I've avoided sharing too much here, the ST forum can be quite abrasive and downright ignorant when it comes to wingsuit BASE. Yet I lurk and use the site without contributing much in return. So here's my adventure from last weekend. If you enjoy, let me know and I'll make an effort to do so more often, and if you don't let me know too but try to maintain some humanity in your comments. We're all climbers after all.

Like many others I'm sure, the Needles is a special place for me. My first trad-lead over 15 years ago was on White Punks on Dope (WPOD). Below the splitter crack of the last pitch, my partner Don handed me the rack and insisted it was my turn. Then and ever since, the Needles have always intimidated and tested me both physically and mentally. There's an indescribable, and perhaps even dark energy to this place. No matter how much stronger and skilled a climber I become, there is always something here that will induce soul-searching fear and doubt. I returned once again last week, solo this time, to test myself yet again.

Friday late morning I roll into the paved pull-out next to Needlerock creek on the lower canyon road, and begin to reacquaint myself with the grand view above.


Based on the forecasted strong winds, my first day's plan is to re-dial in the trail up, do some easy soloing, and carefully profile with a laser range-finder the exit spot I had found the year prior. The trail starts out fine just as I remember, but soon becomes a maze of fallen trees and false paths, the result no doubt from our extended drought and an actual winter season this past year. Falling back onto standard Sierra bushwhack training I eventually find a series of cairns that lead me to the base of Voodoo Dome just left of WPOD. I wander left to the series of corners and cracks, put on my climbing shoes and start up 5.7-5.8ish terrain hoping I'll be able to meander my way to the top.



Luckily it all connects, and after a short lunch on the summit, I swiftly head over to the North-side of the Witch and climb up and then down from the summit to reach the spot I had remembered. With laser in hand, I carefully butt-scoot to the sloping edge and commence the two-part analysis. The first part is the exit phase, I need to be absolutely sure that the bench below and subsequent obstacles are all far enough below my known flight profiles. This is complicated by the large protruding rock to my right that blocks an exit push straight out into the clean drop of the Witch-Warlock gully. In the second-part analysis, I need to evaluate my potential flight lines and glide-ratios along with prospective landing areas. This analysis becomes less exact as the number of variables is increased, and I need to decide on what am I willing to accept for possible landing areas. I decide on a Plan A, B, and even C (shit I hope it doesn't come to C), and climb back down the Witch to go scout the Warlock.


I had been trying to recall the detail of climbing Imaginary Voyage (IV) over a year prior, and how solid I felt on the moves. Even if I could free-solo the route, how could I get my gear up on top? I'd need to tag a line and then set a fixed line to come down and jug back up. Could a 60M reach far enough? Why have I never bought a 70M? Why didn't I pack a second rope for this trip? The mental chess game continued in my head as I traversed in from the ledge to the 2nd pitch of IV, pausing to clear my head and focus for the one committing move that reaches a horizontal hand-rail. Now staring up the route, I see again the annoying long-grass that grows from this otherwise bomber hand crack. I pull into the first sequence to see how it feels, but 3 to 4 moves up and I'm not feeling secure with the grass constantly getting trapped between my skin and the rock. I reverse the moves back down to the ledge just as a thunderous roar rockets up the canyon. My head spins and I look in awe as a fighter jet (F/A-18 Hornet?) screams past showing me her belly 500 feet away on-level and throws a complete clockwise barrel role diving into the upper Kern canyon. I had heard one fly by earlier, but had no idea just how close they were buzzing the notch between Voodoo and the Warlock. This would continue about every hour from around Noon to 5PM, same pattern, same barrel role, stunning to watch every time.
After the free air-show, I decide to head back to camp, descending between the Witch and Sorcerer so I would get a different perspective from below on the gully between the Witch and Warlock. In the upper gully, I observe the only two climbing parties I've seen out here today, both on the same route Igor Unchained. The follower of the lower party on the first pitch yells out that timeless phrase, "I thought this is supposed to be 5.9?!" On the rest of the way down I manage to stay mostly on a marked trail, and spend a few hours clearing the path through fallen trees and branches.



