tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42424035811764367512024-03-27T02:03:47.022-04:00bailure blogYou can bail on a climb, but you can't bail on the reality that awaits below. We tried -- this is our chronicle.DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-43126499618584863922017-06-01T10:53:00.001-04:002017-06-20T11:09:55.344-04:00Trad Dad and the BouldererThe glow of the Fall effort on the Rostrum in <a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2016/11/all-valleys-stage.html" target="_blank">Yosemite</a> had faded. I was in a dark funk of winter. The hounds of middle age were nipping at my heels. I needed something to train for, to draw myself into the light. A rematch on the <a href="https://www.mountainproject.com/v/the-original-route/105732410" target="_blank">Original Route in Red Rock</a> would be the perfect thing. I pitched the trip to Ryman as we broke a multi-day fast late one night over pizza and bottles of wine. He tentatively agreed, explaining that he was but a novice placing traditional protective gear on a rope in wild settings. He was primarily a boulderer. Ryman negotiates boulders that take me weeks to piece together like an avalanche flowing through a valley. I hoped his energy might inform my own climbing. "We'll figure it out together," I told him. Here is a short video on how it went.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Qvc6MRNSMZs/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Qvc6MRNSMZs?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-25574931038177151342016-11-25T15:25:00.007-05:002022-10-21T16:45:14.072-04:00All the Valley's a Stage<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
It was on the
warm up. I stood on tipped toes surveying behind a flake for a
last cam before running it out on unprotectable slab. I
never suspected the flake. It popped loose, a boogie board of sharp stone.
It hit me in the right thigh and rode me down. The rope caught me on the next cam, but the stone kept going. It pushed passed my legs, smashed my right foot
against the slab and crashed to the ground. My trusty climbing partner, Alex, was okay. The rope was intact. I had a deep knot in my right thigh.<span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">I couldn't feel my toes.</span><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Maybe the
numbness would subside and everything would be fine or maybe it was a mess under the cover of my pant leg and shoe. Alex eased me to the base. I gingerly removed my climbing slipper.
Blood pricked from the corners of my darkened middle toes like drops
of juice from bruised fruit.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<br></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
It was my first
climbing trip of the season, the first since <a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2016/03/red-rock.html" target="_blank">February</a>. There was novelty in the war story of the 5k bushwhack out from the WV jungle, then there was just atrophy of
mind and body in summer.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<br></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
We sat in the
concentrated sun of my backyard. There was something on the grill and we were
drinking beer. I hadn't seen my climbing friends in a while. First child rearing kept me away, then I was
sidelined by that rock. I was happy to see them. I took a swig. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<br></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
"Patagonia in
December eh? " There was no way I could make it happen, but old ambitions
stirred.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<br></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
I listened to the story of Alex and Spencer's <a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2016/07/a-route-with-no-name.html" target="_blank">new route</a> on a
remote wall in Wyoming. I took another swig, the beer warm and sickly sweet.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
<br></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
By late August I
could painfully don climbing shoes. I had planned on a trip to Yosemite in the Fall before I broke my toe, but now I wasn't sure. If I was going to take time
away from family it had to be worth it, and here I had no plan, no partner and
only six weeks to train.</div>
