Breakfast in Hell, just another scary obscure choss pile, why wouldn't you climb it?

    Years ago Greg Prescott and I were wandering around the limestone above Lake Mary, exploring the Booze Pig and Long Ryders walls for the first of many times.  Admittedly we were somewhat lost, Toula's guide will get you in the general area but the rest is up to chance.  We found Booze Pig and were pretty sure we found Long Ryders and were stumbling about in search of what ever else might be out there.  Then we found it.  A tall roof leaning out over the sloping away hillside with easy climbing up to the point where the roof started and then everything gets very real and consequences become serious.  The landing slopes away and is tiered in such a way that pad placement is challenging.  Well ole GTP and I tried it a handful of times but ultimately decided that we needed more crash pad and more bodies before we tried this line again.  We walked away from the cliff but something about it just stuck in my head, something that I just couldn't shake.   I'm pretty sure Greg forgot about the line but it floated in that dark recess of the brain where bad ideas ferment.
      Fast forward a few years and my friend Anna and were out for a quick session at the Pig and some sunshine.  We exhausted the lines we could climb at Booze Pig and the call of that tall roof began to sound in my head.  We packed up and wandered across the hillside, I knew it was out there but wasn't quite sure where it had been a few years after all.  Eventually we stumbled on it again and layed out the pads, we only had two and I would only have one spotter, Anna.  Not exactly the dude-bro posse and plethora of pads Greg and I had envisioned but we were there.  I don't remember the details exactly other than knowing that if I blew the moves in the roof or pressing out the top out I would likely take a truly ugly and R/X rated fall and both Anna (if she didn't have the good sense to not spot me) and I would be seriously hurt.  But, I gave it hell anyhow and after a handful of aborted attempts I was able to top out the line.  It was terrifying and I don't remember the sequence at all.  I named the line Breakfast in Hell after a Slaid Cleaves song I had been listening to quite a bit.
     Its been years since that day with Anna and no one has repeated the line.  Its probably only V3 but the consequences are so dire that I'm not sure that I can really just tell anyone to go get on it.  In all reality if you were to blow the crux or top out you would end up in the hospital if not the ICU, hell it might even be worth wearing a helmet.  That being said though I keep coming back to it.  Last year I was able to talk Joel, JJ, and Wade into walking up there, thinking that with the added pads and a spotter a repeat or second ascent was assured.  No so luck.  Now really its not a pretty line its not all that aesthetic and the consequences are so dire that I really don't know why I feel a compulsion to repeat the line.  I've done a bit of work shoring up the landing area a bit and putting up a handful of other lines on the scrappy cliff band I've taken to calling the Unsung Wall (all the problems are named of Cleaves songs.)  A week or two ago I was out by myself just blowing off steam and found myself starting to reach into the crux of Breakfast in Hell.  Common sense came crashing down on me and I shakily downclimbed.  Sat there a moment and tried it again, same result. But still I tried one more time, this time I actually had my fingers just brushing the hold but couldn't quite commit.   Once again I reversed my moves and called it a day.
     This last week I had the great fortune to go climbing with Tam and Matt.  We hit the Long Ryders wall and appreciated JJ and Wades hard work in  trail building and cleaning the almost forgotten but classic lines on the wall.  Then I suggest  to Matt and Tam that we walk down to the Unsung wall, just to look...   They both were game and we headed through the juniper to the wall.  I showed them the other few problems and Matt made short work of "Cold and Lonely" another roof problem, not as high but just as hard and with its own challenging landing.  (FYI watch out for the Cactus!)  Then we moseyed over to my nemesis.  Its decieving, from the ground it just doesn't look the tall or hard or scary.  But pull up through the initial moves and yer focus narrows and you find yerself in a very serious situation.  Matt put several good runs at the line, sticking the crux move but finding himself unable to commit to letting go with his lower hand and downclimbing.  I tried and kept botching my beta, frustrating.  Tam just watched with Prince the weiner dog in her jacket and laughed.  After being denied one time to many we took off the climbing shoes and put on the street shoes again.  Matt scrambled up the warm up and shuffled over to the top of Breakfast and his eyes widened as he saw the desperate nature of the top out.

     Well we're back to square one, right where Greg and I were so many years ago, a posse, crashpads, serious psych.  Its possible, it does go, but its not really that aesthetic, its not really that hard, its not really that cool...  and if you blow it, the name says it all, you'll be eating Breakfast in Hell.    But for some reason I can't wait to get back on it posse or no and get my confirmation send.  Experience that fine line between in control and completely off the rails.  



---  so this didn't come out the way I really wanted, but hell its late and I'm tired.  But what is it that drives us to boulder alone and push the boundaries?  Thats the real thing I meant to write about but got sidetracked.  Anyhow if anyone reads this don't climb this boulder problem its Scary!  But if you do go let me know I'd love to see it happen and I'd appreciate a spot too!

video of Breakfast in Hell, Slaid Cleaves

The trick shoulder... or something like that

Soooo its been quite the while since I put any words down, just after Boys Christmas if I recall.  Now I find myself in that awkward spot of wanting to catch up on all the huge events but knowing that a.) no one really wants to read all that and b.) my attention span seems to waver from minute to minute and chances are I'll get side tracked.  So instead I figured I would do a brief recap and then get to the business of what I really have to say.  HA!
     The last two months have been a blur with some of the highlights being the Tough Mudder with the Weakest Links, the new job-flight medic with Guardian Air, and an amazing girl.  Now you might be asking "if she's that amazing doesn't she warrant her own post"?  Well she does, she is that amazing but... perhaps that would be too bold?  Wouldn't want to scare her away now would I?  Actually, I feel like I've been talking people blue about her she is just that fantastic, only hitch she lives in Cali, but time will tell, time will tell.  But in a nutshell, her name is Laura but I call her Sassafras, Sass for short and she calls me Arizona cause well I live in Arizona.  She teaches 2nd grade by day and slings booze by night.  She makes me smile and I hope that I return that favor.  Oh and did I mention she is beautiful?

But I digress...
     With all this upheaval in my world during these two months, working 96+hrs some weeks and studying my brain to mush I haven't been able to climb as much as I would like.  Which on some levels is okay, actually I had resolved to take the whole month of December off to let my "trick" shoulder aka "chick lifting" shoulder convalesce.  I was very disaplined and didn't climb once during December, however this didn't really produce the desired results.  As a matter of fact I had a massage during that month and the masseuse was very hesitant to do any work on my bum shoulder because she was fearful that she might loosen things up so much that it would just fall out of socket.    The story behind the cause of this bum wing is a bit hazy, years of abuse followed by a wedding last summer where I may have imbibed a bit to much bourbon and hoisted my date into a sitting position on my shoulder using only one arm.  (She claims that the injury obviously happened when I was doing Double cartwheels and Wagonwheels with Lil Nikki.  I'm pretty sure thats how I got a big goose egg on my noggin but I'm   sure my shoulder was fine...)  Its been a bit wonky over the past 8 or so months but finally failed on me while climbing the Prosecutor with Carrie in November.  Bummer, but we persevered and had a great trip to Castle Valley after which I decided to take time off.   Well that one month slipped into 2ish and 3ish of very little climbing.  I've been trying to squeeze in the odd day out here and there all of them have been fantastic, even bushwhacking all over West Fork with Joel and Darren!  Unfortunately the cripple wing is not improving, actually I think its getting worse.  It hasn't actually dislocated, but theres an odd catch that happens during passive movements and when it happens I can't lift my arm above my shoulder.  Give me  about 4 minutes of fussing with my arm and tada!  good as new back to climbing, hiking, day to day living.  Everyone seems to have an opinion and everyone seems to think seeing an orthopod is a grand idea.  I appreciate all the advice and have been focusing on trying to strengthen it as much as possible and zero in on how to reduce it or "fix" it when it slips.  However the idea of seeing an orthopod is somewhat repulsive to me, not because their not good folks, but rather that after having two ACL reconstructions I am not looking forward to being a cripple again.  And why bother going to see them when I know that the word will be that I need some sort of surgical intervention?  I can't take extended time off work as of yet and I'll be damned if I let this thing keep me from getting back on the rock!  Which leads me to my next topic.....  Read the next entry, duh.