I wake Saturday morning and find the winds are still not calm, a 5-10mph breeze from the West is blowing but it's steady and not at all gusty so I convince myself to go have a look on top. Ninety minutes later at around 9AM I find myself on the Witch at the exit getting excited about a gentle updraft already forming. This excitement is quickly squashed as a breeze picks up out of the NW, a direct tail wind, and I decide to hang out a bit tucked under a small overhang where the sun is warm. As I'm laying down, eyes closed, I slowly begin to notice over the next hour how the NW wind which I can feel in my hair begins to oscillate with another warmer current that travels up my pant leg. By 10:15AM I can no longer feel that NW wind and the updrafts are the perfect strength now. I shake out from my pseudo nap and wake myself up with a splash of water in the face. One last gear check, and I feel my pilot chute handle as I inch my way over to the singular stance, quite literally the only square foot of rock on the entire formation that is suitable for my exit. I spit into the updraft and watch the spray hover out from me 10 feet away, it's perfect. I softly speak for the first time in over a day, "Three, two, one, cya". I push off and feel the suit inflation almost immediately as I fly away. I quickly judge my glide path and pick a conservative spot along the Warlock to pass by, the thermals are so good I steepen my flight slightly to build speed and continue to pass by the outcropping rock-ridges of Voodoo dome while keeping a close eye on the road below to decide when I need to break-off the terrain and drive for the landing area. Passing the big roof of the Skull, I bank right, I want to throw a barrel role like my F-18 buddy the day before, but I need all my speed and glide to make the road. I'm smiling now in full flight, coasting to the finish line, I flare up to slow my speed for deployment and pitch out my pilot chute. The opening is smooth as I hold the risers and swing underneath the inflating fabric. I quickly unzip my wings and grab my toggles to release the brakes. My smile quickly returns to serious as it's clear I'm pointed in the correct direction but I'm moving backward at around 10mph. That earlier breeze in the lower valley has matured into a swift valley wind. I tack into the wind to remain over the road while minimizing my reverse speed. About 150 feet up I lock onto a sandy looking bench just off the road and put it down accurately, but far from gracefully. My canopy is entangled in a large bush, but I'm standing and soaking in the moment. I just flew off the Witch…




Celebrating back at the car with strong coffee and some chocolate cookies, I contemplate my next move. I came with the intention to climb and fly for the first time the Witch and the Warlock. By any measure this trip is already a total success, but I know I won't feel satisfied with myself if I don't at least make an honest attempt on the Warlock. The winds are clear in their message for the rest of today, but the forecast was for the calmest winds the following morning. After some minor puncture repairs to my wingsuit from the landing, I attach my second rig, and fill up my pack with both flying and rope-solo gear. The hike up is much slower this time with the load and putting my head down on the slog up, I somehow manage to lose the trail again and find myself on steep pine needle infested ground in a maze of black dead branches. I curse the Guide Tennies that skate out as though I'm on ice. Finally after a bit of contouring, I regain the trail and reach the Warlock. After stashing my rig & suit on the North side, I again traverse in from the ledge to save time, set-up an anchor and confidently now launch up the route armed with a double rack. Everything goes well enough, but above the chimney section I slow and then pause for a good while at the right leaning thin corner. Eventually I realize the moves only to get held up again by the next big block that has me eventually pay out enough slack in the rope to layback past and finally reach secure ground. The winds haven't let-up and as I take a moment to wiggle my numb toes I get yet another air-show tower flyby. It's getting late and I contemplate yet again the chances of a single fixed 60M line from the top reaching far enough down the North wall to work. I decide the smart choice is to bail now, go rest and fuel up at camp, and return in the morning to maybe repeat the Witch if the conditions are good. The Warlock is not going anywhere as far as I can tell. Satisfied with my effort and happy with my decision, I rap down and cruise back to camp in anticipation of the beer I left cooling in the creek.





This next morning does prove to be calmer, and I enjoy the packless hike up with my rig waiting at the base of the Warlock. Before I know it I'm standing at exit again by 9AM. I wait just 15 minutes for the first updrafts to appear and begin to gear-up. The clarity and focus remain, but just like climbing a five-star classic route the second time, I take in more of the beauty and nuances of the line, that special green lichen glowing in the sunlight, and the dark power that is the Needles.