<br></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span face=""calibri" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">"Man, so yeah, I could die," I said to myself sitting in the window seat on the airplane to California, reflecting on my progress leading to this moment, finally on route to the big stone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span face=""calibri" , sans-serif"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;">Previous efforts uncovered new facets in the physical regime or diet. I looked inward to my motivations and fears and sought a new level of discipline on this one. Part of my daily effort was to </span></span><span face=""calibri" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">meditate on the fact that death might come at any time, by traffic or cancer or plane crashing on my house--as it did for my dear colleague Marie--as inspiration to arrive in the moment with zeal and appreciation for what’s truly important, having examined my fears so as to control them rather than otherwise. Yet, I could not deny, if I die climbing it has a different meaning than a plane on my house. I chose this path even while I have such precious things to live for. The question of why always returns.</span><br>
<span face=""calibri" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"><br></span>
<span face=""calibri" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;"></span><br>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin: 0in;">
Climbing used to be my crusade. I would spend as much time as possible out there,
stripping fears and supposed necessities, exploring adaptation to
extremes. A youthful part of me sought to spite the civilized, and show how I could be so hardy as to leave it all, author my own survival. I adjusted and bought
in to the usual vestiges of USA citizenry and have started to reap the rewards
of work and family: the face of my son after a couple days away, his cracking
jokes to get me to laugh, me laughing at his joke, but even more with happiness
at his reaching out to me, and him, my son, laughing again, happy at my
happiness.</div>
</div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<span face=""calibri" , sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt;">I recalled a trail run long ago, breaking into a clearing to find 5 adolescents boys wearing bright, loose gym clothes and book bags with water bottles and accessory garments strapped to the sides. They were in the act of crossing a 12" caliper tree bridged over NW Branch Creek. Two had completed the crossing. One was mid-way, half crouched, clutching thick branches that obstructed his passage over the central trunk. One was tentatively beginning the traverse on the far end with a tall can of Monster energy drink in one hand. The last waited his turn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in;">
<br>
</div></div><a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2016/11/all-valleys-stage.html#more">Read more »</a>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-34123309851178573832016-07-26T17:05:00.000-04:002016-12-13T09:17:41.656-05:00A Route with No Name<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYn42uXk0n3tBKjPFNnBixSjFNSMARtsvLSTRqkNojYb1o3CtY9KAWj3U6buDFS2j0o6A9mBOgI7cXIlyucB-MgRllSURGJH8w9VBdcPlFaA4IkbZVSQKwc2mhaCqL0v2MZ0LWWIPKMJtm/s1600/boat+lake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYn42uXk0n3tBKjPFNnBixSjFNSMARtsvLSTRqkNojYb1o3CtY9KAWj3U6buDFS2j0o6A9mBOgI7cXIlyucB-MgRllSURGJH8w9VBdcPlFaA4IkbZVSQKwc2mhaCqL0v2MZ0LWWIPKMJtm/s320/boat+lake.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm on a boat! And I'm not impressed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Many climbers have comfort items they take into the mountains. Some carry a can of sardines or a flask of whiskey. Others require an extra sleeping pad or a pair of down booties. These creature comforts bring peace of mind and are almost always worth their weight. But between us, Spencer and I had managed to pack 270 pounds of food and gear for nine days in the mountains. On a pound-per-day basis, this was a personal record. Were we too comfortable?<br>
<br>
“Eh, screw it,” we thought. Two unlucky mules would be carrying it all for the first 12 miles. Then we’d load it into a raft to cross a reservoir. After that, it was only a few thousand vertical feet to our planned base camp. We had enough time to make it work. Our goal was to climb a new route on Cloud Peak, the highest point in the Bighorn Mountains of northern Wyoming, a range still cloaked in mystery. We weren’t sure what we’d need, so we brought it all.<br>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
After accompanying our mules to the reservoir, it was time to say goodbye. We piled all of our gear, plus three adult males, into a tiny inflatable. While the motor was being gassed up by our guide, I noticed the fine print on the side of the raft: “Weight limit 600 lbs.” The engine sputtered to life and we shoved off. I felt the desperately cold water as we motored along and quickly realized it would prove impossible to salvage our gear if we sank. We hadn’t yet seen our objective and already I felt committed. None of it seemed to bother Spencer. He spent the whole ride making small talk with our guide who, in a dusty Stetson and painted-on Wranglers, didn’t strike me as the nautical type.<br>