Boys Christmas turns 18

(Just a brief thought on Boys Christmas, there is a database being compiled for those in the know, but for now here's what I've got)

     I awoke this morning to the brutal and beautiful cacophony of jet engines blended with chainsaw with a hint of Wookie howl mixed in … actually it was the chorus of a multitude of Boys deep in early morn slumber.  I groaned and pulled my sweatshirt over my head to no avail.  I heard stirrings about and cracked a crusty eyelid to peep Jesse Ernesto and Johnny Hein picking their way through a labyrinth of slumbering Boys.  The Christmas tree lights twinkled and the smell of perpetually warming meat wafted from the crockpot that had been left on too long.  The stench of Boy filled the air.  About the room bodies were strewn like casualties of some cliche Zombie pic and empty cups, beer bottles, whiskey glasses, and champagne bottles(congrats to all the fathers to be) peered from beneath the tables and chairs… thus began the morn after Boys Christmas 18.
     It has been many years since last I had the opportunity to attend the yearly gathering of Boys, but in my heart I have always felt present.  Without drifting too much into the history of this epic gathering I have to say that my heart was full indeed last night as I sat and ate and drank and laughed and flatulated with some of the best Boys I have had the good fortune to know.  Boys Christmas is a tradition unlike any other that I have heard of, a gathering steeped in the mythology of who we were as much as the truth of who we are.  Years ago when Boys Christmas began it was Boys fighting to be Boys, through the years it was Boys fighting against turning  into men and now at Boys Christmas 18, when  Boys has finally reached manhood we are Men embracing being Boys.  To all the Boys in attendance last eve Dan Liebs, Johnny Hein, Ben Allen, Ryan Berkley, Tommy Rounds, Jesse Ernest, Ken Janke, Steve Kemp, the good Rev. Mark Allen, and our gracious host Mike Carmen, as well as all those unable to attend, you lads are the greatest, you have helped shape me, for better or worse, into who I am today and I thank and love each and every one of you.  Know that even on the years when I have not been in attendance I have donned my BC11 shirt and brought out my BCX coloring book for all to see.  As Dan Liebs can attest if you are to come to Flagstaff don't be surprised if you are greeted with a "are you one of the Boys?"  Merry Christmas Boys and to all a good night

Recollections of a lone cowboy

So, its December and many months from my last posting, I am almost two weeks into a self imposed exile from climbing, and losing my proverbial marbles.  For days now I've been intending to write something, anything and then it hit me... tonight I was sitting in front of the woodstove enjoying some "Pure Kentucky" bourbon, reading "the Last American Man" about Eustance Conway, and listening to Brown Bird when a memory came flooding back and  I knew I had to get it written down before I lost it for good.
     I was sitting in my chair by the fire reading the story of Conway and had just gotten to the part about his experiences with horses when the memory of two distinct events hit me...  The first was being home several years ago and talking with my dad when he relayed an odd story to me.  As I remember it my dad was driving down Clark Road, a road which he has traveled more times than one could ever possibly quantify, when he passed an odd sight.  A man on horse back was riding down Clark Road.  Now Paradise, Ca has its contingency of horse back enthusiasts, in fact several of our family friends owned horses and rode them regualarly, but what made this story interesting was not the fact that a horse was being ridden down Clark road.  It was who was riding this horse.  As I remember it my dad described a man, not a "cowboy" exactly, but a man in rough clothes... jeans, a button down shirt, boots, spurs, and a scabbard with a rifle across the saddle riding down Clark Road.  There are no working cattle operations in Paradise and I'm not sure if there were ever any yet here was a man on horseback riding down the road as calm as can be.  Where was he going, where had he come from?  My dad drove by and now claims that it never happened!  Yet I remember him telling me this story as plain as can be!
   Now for memory number two!  About a year ago I had loaded up the hound and gathered my fishing gear and was headed down to Oak Creek.  Now, for better or worse, I tend to call my friend Anna when I leave the house on these trips down to the creek and talk to her for the drive to the switchbacks where I lose service.  On this day though as I was approaching the switchbacks talking to Anna I passed a man on horseback with his cattle dog trotting alongside him.  Well, this is Arizona and I initially didn't think too much about it.  Anna and I were deep in conversation so I pulled off the road across from the Oak Creek Overlook so we could finish our conversation.  As I sat talking with Anna the man on horse back passed me and I noticed that this was no casual "Western" rider or typical Az redneck.  He had a sleeping roll across the back of his saddle with a yellow slicker tucked into it and a rucksack hanging from one side.  He wasn't "duded" up but was definitely a cowboy.  I'm not sure but I imagine he had a rifle across the pommel and his dog trotting dutifully at the side of the horse.  As I looked up, deep in conversation, I saw him assess the switchbacks and cross over to the Overlook.  I figured this must be the turnaround point of his outing.  After about twenty minutes Anna and I said our goodbyes and I headed down to my favorite fishing spot.  I had just started down the switchbacks at my usual breakneck speed when, by God, there he was!  There was the cowboy atop his horse trotting as calmly as can be down the switchbacks.  And where you ask was his dog?  Why of course his faithful companion was laying sidesaddle in his lap.  I shook my head as I gave him a wide berth and continued on.
     I threaded the eyelets of my fly-rod and embarked on a marginally successful day of fishing without another thought to the cowboy.  After and hour or so I had covered most of the water that I usually set out to fish and was lounging by a big pool above which a lay a series of smaller deeper pools.  Being that this section of water is one of the few areas of Oak Creek that aren't directly visible from the road and not many tourists find their way down I stripped down and was enjoying a casual soak when from above a voice sounded.  "Hey, there any fish in there?"  startled I looked around only to realize that the voice was coming from above, near where the road ran.  I looked up and there he was, straight out of a Cormac McCarthy book, the cowboy.  I was stunned.  "You catch anything?" Yeah, I stammered a few rainbows and a brown.  His dog poked his head over the edge.  "How far is the next store?"  uhhh, a few miles....  "Less than 10?" definitely, probably 2 or 3  "Thanks, have a good one." and he was gone...  I sat there with the creek rushing about me, trying my damnedest to figure out who that damn cowboy was...  and here I am still trying to figure out who that damn cowboy was....

The Black Fort

I have never been one for long walks on the beach
but, a time long ago, I found myself,
with long walks along tall cliffs
above the crash of the Atlantic Ocean.
Alone, I would walk through fields swathed in green,
stacked limestone composing the frames of a kaleidescope landscape.
I would walk until I reached the end of the world.
To Na Poill Seideáin,
to Poll Na bPéist,
and to Dún Dúchathair,
Some days I would wander into Dun Aengus and lose myself amongst the masses, but Dun Duchathair was where I found myself while all alone.
Days were long and time was mine and on occasion I would wander to the far end of land and take my boots off and settle my toes in the sea and stare across the water and imagine I could see North America...
But mostly I would walk and stand and feel the sea air on my face on the cliffs at Dun Duchathair.
I wonder now, if I can still find the path to the cliffs of Dun Duchathair.

