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....
Monday, December 5, 2011
Friday, September 23, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
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?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
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.
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