<br>
</div><a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2016/07/a-route-with-no-name.html#more">Read more »</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3Bighorn Mountains, Wyoming 82834, USA44.383333 -107.1666670000000218.728261500000002 -148.65104200000002 70.0384045 -65.682292000000018tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-85327217229592366582016-03-15T15:01:00.000-04:002017-10-23T15:03:00.589-04:00Red Rock: The Gift of a Trip"Dude, name that band, name that band," said the shirtless knit-capped twenty-something climbing gym patron of the post-garageband-1st-world-white-teen-angst rock playing via Pandora on the establishment sound system. His friend tried planned ignoring, head down, seated at one of the glass tables between roped and bouldering climbing areas, studying a laptop or something. Slowly he looked up, stalling for time, "what?" Then, acquiescence, "who?"<br>
<br>
"Name that band," said with expectation of Holy Communion between individuals, with voice loud enough to passively invite the half dozen of us within eavesdropping range to respond.<br>
<br>
Funny that expectation of communion. You chase your musical whims in the vast field of methodically arranged aural frequency sets to find a particular set that tingles you in old and new regions. You play and replay it. You attach it to your collage of self. You watch for perked up ears among the outside collages when you play it. Then you see someone else get tingled and it's like you're sharing the same parts. You're made of the same stuff. You attain elusive intimacy that well-functioning humans seek.<br>
<br>
To observe the musical interfacing from the outside feels perverse, like witnessing PDA, or, in this case, a failed pick up line.<br>
<br>
"It's Linkin Park!"<br>
<br>
"Oh, really, I didn't know..."<br>
<br>
I left to complete my session.<br>
<br>
I’d been diligent about maintaining a streak of lunchtime sessions during the week. There simply is no other time, and to climb a few boulder problems, strength train a little, and run one mile each day on the treadmill is enough to keep me whole, but now the lunchtime workout was engendered with a sense of mission. My wife's mom and brother were coming to town for the weekend. The kids were covered. I could go climbing.<br>
<br>
Alex and I attempted to plan a traverse of the Presidential Range in NH for this weekend weeks ago, but I had no kid coverage. It fizzled. Then he made plans with Spencer, who has been further hardening his slender man visage to ice monster function between congressional recesses. Now I'm back and crashing the party. Spencer had our sights north so far as Quebec, where there are ice falls the color of sanitary outfall, d'Or as they say, 1000' tall, and where you have to ski, or ski doo, as they say, 10 miles to access the flows. But man, that's a lot to try and pack into a long weekend, and the forecast was for the kind of dense cold that feels like death itself, crystalline liquid, curling into your nostrils, frosting nasal hairs to an iced web that cracks as you wrinkle your nose, and there's no good feedback saying that the big poop flows are in condition.<br>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
And ice climbing is a rough sport to adopt with home base in DC. As a rock climber you feel that your skills should segue well to climbing ice, but then you encounter the severity of it. You fall off good steep rock and the rope whips through carabiners attached to metal wedged in solid rock substrate till rope tension, gentle swing into wall, and bounce to a stop. You fall off ice, which grows clean only at low, leg breaking angles, and is chandeliered when straight, and your rope whips through carabiners attached to metal in brittle water substrate till rope tension, gentle swing, crampon point catches ice, ankle break, or, worse, chandelier blows up. It defies the casual approach. I used to just get after it, embrace fear. I faked it. Now I don't want to fake it. I want to do it for real as the ice monster with tuned strength and instincts, but you have to have a certain surplus of time to nurture regionally esoteric skills. Anyway. There was doubt in my heart you see. High’s of 70 degrees in Red Rock outside of Vegas? Alex saw it too. Yessiree. Tickets booked. Hotel booked.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