Adventures with "Off-the-couch" Carl

     Spent this last sunday down in Prescott with my good friends Jill and Carl and their beautiful daughter Olietha.  Since they moved to Prescott several years ago I don't see these two as often as I should/would like and every time we do get together I think of how much has changed and at the same time how we are still the same.  Carl is one of my first climbing partners and even though we don't get out more than once or twice a year now he is still one of my most trusted and reliable partners.  Carl grew up in Prescott and learned to climb while in his teens and in my mind must have been a young sport/bouldering prodigy.  I say this because of the intrinsic skill and technique that he still posesses, even while professing to be out of shape and off his game.  More on that later...
     After an aborted attempt to visit Jill and Carl about a week ago (work got in the way) I woke Sunday morning to a text from Carl saying that he had an easy night at work, so I packed up the bouldering pad and the dog and set off for Prescott.  I made good time and soon was pulling up to Casa de Goff.  I walked in and was greeted by Jill and Carl while little "O" stood in the middle of the floor looking up at me.  I knelt down to give her a hug.  Much to my surprise the little beauty reached up and wrapped her tiny arms over my shoulders and nestled her head into my neck.  I knelt there, surprised, and realized that she was softly, silently patting me on the back.  I melted and honestly she almost brought me to tears with this unexpected acceptance and compassion.  I think even Jill and Carl were surprised, if it had been one of us "grown" ups this hug would have exceeded the uncomfortably long period, but coming from little "O" I could have sat there all day.  Slowly she let go and time began to resume its normal speed and we packed and prepared for our day out bouldering.  In our search for tape we made our way downstairs and Carl delved into pandoras box of climbing gear out came rarely used cams, aid gear, bolts, hangers, slings, and memories of adventures past and dreams of adventures put on hold.  Alas, no tape was to be found so back upstairs and into the Land Cruiser we all piled.

         Our first stop was a random boulder pile that Carl had stumbled upon, I am assuming during a trail run.  It is interesting the way our past shapes our present, to Carls granite trained eye there was a multitude of boulder problems to be done.  To my eye, recently trained to find multi pitch lines it appeared to be a jumble of rocks.  Carl pointed out some of the problems he had established and directed me to some of his projects.  Projects not because they were too difficult, but perhaps I think, because they were high and potentially dangerous.  Not something a father would attempt while out alone with his daughter or with his several month pregnant wife!  Soon the shoes were laced up and we were crimping and edging and falling and straining.  All the while O ran about in the woods and Jill looked on, as she usually does, with a slight smile at the corner of her mouth.  We made short work of Carls usual problems and quickly found ourselves drawn to the taller, more daunting lines.  One, a tall, rounded arete called us first.  The first moves were off of good crimps to a rail, from there the feet come up to the original crimps and things become much more real!  Above the rail the angle lessens somewhat, but the holds run out and suddenly you are 10, 15 feet off the ground!  Carl made an initial attempt that led him to escape into a nearby tree. I pulled on next and was able to squeak through the final holds to the top.  Granite climbing is quite foreign to me and I found myself sporting some new abrasions!  From this boulder we moved to the next, a huge chunk of stone that sported features similar to the bow of a ship and the crest of a wave.  The obvious line was a lip traverse that started at about head height and ran about 20-30 feet, gradually increasing in height to about 20ft, much like a wave.  Our initial forays across the lip were met with shrieks and frantic back paddling as the lip rounded and the moves became more desperate and we became more aware of the height.  After one or two goes each we analyzed the moves and scouted the blank face below the lip for any extrusion, knob, or edge that a foot could be pasted on.  Then with a new resolve Carl pulled onto the lip and began moving out across the wave, a surfer on the stone.  I've known Carl for many years and times like this are what I enjoy most.  There is a part of Carls brain that I think talks too much.  Full of doubt and misgivings if he thinks too much he often won't even attempt something, or stop mid-way.  But occasionally it is as if he simply closes the door on that voice and suddenly his body is given full reign to do what it wants, what it can.  He floated through the initial moves and barely paused at the blankest section of the lip and soon was swinging around the prow of the stone, moving comfortably.  I tried to take some pictures to capture the feeling but I am afraid they do not do the boulder problem justice.  With that problem in the bag we moved to the next line, which admittedly was likely not a realistic proposition, at least not with our two pads, a small child, and a pregnant Jill!  We made an initial attempt and I soon found myself at that point where decisions have to be made...  With my feet about 12 feet off the ground and another 12-15 feet of hard climbing to go I backed off and with that we packed  up and moved to the next area.
      On the drive to the next area "O" once again worked her way into my heart and I marveled at the contrast between her tiny hand in my scarred and wrinkled paw as we held hands while she dozed in her car seat.  At the next area Carl again sandbagged me with his "Off-the-couch" antics as he cruised several problems and "O" wowed us all with her rock climbing prowess.  I swear I saw her use a pinky lock gaston and utilize some moves that I am fairly certain originated in Stolby, as she swung her feet and legs level with her head as she navigated a slab!  It was fun to watch her and watch Jill and Carl move smoothly around her as only parents can, anticipating her next moves and understanding her emotions and tantrums.  She truly is their daughter and even at this young age she exhibits the traits, emotions, and expressions of both her parents.  I find it amusing that they both attribute certain aspects of her to the other while I see both of them in all of her.
   After most of the skin was worn from our finger tips and our muscles fried we returned to the house briefly and then attempted to find food.  A challenge due to downtown Prescott being shut down for a festival of some sort but we found a suitable establishment and had a fantastic meal, a great end to an amazing day.  Even though I don't get to see Jill and Carl and O as much as I would like every time I do I am more and more grateful for the amazing friends that I have and I am filled with pride at what amazing parents they have become.

a pile of ashes alongside the creek
half burned images of a life past
charred 50's square cut photographs
black and white memories
of a time past?
do they know how they got here
half burned
half forgotten
do they know how it happened

