It was a high counsel that I once heard given to a young person, "Always do what you are afraid to do."
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
I'm still here at the Red River Gorge. I haven't gotten on any 5.12's yet but I've been getting great workouts. This place is like an outdoor climbing gym. Safe, very little approach, very little adventure, tons of people on the routes you want to do, and all the pump you can handle. I can gradually feel my forearm endurance increasing. Nothing special to write about except large quantities of 5.10's and 5.11's on bolts. Today we took an "active rest" day, which consisted of climbing easy on 7's, 8's, and 9's on trad and bolts.
Tomorrow is going to be my last day here and Thursday will be a half day. I think after that I'm going to head back to New York or Cape Cod for a week, possibly visiting the Gunks, before heading west until Christmas. I'd love to spend another few days in the Gunks, and that would really give me something to write about. Since tomorrow is my last full day here, I decided I would hop on some 5.12's and see what happened. I know I won't on-sight anything, which stinks (on-sight climbing is where it's at for me), but it will be good to really test my athletic limits and see what happens at the next grade up, since I've never tried any 12's except at the gym.
I've uploaded and labeled some pictures. Here's a slide show with pictures from Seneca Rocks and the Red River Gorge. As before, be sure to click the icon in the lower right corner which makes the slide show full screen, and then click "Show Info" in the upper right corner to see the captions I've written on the pictures.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
VMC Direct Direct, Farley, Red River Gorge
I don't have much time to craft a pithy and poetic post, and I don't have any books near me to look up sweet quotations. So this one's going to be more of an update. I'm sitting in Miguel's Pizza store in Slade, KY right now. This is the gathering and camping place of the climbing community at the Red River Gorge. If you haven't heard of it, it's world famous as a sport climbing mecca, and happens to have hundreds of sweet trad climbs too. Overall, it is best known for its hard sport climbs (12's, 13's, and 14's). The natural question you should have, then, is "then why is Gil there?" And it is a good question indeed. Miguel's is crowded with climbers, who all seem to know each other and are loud and strong personalities and who talk about what 12's and 13's they climbed today. It feels like everyone around me cranks on 13's. It's something I don't like about this place, and Joe Silver is a quiet a reserved guy who pretty much feels the same way. We've been sleeping in our cars away from Miguel's, in rest areas and public picnic areas. The solitude is nice. We've been climbing in the Muir valley, which has a couple areas that are primarily for trad, and we've found some seclusion here. There's tons of rock in the area and over 1600 routes, but we still managed to be vying for climbs yesterday. Nothing is greater than one pitch... it's all cragging and everybody carries a stick-clip to bag the first bolt. It's not an adventure.
That said, the rock here is quite beautiful. My mom bought me a camera, so I can finally take my own pictures and when I have some more time than I do right now I'll post some pictures of the rock here. Lots of sandstone pockets, lots of overhangs, lots of jugs. We climbed seven 5.10's in a row yesterday, all pumpy jug fests, and the day before that I one-hanged a 5.10 finger crack and slingshotted the second half of an 11b on sport. Charlie is on his way down here now, finally. After only a couple days of climbing in the past two months, he's finally ready to commit to at least a week of climbing. So I'll probably be here in the Red for next week too. The quality of the rock and the sheer primal fun of hauling on juggy overhangs barely outweighs how crowded, centralized, and social-oriented rather than adventure-oriented the atmosphere is here. I think the best way I can justify staying here for two weeks is that it's training. My endurance will get a lot better, and that's one of my weakest points-- I'm going to train and get stronger and become an overall better climber. I think this is something that's going to make climbing more fun for me, although there is a danger of making it less fun if I get too caught up in the success/failure game.
I'd like to tell about the few weeks before this that I haven't blogged about. Joe and I climbed at Seneca Rocks in West Virginia last sunday... it's all trad and it's as sandbagged as the gunks. A great way to get some last bit of adventure before committing to hard sport at the Red.
Climbing-wise, I went to Farley with Karen, Rikka, and Dunbar a week ago. It was a beautiful afternoon of climbing in the middle of Massachusetts right as it cleared up after the noreaster. Dunbar and I pulled ourselves up some tough cracks, one of them being a group effort (Dunbar slingshoted a hard crack that I accidentally blew off of after the crux-- good work Dunbar). It was a great day because of the climbing but I would say more so because of the people. Rikka, Karen, Dunbar and I are a great squad and I'd be pressed to think of a better group of people to climb and go on adventures with. I can't wait until we climb or hang out together again and I'm excited to see what happens in the spring.
That Sunday, during aforementioned noreaster, Karen, Dunbar, and I went to the Wellfleet Oysterfest on cape cod and watched Chopper Young, world champion oyster shucker (and neighbor to Karen and Rikka) destroy the competition in the semi-finals. We got cheap raw oysters and littleneck clams and they were delicious!
The Saturday before that, Dunbar, Jimmy, and I went up to Cannon to try and climb VMC Direct Direct, a very famous 5.10+ route. There are four 5.10 cruxes and a slabby 5.11 section protected by a bolt. Jimmy and I swung leads on the hard pitches. As we got to the cliff the temperature was rising above freezing and ice was raining down on our heads. Helmets on, we braved the showers of ice chunks as we moved up beautiful smooth arching dihedrals and roofs. The first crux fell to Jimmy... it was an undercling traverse on tiny fingertip-sized holds. Before moving into the crux he took out his ice tool and started scraping chunks of ice out of the undercling, and then water started coming out. The ice and water and freezing cold rock necessitated aiding but if it were dry I'm certain Jimmy could have sent it clean. I led the next pitch, a sustained 5.10 dihedral that was soaked. I hanged once before the crux, but pulled the sopping roof crux (amidst screams) and somehow finished out the sustained dihedral climbing. It was a proud moment. Jimmy slipped and slid on the soaking wet "5.9" slabby section on the next pitch, and the 5.11 slab move fell to me. My foot blew off right at the beginning, but then I got back on and sent it (again, screaming). The following pitch was a waterfall so we rapped off, but all three of us hardy adventurers are certain it will go clean next time, when it's dry!
Surrounding Cannon and Farley was some rest time. I hung out with Rikka on the cape and we went to NYC to see my parents. I also used this time to search for a new used car. Since my Dad needed his buick back, he offered to buy me a cheap car as a graduation present. Thanks parents! So I shopped furiously for a week on craigslist, ebay, and a bunch of other sites and finally found a great deal on a diesel Volkswagen Jetta. These cars get 50 miles to the gallon and run for several hundred thousand miles. So, with Rikka's help, I picked up the car from a friendly mechanic in Lowell, MA. The car is great and I love it. I've moved all my stuff into it (from the buick) and drove it down here. I can sleep in it, and drive forever without filling up the tank. I'm going to drive out west with it soon. Don't tell Charlie, but I like it more than the van, and I feel like it is my own. It is the best gift my parents could have given me. I have pictures of it that I will post soon.
One more thing I want to say is how happy it has made me that I've managed to spend so much time with Rikka this fall. This is something that I've been wanting to say for a while, but I also have been figuring out exactly how I want to separate my personal feelings and my public climbing blog updates. I apologize to any readers to whom I've been insensitive in navigating this distinction. For example, in my last post I didn't mention that we spent four days climbing together at the Gunks and she did her first trad lead, and it did not feel good to leave this out. This was a big moment for me (as well as Rikka) because it wasn't long ago when we went toproping in Quincy Quarries on the first day Rikka ever climbed. She did all three pitches of Three Pines, a gunks classic, the top pitch of which has some exposure and tricky route-finding. In fact, the picture in the guidebook was wrong and gave false directions to the bolts, but she figured it out. This is an accomplishment and she deserves a shout-out. Props.
I've gotta run now because Miguel's is making me feel uncomfortable and I don't want to keep Joe waiting. Hopefully, next time I post I will be a much stronger climber and can talk all about the 12's I've been on-sighting. Until then, I'll try and power through the crowds of stick-clippers.
