There are two kinds of climbers: the ones who look like they know what they’re doing, and the ones who don’t but keep moving anyway. I used to think I was the former. But would argue I’m the latter especially with old and new injuries surmounting.

After my last report, Be a Goldfish, my BFF Ben kindly pointed out that I am, in fact, not a goldfish. I don’t forget and don’t let things go. I circle, come back and take another bite. Apparently… I’m a shark. And if that’s true, then this climb is Left Shark just like Katy Perry's Super Bowl half time dancer who forgot all his moves but kept dancing anyway and because despite all the circling, all the attempts, all the gear, all the planning… I still have moments out there where it’s very clear: I have no idea what I’m doing.

This will be my fourth attempt. The first time, I tried to outsmart it from the north solo.

Classic mistake. Longer, worse, and completely impractical unless your goal is to waste a day, scratch up your car and learn humility. Got some bonus peaks along the way. Regardless it was a beautiful hike and I had cel reception. The second time, I went in with Tom Pierce who, to his credit, taught himself how to pack raft specifically to get across the Yampa for this thing. He also once dragged a ladder out for 5,710' once, so… that tells you everything you need to know. He is determined. Maybe he's also a shark?

His beta for the return across the Yampa was simple: “Paddle like hell.” We made real progress that trip, boated across, climbed through stacked Supai-esque layers (if we’re being generous), and found our way into the amphitheater. That’s where Tom spotted what became known as the “butt crack pitch.”

Technically? 5.7. Reality? A2/A3 depending on how honest you’re feeling. I got it done, fixed the line, and scrambled higher to set Tom up for the jug. By the time he reached me, the light was going and the Yampa was waiting. We bailed.

• a chimney we couldn’t easily access
• a good looking wide crack that demanded a real commitment (and a #6 I thankfully brought)
• a slab ridge option that would’ve been fine… if I had a different ankle and if the wind were calm.

Tom started up the ridge. The wind shut it down. We turned around with ~150 feet to go. That one hurt. But it was also the highest Tom had ever been after twenty attempts, which says something about both the peak and the people it attracts.

Left Shark — Final Chapter

Steamboat Rock We didn’t just climb it, we solved it.

Jonny solved it. His engineering brain quietly works through problems while I’m still rotating the puzzle pieces in my hands. He’s strong, he’s smart, and humble about it. I joke that once I get my cadaver tendon (from Ueli Steck, obviously), and once my heel is healed, maybe my ankle can keep up with him, even if I can’t.

We meet at Echo Park. Sort gear. Sort boats. Start walking. Half a mile down the confluence access trail to a sandy launch. Pumps out. Boats inflated. We slide into the current and immediately commit to the right channel. Stay river right or pay for it later. We pull out after the last big boulder, drag the boats uphill, and bury them behind junipers under a green tarp like we’ve done this before. Then the tone shifts. We walk south to north through an open meadow lined with massive cottonwoods. Two bald eagles drift overhead, slow and effortless. Then the ground interrupts the moment. Mountain lion tracks… and a boneyard. Quiet reminder: you’re not in charge out here.

🪨 The Rock. Steamboat isn’t Entrada. It’s Weber Sandstone, older, thicker, more stubborn. The kind of rock rivers negotiate with and ultimately go around. The Green and Yampa don’t cut through this thing, they are lazy and bend around it because it’s easier than arguing. That same stubbornness is why the climbing works: blocky, jointed, sometimes solid, sometimes not and always a negotiation. Jonny says: “In desert sandstone, you go where the gear goes.” Not the ridge. Not your ego. The gear.

🧗‍♀️ The Climb

Boats at 6am. Eagles overhead at 7. Jonny on lead at 8.

Pitch 1

50'

I aided it at 5.7 A2, twice. Jonny frees it at 5.9. He cleaned out the dirty sandy flaring pods and placed finger sized Totems. He says he wouldn’t have led it without them. That’s the review. I follow in my Ziggy Stardust Hokas, still not sure how that’s working, but it is. Above that the first pitch is a flat bench with a juniper to the left where I found a Metolius rap ring and old blue cord. On my first attempt I was curious to find a 50's era piton and a 2000's era rappel ring and cord. Apparently there are other sharks out there. Above the flat ledge are 4th class ledges and slab to another flat ledge where there is a sturdy juniper to either fix if you choose to aid or set up the belay.

Pitch 2

6': Short.

On the second larger ledge there is shaded crypto crust to the right and another 5th class short puzzle to the left. There is a short section in the middle of the wall with slightly inverted feet, a juniper at your feet and a smaller juniper above with a good side pull. I placed the spectre and slung the small tree, Jonny floats it, no gear.

Pitch 3: Another quick 10-foot low 5th step to the right (we both free solo), and suddenly we’re standing at the base looking at the final summit block. It's my third time circling here waiting for the next bite.