Getting it back

So, its been a long several weeks, the departure of the best friends, the feeling of indecisiveness, the daily battles of staying motivated at work, and overall feeling lackluster.  Then it happened.  My buddy Matt and I were talking about trying to get out climbing, I had low hopes...  just haven't been feeling that motivated, but there have been a few things on my Sedona list that I have been wanting to get on.  I threw out a suggestion of doing a new 5.10 in West Fork to which he countered "how 'bout Into the Wild"?  Hold on stop the presses YES!  Into the Wild is a 8/9 pitch route that went up several years ago, authored by Burcham and Chris and its been on the list since the first day Chris handed me the topo.  Thing is no one wanted to go do it with me.  Its out of season, its too hard, its too long, the excuses have been piling up, so it got pushed to the periphery until now.  Matt didn't have to ask me twice!
      Now I must admit that my mental map must have been skewed when I envisioned the orientation of the route.  Somehow I thought we would be in the shade all day and my main concern was beating the ever present Monsoons.  (More on that soon)  So Matt and I met at Macys pseudo early and rallied down to Oak Creek.  Quick side note, Friday night I had intentions to have dinner with Peterson, Ali, and Lil Nikki, however after an hour of driving in the dark unable to find Petersons house I went home and pouted over a dinner of ice cream with Magic shell (I was feeling quite low.)  Anyhow Matt and I get coffeed up and head down to Oak Creek.  We rack up, what a great rack, less than a singe set of cams and fifteen quickdraws, yipee, and hike up to the route.  Rarely in Sedona are approaches this straight forward, we were at the base of the route in less than half an hour.  It looked amazing!  Still concerned about the monsoons I stuffed my rain shell and Matts into my backpack and somehow let Matt talk me out of bringing my waterbottle.  With little more ado I launched up the first pitch and the adventure began!
     The first pitch is a very enjoyable finger crack through pods which helped shake off the cobwebs clouding my brain, soon I was in the groove and motored up and to the first belay, looking around it seemed like I would be able to link the next pitch so I scrambled up the slabs and soon was clipping my way up the second pitch.  From below came the warnings of 50ft! 40ft! 20ft! and just as I touched the belay 8ft!  What a fantastic rope stretcher of a pitch!  I clipped in and soon Matt was making his way up.
     As I belayed Matt up the first two pitches I stared into the canyon around and below me and was overwhelmed by the beauty.  I could feel the weight of the past several weeks lift off my soul as I soaked in the view.  A hummingbird flitted within inches of my face, I assume it was assessing my bright orange helmet and when he decided that it was not edible winged away.  From below us came the shriek of a peregrine and I watched as it made its way through the treetops and out of sight.  From out of nowhere appeared a bat, flapping his leathery wings and lighting on the cliff occasionally and then bouncing back into the air.  The requisite butterfly fluttered by.  Then I heard a skittering and looked over to see a lizard stalking a small insect, in the blink of an eye it pounced and the insect vanished.  Amazing.  Soon I could hear Matt as he neared the belay and we both laughed as he topped out.  Matt racked up and soon was on his way.
     We steadily made our way up the route, classic and clean climbing with occasional sand but nothing too bad.  As I climbed I began to notice that the monsoon clouds I had been expecting were not exactly filling the sky, instead the sun was beating down on us!  The temperature rose.  I began to feel funny.  At the huge ledge about halfway up I took my harness off and relieved myself way away from the route.  A little better but perhaps ice cream for dinner wasn't the best decision!  The sun continued to beat down, the foul glowing orb sucking our souls with its hellish heat.  Soon we were at the base of the crux.  I took the rack and headed up.  About ten feet off the belay I had to pause and gather myself.  I felt low.  I pushed on.  Through the steep, juggy roof to a small perch below the meat of the pitch, I paused again.  The sun smiled down, more of a smirk really, sweat dripped from beneath my helmet.  I launched into it. Amazing layback up a clean corner with bolts at all the right places.  Then it got hard!  I pulled into the last of the laybacking, my heart pounding in my temples.  My breathing was to fast, I looked at my next bolt, even with my waist...  I tried to let go to grab a draw and clip but my balance was too precarious, I took a deep breath and was off into space.  It was a clean fall and felt exhilerating to fall that high on a route, but as I dangled there in space something primal happened.  Hrraugh!   (oh God! came from below!)  Hurraugh!  two of the most painful dry heaves ever!  Matt laughed and I just closed my eyes and rested my head on the wall.  Oh please don't throw up I thought.  I dangled there for a few minutes longer and then slowly began inching my way up the rest of the pitch, bolt to bolt.  I was exhausted.  I was too tired even to place any gear after the bolts ran out, instead just ran it out to the next belay.  I collapsed on the ledge and cursed the sun!  Soon Matt was climbing and I tried to stay awake and keep him on belay!  It was sooo hot!  95 degrees is what I saw on the weather page when I got home...
     When Matt rejoined me at the belay he was dripping with sweat and of course his camelbak was dry. I knew I should have brought that water bottle.  I asked if he wanted to launch into the last pitch and he declined.  Soon I was making my way up the last pitch and even though I think I was on the verge of heat stroke I marveled at the amazing exposure, fantastic position, and spectacular climbing.  As I topped out I thought again at how lucky we are to live where we do.  We made it back to the packs with no problems and each gulped down a liter of water.  With our packs back on we made our way back to the truck just as the sky let a few drops of rain fall.

Found Keys of Adventure

Back from an amazing trip to the Valley and here is the bare bones breakdown.  First let me say I bought new keys to adventure and hit the Valley packing a double set, new rope, new shoes, new harness, and new draws, even new chalk bags thanks to Gina and Frank.  Yup I was that guy.    Roll into the Valley Sunday afternoon, sit in the meadow gaze at the Captain.  Make camp Sunday night and crash.  Sleep in Monday morning and casually cruise to Nutcracker and pass one party.  Kate led the alternate start and P3. Walk off and run up Haleys Comet.  Back to the Meadow.  Tuesday up early and over to Royal Arches.  Parties stacked up in front of us again to the alternate start and Kate started the day again.  We blasted up the route, passed all five other parties in what I thought was a very polite and classy way.  3/4 of the way up decided to let go of the plan to do Crest Jewel after hearing the descent might be snow packed.  Opted to rap instead.  No problems until a minor wrong turn at the last rap forcing us to rap off of dead tree and through a waterfall.  Tag line got stuck and had to lead up the actual waterfall to get it un-jammed.  Then a refreshing dip in "the Devils Bathtub".  Weds another casual start and over to Reed Pinacle and a run on Reeds Direct.  Kate again took the first pitch and cruised, I thoroughly enjoyed the second/crux? pitch.  From the big ledge we planned on doing the 5.9 finish but were stymied by the squeeze chimney and ended up battling up into the offwidth finish... don't climb chimney or off width with no shirt!  What a battle, physically daunting and somewhat intimidating running it out over small cams.  Back to the Meadow and ran into Kates friends and straight to the Pizza deck!  Thursday and we headed over to Middle Cathedral and head up the Kor-Beck on the recomendation of our friend Maura.  What a great adventure, today I led pitch one and the adventure only grew.  Kate overshot the belay on her lead almost linked two pitches.  I punched it and linked the crux and the last pitch for an amazingly long run out pitch!  Amazing view and quite the belay ledge.  A wild and adventurous, but safe route, and best of all no lines!  Friday move into Camp 4, a several hour long ordeal, but at least we got a site.  After lots of shuffling and logisitics we walked (farther than I remembered!) over to Bishops Terrace and squeezed in one route with Kate leading B.T.  What a classic route.  Saturday wake and head back to the Cathedral area and hike up to Lower Cathedral spire and have a splendid day on South by Southwest.  Again Katie led first, but somehow linked the first two pitches and found a much more difficult and challenging variation to the first pitch.  It was truly the closest I came to falling and the most scared I was all day... following.  Linked Pitches 4 and 5 for a truly memorable long enduro pitch, 10d boulder problem was the technical crux on the 4th pitch with the 5th being hands to fist 11a enduro.  Next time better use of slings and maye more than one #3, pretty pumped and run out by the time I realized I had passed the belay and had to down climb!  Kate led P6 to the summit and we soaked in likely the best view of the valley I've had yet.  Back to the meadow for one last glimpse of the sun setting on the Captain and then Sunday we were off.  All in all a grand outing, absolutely no problems or glitches.  We never waited to get on a route, never epiced, and never were without food, beer, wine, or whiskey!  Next trip Astroman and the Steck Salathe?