That said, the rock here is quite beautiful. My mom bought me a camera, so I can finally take my own pictures and when I have some more time than I do right now I'll post some pictures of the rock here. Lots of sandstone pockets, lots of overhangs, lots of jugs. We climbed seven 5.10's in a row yesterday, all pumpy jug fests, and the day before that I one-hanged a 5.10 finger crack and slingshotted the second half of an 11b on sport. Charlie is on his way down here now, finally. After only a couple days of climbing in the past two months, he's finally ready to commit to at least a week of climbing. So I'll probably be here in the Red for next week too. The quality of the rock and the sheer primal fun of hauling on juggy overhangs barely outweighs how crowded, centralized, and social-oriented rather than adventure-oriented the atmosphere is here. I think the best way I can justify staying here for two weeks is that it's training. My endurance will get a lot better, and that's one of my weakest points-- I'm going to train and get stronger and become an overall better climber. I think this is something that's going to make climbing more fun for me, although there is a danger of making it less fun if I get too caught up in the success/failure game.
I'd like to tell about the few weeks before this that I haven't blogged about. Joe and I climbed at Seneca Rocks in West Virginia last sunday... it's all trad and it's as sandbagged as the gunks. A great way to get some last bit of adventure before committing to hard sport at the Red.
Climbing-wise, I went to Farley with Karen, Rikka, and Dunbar a week ago. It was a beautiful afternoon of climbing in the middle of Massachusetts right as it cleared up after the noreaster. Dunbar and I pulled ourselves up some tough cracks, one of them being a group effort (Dunbar slingshoted a hard crack that I accidentally blew off of after the crux-- good work Dunbar). It was a great day because of the climbing but I would say more so because of the people. Rikka, Karen, Dunbar and I are a great squad and I'd be pressed to think of a better group of people to climb and go on adventures with. I can't wait until we climb or hang out together again and I'm excited to see what happens in the spring.
That Sunday, during aforementioned noreaster, Karen, Dunbar, and I went to the Wellfleet Oysterfest on cape cod and watched Chopper Young, world champion oyster shucker (and neighbor to Karen and Rikka) destroy the competition in the semi-finals. We got cheap raw oysters and littleneck clams and they were delicious!
The Saturday before that, Dunbar, Jimmy, and I went up to Cannon to try and climb VMC Direct Direct, a very famous 5.10+ route. There are four 5.10 cruxes and a slabby 5.11 section protected by a bolt. Jimmy and I swung leads on the hard pitches. As we got to the cliff the temperature was rising above freezing and ice was raining down on our heads. Helmets on, we braved the showers of ice chunks as we moved up beautiful smooth arching dihedrals and roofs. The first crux fell to Jimmy... it was an undercling traverse on tiny fingertip-sized holds. Before moving into the crux he took out his ice tool and started scraping chunks of ice out of the undercling, and then water started coming out. The ice and water and freezing cold rock necessitated aiding but if it were dry I'm certain Jimmy could have sent it clean. I led the next pitch, a sustained 5.10 dihedral that was soaked. I hanged once before the crux, but pulled the sopping roof crux (amidst screams) and somehow finished out the sustained dihedral climbing. It was a proud moment. Jimmy slipped and slid on the soaking wet "5.9" slabby section on the next pitch, and the 5.11 slab move fell to me. My foot blew off right at the beginning, but then I got back on and sent it (again, screaming). The following pitch was a waterfall so we rapped off, but all three of us hardy adventurers are certain it will go clean next time, when it's dry!
Surrounding Cannon and Farley was some rest time. I hung out with Rikka on the cape and we went to NYC to see my parents. I also used this time to search for a new used car. Since my Dad needed his buick back, he offered to buy me a cheap car as a graduation present. Thanks parents! So I shopped furiously for a week on craigslist, ebay, and a bunch of other sites and finally found a great deal on a diesel Volkswagen Jetta. These cars get 50 miles to the gallon and run for several hundred thousand miles. So, with Rikka's help, I picked up the car from a friendly mechanic in Lowell, MA. The car is great and I love it. I've moved all my stuff into it (from the buick) and drove it down here. I can sleep in it, and drive forever without filling up the tank. I'm going to drive out west with it soon. Don't tell Charlie, but I like it more than the van, and I feel like it is my own. It is the best gift my parents could have given me. I have pictures of it that I will post soon.
One more thing I want to say is how happy it has made me that I've managed to spend so much time with Rikka this fall. This is something that I've been wanting to say for a while, but I also have been figuring out exactly how I want to separate my personal feelings and my public climbing blog updates. I apologize to any readers to whom I've been insensitive in navigating this distinction. For example, in my last post I didn't mention that we spent four days climbing together at the Gunks and she did her first trad lead, and it did not feel good to leave this out. This was a big moment for me (as well as Rikka) because it wasn't long ago when we went toproping in Quincy Quarries on the first day Rikka ever climbed. She did all three pitches of Three Pines, a gunks classic, the top pitch of which has some exposure and tricky route-finding. In fact, the picture in the guidebook was wrong and gave false directions to the bolts, but she figured it out. This is an accomplishment and she deserves a shout-out. Props.
I've gotta run now because Miguel's is making me feel uncomfortable and I don't want to keep Joe waiting. Hopefully, next time I post I will be a much stronger climber and can talk all about the 12's I've been on-sighting. Until then, I'll try and power through the crowds of stick-clippers.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Fat City and the Unimportance of Death
Looking into Napoleon's eyes, Prince Andrei thought of the insignificance of greatness, the unimportance of life, which no one could understand, and of the still greater unimportance of death, the meaning of which no living person could understand and explain.
-Tolstoy in War and Peace
Someone wise once told me that greatness is insignificant if those around you don't like you very much. To love and be loved, to give, and to bring happiness to others is of the utmost importance. I tried to lead a 5.10 at the Gunks the other day and took a fall. It was clean and painless, leaving me unscathed, yet I was debilitated by a feeling of failure, frustration, and anger. I'd followed the climb, "Criss Cross," over four years ago, but I had no memory of it, so I was essentially shooting for an on-sight. It was rated at 5.10a, so I figured it would be strenuous, but an overall success. I was cocky, but I think a little bit of cocky is okay going into a challenging trad lead. My problem wasn't cockiness, it was that somewhere deep down I was aiming for greatness. I was aiming for a 5.12a on-sight down the line, or even 5.13a. So when my toe jam blew right after pulling the crux move on a 5.10a, I was pissed. It set me back, it blocked my path, and stopped me short.
For several days before that climb I’d been re-doing the classic 5.6’s at the Gunks that I’d done a few times back in high school. I think I’ve climbed the famous “High-Exposure” seven or eight times now. It’s fun every time. Then when I hopped on this 5.10a, it wasn’t about fun anymore. It was about bagging the ascent, getting the send, nailing the on-sight. But more and more I’m wondering where that leaves me. What does it get me besides a number to tell people how hard I’ve climbed. Is it an accomplishment? The people who care about me most probably don’t care too much about what climbs I did last week, and especially not the silly difficulty grade attached to them.
It makes me wonder what this blog is for. I keep posting about new climbs I’ve on-sighted. Pictures are great, but I don’t have a camera at the moment and most people don’t think to snap the photos. I love posting pictures because then I feel like my friends can get a sense of the places I am and the beauty of these cliffs and mountains and trees. I’ve got no pictures from my last 11 days in Gunks. All I’ve got is numbers and names of climbs and memories of pulling through hard roofs.
The autumn moments are what I want to write about. The whole sides of mountains in the Adirondacks that are ablaze with fiery yellows and oranges. Dunbar, Charlie, and I went up to the Adirondacks to try and climb Wallface mountain (the largest backcountry cliff in the Northeast) but we were repulsed by rain. We wanted to bag a climb on Poke-O-Moonshine mountain. Rained out. We eventually managed to find a dry streak on King Wall in Chapel Pond with a 25-foot-high crack. King Wall is rather beautiful: here’s a picture. You can't really tell from the picture that it's 300' tall and bulges outward.
