It was a cool southeast Utah spring morning in 1977. My climbing partner, Kent, had talked me into driving us out near Moab to climb a spire called Castleton Tower. We’d left late the night before and driven past Grand Junction, then we’d pulled over to sleep a couple of hours before continuing.

Leaving I-70 at Cisco, we made our way down a sleepy two-lane road that would soon parallel the river. Before reaching the Fisher Towers we came to a single lane bridge across the Colorado River—it was exciting just driving over this rickety structure—that now is only a curiosity stop most drivers just zoom by while crossing the reconstructed bridge.

It had snowed lightly overnight, and the clouds were still hanging low, not giving us much of an idea of the scenery we were driving through. The clouds were low—you couldn’t see the Fisher Towers or any other of the cliffs around, just steep red approaches to all of them. Since the weather was cold, cloudy, and raw—not conducive to climbing—we just hiked around the area and bouldered some until it was time to start looking for a campsite for the night.

We slowly drove down to Castle Valley to find out where Castleton Tower was, and perhaps get a look at what we aspired to climb. But no luck. The clouds still hovered low, so we just set up camp and cooked dinner before turning in and hoping for better weather the next day.

We didn’t have much information about the tower or the climb, other than Chevrolet had made a commercial after helicoptering a sedan to the top of the spire some years before. But even this couldn’t prepare me for my first view of the tower the next morning—wow!

The clouds had lifted overnight to leave a sunny but cool day, and Castleton Tower was impressive. It took a little time to figure out a way through the defending cliffs, but after a few detours we were at the base of this magnificent tower. We were going to attempt the North Chimney because we weren’t sure we could free climb the Kor-Ingalls route. So along with a couple of tube chocks and our rack of hexcentrics, we were off on our adventure. No lines waiting for routes today.

Kent led off all of the pitches. As we climbed higher we nervously watched an enormous chockstone balanced over us in the large chimney we were ascending—and hoped it stayed there! (Twenty-five years later it still perches precariously over this route).

At the last belay before the summit, the exposure really opened up. The pitch is shared by both the north chimney and the Kor-Ingalls route and offers no protection from the exposure.

Once on top, we marveled at the incredible place we found ourselves in, and we found the register in an old ammunition box

What history. Kor, Ingalls, Pratt, Carter—I’d never seen a summit register with as much history in it as this one. I think we were the 42nd party to climb the tower. The silence—just the light breeze—and the companionship with Kent made the climb one of my most memorable. Since then I’ve been fortunate enough to go back twice more and share climbing this tower with other partners.