Losing the Keys to Adventure

     I had hoped my next entry would be Part II of the canoe, dog, posse, trip, but I was lax and in the interim I lost the keys to adventure.  Let me explain.  Several weeks ago I was surfing the ole Facespace and saw that my friend Molly had experienced a series of set backs.  She and her girlfriend had been in Costa Rica when someone slipped into their hotel room and stole their passports, ID, and money from beneath their bed... while they were sleeping.  After resolving that nightmare and returning to the states Molly's garage caught fire and burned to the ground, taking with it many of her personal belongings.  As I listened to Molly she described the items she had lost and the emotional ramifications of losing items that we bestow with a sense worth.  Of course it struck a nerve when she told me that her motorcycle had been uninsured and had been smothered by the burning building, but what really hit home was when she described finding the charred scrap of what she assumed had been her North Face bag.  At its most fundamental a backpack or duffle bag is nothing more than a fabric vessel that is used to transport items.  But when we examine it closer this item, this piece of gear, is more than a simple vessel, it is a key to adventure.  With this item, or items, we are allowed to open ourselves to the wider world, whether it be via athletic pursuits or world travel or what ever endeavor that we embark on that sends our heart racing.    What is the Kayaker without her boat, what is the cyclist without his steed, the photographer without their camera, the climber without his rack.  Even the most independent or minimalist still relies on a piece or pieces of equipment to assist them in their exploratio of our world or themselves.  Even Dean Potter wears shoes... most of the time.  Our "gear" is our key, our body the hand that turns the key and with it the world throws open the doors of adveture.

Seven days, one rope, one rack, eight people, five dogs, four canoes, and a heck of a good time! Part I

     Sometimes a trip just comes at the ideal time.  Just happens to fall into the timeline of life in such away that while you're not actually running away from something you're getting the hell out of town at a really ideal time.  Such was the case last week as Lil Nik and I packed up the truck to head to Moab for a multi sport adventure trip.  My good friend Nate had put together a 5 day 4 night canoe trip along the Green River.   Nikki and I had both picked up a few extra days off and were heading north for a few extra days.  With the ole Hoffman "Chili" Tripper (Old Town Canoe) lashed to the roof rack and a double set of cams packed in the back we loaded up the dogs and pointed the nose north up Highway 89.  As we crested the rise by Sunset Crater snow spattered the windshield.  Fitting I thought.  We barreled through the barren Navajo lands, buffeted by wind but the snow and rain subsided.  We stopped in Tuba City at the Tuvii Cafe and each got a Navajo Taco, maybe not the best decision! and hammered onward towards our first destination... Mexican Hat.

Nik topping out the Mexican Hat!

Looking back at Nik as I teach myself how to
aid climb

  Now as most of my climbing friends know I am not much of an aid climber and Nikki is even less of one...  so our summit bid may not have been the prettiest or smoothest.  I am sure that Bustin Dustin or Gordo would have fallen of the belay ledge laughing if they had seen my ascent of the bolt ladder!

Nik and I atop the Mexican Hat!

      After a brief celebration on the summit, only somewhat marred by the fact that the bottle of Beam was empty and in the place of the hand grenade only a geocache, we rapped back to out packs and boogied back to the truck.  We each cracked an almost cold one and once again tilted the rudder and set sail towards Moab.  It was just dusk when we reached the bivy spot for Castleton and the Valley had that feel of a place that while you haven't spent enough time there it still feels like home.  We got ourselves situated and tucked in for the night.  The first light of morning showed low clouds and mild temperatures and we found ourselves in no rush to hustle up to the Korr-Ingalls route on Castleton tower.  After coffee was made and instant oatmeal munched we packed up the bags and began the approach to the tower.  The clouds overhead were fairly ominous but we decided to push on.  We reached the low bench just below the tower proper and realized that we'd need to leave the dogs here at the base.  A light rain began to fall and we still decided to "check out" the base of the route.  We stretched out the rope bag as a shelter for the hounds, tied Emma up, and made our way to the base of the route.  It rained a little harder and it may have been a bit cool!  Still the foolhardy duo we decided what the hell the rocks not that wet and the first pitch is basically all calcite, whats the worst that could happen!  I roped up and headed into the slickery white chimney and it turns out that calcite is even more slippery when its wet!  I reached the belay and soon Nik was on her way up, lamenting the glassy stone as "gross" and maybe "disgusting"!  As she climbed the weather shifted  just slightly and soon the rock around me began to dry and the sun fought its way out from behind the clouds.

Nik hamming it up before the second
pitch of Kor Ingalls

Nik all tangled up in herself

Nikki arrived at the belay a bit chilly but in good spirits and we decided to continue up at least one more pitch.  Whats the worst that could happen right?  Nik led the second pitch and was a true rock star as she navigated her way through the off width cracks and soon I was starting up the third pitch and we were actually dry and somewhat warm.  The third pitch was a blast, very reminiscent of ole Sedony OW/chimney climbing, but on better rock!  Nik also made short work of the third pitch but was a bit tuckered when she hit the belay.  I had to break it to her that theres no rest for the weary and soon she was fighting her way to the summit of the tower.  I think she learned a bit of a lesson about route finding as she somehow chose the more difficult of the two options to reach the summit.  She did great though and kept her composure even when she found herself all wrapped up like a pretzel!  We were on the summit in no time and took a moment to take in the view.  Spectacular, clouds ringed the valley yet we were mostly dry and in the sun.  It didn't take long before Nikki got to se a good old fashioned Dean Hoffman summit spaz out!  For some reason I just don't like being on the summit too long and get a bit anxious if we're not moving up or down!  I think I said something along the lines of "F-it I'm out of here, lets get down!"  I'm not sure why I'm such a freak on the summit, maybe its my fear of heights.  As we set up to rap down the North Face I noticed that Mariah was about a half mile down the trail fraternizing with some photographer.  The rap went smoothly and we were able to rescue a stuck rope from one of the anchors, the end had wrapped around itself in a bizarre way that made it impossible to pull from the ground, but Nikki barely had to touch it and it fell to the ground.  A good example of why its dangerous to try to ascend stuck ropes!  Almost exactly as Nik touched down snow started to fall!  What a day!  We made our way back to camp and settled in for an amazing sunset, with warm light bathing the towers Iz played on the radio, What a Wonderful World.  It was amazing.

Yeah party on the summit, pre freak out!

Nik slaving away to get packed for the canoe trip, at least 20 hrs pre departure!

We awoke to a cloudless sky and the sound of multiple parties hiking up to either Castleton or the Rectory.  Funny cause Nik and I had been the only ones up there the day before.  We had a casual morning about camp.  Or I should say I had a casual day around camp because Nik didn't seem to have processed that we had ALLLLLL day to pack for our coming canoe trip and had pretty much reorganized and packed everything before 8 a.m.!  We lounged about camp a bit, taking in the view and enjoying not having anywhere specific to be.  After some time we loaded the dogs up and headed to the Big Bend boulders for a quick session.  The rock was extremely greasy, in a much dfferent way than Castleton had been and we climbed for an hour or so before heading into town.  

       The rest of the crew was to arrive in town sometime in the evening and Nik and I headed to Ken's lake to secure an easy to find campsite, because knowing our friends they would be rolling in late and in the dark.  As luck would have it we ran into some folks from Phoenix, in town for a triathalon, who hooked us up with probably the last site in Moab!  Nikki hung out in camp and I fished my way up to the waterfall for a quick shower (no fish in the creek it turns out) then I headed down to the lake to see what I could find.  As it turns out after much frustration with getting my line tangled in the weeds on shore I landed 6 or so good size trout and a small mouth bass! 