After our rainy experience in the Dacks, Dunbar, Charlie, and I decided to head down to the Gunks to join the massive HMC contingent that was invading the cliffs. Beautiful weather on Columbus Day weekend at the Gunks means it’s a goddamn climbing gym. Literally. If you drop a rock, you’re probably going to hit someone. I hate the crowds and the loud-mouths and the old guys who act like they own the place. It was getting me really un-pumped to climb there, but my level of excitement was ultimately restored by the HMC folks: Karen, Dunbar, Lauren, Will, Jimmy, Hannah, Coz, and more. They’re great people even off the cliffs when you’re not sending next to them. Jimmy sent Fat City Direct (5.10d). Naturally, I had to try it, so I hopped on and on-sighted the 5.10d pitch. It wasn’t as technically difficult as that 5.10a I was talking about at the beginning of this post, but more exposed and pumpy. A great climb. Charlie hurt his wrist on the first pitch so we didn’t get to do the top, but I’ll go back and send it another day (I’ve got the crux pitch dialed now, so it won’t be hard). There I go, talking about grades and names of climbs. Basically, it’s my way of giving props to Jimmy Watts for hopping on it and tearing it up. I’m going to Cannon Cliff this weekend with Jimmy to attempt to lead VMC Direct Direct. I’ll let you know how it goes.
I'll leave you with these poorly chosen words. Bold and daring deeds help us assert the triumph of our existence in an un-caring universe. The course and broken kaleidoscope of a precipice gives brave adventurers a way to find the stuff of their species. We are soft and fleshy and full of love for one another and, bringing our banner into the cold and darkness, we fill a need. We fill it with ideas and theories and ultimately it is indescribable but we try.
-Tolstoy in War and Peace
Someone wise once told me that greatness is insignificant if those around you don't like you very much. To love and be loved, to give, and to bring happiness to others is of the utmost importance. I tried to lead a 5.10 at the Gunks the other day and took a fall. It was clean and painless, leaving me unscathed, yet I was debilitated by a feeling of failure, frustration, and anger. I'd followed the climb, "Criss Cross," over four years ago, but I had no memory of it, so I was essentially shooting for an on-sight. It was rated at 5.10a, so I figured it would be strenuous, but an overall success. I was cocky, but I think a little bit of cocky is okay going into a challenging trad lead. My problem wasn't cockiness, it was that somewhere deep down I was aiming for greatness. I was aiming for a 5.12a on-sight down the line, or even 5.13a. So when my toe jam blew right after pulling the crux move on a 5.10a, I was pissed. It set me back, it blocked my path, and stopped me short.
For several days before that climb I’d been re-doing the classic 5.6’s at the Gunks that I’d done a few times back in high school. I think I’ve climbed the famous “High-Exposure” seven or eight times now. It’s fun every time. Then when I hopped on this 5.10a, it wasn’t about fun anymore. It was about bagging the ascent, getting the send, nailing the on-sight. But more and more I’m wondering where that leaves me. What does it get me besides a number to tell people how hard I’ve climbed. Is it an accomplishment? The people who care about me most probably don’t care too much about what climbs I did last week, and especially not the silly difficulty grade attached to them.
It makes me wonder what this blog is for. I keep posting about new climbs I’ve on-sighted. Pictures are great, but I don’t have a camera at the moment and most people don’t think to snap the photos. I love posting pictures because then I feel like my friends can get a sense of the places I am and the beauty of these cliffs and mountains and trees. I’ve got no pictures from my last 11 days in Gunks. All I’ve got is numbers and names of climbs and memories of pulling through hard roofs.
The autumn moments are what I want to write about. The whole sides of mountains in the Adirondacks that are ablaze with fiery yellows and oranges. Dunbar, Charlie, and I went up to the Adirondacks to try and climb Wallface mountain (the largest backcountry cliff in the Northeast) but we were repulsed by rain. We wanted to bag a climb on Poke-O-Moonshine mountain. Rained out. We eventually managed to find a dry streak on King Wall in Chapel Pond with a 25-foot-high crack. King Wall is rather beautiful: here’s a picture. You can't really tell from the picture that it's 300' tall and bulges outward.
After our rainy experience in the Dacks, Dunbar, Charlie, and I decided to head down to the Gunks to join the massive HMC contingent that was invading the cliffs. Beautiful weather on Columbus Day weekend at the Gunks means it’s a goddamn climbing gym. Literally. If you drop a rock, you’re probably going to hit someone. I hate the crowds and the loud-mouths and the old guys who act like they own the place. It was getting me really un-pumped to climb there, but my level of excitement was ultimately restored by the HMC folks: Karen, Dunbar, Lauren, Will, Jimmy, Hannah, Coz, and more. They’re great people even off the cliffs when you’re not sending next to them. Jimmy sent Fat City Direct (5.10d). Naturally, I had to try it, so I hopped on and on-sighted the 5.10d pitch. It wasn’t as technically difficult as that 5.10a I was talking about at the beginning of this post, but more exposed and pumpy. A great climb. Charlie hurt his wrist on the first pitch so we didn’t get to do the top, but I’ll go back and send it another day (I’ve got the crux pitch dialed now, so it won’t be hard). There I go, talking about grades and names of climbs. Basically, it’s my way of giving props to Jimmy Watts for hopping on it and tearing it up. I’m going to Cannon Cliff this weekend with Jimmy to attempt to lead VMC Direct Direct. I’ll let you know how it goes.
I'll leave you with these poorly chosen words. Bold and daring deeds help us assert the triumph of our existence in an un-caring universe. The course and broken kaleidoscope of a precipice gives brave adventurers a way to find the stuff of their species. We are soft and fleshy and full of love for one another and, bringing our banner into the cold and darkness, we fill a need. We fill it with ideas and theories and ultimately it is indescribable but we try.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Three Great Gorgeous Days of Daring Deeds in the Dacks
Oh, seems to me, there should be two ceaseless steeds for a bold man to ride,-- the Land and the Sea; and like circus-men we should never dismount, but only be steadied and rested by leaping from one to the other, while still, side by side, they both race around the sun.
-Herman Melville
On Friday Will and I leaped from our kayaks on the bucking waters of windy Lake George onto a small strip of soil at the base of a 600-foot high cliff known as Roger’s slab. Here’s a picture
(note: more photos will come once I have a little more time and the various people who took them (namely Jeff and Monica) send them to me… check back because there are some really good ones!).
Will did his first trad lead ever on a three-pitch 5.5 that followed a crack all the way up the cliff. In the photo you can vaguely see the crack running all the way up the cliff—it starts to the right of the largest clump of trees that meets the water. It was a beautiful route and a beautiful day on a cliff that rises strikingly from a beautiful and massive lake, and I rather enjoyed sitting and belaying while Will calmly worked his way up. After we got down there was barely time for a one-pitch 5.6+ slab climb. The first bolt was high and they were generally spaced about 20 to 30 feet apart. The climb was all friction and there were barely any holds, but the slab was low-angled enough that you could keep moving up without slipping. But damn does it get scary running out that high above your last bolt. At the end of the day we paddled back to Will’s family’s lake house on Lake George to find that his mom had come up, had been watching us climb from a boat on the lake, and had dinner ready. Jeff and Monica showed up just in time for a delicious feast celebrating Will’s first trad lead, on a cliff he’d been eyeing since his childhood days paddling around the lake.
