Gilson Butte is a hefty formation just west of Highway 24, midway between Green River and Hanksville, with a quarter-mile plateau summit surrounded by 400' cliffs of shale (or worse). The formation promised lousy free climbing but stimulating aiding and solitude.

In late April, Chip Wilson and I went to have a look. The highest bands appeared to be the most rotten, so for a first climb we picked an outlying summit with a sturdy-looking blob top, which we named the Moai. Over three days, we completed Gazing Rights (240’, 3 pitches, 5.7 A3). The first pitch started with soft, persnickety aid to a bolt at 35'. Beyond, the rock improved, the cracks grew larger, and I grew happier. A rubbly shoulder at 120' made for a fine belay from which we could have headed to the big plateau or to our outlying summit.

Ninety feet up toward the latter, Chip stopped, belayed (on natural gear), and, after the happy sounds of "Off Belay!” "Rope's Fixed!" and the like, began yelling odder phrases. Wind obscured the words, but I sensed a slightly horrified tone. On joining him I discovered why: The summit block—30’ tall, 20' broad—was perched on a crumbling plinth 10' long by 2' wide. The normal rules of gravity evidently did not matter here. Enactments of what would happen if the Moai toppled, with us riding it to the ground, bounced around my head. I hesitated long enough that Chip, not so prone to overthinking things, jumped on the short lead to the top. The 120' rappel from the summit to the big shoulder below was terrifying, but this Moai stayed put.

In October, I returned with Joe Shultz and Keiko Tanaka, and we completed a route to the top of Gilson Butte proper: Alice in Sandland (280’, 5.4 A3+). Again, the climb took three days.

We chose a line up a clean, steep buttress (near the Moai), where it appeared we might be able to scramble through the crumbly white bands up high. The base of the route sat atop a 100' sand dune, so we were able to conveniently bypass the soft bands that guarded the start of our previous climb.

Keiko led a 90' pitch of standard desert choss to a ledge. Above, Joe wrestled overhanging seams to a muddy slot and a brief, deep hand crack. With perfect cams for protection, he eased past a couple car-doors hanging from, and blocking the start of, a splitter crack that led to the shoulder far above. The final pitch negotiated the white bands. I post-holed through dust with occasional aid moves to a point where we could unrope and scramble several hundred yards to the summit.

The plateau on top was speckled with red chert and wind-polished stones and no footprints, neither human nor animal. We felt privileged to visit such a place, as isolated from the rest of the world as a mid-ocean island. We had assumed we would be the first climbers to summit Gilson Butte, but on top we found a makeshift register left by a soloist, "Max Supertramp," in late October 2017. Ours was likely the second ascent of the butte by climbers, though we also found a decrepit metal sculpture on top held together by baling wire. We surmised that probably had been left long ago by USGS surveyors, who would have arrived by helicopter.

– Steve “Crusher” Bartlett