Hard to get a good perspective, really nice size trout... just before I fell in the lake!
Then I fell in and soaked my phone and called it a day.  Around 8 or so, when Nate and Molly were supposed to arrive we got a message from them saying they were doing laundry in Bluff cause Gus the hound dog had vomited all over Nates sleeping bag!  Figures!  A little frustrated we motored into Moab and ate dinner at McStiffs.  Not the most amazing meal, but the dessert was incredible.  I can't remember what it was called but it was maple ice cream with carmel sauce, candied walnuts and the proverbial icing on the cake....  carmelized bacon, not bacon bits but nice crunchy scrumptious bacon!  We showed back up at camp just as Nate and Molly pulled in.  We caught up briefly then all retired for the evening.  It wasn't until around 2 or 3 a.m. that Greg, Mariah, John, and Jean all showed up.  Like I said our crew is never early.  As the sun began to trace the edges of the horizon we all began to slowly rouse from our sleeping bags and the excitement for our coming adventure began to rise.  But that will have to be the basis of my next post since my poor fingers are tired, almost worked to the bone!  

Busy

So I'm on a bit of a writing binge right now, trying to punch out some thoughts before I get too bogged down.  The past two weeks has been a blast, and the next week promises to be just as fun!  Last week my good friend Greg and I finally got out to Indian Creek for a blitzkrieg trip.  It was a great time, albeit a bit colder than we anticipated.  Neither one of us recognized the folly of Greg on bringing sandals until the first night we were there when the temps dipped into the 30's!  Other than the temps though the trip was fantastic.  Its been a long time since Greg and I have been out adventuring and unfortunately with he and Mariah planning on leaving town for good this summer, these adventures might be more scarce.  Some highlights of the trip were Greg saying "We'll still be able to do fun stuff once we have kids, we'll just find someone to watch them, like we do with the dogs."  That cracked me up.
I saw a meteor strike, it started out as the longest falling star I've ever seen and just after it passed below the horizon of the Bridger Jacks there was a huge flash that lit the sky.  So bright that Greg who had his back to it noticed and wondered what the flash was!  It was amazing.
We both tried routes that pushed us mentally and physically, I backed off of "Brother from another Planet" after being stymied by the overhead foot cam!  And Greg almost puked at the top of an extremely long 10+!

Battling with BFAP!

Racked up for Brother from Another Planet

Greg onsighting on a really fun
5.10 at Way Rambo

Chilling in the Bridger Jacks... literally it was damn cold!

It was a fantastic weekend even though it was short!

The following week was good, interspersed with climbing and work and this weekend was the Tatum/Nisly shindig, aka wedding.  Down in Cornville it was a raucous good time, I may have imbibed a bit too much, but with all that beer and whiskey about it was hard not to.  I've never been to Cornville and was actually quite surprised with how pretty it was, running water and Cottonwoods.  I will say that I was/am a little sore from attempting the two person cartwheel with Lil Nikki again (this time we were fully clothed) then transitioning to the Wagon Wheel, luckily I didn't get a concussion this time.  Then for some reason I feel like Nik and I took turns diving through a hula hoop?  Regardless it was a blast and waking up to the sounds of birds and cows was quite nice...  as was eating breakfast at the Coffeepot restaurant, which kind of felt like Disneyland or Las Vegas?  All in all it was great to spend the weekend with such a great group of people and to share a special day with Chris and Jess.
     One more day of work and the next adventure begins, Nik and I head to Moab tomorrow and will meet up with the posse on Thursday with canoes and dogs to float the Green river, I can only imagine the trouble we will get ourselves into!  Stay tuned!

What keeps me going...

Its been a rough few days at work, not so much the pt's but the whole beauracracy of it all, thats a whole other rant though.  Anyhow, sometimes you wonder why you're in this business at all.  Well, I got an email the other day from a pt. I had in Haiti exactly one year ago.  No he wasn't an impoverished local, he hadn't sustained a traumatic injury, but he was having the only and worst active heart attack I have ever seen.  He was a fellow aid worker who had been carrying bags of concrete (I believe) when he started having chest pain.  His group took him to the nearest medical facility they knew of which turned out to be a dentist.  They then got him to a small medical clinic which in turn got him to us at Medishare.  We had minimal cardiac monitoring equipment and initially didn't have a cardiologist or a stable area to treat him.
(If you click on the pictures they will pop up larger.)

Our CVICU!  Its kind of like one of those pictures where you're supposed to find 10 things out of the ordinary!  (Becca Sacora, EMT and our pt. Andy Anderson, no HIIPA violation here, he was okay with photos!)

 Well the stars lined up for Mister Anderson and out of nowhere, literally, a cardiologist from Phoenix walked into our tent carrying a child from and outlying camp.  After he, cardiologist, passed the child to the OR staff he came back and helped us treat Andy for the duration of is care.  While Andy was in our care the tent flooded, the small ICU was deluged with rain water pouring in through the ventilation tubes and one of the ICU pts. seized.  Andy just layed quietly as  PJ, Decker, Becca and I scrambled to help the others and monitor his condition.   Somehow Jen, the CNO, was able to coordinate a medical flight out of Miami, which when it landed found there was no fuel... luckily someone was able to call in a favor from the Airforce and get enough fuel for the return trip.  Once the plane was fueled and ready a small pickup showed up in camp and we hustled Andy out on his cot and slid him into the bed of the truck.  PJ, Decker and I hopped in the back and away we went with the Global D.I.R.T.  guys.  It was a bit tense at the gate of the airport but we eventually got onto the tarmac, we bumped our way through the darkness, trying to evade another vehicle that sure looked like it was chasing us.  We finally got to the plane and were able to transfer Andy to the flight crew and crossed our fingers that he would make it back to the States!  Well, as you can see from his email he's doing well and thanks to our initial care is healthy and happy!

Our CVICU staff, one cardiologist, one EMT, and two Medics, who would of thought! The taking of this photo made me very nervous, something about our pt. giving a thumbs up seemed like it might jinx the whole thing.  (From left, Becca Sacora EMT, Decker Weiss Cardiologist/Naturopath, Andy Anderson, PJ Lingley Medic, me Medic.)  (And no I didn't pee my pants, got soaked trying to help the ICU folks in the other half of this tent)!

Yup, this was the ambulance, leaving the camp for the airfield, felt like we were on some crazy prisoner exchange but it all worked out.  Thanks to the guys at Global D.I.R.T.

 Here's the email I got from Andy

Good morning from Augusta, GA,

    It was a year ago today when all of our paths crossed. Our Mission Trip to Port-au-Prince, Haiti was interrupted by my heart attack. I want to again thank you all for the care and support you each provided to effectively treat my condition and transport me home safely. Two stents, medications, daily exercises and a healthier diet have me in better shape today than last May.

     I just wanted to follow-up on this 1st anniversary and let you know I am doing well and feel great. I was truly blessed last year, and know God put each of you in that path to save my life.

God Bless and thank you,

                                      Andy 

  Here is the email I got from Andy one year ago

Decker, Marilyn, Dean and PJ,

     I want to thank you all for saving my life Wednesday, May 5th at the Medishare Hospital in Haiti. I saw Katie, the nurse on our mission team last night, and she gave me your e-mail addresses.

   

    The air ambulance got me to Miami in two hours. It took about an hour to get the ambulance and make it to the University of Miami ER.. The 12 lead EKG didn't show much, but when the enzymes came back, they indicated a severe heart attack. I was rushed to the cath lab. Dr. Heldman found two coronary artery blockages. He stented the one that caused the damage. An echo-cardiogram Friday showed that my heart function is still at capacity even with the damaged tissue, so I should have very little physical activity restrictions. I completed a stress test Monday, which was OK and they released me to go home.