All in all, Friday’s climbing on lake George was pleasant and successful, and Will’s cabin and the easy climbing was a nice respite from our previous day, which was spent on Spider’s Web, this time with a partner. Here’s a photo of the cliff (that's not me on it):
Climbing with Will, I was bold enough to attempt to lead “On the Loose,” a 5.10a crack of about 120 feet. The crack was magnificent, with big solid hand jams and strenuous but manageable moves. However, the length proved too much for me and I found my forearms getting too pumped about halfway up. I ended up hanging on my gear a few times in order to get up it, but I eventually made it. What a tough 5.10a! I guess that’s Spider’s Web for you. The second pitch went at 5.9, but again, I got pumped out (and scared) and hung once. The crux moves were right at the beginning, as you traverse out left from the belay into a large corner with an off-width crack. A very stiff and very scary 5.9. But I made it up, and I was very proud! For the rest of the day we toproped some more wicked hard cracks and got ourselves majorly pumped out. Will also aid-toproped Dacker Cracker in preparation for his first trad lead on Roger’s slab the following day. All-in-all a fun day, and a great workout, although I got a good beat-down by “the Web.”
Saturday was fantastic. Jeff, Monica, Will, me, and Joe Silver, a long time friend of Jeff and Monica’s, all went to the Courthouse wall, which is in the High Peaks wilderness in the Adirondacks. From Keene Valley you hike about 50 minutes toward Johns Brook Lodge (I think the HMC might have gone here for their winter trip?) then turn off the trail and follow a poor and windy climbers path to a fantastic little crag in the middle of the woods. Naturally, nobody was there despite impeccable weather. As soon as we arrived I led a 5.10a, perfectly clean. Although it had a couple of bolts at the crux, I was proud. As we cragged for the rest of the day, I kept staring over at a 5.10c roof that Jeff reported having led several years earlier. Eventually Jeff announced that he wanted to try a different 10c, which also went through a roof at the top. It felt like old times as I belayed him and encouraged him as he pulled through what turned out to be a very difficult and exposed top-out crux through a big roof at the top. Good job brah.
Then, at the end of the day, I decided I was going to go for the other 10c on the cliff, which I’d been eyeing the whole time. The first 30 feet were probably 5.8ish at least, and didn’t have great pro, but everything worked out. After those first 30 feet it eased off for about 15 feet until the bottom of a roof. Under the roof I calmed my nerves for a second and then leaned out and felt around above for holds. I found a few, started to pull myself up, realized that the holds stopped, froze like a deer in headlights, and immediately started to get pumped in my forearms. I jerkily climbed back down to my awkward resting stance beneath the roof, caught my breath, and shook out my arms. I repeated this sequence of climbing up, getting stuck, and retreating a couple more times before I figured out different footwork for the sequence that made it just a little bit easier. That little bit was all I needed and when I finally went for it the next time, I reached up, shifted my feet, grabbed the hold just right and pulled through the crux. The next 30 feet of climbing were sustained and hard, but I had passed the crux and successfully topped out, having successfully on-sighted my first 5.10c on trad. Woohoo! During this process, Jeff walked to the top of the cliff and took photos of me from above. Here’s a slideshow of the pictures he took of me while I did this climb, starting from when I pull through the roof:
We went back to Will’s cabin on Lake George and slept there Saturday night as it started raining hard. It rained all Sunday and I went back to Albany with Jeff and Monica to hang out for the day. There I decided that, in light of the rain-every-day weather forecast for the Adirondacks this week I would stay with them for a couple days to help them re-do their kitchen. We already tore out the old cabinets and tomorrow I’m going to gut the dry-wall and insulation. They’ll pick new cabinets and a new countertop and hopefully (with as much help as I want to give them) have them installed by next week. We’ll see how far we get! Charlie didn’t come climbing this weekend, and he’s still in Boston. He’s going to stay there another week while he finishes a painting job Leah’s parents have given him. I hope he hasn’t lost the climbing bug after this long break because he’s a good partner.
Anyway, I’m totally hooked on climbing. Leading 10c trad tastes like improvement, and it’s left me wanting more. While I’m staying at Jeff’s house I’m going to do lots of dead-hang and pull up workouts. Those are the only highlights of the past week I wish to share right now. Thanks for reading, whoever you are. I wonder who still reads this blog besides my mom. I don’t think many of the people who are in it read it. At this point I’m falling asleep and should call it quits. Goodnight.
-Herman Melville
On Friday Will and I leaped from our kayaks on the bucking waters of windy Lake George onto a small strip of soil at the base of a 600-foot high cliff known as Roger’s slab. Here’s a picture
(note: more photos will come once I have a little more time and the various people who took them (namely Jeff and Monica) send them to me… check back because there are some really good ones!).Will did his first trad lead ever on a three-pitch 5.5 that followed a crack all the way up the cliff. In the photo you can vaguely see the crack running all the way up the cliff—it starts to the right of the largest clump of trees that meets the water. It was a beautiful route and a beautiful day on a cliff that rises strikingly from a beautiful and massive lake, and I rather enjoyed sitting and belaying while Will calmly worked his way up. After we got down there was barely time for a one-pitch 5.6+ slab climb. The first bolt was high and they were generally spaced about 20 to 30 feet apart. The climb was all friction and there were barely any holds, but the slab was low-angled enough that you could keep moving up without slipping. But damn does it get scary running out that high above your last bolt. At the end of the day we paddled back to Will’s family’s lake house on Lake George to find that his mom had come up, had been watching us climb from a boat on the lake, and had dinner ready. Jeff and Monica showed up just in time for a delicious feast celebrating Will’s first trad lead, on a cliff he’d been eyeing since his childhood days paddling around the lake.
All in all, Friday’s climbing on lake George was pleasant and successful, and Will’s cabin and the easy climbing was a nice respite from our previous day, which was spent on Spider’s Web, this time with a partner. Here’s a photo of the cliff (that's not me on it):
Climbing with Will, I was bold enough to attempt to lead “On the Loose,” a 5.10a crack of about 120 feet. The crack was magnificent, with big solid hand jams and strenuous but manageable moves. However, the length proved too much for me and I found my forearms getting too pumped about halfway up. I ended up hanging on my gear a few times in order to get up it, but I eventually made it. What a tough 5.10a! I guess that’s Spider’s Web for you. The second pitch went at 5.9, but again, I got pumped out (and scared) and hung once. The crux moves were right at the beginning, as you traverse out left from the belay into a large corner with an off-width crack. A very stiff and very scary 5.9. But I made it up, and I was very proud! For the rest of the day we toproped some more wicked hard cracks and got ourselves majorly pumped out. Will also aid-toproped Dacker Cracker in preparation for his first trad lead on Roger’s slab the following day. All-in-all a fun day, and a great workout, although I got a good beat-down by “the Web.”
Saturday was fantastic. Jeff, Monica, Will, me, and Joe Silver, a long time friend of Jeff and Monica’s, all went to the Courthouse wall, which is in the High Peaks wilderness in the Adirondacks. From Keene Valley you hike about 50 minutes toward Johns Brook Lodge (I think the HMC might have gone here for their winter trip?) then turn off the trail and follow a poor and windy climbers path to a fantastic little crag in the middle of the woods. Naturally, nobody was there despite impeccable weather. As soon as we arrived I led a 5.10a, perfectly clean. Although it had a couple of bolts at the crux, I was proud. As we cragged for the rest of the day, I kept staring over at a 5.10c roof that Jeff reported having led several years earlier. Eventually Jeff announced that he wanted to try a different 10c, which also went through a roof at the top. It felt like old times as I belayed him and encouraged him as he pulled through what turned out to be a very difficult and exposed top-out crux through a big roof at the top. Good job brah.
