Altars in the Sky • The Galveston County Daily News

Dolph Tillotson climbs through the Chimney on Baxter's Pinnacle, while Brent Masel watches from below.

Thursday, July 7

When we showed up Thursday morning, July 7, our guides said they'd changed their minds. Cube Point was out. Baxter's Pinnacle was the goal.

We originally discussed climbing the pinnacle as an alternative to the climb to Cube Point. The pinnacle would make for a shorter day but a much more difficult rock climb. It offered many difficulties, including the Pig's Knuckle at the top, an ugly, featureless protuberance.

The pinnacle would give us more solid rock climbing experience. In addition, it would leave more time to rest that evening and get geared up for the two-day attempt to summit.

The pinnacle was about 700 feet from base to top, rising out of a talus field. The top was approximately 2,000 feet above the lake.

Baxter's Pinnacle.

In all, we did eight pitches to the top. Each man belayed the climber below. I belayed Brent most of the way up and Tom belayed me with a strong, sure hand.

Of the eight pitches, two were most notable.

The first was called the Crux. The bottom of this pitch offered no clear holds. To manage it, you had to make spidery steps onto nearly invisible wrinkles in the rock. There was another very difficult spot at the top - a long, sharp edge of stone. After that, you faced a tough scramble to the belaying point above.

Mark went up first. Then Tom followed him. Tom made several efforts at the beginning of the pitch and then finally made it on his third try. At the top, he struggled past the edge and out of our sight. He had mastered the pitch.

That pitch was fairly easy for me. I went straight up, too breathless and scared to either slow down or look down.

The other pitch that gave us trouble was closer to the top. It was a 40-foot chimney or crack just wide enough for a man to pass through. To climb it, you had to stem on both sides - feet and hands out beside you. It was much like a kid climbing up the inside of a doorframe.

When I belayed Brent up the chimney, I learned a valuable lesson. From my belaying point, I could not see the climber. I signaled him to begin climbing, and I felt his weight on the line but couldn't visibly mark his progress. Suddenly, I heard Brent yell. He had slipped and fallen. I felt an increase in the pressure on the belay line, but I held it easily.

Two thoughts went through my mind:

First, belaying works. Even when holding a man's entire weight, the effort seemed manageable.

Second, and with blinding clarity, it struck me that this was more than just an exercise. The tedium of belaying became much more than tedium. We had to work as a team or we risked more than scraped knees.

When we reached the base of the dreaded Pig's Knuckle, I looked at it and saw no feature to hold a climber at its start. So, when Mark and Christian opted not to make that last pitch, none of us argued. It was beginning to rain lightly, and we were tired. Also, the damned thing looked scary as hell. Our guides made a wise decision not to take six old men onto that rock.

Before we broke up early that day, Mark told us he was pleased.

“You guys really worked well together today,” he said. “That's what we're looking for when we train people. You did great.”

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