The wonderful thing about ice climbing is that it transports you to a crisp, ethereal, brisk world of glinting, refracting light, and sounds all hushed by snow, but, inevitably, after a few bouts of the screaming barfies where blood returns to freezing digits and complains loudly about the whole getting shut out in the first place thing and slugs the same part of your CNS that makes you want to barf after getting hit in the genitals, you start to daydream about the simple life of climbing rock on gear in determinate substrate, birds singing, warm light as around sunrise or sunset, with only the need for thin fabric covering. This time, dead of winter, we're cutting straight to that warm image, and we're going to live it out. We are going to play act the dream. Spencer, I'm afraid, is too tuned up. He refuses the dream. He will roam quarries in PA in search for ice.</div>
<div>
<br>
</div><a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2016/03/red-rock.html#more">Read more »</a>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-81905091695599609362015-07-16T15:02:00.000-04:002016-01-07T10:31:59.437-05:00Returning, Choices, Culture from ScratchTwo years ago I felt the planets in the cosmic watch of my life shift. Myriad tiny decisions and postures of day to day had nudged them to a brink. I could feel them surpass the edge, nod toward distant gravity--fling--hopefully to find a new stable orbit.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHxSXafEis4sAprN5ef_ribj7t9Q6apaWj5cjICtiLFMKg2G8aIbUSfpVyD7xj2nBKp1hWUd7j-3l3JmPp6SiFIJ0MePRLew4XFC3dpKDiapu_V51q28pS9sqDKC04ym3PSneBLBtR-E/s1600/049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHxSXafEis4sAprN5ef_ribj7t9Q6apaWj5cjICtiLFMKg2G8aIbUSfpVyD7xj2nBKp1hWUd7j-3l3JmPp6SiFIJ0MePRLew4XFC3dpKDiapu_V51q28pS9sqDKC04ym3PSneBLBtR-E/s320/049.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I trusted the change. Growing up in a military family, moving every few years, taught me that change is good. Sometimes it's challenging and scary, but it's real, and real experiences provide truth. It's also usually fun, at least in retrospect.<br />
<br />
However, with the current change, the mountains that were my crystalline focus for the last 7 years blinked from view.<br />
<br />
I sat shirtless under the sun in the front yard of our new house sipping whiskey and picking weeds. "Who is this eccentric new home owner?" I imagined the neighbors saying.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKIxlU6ReM4uwS3cCH74n39RFwj_FhrObxiOY1eqWG3UhTM9IJilhAJElVRIQFmXkI8ZiRnODrVqWpRj-9cEh1IeguIZeVdNXVmfGfXBRrG-h-IFN6X9WiSAaf3l4ZzRUt3-SUErAbiM/s1600/378.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbKIxlU6ReM4uwS3cCH74n39RFwj_FhrObxiOY1eqWG3UhTM9IJilhAJElVRIQFmXkI8ZiRnODrVqWpRj-9cEh1IeguIZeVdNXVmfGfXBRrG-h-IFN6X9WiSAaf3l4ZzRUt3-SUErAbiM/s320/378.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
I nursed a sour dough culture, and baked beautiful naturally leavened breads, caught in a <a href="http://www.sfgate.com/food/article/Where-you-can-get-more-of-Chad-Robertson-s-5801501.php" target="_blank">Chad Robertson</a>, hipster nesting fervor.<br />
<br />
I ran the trails near my house for hours, meditating to my heart rate in a steady zone 2.<br />
<br />
Now my son Finn is here, 1 year old, and the change has delivered according to its reputation. Fatherhood has been challenging, scary, and fun. Inklings of truth are beginning to offer themselves.<br />
<br />
Work, family, play, curiosity, spirit, fitness, friends, excellence, mountains, booze, food. These pursuits are neither casual or isolated. The way we combine and balance these ingredients creates the most powerful force in history: culture. When it's only you, the culture you radiate is less likely to be revealed by obvious subjects. Subjects exist in the form of your peers, but you are more likely to be oblivious, to get lost in the noise and think it's just you so it doesn't matter. Then you have a kid, and it's clear that the culture you produce has an immediate, direct effect. It is your child's entire world, it is the sea your spouse navigates at all times,<br />
it is a beacon in the fog for everyone else.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0ORLjR9dJLM6OdFWx2oFyD0KBDwtzdzDOyiQylpYDT6nuLwz279Q25AazHL3sSYacGcaivZ1sPmlVo5wyYhUJ3hEaNqeH3AVUpymBYWaNDZxGKr0mF_MuhNGnikCOEVR5W7z81mwKzk/s1600/060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0ORLjR9dJLM6OdFWx2oFyD0KBDwtzdzDOyiQylpYDT6nuLwz279Q25AazHL3sSYacGcaivZ1sPmlVo5wyYhUJ3hEaNqeH3AVUpymBYWaNDZxGKr0mF_MuhNGnikCOEVR5W7z81mwKzk/s320/060.JPG" width="240" /></a>Somewhere in the soup of new pressures to take charge, the mountains returned to view. How can I offer them to my children if I let them slip away? Alex and I planned a trip to the Incredible Hulk in the High Sierras for the end of June 2015, a month before my second child is due.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://rockclimberstrainingmanual.com/" target="_blank">Anderson's training manual</a> as my bible, I dropped 1 lb a week for 20 weeks. I meditated. I hangboarded at 5am every third day, and traversed the gym in place of lunch.<br />