    My wife Pam was there with me. Our Associate Pastor flew with her to Miami Wednesday night  from Augusta, once the medevac was confirmed. I have a son who lives in Bradenton Florida, and he drove over and met them at the airport. My daughter from Augusta, and other son from Bluffton, SC came down Thursday night to visit. (I guess I worried everyone.) We returned to Augusta  last Tuesday evening, and our Pastor and most of the Mission team from the trip were there at the Airport to welcome us back. (They had returned from the Dominican Republic Friday evening.) It was good to be home.

     I saw Dr. Mac Bowman, a Cardiologist here in Augusta at University Hospital this past Friday. He reinforced that there was Divine Intervention with everything occurring at the right time and place for me to have survived such a severe MI. He has scheduled me for another Heart Cath this Wednesday, and he will place a stent in the second blockage. He indicated my prognosis was very good.

    I know I was part of God's Plan that day, and hope you feel the same and recognize your contributions. Thank you and God Bless.

Andy

These are the things that keep me going and make me want to be a better medic...  These are why we do this job.

The New Trifecta

So yesterday was a bit of a challenge, I had such high hopes of being able to hustle a partner for the Waterfall but after many, many calls and texts I came up dry.  Now I'm sure I overlooked someone, but damn it was frustrating.  I woke up sluggish and pulled myself out of bed and decided to make the most of my day.  While working on my coffee I decided to pull the table saw out and make a small gear box for the back of my truck.  I had the design all worked out in my head but unfortunately I'm not as crafty as I might like.  After about an hour and a half, maybe two!, I finally finished my box.  Lets just say its very utilitarian and not very cosmetically appealing.  Especially after I decided to paint it a flat tan.  For some reason even with the table saw I cannot cut a straight line!  I'm sure that Nate, Dustin, and Greg will all have a good laugh when they see it but all I can say is "what's the pediatric dose for midazolam?"  Yeah, right we all have our strengths!
     After the impromptu box building session I figured I would head down to the creek with the hound and see if I couldn't rustle up some trout.  We loaded up and rallied down to my favorite stretch of water and set about flinging the flies.  The weather was great and after a bit of trial and error I landed about 9 or so small browns which was great.  I even hooked one on a fly I had tied this winter when I was laid up.  Even with success I felt my frustration level rising after snapping off yet another fly so I packed it up and headed back up the hill.  As I approached the top of the switch backs I thought to myself, well hell I haven't climbed at the Overlook in quite some time.  So I pulled in, grabbed rope, shoes, harness, a .75, #1,#2, #3 and headed to the Trinities.  Within minutes I was rapping of the Trinity roof and in no time I was rope soloing the Trinities.  I had forgotten how stout those three lines are.  For being fairly short and "only" 5.10 I got quite a workout in, climbed each 3 times and called it good.  Loaded up the dog again and we headed home.  As I sped towards Sunnyside I thought to myself "one more sport and you'll have a trifecta" so as soon as I got home I switched out my still damp shorts (from the fishing, not the climbing) for a dry pair, slipped on my fancy finger shoes and cruised over to Campbell Mesa for a three mile run.  It was great and I felt like I had redeemed my day!
     Today was not quite as productive, coffee with Nikki, Ian, Anna, and Alana and then an amazing ride literally around the Peaks with Matt Marks on the motorbikes.  It was amazing and I really enjoyed being able to really use the ole KLR for all that its made for.  It felt like we were riding through some alien landscape, I half expected to see some Mongolian shepherds come cruising around the bend.  Not that I would have been able to see them due to the fact that I was basically stuck in Matts dust cloud for the whole ride.  Turns out he's a lot more comfortable than I am on the gravel and dirt!  Something to work on this summer!  After that I headed out to the 'draw' and threw myself at "Floor Pie" to success and then "Anorexic" no success.  All in all it was a very good day!  Now what to do tomorrow???

Twice thwarted plans and trying to shift the momentum...

Let me preface this entry by saying that I am venting.  It's been a very challenging several days, somewhat draining and immensely frustrating.  I'm hoping that by getting it out here will help me leave it behind.  I'm sure this won't do justice to how frustrated I've been but I will say that I do feel much better. Read if you like, but again just me mopeing about.
     So Bustin Dustin and I had been hoping to climb Tricks of the Trade this weekend and were shut down by raptor closures and re-directed our thoughts to the Rainbow Wall.  Well, as this past week started the weather report from Red Rocks was less than sunny, literally, then the call from Dustin... not feeling psyched and may be coming down with something, I said his psyche was off kilter, but the gist of it was no Rainbow Wall.  He suggested substituting Zion, Monkeyfinger, I was all about it.  Then I started checking the weather page(s).   Even I couldn't convince myself that the weather in Zion was going to be any better than Red Rocks (and those that know me know that I believe that 40 percent chance of rain means 60 percent chance of sun!)  So the climbing trip was a bust and now I had 4 days off with nothing to do.

     I got off of work and decided that rather than try to pick up extra work over the weekend I would head north to Lee's Ferry for some fishing and camping with the dog.  Truck was mostly packed so I just swapped the climbing gear for fishing and hit the road.  The wind was whipping across the Rez, but if nothing else I thought it would be nice to sleep under the stars.  It was a bit of a trek and I may have indulged in a Starbucks crack in a can coffee drink.  The drive went by pretty damn quick and as I coasted over Navajo Bridge I thought that perhaps my luck was turning around.  The sun was out and even though the wind was still throwing sand across the highway I was hoping that on the water it would be calm.  I had hoped on hiking down Cathedral Wash to the riffle there, I'd been down once before with no luck, but I reasoned if it did indeed turn out to be too windy at least it would be a beautiful hike.  I turned the bend and low and behold the pull out for the trail was jam packed, at least 8 vehicles!  What the hell?  I did the quick sticker check and based on the window art they were outdoorsy types.  Crap, I figured they were either a NOLS group, a film crew on the Tooth, or who knows the Sierra Club?  Either way you slice it I thought that Cathedral would be crawling with folks and not somewhere I wanted to be...  The walk-in it was.  I continued down the rolling, winding road towards the Ferry, somewhat disheartened, when I saw a dry creekbed that snaked through the desert toward the river...  Aha!  A new option!  I cranked the wheel and within no time Mariah and I were making our way down the ever deepening creekbed.

      Mariah was fired up, running ahead, coming back to check on me, barking, and basically acting like a puppy!(I guess the salmon oil is working.)  We wandered down the creek bed and the sand slowly gave way to hard stone and the walls got progressively higher and higher.

