Climbing in the Callahans and the Economy of Short Routes

After becoming acquainted to outdoor climbing, it becomes easy to walk into climbing gyms and turn your nose up at walls that aren’t “high” enough. Although there’s some carry-over between climbers and stoners, the purpose of climbing isn’t necessarily to get high. Being high up is now something I view as a fringe benefit of the sport.

Somewhat controversially among the local climbing scene, I haven’t spent a great deal of time cultivating multi-pitch experience. I often climb in larger groups and this isn’t terribly conducive for the already long days that multi-pitch climbing often entails. I intend to get more into it in the near future, but at the moment am relishing in all that single pitch sport climbing has to offer.

Perhaps the crowning gem of this idea is a route in the Callahans called Cosmos on a formation known as Fantasy Island. My first time venturing out to this distant place involved hiking two hours one way through copious amounts of poison oak with a lightning storm on the brink. If that sounds ridiculous, my main reason for doing this in the first place was because I noticed a photo of the route in a local climbing guide. It looked really cool.

Descending down a slippery ramp puts you face to face with the Cosmos Wall, behind which looms the lush expanse of the Flourney Valley. The Cosmos route has the climber ascending a humble 30 feet flanked by intense exposure. The climb itself is moderately rated, but being unfamiliar with the unique style of the Callahans, this generally easy grade became a journey. I was amazed at how such a short section of rock could produce an experience akin to ascending a giant spire into the clouds. Once at the top, I enjoyed my place as a quiet addition to the expansive background surrounding the valley.

The feeling of exposure is somewhat unique to the Callahans in general, as many of the formations feature similar feelings of exposure against the backdrop of the valley nearly 2000 feet below. Each day I spend climbing there is an exercise in mental fortitude whilst navigating the precise artwork of slab climbing in which decent holds are nonexistent. This type of climbing requires deep focus and an unusual sort of improvisation that has a tendency of sometimes working out. Myself and others who have began frequenting the area affectionately dubbed the trademark move of this area “The Callahan Commit:”

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In which the climber presses a high foot into the faintest inclination of a ledge and follows through into a pistol squat, only to discover that after their mental and physical energy has been expended they are now higher up with even fewer handholds.

There isn’t a great way to prepare for this type of move aside from going to the top of the route and setting up a top rope so that you don’t have to execute this move on lead, at least initially anyway. Usually a big strain is followed by a sense of relief, but this isn’t the case here. After busting out a Callahan Commit, you now have to accept the consequences instead of taking a rest.

Frightening as it is to pull off, if you make it to the other side the effect is galvanizing. You suddenly realize your long dormant superpowers have been activated because there simply isn’t another explanation for being able to float across blank rock.

On the other side, you now have nothing to grip as you slide and scrape back down towards where you started. The Callahans offers many things, but a middle ground isn’t often one of them.

If this hasn’t inspired you to jump on the Coos Bay — Millicoma Tree Farm permits when they go on sale next year and experience the satisfying yet short climbs in the Callahans then I don’t know what will. Although I’ll certainly keep trying.