Then, at the end of the day, I decided I was going to go for the other 10c on the cliff, which I’d been eyeing the whole time. The first 30 feet were probably 5.8ish at least, and didn’t have great pro, but everything worked out. After those first 30 feet it eased off for about 15 feet until the bottom of a roof. Under the roof I calmed my nerves for a second and then leaned out and felt around above for holds. I found a few, started to pull myself up, realized that the holds stopped, froze like a deer in headlights, and immediately started to get pumped in my forearms. I jerkily climbed back down to my awkward resting stance beneath the roof, caught my breath, and shook out my arms. I repeated this sequence of climbing up, getting stuck, and retreating a couple more times before I figured out different footwork for the sequence that made it just a little bit easier. That little bit was all I needed and when I finally went for it the next time, I reached up, shifted my feet, grabbed the hold just right and pulled through the crux. The next 30 feet of climbing were sustained and hard, but I had passed the crux and successfully topped out, having successfully on-sighted my first 5.10c on trad. Woohoo! During this process, Jeff walked to the top of the cliff and took photos of me from above. Here’s a slideshow of the pictures he took of me while I did this climb, starting from when I pull through the roof:
We went back to Will’s cabin on Lake George and slept there Saturday night as it started raining hard. It rained all Sunday and I went back to Albany with Jeff and Monica to hang out for the day. There I decided that, in light of the rain-every-day weather forecast for the Adirondacks this week I would stay with them for a couple days to help them re-do their kitchen. We already tore out the old cabinets and tomorrow I’m going to gut the dry-wall and insulation. They’ll pick new cabinets and a new countertop and hopefully (with as much help as I want to give them) have them installed by next week. We’ll see how far we get! Charlie didn’t come climbing this weekend, and he’s still in Boston. He’s going to stay there another week while he finishes a painting job Leah’s parents have given him. I hope he hasn’t lost the climbing bug after this long break because he’s a good partner.
Anyway, I’m totally hooked on climbing. Leading 10c trad tastes like improvement, and it’s left me wanting more. While I’m staying at Jeff’s house I’m going to do lots of dead-hang and pull up workouts. Those are the only highlights of the past week I wish to share right now. Thanks for reading, whoever you are. I wonder who still reads this blog besides my mom. I don’t think many of the people who are in it read it. At this point I’m falling asleep and should call it quits. Goodnight.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Dacker Cracker and Rain
I meant to tell mankind to aspire to a new state about which I could tell them little or nothing, to teach them to tread a long and lonely path which might or might not lead thither, to bid them dare to encounter all possible perils of nature unknown, to abandon all their settled manners of living and cut themselves off from their past and their environment, and to attempt a quixotic adventure with no resources beyond their native strength and sagacity. I had done it myself and found not only that the pearl of great price was worth far more than I possesed, but that the very perils and privations of the quest were themselves my dearest memories. I was certain of this at least: that nothing in the world except this was worth doing.
-Aleister Crowley (a generally weird person, but a formidable mountaineer).
I'm not totally sure that nothing in the world is worth doing except mountaineering. In fact I highly doubt it. But I like quixotic adventure and abandoning my settled manners of living. I'm in the public library in Keene Valley, NY, in the Adirondacks right now, and I just spent several hours reading mountaineering books down in the "Alpine Room" downstairs. Now I'm taking a break to reconnect to the world with the internet: checking the weather, blogging, and e-mailing. I'm here at the library because it's been raining all day. A few minutes ago there was some brief sunshine but now the clouds, true to the forecast, are moving back in to start dumping again.
I got to Chapel Pond, 10 miles Southeast of here on Rte. 73, on Saturday with my older brothers Greg and Jeff, Jeff's girlfriend Monica, and Greg's kids Taylor and Thomas, aged 8 and 6. The six of us set off on a poor trail on Saturday morning and wandered around in the woods for a few hours with Taylor and Thomas, finding bugs, interesting leaves, and adventure. We camped out somewhere a couple miles from the road on Saturday night, and then on Sunday afternoon everyone left the Adirondacks except for me. I stayed to try and find things to do myself in one of the premier climbing locations on the East Coast. Sunday afternoon I found a campsite, cooked dinner and settled in early and planned to get up and toprope-solo all day at Spider's Web, a cliff with some great and extremely difficult crack climbs. It was hard getting out of bed but I hiked up to the cliff and climbed Dacker Cracker, 5.10c, five times to try and make myself a better crack climber. Out of laziness I took long rests between tries, so this, combined with my difficulty in dragging myself out of my sleeping bag, combined with thoroughly pumped forearms led to my calling it quits and driving 15 minutes to Elizabethtown, where there is cell phone service and a real supermarket (there is no service in Keene Valley).
There I made several phone calls. After one call I numbly bought ice cream. I went to bed ready to wake up early this morning to go aid-solo something on the King Wall, but when my eyes open I was greeted with the sound of rain on my tent so I slept in yet again and lay there until I got sick of counting the squares in the nylon of the ceiling of my tent, and then I came here to the library. For the next few hours I'm going to try and do math.
The forecast is rain tomorrow as well, so I might try and find something dry to screw around on, or just aid climb in the rain. Will Skinner's supposed to come climb with me on Thursday and Charlie's supposed to join me on Saturday. Jeff and Monica are going to come back up this weekend to climb. Until then I'm on my own. Just me, the rain, my tent, and the car.
-Aleister Crowley (a generally weird person, but a formidable mountaineer).
I'm not totally sure that nothing in the world is worth doing except mountaineering. In fact I highly doubt it. But I like quixotic adventure and abandoning my settled manners of living. I'm in the public library in Keene Valley, NY, in the Adirondacks right now, and I just spent several hours reading mountaineering books down in the "Alpine Room" downstairs. Now I'm taking a break to reconnect to the world with the internet: checking the weather, blogging, and e-mailing. I'm here at the library because it's been raining all day. A few minutes ago there was some brief sunshine but now the clouds, true to the forecast, are moving back in to start dumping again.
I got to Chapel Pond, 10 miles Southeast of here on Rte. 73, on Saturday with my older brothers Greg and Jeff, Jeff's girlfriend Monica, and Greg's kids Taylor and Thomas, aged 8 and 6. The six of us set off on a poor trail on Saturday morning and wandered around in the woods for a few hours with Taylor and Thomas, finding bugs, interesting leaves, and adventure. We camped out somewhere a couple miles from the road on Saturday night, and then on Sunday afternoon everyone left the Adirondacks except for me. I stayed to try and find things to do myself in one of the premier climbing locations on the East Coast. Sunday afternoon I found a campsite, cooked dinner and settled in early and planned to get up and toprope-solo all day at Spider's Web, a cliff with some great and extremely difficult crack climbs. It was hard getting out of bed but I hiked up to the cliff and climbed Dacker Cracker, 5.10c, five times to try and make myself a better crack climber. Out of laziness I took long rests between tries, so this, combined with my difficulty in dragging myself out of my sleeping bag, combined with thoroughly pumped forearms led to my calling it quits and driving 15 minutes to Elizabethtown, where there is cell phone service and a real supermarket (there is no service in Keene Valley).
There I made several phone calls. After one call I numbly bought ice cream. I went to bed ready to wake up early this morning to go aid-solo something on the King Wall, but when my eyes open I was greeted with the sound of rain on my tent so I slept in yet again and lay there until I got sick of counting the squares in the nylon of the ceiling of my tent, and then I came here to the library. For the next few hours I'm going to try and do math.
The forecast is rain tomorrow as well, so I might try and find something dry to screw around on, or just aid climb in the rain. Will Skinner's supposed to come climb with me on Thursday and Charlie's supposed to join me on Saturday. Jeff and Monica are going to come back up this weekend to climb. Until then I'm on my own. Just me, the rain, my tent, and the car.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Technical Advances
This isn't a real post, it's just to let you know that I've embedded a slideshow in my post "Going Alpine," about climbing in the Wind Rivers this past August. The slideshow is in a little square down near the end of the post. If you click the button in the lower right section of the square, it makes the slideshow full-screen, and then if you click "Show Info" it will show you the captions I made for each picture. Sorry it took so long! There are a couple photos forthcoming from the Tetons, Wild Iris, and Cape Cod.
