says Lauren Lee, one of America’s top female competition climbers, “but St. George has its own charm. It opened my eyes to outside climbing.”
Though the initial draw of St. George was the VRG, it wasn’t long before climbers realized the closer-to-home climbing potential, which featured the blessed absence of noisy I-15 and its omnipresent trucks. Visser’s first contribution, a 5.11c bouldering traverse at Pioneer Park, on the northern edge of town, exposed many locals to climbing and turned the park into a local gathering spot for would-be climbers. In 1993 Visser met Todd Perkins, a now 30-year-old guide, and together they developed the Chuckawalla Wall. Perkins, originally from northern Utah, came to St. George to attend Dixie College, but it wasn’t long before Perkins was hanging out with Visser and VRG pioneer Randy Leavitt, down on the weekends from San Diego. Soon Perkins bought a drill and began his mission to develop St. George’s climbing potential.
“Chuckawalla brought climbing to St. George,” says Visser. The 60-foot-high wall is a steep, well-used, west-facing sandstone crag where it’s common to experience sunny, 60-degree temps well into January. A chain of distant mountains rises on the northern horizon, and a series of mesas and caves lie to the east. For a visiting climber from a colder biome, the Chuckawalla Wall is as much a celebration of sunshine as it is of sandstone; the approach is measured in feet, not miles, and the stone is almost always warm to the touch. As the wall is situated just a mile from town, locals ride their bikes to Chuckawalla on lunch breaks or crank out post-work burns.
Climbs like Dirtbag (5.10a) and Tombstone Bullets (5.10c/d) feature big moves off comfortable, sinker pockets, but a quick trip left reveals crimpy and intricate routes like Garden of Eden (5.10d) or Three Black Bears (5.13b). Second Coming (5.12a) is the premiere route on the wall, challenging climbers with a slopey, technical opener to a pumpy, overhanging arête. While the climbing is now super fun at Chuckawalla, it’s interesting to note that layers of mud and loose choss had to be excavated before pockets and holds were revealed, and even today, holds continue to “evolve.”
A mile northeast of the Chuckawalla Wall lies the Turtle Wall, an east-facing sandstone crag jutting from the side of a prominent mesa. Secluded from the road, routes on Turtle Wall are more athletic than those at Chuckawalla; massive jugs punctuate blank expanses of sandstone, and while the moves are powerful, even the 5.11s reward you with comfortable rests between moves. Director of Humor Affairs (5.11a) ascends a bulging, sun-soaked wall of buckets before giving way to a vertical face. Banana Dance (5.11d) climbs a prominent, arching arête through some hectic clips, but promises a no-hands stem after battling the overhang. Tortuga (5.12a) features powerful, thuggy moves off big huecos and solid crimps before rearing back to a steep, sandy, footwork-intensive slab. Like most crags in St. George, Chucka-walla and Turtle Wall contain roughly 15 to 20 routes, making for only a day or two worth of climbing. Visitors need to be patient with the geography of St. George. Though the crags are worthy, they’re small and spread out.
The Chuckawalla Wall, Turtle Wall, and Black Rocks — a basalt escarpment with three- to four-bolt sport routes — are collectively known as the Paradise Canyon crags, and, along with Snow Canyon and Pioneer Park are situated inside the Red Cliffs Desert Reserve. The Reserve is a 62,000-acre refugia that was established as a collaborative effort between Washington County, the BLM, the State of Utah, Utah State Institution Trust Lands Administration, US Fish and Wildlife Service and The Nature Conservancy in 1996 to provide habitat primarily for the desert tortoise, but also for other sensitive species. A wood fence describes the perimeter of Paradise Canyon, and chicken wire anchored at ground level prevents the endangered tortoises from escaping. Climbing here predates the Reserve, and climbers are allowed to use the land on the stipulation that they follow the rules.