The Golden Bullet

The Golden Bullet is a trad route established by Matt Wilder in 2010. It lives in the New River Gorge, in a sub-sector of Endless Wall know as “Kline Wall”. The route is hard to pin to one style. It requires hard bouldering above crash pads, “sport” climbing through multiple hard sections separated by rests, and the skill/head for finicky gear placements throughout. Since its FA in 2010, it seems to have sat forgotten or overlooked.

Matt Wilder on the FA of The Golden Bullet (13d)

I’ve been on so many climbing trips. In a way, the past 13 years feel like one big climbing trip. At this point in my climbing career, I know how trips usually feel. I settle into a routine after some days - identify my warmups, lock in my wakeup time, start whittling down what I pack each day as draws get hung, the right shoes get chosen, pads get stashed, etc.

This one’s been different. A healthy dose of Murphy’s law battered Tyson and I for the whole two weeks. A brief synopsis:

• Winter Storm Fern hit the entire southeast the moment we landed.

• We pivoted to Chattanooga because the New was too icy.

• We damaged our rental car driving to the New by hitting a block of ice that fell from the truck ahead, causing every sensor/alarm/light to stay on for the duration of our trip.

• More snow, no sun, and highs below freezing for the whole 2nd week

• A seeping crux hold 12 feet off the ground that required a logistical nightmare to access
  

I couldn’t stop thinking, and even texted a few friends, that IF we pulled this off, we’d have such a great story. A very privileged hero’s journey, if you will. Every day brought new hurdles, and after about 10 days of constantly adapting, changing plans, and feigning psych, I was in mild despair. By Wednesday of Week 2, having climbed only one day in the New so far, I checked whether extending our trip was an option. It was too expensive. So I texted my friend Eric to see if I could borrow his ladder, and trudged out in the fresh snow to try drying the crux hold. We had 3 days left, and none of them looked good. The weight of waiting for a better forecast was lifted, and I just accepted that now was the only time. Go and see.

The parking lot hiking in that day

I tried clipping the heavy ladder to my pack, because it hurt to drape it over my shoulder last time. It clinged against my side with every step, and loaded my back funny. But my shoulder stayed a bit fresher and my hands could stay buried in my pockets with the handwarmers. The waterproof boots I’d just bought from Walmart re-chaffed my ankles as I hiked out for the 5th time in 4 days. I thought about the irony of being here after moving to Squamish and repeatedly hearing, “aren’t you worried about the cold, wet Squamish winter?”

I rigged my 60m static rope to the highest tree, because it was too snowy/icy to safely walk to the cliff’s edge. Then I tucked my scarf sleeves into my jacket so the threads wouldn’t catch in the grigri, and did the 15ft horizontal rappel to the cliff edge. I re-anchored the rope to another tree, and dropped over the lip.

It was a bit surreal. Ice covered every branch around me, and snowflakes flurried down as my rope knocked them loose from the wall. I’ve never been an alpine climber. Perhaps this is the closest I’ll get. I sort of hope so.

I re-chalked a few outro holds of the redpoint crux - probably the spiciest section of the route. They were all dry. As I got lower and lower, I noticed a lot more seeping than before. Almost every crux hold in the bottom boulder was oozing moisture. I almost started jugging out without ever touching the ground. I just stared at the holds. Eventually, I placed the green C3 that pulls me in towards them. I chalked them because why not - call it groundwork for ensuring they’d be drier tomorrow.

At that point my legs were getting numb from sitting in the harness with a heavy ladder hanging from my belay loop, so I rapped the last few feet to the ground. My body felt good - oddly rested, and very warm from the hiking, rigging, and rappelling. I set the ladder up, and dried the crux pocket. I blasted it with Tyson’s Kica fan, and as I did, cold goopy chalk spewed onto my face! I added more chalk, brushed it away, fanned it, and repeated this cycle for 2 minutes. 

I curled my fingers onto the small pocket. It was dry. 