I've got a Flickr account now. Here's the link to see all my pictures (right now it's only the Winds pics):
http://www.flickr.com/photos/42663583@N06/
I've got a Flickr account now. Here's the link to see all my pictures (right now it's only the Winds pics):
http://www.flickr.com/photos/42663583@N06/
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Breakdown
"Hardly non of the guys ever travel together. I hardly never seen two guys travel together. You know how the hands are, they just come in and get their bunk and work a month, and then they quit and go out alone. Never seem to give a damn about nobody. It jus' seems kinda funny a cuckoo like him and a smart little guy like you travelin' together."
-Slim in Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Yeah it's pretty funny: a smart little guy like me and a cuckoo like Charlie travelin' around together. Heh. Charlie and I agreed not to read each others' blogs so I'm allowed to make fun of him and he won't know until some indeterminate point in the future. Not sure he will ever read this. Should anyone?
I should continue telling the story of August before I forget it. So at the end of my last post we were pulling out of Pinedale, WY after two weeks in the profoundly beautiful Wind Rivers. I'd just had a delicious meal and beer and we were heading back across the Jackson Pass to Charlie's house to decide how we wanted to assault the Tetons. Rikka, Dunbar, and I were in the Prius and Charlie, Hannah, and Will were in the van. We'd had to push start it but we were hoping it was just a low battery, which the alternator would recharge on the road. A few miles later after we passed through a rainstorm, the engine died on the van and we Prius-goers watched with disappointment as the van slowed and pulled off onto the shoulder. Four attempts at push starting later we decided that there was a problem.
Initially we thought it had something to do with a problem Charlie’s dad had mentioned that the van used to have where if the undercarriage got wet, the engine shut off and wouldn’t start until it dried. We’d just driven through a rainstorm, so that seemed like it could have been it. But it didn’t really make sense since the battery problems had started before we went through the rainstorm. Turns out it was the alternator, which we had suspected, but dismissed since we had driven the van so far. The old one was 20 years old, so it had served its country well. Nonetheless, it left the six of us sitting there on the side of the road in West Bumbleton, WY. Fortunately, Charlie’s dad is a haas and was able to borrow a flatbed trailer for his tow-truck and drive out to us and tow the van home while the rest of us drove home in the Prius. We met up with Jimmy and Lauren and invaded Charlie’s house. A roof over our heads that night and bacon and eggs for breakfast the next morning, along with some playful goats and disgustingly cute kittens left us refreshed. We sat around reading Tetons and Lander guidebooks trying to decide whether we should go sport cragging down at Lander or do more alpine climbing in the Tetons. Dunbar desperately wanted to bag some gnarley ascents in the historical and imposing Teton range and Hannah desperately didn’t. Hannah desperately wanted to relax not far from a car between turns pulling on hard 11’s and 12’s at Wild Iris, a famous sport crag. Emotions and personalities clashed. I pored over maps, guidebooks, and online route descriptions trying to find the best option to satisfy everyone. We decided to go to the Tetons for three days and Lander for two, and it seemed like a compromise. In the meantime, Jimmy Watts’ insatiable appetite for climbing led us to a crag at the opening to the West side of the Tetons called Teton Canyon. With both bolted and unbolted lines about 60’ high, we drove the hour to the crag, rolled in around 3pm and tried to get in a few climbs. The type of rock was different from the winds and nobody was expecting any of the climbs we got on to be quite so hard. I walked up to something that looked like it might be a 5.6, thinking it could be a decent first trad lead for Lauren. Of course, I tried it first to test the difficulty and sure enough it turned out to be maybe a 5.9 PG. Suffice it to say Lauren didn’t get to do her first trad lead that day. We drove back to Charlie’s that night and slept and I dreamt I was on a belay ledge, worrying about the safety of my followers. I had a lot of those dream while in the Winds.
Next morning Jimmy and Lauren were gone… they’d gotten up early to drive to the Tetons to try and bag the Middle Teton before driving East to Devil’s Tower. Props to them for having the drive to go for it like that. We rolled out of bed, took our time, called the Jenny Lake Ranger station to get beta on the backcountry camping in the Tetons, then drove into the park with the Prius while Charlie remained at home to get some family time and replace the alternator. The climbing ranger encouraged us to hike up into Garnet canyon, beneath the Grand Teton and several dramatic buttresses on the south side of Disappointment Peak, holding some of the most classic climbs in the Teton range. We conquered indecision and Hannah’s trepidation and packed our packs in time for a 7pm departure from the trailhead. We ran into Jimmy and Lauren on their way out, after an epic day of hiking and wandering around looking for the Middle Teton. About 3.5 hours later we reached our campsite immediately after a difficult stream crossing (don’t want to think about what it would be like in the spring!).
The next morning we awoke to beautiful weather in a campsite hemmed in on both sides beneath the dramatic granite walls of Garnet canyon. Hannah announced she felt uncomfortable being in the mountains again, had no interest in climbing, and wanted to hike out on her own and wait for us at the car. Rikka and I persuaded her to stay and take a rest day. We hiked around, fooled around on a glacier, had a long leisurely lunch/nap, and hiked up to the Lower Saddle of the Grand Teton. At the lower saddle we realized how many people climb the Grand in a day, almost all of them guided by Exum Mountain Guides—there must be 20 parties that go up it every day with good weather. On our way down the section with a fixed, a guide tried to pressure us and came up right beneath Rikka as she descended. He instructed his clients to start climbing right near Rikka as she was coming down. They couldn’t wait for even five seconds! Rikka lost her balance and swung sideways on the rope. She deftly kept from slamming but not without some impact to her injured right ankle. It was a painful walk down the mountain for her and I cursed all mountain guides for their strong-arming tendencies in the name of their client’s pleasure or safety. I wish I’d yelled at him. I wish I’d spotted Rikka.
The next day Hannah was feeling up to some extreme backcountry adventure toproping. We went to a bluff we’d seen nearby the campsite and I led a sweet crack I’d been eyeing. I’d put it at 5.6 but it was really a great climb, and this was completely unexpected. After toproping it, Hannah reached down, found her balls, and led it on trad. Good job Hannah. Then we moved over to a sweet chimney I’d been drooling over. I had no idea how hard it was or what lay inside, but I entered to the dragon. Turned out there was very little pro. The hard section was tucked away back in the massive chimney and involved finger jamming up a razor sharp flake, crossing through to a scary hand jam, and swinging the legs out to the left. It was run out. Quite an experience. Since we’d slept in and these one-pitch wonders were long and time consuming, we called it quits at the nice reasonable hour of 5pm and returned to camp for an early dinner. Dunbar and Will did the Exum Ridge up the West side of the Grand Teton that day. Props.
Next day we hiked out, loaded up the Prius and drove to Lander. We arrived in time to do five short sport climbs at Wild Iris. It was all short, with nothing over 50’, and beautiful polished limestone dotted with pockets and dimples. It reminded me of Kamouraska in Quebec. Charlie joined us with the van, which he had repaired, rejuvenated after some rest at home and fam time. We climbed hard the next day and I cut open some fingers on the crux of a 11d/12a. This was demoralizing, and it started drizzling, so we cooked an early dinner, packed up the newly-fixed van and Prius, and ended our climbing trip out West by hitting the road. We were driving back to Boston. Begin the next phase of our adventure!
Charlie was on a mission, and refused to let anyone else drive the van despite constant offers, entreaties, and inquiries about his level of tiredness. I think it may have been because he wanted to boast later that he’d driven across the country all on his own. At any rate, Charlie was cracking the whip (I think he was pretty excited to meet up with Leah again) and we ate a lot of miles. The night after we left Lander and before we got to Denver we pulled off at a spot on the atlas that said there was camping. It turned out to be Vedauwoo, a world-class climbing destination. Dunbar and I woke up an hour earlier than everyone else to go explore. In the mist we climbed to the top of the most prominent feature. It was like City of Rocks, and the formations were about the same height, but their structure was different. It looked like Vedauwoo was built by a giant baby playing with huge granite blocks, and after he set those blocks down they got rounded out and eroded. Lots of wide, flaring, rounded cracks and tons of friction. The next night we stayed in a soccer field next to some houses (practically in someone’s backyard). The following night we were close enough to NYC that we decided to push through the night so we could get a few hours of sleep and breakfast at my parents house.