The summit block has three options:

• saddle (probably 5.6)
• left-facing wide corner (5.9)
• grungy chimney (5.9)

Plus a slightly overhanging hand crack to the right and directly on the face of the summit block that Jonny notices because of course he does. After a brief discussion of what will yield success, we both know. Grungy chimney.

The Business. Jonny fires in the #6 immediately. Bushes everywhere, desert defense system fully engaged. Before getting into the chimney there is one committing move above the slabs. There is good gear along the crack but slabby feet. Then a couple pods to place gear at chest level with an inverted down sloping 6 foot section with a slopy hold above the last pod and no good holds above. Jonny calls, “Watch me.” Translation: this matters. He places at chest height, commits right to a high, sloping foot, and disappears into the feature. Rope drag managed, as always. My turn. I shoulder the summit pack and go. Crux: good gear below, nothing where you want it, insecure feet and just enough consequence. I step slightly downhill off line and solve it my way. That’s the game. Above that? Actually fun. Pockets, movement and good flow. Jonny calls it easier than expected. Naturally. This third pitch into the chimney was a solid 100' of a variety of moves. Jonny thought the crux was 5.9 and I agree if you move slightly downhill from the slopy side pull but, if you blow that move you will pendulum. Once above the crux the rock becomes pocketed and again slight inversion but wicked bushes that stab you and the rock is like sandpaper. Above the pockets we are finally into the chimney and decide to coil the rope and free solo up to the final short summit cap. There are plenty of good holds, good feet, more stabby bushes and we top out at 11am.

🏔️ The Summit. Nothing up there. No register, no tat, no pin scars and no cairns. Just untouched crypto crust and two sand flies making sand fly babies. We scan the whole massif, a mile long from the southern Kor-Ingalls summit ahead of us all the way to the north summit behind us and we’re standing on what LiDAR now says is the true high point at 6,075’. Six FAs together now. Still feels like the first one. After enjoying our summit we head north to set the rappel with the idea to TR the two cracks. Once Jonny starts rappelling, the boulder we slung shifts. That’s a no. Jonny climbs back up and rebuilds a gear anchor (backs it up anyway) then drops into the wide left facing crack system. I belay him up and he reports it is 5.9, solid and enjoyable with good movement and gear. He lowers into the second line… I’ve never heard Jonny make those sounds on lead. I’m sitting comfortably on top, laughing, drinking my Skrat juice while he's down there mid-suffer. He pulls through, sweating: “Yeah… that’s 5.11.” Good. Noted.

I hand over the rest of my Skrat juice figuring we’ll need the endorfins 🦈 for the retreat.

Reset. At that point, the mountain gives us the obvious answer, we’re not getting a clean rappel off that janky boulder, so we reverse the game. We retrace our line back across the summit block and down into the grungy chimney, the same one we committed to on the way up. It feels different going down. Quieter. More deliberate. Less momentum, more intention. Back in the chimney, we find a solid constriction, finally something that feels trustworthy. Jonny hammers in two pitons, equalizes them, gives it a few firm tugs. No movement. Good enough. We rig the rappel and drop cleanly back to our packs and hiking boots. Simple. Efficient. No drama. Exactly how you want it… eventually.

Back at the saddle now and the north summit is begging to be climbed. 1pm. Wind comes in, right on schedule. “Want to tag the north summit?” Jonny negotiates. Of course. We move fast up the east side. Efficient. Clean. I was happy to be in my Ziggy Stardust boots. Once on the upper ridge he sends me up to scout. I call on the radio, “No rope needed.” There are two summit blocks. We climb both because of course we do. The second one’s higher. I iSatellite message Marc: Got both. He replies: Full Skrat mode today. Nice job.

Exit Strategy. We choose a cleaner rappel line directly off toward the saddle with less vegetation and a better pull. It’s a mushroom cap. Awkward, slightly ridiculous rappel. Not elegant, but effective. Two more rappels and we’re back at the base by 3pm of the now climbed Steamboat Rock. Notable: old army piton ~10’ up on the “butt crack” pitch, sun-faded sling + Metolius ring (I backed it up). Someone’s been here. But not like this. Not across all of it.

River Exit. My boat has a small leak. I take it. Jonny gets the kiddie oar but a new boat. It doesn’t matter. He powers across current, overshoots, then casually walks sandbars like it’s part of the plan. We regroup, deflate, eat, sit. He hugs me: “Thanks for another fun adventure.” That’s it. That’s the whole thing. Why It Works. We’re not chasing summits. We’re solving puzzles. And Jonny is the best partner I’ve ever had for that. I’m lucky I still get to do this with him, torn ankle, borrowed tendons, all of it.

Epilogue. Today I’m heading to Vernal, Utah to climb the via ferrata in the Ashley Gorge that Jonny is currently installing. I have no idea what I’m doing. But I’ll keep circling until I do.