     Finally it started to open up a bit and I could feel that soon we would be at the river and then... well then we got cliffed out.  Not just a little cliff but probably 200ft straight down to what likely is an awesome fishing spot, but the only way that I could see to get down was a ratty piece of webbing tied through a mini arch with a rap ring on it... wouldn't have been my first choice for rapping off of or jugging back up, but perhaps they brought rafts and floated down to Cathedral Wash.
      Rather than turn around and walk alllll the way back to the truck and be faced with the Cathedral Wash or Walk-in dilemma again I figured that we would just walk overland til we hit Cathedral and boogie on down to the river.  Well turns out that theres many a slip twixt cup and the lip and the hike turned out to be a bit farther than I had anticipated.  Mariah did spook a small fox and nearly gave me a heart attack when she chased it along the rim.  Luckily it was too quick and Mariah is gaining wisdom in her age and let it go.  Finally we found a way into Cathedral and were back on our way to the river.  Both our footfalls grew more rapid as we could taste the moisture in the air.  I was so anxious and excited to be on the water and finally there we were.  The water was clear and cold and within minutes I could see the dark outlines of trout stacked up in the current.  I had packed my waders and boots but couldn't be bothered to put those on, the weather was too nice for such delays.  I quickly put my rod together and soon was casting one of my newly tied flies into the current.  Well perhaps I was a little too hasty and lost that one too quickly.  (I think the caffeine from that iced coffee drink was too much for my weakend state.)  I tied on the standard Lee's Ferry rig, San Juan Worm with a bead head dropper and quickly moved up stream.  The trout were stacked up, shadowy shapes lounging in the current, waiting...  Two or three casts and one hit, it was a beauty, good color about 13-15 inches, a beautiful Ferry Rainbow.  I tried to grab a pic of it with Mariah but those never come out so hot!

       I released it and settled into the rhythm of casting, mending, urging the flies to drop, casting again waiting waiting waiting, and then disaster an errant gust of wind dropped my line into one of those damn  tamarisks, just upstream from where the trout were waiting.  Rather than wade up to where it was stuck I gave it the ole flick of the wrist to no avail and cursing waded up stream and began wrestling with the "tammy"  Finally the fly was free but tragedy of tragedy the tip of my rod was broken.  Curses were swept away by the river but my mood was definitely foul.  I waded back to where my gear was and packed up.
     What to do now?  I resigned myself to an evening spent under the stars at one of my favorite campsites and began the hike out.  I ran into two women also hiking out and struck up conversation.   Turns out they were river guides in the area for some sort of river guide convention being held in the area...  are people camping at Badger Point?  oh yeah probably huge party out there.  BALLS!!!  We came to a Y in Cathedral Wash and I veered right knowing that it would likely come out somewhat closer to my truck.  Well turns out I parked about two mile from where the wash hits the road and Mariah and I trudged for days til we got to the ole rig.  Disheartened we set forth for Flagstaff.

   At that point it looked like the weekend was going to be a total bust, I was down, down, down.  I went to bed and awoke in a similarly foul mood.  Coffee and some yardwork saw me through most of the day and I headed downtown to see about replacing my broken rod.  Mariah was psyched when we ducked into Babbits Flyfishing, I didn't have the heart to remind her that this was their last day open.  She got her customary biscuits, unfortunately the last two fly rods they had had on sale were already gone.  Trying not to be to disappointed we headed to Mariahs next favorite shop on the downtown circuit, Mtn. Sports.  It was packed and as we navigated the clutch of people I recognized a familiar and long absent face behind the counter.  Little Monica?  Turns out she's moved back to town with her boyfriend.  After a quick catch up period Mariah got her biscuit and I had plans to rope up at the climbing gym with Monica and Abel.  We climbed for a couple hours before Jason kicked us out...  I was starting to feel better.  I headed home for some grub and sleep and before I went to bed firmed up plans with JJ and the crew for some climbing at Upper Solitude.

Trying desperately to overcome my mental block on Holy Roller 12b/c  JJ Schlick Photo  


 I awoke a bit more refreshed than the past several days and once again swapped my fishing gear for climbing gear and rallied over to the trailhead.  A motley crew awaited, JJ, Wade, D-Kish, Tom, with Dr. Dave and Joel arriving shortly after.  Not to forget Barley, the little hellion Rogen, and Rufus.  We packed up and started the hike in.  The air fresh and the company fantastic.  We hiked up hill for the requisite 45 mins and soon were at the base of the Middle Wall of Upper Solitute.  Great climbing by all and great company on a beautiful day.  We climbed until our tips and tendons could take no more and none of us could believe what a beautiful day it had turned out to be.  Maybe things are turning around...  and to bring it all full circle in the distance a pair of peregrines swooped and dove and the screeching of their voices echoed through the canyon...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3D0qfK8JNA&NR=1

Great I'm turning into my dad!

      Its always interesting when you realize more and more what you have in common with your parents.  In my case it has been amazingly enriching to find that my folks and I have some very similar tastes in music. More so my dad and I, but my mom enjoys many of the artists as well.  And it brings me great happiness to be able to introduce them to new artists who they become ardent supporters of.  This all goes back years ago when I was a kid growing up with an old eight track in my room and my dad had a record player, cassette player, reel to reel (I'm not even sure how the hell that thing worked), and a cassette deck.  He later made the technological leap into the CD age and actually had an Ipod before I did (now my mom has an Ipad what the heck is going on!)  Anyhow, it was then that I was introduced to at least two artists that would become favorites, Willie Nelson and Mark Knopfler.  I may not have known it at the time but they both are two of my top choices when driving cross country.  Its continued over the years with Tommy Emmanuel and Iz to name just a few.  Well now the time has come that I get to return the favor!

With the Folks atop Kendrick a year or so ago
      
        A few years back I made a DVD/slideshow for my family documenting my adventures over the past year and on the "soundtrack" I included one of my newly favorite groups, the Devil Makes Three, it wasn't long before my dad was requesting a CD.  Several months after sending out the CD I received a late night phone call from my parents.  I learned what it must be like for a parent to receive that call from their kids!  The back ground noise was overwhelming but I could hear my dad shouting, "Hey!".... "Dad?"  "Yeah!  Guess where we are!?"  "I don't know, is everything ok?"  "We're watching the Devil Makes Three!  They're playing in Chico! I think your mom and I are the oldest people here!  We're standing on chairs!"  Let me tell you that was an awesome 3 minute conversation, I could just picture my folks surrounded by young hipsters rocking out to some sweet Bluegrass/punk fusion (at least thats how I look at it!)  Our second experience with the DM3 was a bit different but just as rewarding.   My dad was in the hospital recovering from open heart surgery and I was spinning my wheels at the house.  Suspiciously there were no home projects left undone, other than digging a two foot trench around some aggressive bamboo that was attempting to claim new territory.  I had been hacking at the hardened red clay/dirt of Northern California all morning and was taking a break.  I started thinking of what might cheer my dad up when he got out of the hospital and I got onto the DM3 website and sent them and email.  I outlined my dads love of their music, his current condition, and asked if I might be able to order him a t-shirt.  Less than 24 hrs later I got a message back, short and to the point, What size and where to send it.  My dad had been home only a day or two when a shirt showed up on the doorstep courtesy of the Devil Makes Three.  Great folks!

     Now there are some areas where are mutual tastes differ, I'm not sure if the folks really bought into the Nightwatchman, or the Black Keys, and he's had some that I wasn't so into, but overall this mutual sharing of tunes has been great.  His biggest lament about the latest offerings that I sent him was this, "Did you know Ted Hawkins died in 1995? There goes another great singer/songwriter dead and gone before I "discover" them!  Townes Van Zant, Walter Hyatt,Iz, and now Ted!"  I guess I'll have to check the status of artists before I recommend them.
      I wonder if this trend is nature or nurture?
Heres the last two links that I sent to my dad and his friend Don with two new artists I've been listening to.  Somewhat mournful but damn these guys have some voices!  I hope whoever is reading this enjoys them and is inspired to share their favorite artists with those close to them.  Also, the videos are ok but its the songs that hit.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I8gXMhOHdWg&NR=1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBaSTozYLdI&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8DsZzZQ-4tM&playnext=1&list=PLC7C06236D11B95EE