But the van didn’t like that idea. At 3:30am it got tired and broke down in East Bumbleton, PA. Charlie and Will were in the van and Hannah, me, and Rikka were in the Prius. Charlie hit a bump and all the dash lights went out, as well as the blinkers and tail lights. We stopped at a gas station and turned off the van and the ignition wouldn’t even click. We supposed a fuse had blown somewhere, but the van was still running fine, so we decided to try and push on sans tail lights. I took the wheel in the Prius and drove close behind the van, acting as a stand in for its tail lights, changing lanes with it and signaling. Soon enough, the van began to slow and we watched in the Prius, again disappointed, as Charlie rolled to a halt in the shoulder. We didn’t even attempt a push start (it would have had to be uphill anyway). This time we knew it was a dead battery because the power inverter alarm, which is designed to go off when the battery voltage gets low, had been ringing. We thought of recharging the battery with the Prius but then decided to just get a tow to the nearest town. It turned out to be a free tow to the garage. We pitched tents in a field nearby, which turned out to be right next to a graveyard! We woke up an hour later when the parts store opened to buy a new relay, since we had looked in the manual and decided that could the problem could have very well been a relay. We also checked tons of fuses and all the wiring connections under the dash. After replacing the relay (and recharging the battery), the damn thing still wouldn’t work. The garage suggested we go to a dealer because they would be better at diagnosing and repairing an electric problem like the one we had. So that afternoon we got a tow to a dealer in Wilkes-Barre and dropped the van off. After a tearful goodbye for the van for a couple days, we all loaded into the Prius and set off for NYC. Upon reaching NYC, Charlie and Hannah continued to Boston so that Hannah could start school and Charlie could meet Leah. We dropped Will off in Astoria and the next day, after a quick visit with my Grandma in the Bronx, Rikka and I drove back to Wilkes-Barre to get the van. Rikka drove the Prius from Wilkes to Boston and I drove the van. It was yet another long day of driving. After some bro time in Boston at Patrick’s house, I decided I wanted to go hang out with Stefan and Patrick in NYC that weekend, since they had already made plans to go there. A lot more driving later, we were having a picnic in central park. After that, Rikka and I drove back to Cape Cod where we hung out with Karen’s parents until Karen got there.
In Cape Cod, Rikka, Karen, and I hung out for a little more than a week. Karen’s parents have a house down there they go to every weekend. Karen and Rikka are going to live there this fall, working, exercising a ton, and generally having a good time. During my stay in Cape Cod with them, we had a lot of fun, bonding time, and a metric butt-ton of exercise. We went swimming every day, and biking most days. Our longest bike ride was 40 miles and my longest swim ended up being about 1.5 miles! It felt great to be active again after so many days of driving. Lots of pull ups, abs, and push ups too. They whipped me into shape. My time in Cape Cod is something I’m finding hard to write about further. The beauty of that place is profound, and the salt smell is always in the air. I will remember my time there fondly. It was truly happy.
Now I’m back in New York City at my parents’ place. Tomorrow I’m leaving for the Dacks. Without Charlie, without the van, in my Buick LeSabre. I’m going on a hiking trip there this weekend with two of my older brothers and my niece and nephew. Then I’ll stay up there and wait for someone to come climb with me. Will Skinner is apparently going to join me Wednesday-ish, and Charlie the following Saturday, after his stay in Boston. Next week will be an adventure for me, and even a few days of alone time. Aid-soloing epics await me. This is the part where the plan stops. No deadlines, no dates, nobody to answer to except Charlie and the mountain gods. The fray looms in front of me and I’m going in. Don’t know when I’ll have internet access again. I won’t be exactly backcountry in the Dacks in the sense that I won’t go more than a couple days without a car as home base, but that’s far from WI-FI. So there you have it folks. See you on the other side.
-Slim in Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
Yeah it's pretty funny: a smart little guy like me and a cuckoo like Charlie travelin' around together. Heh. Charlie and I agreed not to read each others' blogs so I'm allowed to make fun of him and he won't know until some indeterminate point in the future. Not sure he will ever read this. Should anyone?
I should continue telling the story of August before I forget it. So at the end of my last post we were pulling out of Pinedale, WY after two weeks in the profoundly beautiful Wind Rivers. I'd just had a delicious meal and beer and we were heading back across the Jackson Pass to Charlie's house to decide how we wanted to assault the Tetons. Rikka, Dunbar, and I were in the Prius and Charlie, Hannah, and Will were in the van. We'd had to push start it but we were hoping it was just a low battery, which the alternator would recharge on the road. A few miles later after we passed through a rainstorm, the engine died on the van and we Prius-goers watched with disappointment as the van slowed and pulled off onto the shoulder. Four attempts at push starting later we decided that there was a problem.
Initially we thought it had something to do with a problem Charlie’s dad had mentioned that the van used to have where if the undercarriage got wet, the engine shut off and wouldn’t start until it dried. We’d just driven through a rainstorm, so that seemed like it could have been it. But it didn’t really make sense since the battery problems had started before we went through the rainstorm. Turns out it was the alternator, which we had suspected, but dismissed since we had driven the van so far. The old one was 20 years old, so it had served its country well. Nonetheless, it left the six of us sitting there on the side of the road in West Bumbleton, WY. Fortunately, Charlie’s dad is a haas and was able to borrow a flatbed trailer for his tow-truck and drive out to us and tow the van home while the rest of us drove home in the Prius. We met up with Jimmy and Lauren and invaded Charlie’s house. A roof over our heads that night and bacon and eggs for breakfast the next morning, along with some playful goats and disgustingly cute kittens left us refreshed. We sat around reading Tetons and Lander guidebooks trying to decide whether we should go sport cragging down at Lander or do more alpine climbing in the Tetons. Dunbar desperately wanted to bag some gnarley ascents in the historical and imposing Teton range and Hannah desperately didn’t. Hannah desperately wanted to relax not far from a car between turns pulling on hard 11’s and 12’s at Wild Iris, a famous sport crag. Emotions and personalities clashed. I pored over maps, guidebooks, and online route descriptions trying to find the best option to satisfy everyone. We decided to go to the Tetons for three days and Lander for two, and it seemed like a compromise. In the meantime, Jimmy Watts’ insatiable appetite for climbing led us to a crag at the opening to the West side of the Tetons called Teton Canyon. With both bolted and unbolted lines about 60’ high, we drove the hour to the crag, rolled in around 3pm and tried to get in a few climbs. The type of rock was different from the winds and nobody was expecting any of the climbs we got on to be quite so hard. I walked up to something that looked like it might be a 5.6, thinking it could be a decent first trad lead for Lauren. Of course, I tried it first to test the difficulty and sure enough it turned out to be maybe a 5.9 PG. Suffice it to say Lauren didn’t get to do her first trad lead that day. We drove back to Charlie’s that night and slept and I dreamt I was on a belay ledge, worrying about the safety of my followers. I had a lot of those dream while in the Winds.