What now? I waited to see if it would begin to seep again. 5 minutes later, the light grey stone turned dark again. Hmmmm…5 minutes is enough.

I should’ve brought shoes and my TR solo bag, but I didn’t. Clock’s ticking - it’s already 2pm. I call Tyson. “I think I might try, if you don’t mind coming out?”

Tyson on top before we rap in

An hour later, I’m back on top of the route, with a lead rope, climbing shoes, and a generously psyched partner. We rap in, and Tyson starts drying the low pocket from the ladder while I redirect the rope through some directionals.

After a speedy warmup recruiting my fingers as quickly as possible, I set off on a microtrax to try the first boulder. I opt to try new beta on the first go, and it doesn’t work. No biggie. We prop the ladder up, I step onto it from the microtrax, and just walk myself down. 

Snippet of the warmup - block pulls from the ladder used to dry the pocket

Two minutes later, I’m going again. This time I just barely get through the move. I pretend to place a cam after that move, as if I were leading, and pull into the next hard move. With nothing in reserve, I latch the good, final hold of the opening boulder - altogether about V10. It wasn’t how I wanted the moves to feel, especially because I assumed linking the moves on lead would feel even harder.

I kept going, employing every tactic I had to keep my hands from numbing. Arm flicks while I rested on the jug. Hands on my neck and chest. Breathing hot air onto them after chalking. Squeezing the handwarmers in my chalk bag. 

I climbed through the 5.12 section, and arrived at the final rest before the redpoint crux. At this point I decided I had to try. So I did, and once again, with zero margin, I was able to do the moves. It left me feeling bittersweet. 

Sending on toprope was objectively a big achievement. It proved I had the physical level to do the route, and opened the door to leading it. I knew to be proud, but the desperation I’d felt pulling the moves left me reluctant to feel pride. I had no margin in either crux, and I really wanted margin. 

The scene a day earlier - Tyson packing up the ladder, pads below, static line through the directionals, Kica fan in the foreground on the right.

Time was of the essence. I’d need at least 30 minutes to rest. It would get dark in about 90 minutes. I could wait until tomorrow, but I wasn’t sure if I’d have access to Eric’s ladder, or if climbing would even be possible - with the forecast calling for highs around 26 and little sun. Friday presented the same problem. And on top of it all, Tyson had rallied to support me now, and I wanted to be free to support him tomorrow and the next day. 

As my friend and mentor Kyle had always said, the time is now. 

Then I realized I had left one of the pieces I needed on the wall. Tyson offered to jug the static and retrieve it, and while he jugged, I called Rebecca to ask her what she thought. Should I go for it? When she answered the phone, she steered the conversation in a different direction before I could even ask, which served as an unexpected but quite welcome distraction to the mental gymnastics I’d been doing. Eventually, I mentioned my conundrum, and she told me to absolutely do it, unless I thought I could get hurt. 

I say thank you and I love you, and hang up the phone. 

I don’t say anything out loud, but I’m thinking about the danger. Could I get hurt? Sure, that’s climbing. But that isn’t what she means, and I know it. She means hurt. The route is objectively more dangerous than sport climbing or bouldering. The crux is runout above 2 pieces that are ok, but not textbook. Below those two is a nearly perfect nut placement, except that where it catches, the rock is scarred from breaking - which unnerves me to think about. Below that is a true anchor - two cams that are as good as it gets. Unfortunately, these are too low to keep me off the ground if the 3 pieces above rip. The best gear on the route, unfortunately, protects only the easiest moves.