Next morning Jimmy and Lauren were gone… they’d gotten up early to drive to the Tetons to try and bag the Middle Teton before driving East to Devil’s Tower. Props to them for having the drive to go for it like that. We rolled out of bed, took our time, called the Jenny Lake Ranger station to get beta on the backcountry camping in the Tetons, then drove into the park with the Prius while Charlie remained at home to get some family time and replace the alternator. The climbing ranger encouraged us to hike up into Garnet canyon, beneath the Grand Teton and several dramatic buttresses on the south side of Disappointment Peak, holding some of the most classic climbs in the Teton range. We conquered indecision and Hannah’s trepidation and packed our packs in time for a 7pm departure from the trailhead. We ran into Jimmy and Lauren on their way out, after an epic day of hiking and wandering around looking for the Middle Teton. About 3.5 hours later we reached our campsite immediately after a difficult stream crossing (don’t want to think about what it would be like in the spring!).
The next morning we awoke to beautiful weather in a campsite hemmed in on both sides beneath the dramatic granite walls of Garnet canyon. Hannah announced she felt uncomfortable being in the mountains again, had no interest in climbing, and wanted to hike out on her own and wait for us at the car. Rikka and I persuaded her to stay and take a rest day. We hiked around, fooled around on a glacier, had a long leisurely lunch/nap, and hiked up to the Lower Saddle of the Grand Teton. At the lower saddle we realized how many people climb the Grand in a day, almost all of them guided by Exum Mountain Guides—there must be 20 parties that go up it every day with good weather. On our way down the section with a fixed, a guide tried to pressure us and came up right beneath Rikka as she descended. He instructed his clients to start climbing right near Rikka as she was coming down. They couldn’t wait for even five seconds! Rikka lost her balance and swung sideways on the rope. She deftly kept from slamming but not without some impact to her injured right ankle. It was a painful walk down the mountain for her and I cursed all mountain guides for their strong-arming tendencies in the name of their client’s pleasure or safety. I wish I’d yelled at him. I wish I’d spotted Rikka.
The next day Hannah was feeling up to some extreme backcountry adventure toproping. We went to a bluff we’d seen nearby the campsite and I led a sweet crack I’d been eyeing. I’d put it at 5.6 but it was really a great climb, and this was completely unexpected. After toproping it, Hannah reached down, found her balls, and led it on trad. Good job Hannah. Then we moved over to a sweet chimney I’d been drooling over. I had no idea how hard it was or what lay inside, but I entered to the dragon. Turned out there was very little pro. The hard section was tucked away back in the massive chimney and involved finger jamming up a razor sharp flake, crossing through to a scary hand jam, and swinging the legs out to the left. It was run out. Quite an experience. Since we’d slept in and these one-pitch wonders were long and time consuming, we called it quits at the nice reasonable hour of 5pm and returned to camp for an early dinner. Dunbar and Will did the Exum Ridge up the West side of the Grand Teton that day. Props.
Next day we hiked out, loaded up the Prius and drove to Lander. We arrived in time to do five short sport climbs at Wild Iris. It was all short, with nothing over 50’, and beautiful polished limestone dotted with pockets and dimples. It reminded me of Kamouraska in Quebec. Charlie joined us with the van, which he had repaired, rejuvenated after some rest at home and fam time. We climbed hard the next day and I cut open some fingers on the crux of a 11d/12a. This was demoralizing, and it started drizzling, so we cooked an early dinner, packed up the newly-fixed van and Prius, and ended our climbing trip out West by hitting the road. We were driving back to Boston. Begin the next phase of our adventure!
Charlie was on a mission, and refused to let anyone else drive the van despite constant offers, entreaties, and inquiries about his level of tiredness. I think it may have been because he wanted to boast later that he’d driven across the country all on his own. At any rate, Charlie was cracking the whip (I think he was pretty excited to meet up with Leah again) and we ate a lot of miles. The night after we left Lander and before we got to Denver we pulled off at a spot on the atlas that said there was camping. It turned out to be Vedauwoo, a world-class climbing destination. Dunbar and I woke up an hour earlier than everyone else to go explore. In the mist we climbed to the top of the most prominent feature. It was like City of Rocks, and the formations were about the same height, but their structure was different. It looked like Vedauwoo was built by a giant baby playing with huge granite blocks, and after he set those blocks down they got rounded out and eroded. Lots of wide, flaring, rounded cracks and tons of friction. The next night we stayed in a soccer field next to some houses (practically in someone’s backyard). The following night we were close enough to NYC that we decided to push through the night so we could get a few hours of sleep and breakfast at my parents house.
But the van didn’t like that idea. At 3:30am it got tired and broke down in East Bumbleton, PA. Charlie and Will were in the van and Hannah, me, and Rikka were in the Prius. Charlie hit a bump and all the dash lights went out, as well as the blinkers and tail lights. We stopped at a gas station and turned off the van and the ignition wouldn’t even click. We supposed a fuse had blown somewhere, but the van was still running fine, so we decided to try and push on sans tail lights. I took the wheel in the Prius and drove close behind the van, acting as a stand in for its tail lights, changing lanes with it and signaling. Soon enough, the van began to slow and we watched in the Prius, again disappointed, as Charlie rolled to a halt in the shoulder. We didn’t even attempt a push start (it would have had to be uphill anyway). This time we knew it was a dead battery because the power inverter alarm, which is designed to go off when the battery voltage gets low, had been ringing. We thought of recharging the battery with the Prius but then decided to just get a tow to the nearest town. It turned out to be a free tow to the garage. We pitched tents in a field nearby, which turned out to be right next to a graveyard! We woke up an hour later when the parts store opened to buy a new relay, since we had looked in the manual and decided that could the problem could have very well been a relay. We also checked tons of fuses and all the wiring connections under the dash. After replacing the relay (and recharging the battery), the damn thing still wouldn’t work. The garage suggested we go to a dealer because they would be better at diagnosing and repairing an electric problem like the one we had. So that afternoon we got a tow to a dealer in Wilkes-Barre and dropped the van off. After a tearful goodbye for the van for a couple days, we all loaded into the Prius and set off for NYC. Upon reaching NYC, Charlie and Hannah continued to Boston so that Hannah could start school and Charlie could meet Leah. We dropped Will off in Astoria and the next day, after a quick visit with my Grandma in the Bronx, Rikka and I drove back to Wilkes-Barre to get the van. Rikka drove the Prius from Wilkes to Boston and I drove the van. It was yet another long day of driving. After some bro time in Boston at Patrick’s house, I decided I wanted to go hang out with Stefan and Patrick in NYC that weekend, since they had already made plans to go there. A lot more driving later, we were having a picnic in central park. After that, Rikka and I drove back to Cape Cod where we hung out with Karen’s parents until Karen got there.
In Cape Cod, Rikka, Karen, and I hung out for a little more than a week. Karen’s parents have a house down there they go to every weekend. Karen and Rikka are going to live there this fall, working, exercising a ton, and generally having a good time. During my stay in Cape Cod with them, we had a lot of fun, bonding time, and a metric butt-ton of exercise. We went swimming every day, and biking most days. Our longest bike ride was 40 miles and my longest swim ended up being about 1.5 miles! It felt great to be active again after so many days of driving. Lots of pull ups, abs, and push ups too. They whipped me into shape. My time in Cape Cod is something I’m finding hard to write about further. The beauty of that place is profound, and the salt smell is always in the air. I will remember my time there fondly. It was truly happy.
Now I’m back in New York City at my parents’ place. Tomorrow I’m leaving for the Dacks. Without Charlie, without the van, in my Buick LeSabre. I’m going on a hiking trip there this weekend with two of my older brothers and my niece and nephew. Then I’ll stay up there and wait for someone to come climb with me. Will Skinner is apparently going to join me Wednesday-ish, and Charlie the following Saturday, after his stay in Boston. Next week will be an adventure for me, and even a few days of alone time. Aid-soloing epics await me. This is the part where the plan stops. No deadlines, no dates, nobody to answer to except Charlie and the mountain gods. The fray looms in front of me and I’m going in. Don’t know when I’ll have internet access again. I won’t be exactly backcountry in the Dacks in the sense that I won’t go more than a couple days without a car as home base, but that’s far from WI-FI. So there you have it folks. See you on the other side.
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