Hubris has to be the principal factor in my choosing to lead the route. However, that pride is hard to separate from confidence and curiosity - which don’t share the negative connotation that hubris carries. I’m confident I can do it, and curious to know what it feels like to do it. I think it would require all of my prior experience to succeed. It already has. Simply understanding how to safely access and rig a toprope on the route is a product of my years working in rope access. Knowing this route even exists - something lots of NRG locals don’t even know - is a product of my obsession/consumption of every shred of climbing media/print while in college. Knowing what the route would require of me physically was something I worked on with my coach, leading me to build my strength capacity - especially my fingers - to the highest level they’d ever been. I also spent hours shaking out on jugs, slopers, and crimps for the last 5 weeks in the gym, to make sure I’d also have the capacity to recover at the rests along the route. My creativity, and boldness, to try new, improbable sequences allowed me to completely re-engineer the top crux, which had previously been low percentage (like 1 in 15) due to my height/reach. Instead, I found a hard but reliable sequence using miniscule crimps and a high, flexible heel. My consistent stretching surely made this sequence an option that stiffer climbers of the same dimensions couldn’t have done. 

And then there’s the mental component. This one is harder to pin. My ability to manage risk has evolved. I’ve been the overstoker young kid, being bold without choosing to be - just suddenly in over your head wondering how you got there. I’ve been the dirtbag with nothing but time - who reads stories of other bold climbers, and uses time, time, and more free time to whittle something down to being statistically reliable enough not to be risky. I’ve been a leader, responsible for the well being of others - often choosing to be conservative at the expense of fostering formative experiences. Who was I now? 

I didn’t think about answering that question. Perhaps by leading the route I would be answering it. 

I still hadn’t accepted that I would try the route, but I just began acting as if I would. I started laying pads down. Going up the ladder to dry the hold. Taking the lead rope out of the bag. Sorting the rack I would need very precisely. It’s a lot easier to say yes to a game of chess if the board and pieces are set up in front of you, and I guess that’s what I was doing. I hadn’t said yes, but I was making it harder to say no. 

And then the fan died. That was it, the pocket would stay dry for about 5 minutes. I suppose that meant I was playing Black, because White had just moved its first pawn. 

I felt warm and nervous. Focused but oddly uncommitted. I can always jump down in a few moves. Or I can take if I feel numb or pumped at the easy section. 

I climb to the first piece, doing the hardest single move of the route, with substantially more margin than ever before. It was really hard, but the difference between 100% effort and 98% effort felt immense at that moment. I’m breathing well. I place a purple C3. I force a difficult shake for my right hand, because the next hard move relies entirely on locking down a right sidepull. I take it slowly, curl into the fullest crimp possible, bring my left foot up to backstep, and pull through with a lunge to the shelf above. 

The right hand sidepull in the first boulder

I’m relaxed again. Easy moves and great gear for the next 20 feet. I take a long rest, employing every tactic I know to keep my hands from numbing out. I flick my arms. I rest my hands on my neck or chest. I squeeze the handwarmer in my chalkbag. I breathe hot air into my fingers. 

The next 5.12 section goes well, and now I’m at the final rest. The last chance I have to decide I’m not ready. Actually, before I make that choice, I’ll just place the gear. I reach down to fiddle in a nut between my two feet. Then I place the .2 and .1 x4. 

I shake out for as long as I can. After about 5 minutes, my right leg is burning too much from standing on the small edge. I briefly wonder if that fatigue in my leg will affect how I climb the next section. 

It doesn’t feel like I make a decision to continue, it just feels natural to. I intensify my breathing, place my heel high, and hear Tyson cheering as I stick the crux move. I feel so focused, and my feet find their way onto the poor feet, sticking to them as if they were trivial ledges rather than small chips and poor smears. I’m at the arete now, rocking onto the left foot. Three moves left. Two. One. 

I cut my feet, paste them high, lock off to the ledge, and scream. 

I wanted to chill and bask, but as was the trip’s theme, time was of the essence. It would be dark in a few minutes, and we had no headlamps, a 90 foot rope to jug, and lots to carry out in the fresh snow. I clip into the static rope I’d left at the ledge, and clean my pieces as I lower down. With my feet on solid, icy ground, Tyson gives me a hug. I’m glowing and he’s shivering. A cold walk and a short drive later, we’re in Oak Hill at El Bandido’s. It’s Wine and Wings Wednesday, but for us it’s Margaritas and Quesadillas.

Frozen margarita featuring a post-send smile and some helmet hair