<br />
I felt fitter, sharper, and more excited for life than ever. I was back.<br />
<br />DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-59557817930637506622013-02-28T12:15:00.000-05:002013-02-28T12:15:30.360-05:00Bailing GumbiesEven after receiving the gift of life from our friends Dave and Micah at the base of <a href="http://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-push.html">Half Dome</a>, the hike down the death slabs was a brutal endeavor. Once again it was hot when we started our descent, and the sun broiled us mercilessly. Its reflection off the slabs seemed to amplify its effect, increasing our suffering logarithmically. Both Dan and I drank about a liter and a half of our friends' water when we met them at the base of the route. But that was after more than 12 hours without any liquids. Prior to that, we had been conservative with what little water we did have. Although our stomachs felt distended after chugging what we could, our bodies were still suffering from prolonged dehydration. <br>
<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86-trPfDLmpGqRe4b3G7Wa1u56e3YXgDso_wC2Uj5ELgggt5OdmePb3c9EhB9M10cpex55FnfKUHpWX2p6U0oOz-TiXlpg1AbB5JkeCBFeNVPMMNa17LRughqjiPJ1ZEDzxqRMs398jfp/s1600/IMG_1138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86-trPfDLmpGqRe4b3G7Wa1u56e3YXgDso_wC2Uj5ELgggt5OdmePb3c9EhB9M10cpex55FnfKUHpWX2p6U0oOz-TiXlpg1AbB5JkeCBFeNVPMMNa17LRughqjiPJ1ZEDzxqRMs398jfp/s200/IMG_1138.JPG" width="150"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dave, despondent over not <br>
getting to climb...but he <br>
gave us his water!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the hike down, this manifested itself in all kinds of fun and interesting ways. We both had headaches and nausea, along with the obvious fatigue. I was confused and lethargic. I stumbled on seemingly every other step. Urination was painful and, thank god, infrequent. But the worst of all of these symptoms was the moodiness. I had no right to be the least bit grouchy, seeing as we had just climbed one of our dream routes in good style; nevertheless, I was full-on cantankerous. I had to restrain myself from yelling at a friendly European couple that passed us on the hike down. How dare they? I also remember feeling pissed off at Dan for not thinking of asking Dave and Micah to leave us more water for the descent. In my present state of mind, that was clearly his mistake. When we finally made it off the slabs onto the forest trail, I felt like punching a French hiker for not knowing exactly how far away the bus stop was ("You'd be speaking Deutsch if it wasn't for us, you ignorant Frog!" I said to myself).<br>
<br>
But the coup de grace came on the bus, only one stop away from the Curry Village Pizza Deck and our salvation. The bus pulled over to let off a group of hikers, and one of them had the audacity to ask for directions to a trailhead. The bus driver indulged, and took her sweet time pointing him in the right direction. "There are ten hikers in that group. Doesn't one of them have a fucking map?!" I yelled. This time it wasn't just in my head. If they heard me, nobody paid attention, and soon enough the bus stopped at Curry Village. I leveled an icy gaze at the bus driver as I disembarked. That'll teach her to waste my time. ("I just climbed Half Dome. Who the hell are you?")<br>
<br>Minutes after getting off that bus I had a Gatorade in hand and all of that negativity suddenly started to dissolve with each gulp. Relief from the immediate discomfort of dehydration seemed to accelerate the half-life of <a href="http://kellycordes.wordpress.com/2009/11/02/the-fun-scale/">Type 2 Fun</a>.<br>
<br>
It's incredible how easily the discomfort and uncertainty of a climb can fade from memory, crowded out by the expanding ego and certitude that come with success. Mere hours after cursing at a friendly bus driver, I sat in Curry Village--hydrated and surrounded by granite monoliths and pizza--thinking that climbing Half Dome was the single coolest thing I had ever done. Soon Dan and I were relaxing, beers in hand, nostalgically glossing over our climb while wearing rose-colored glasses:<br>
<ul>
<li>We hadn't really been <i>that </i>thirsty. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>We never <i>actually </i>would have taken another party's cache of water had Dave and Micah not been there to help us out.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>We need to do something else; faster, lighter...<i>bigger</i>. </li>
</ul>
Well...there's only one thing in Yosemite Valley that is bigger than the NW Face of Half Dome, and that's the Big Stone itself. El Capitan. Our confidence, inflated to galactic proportions by our recent success, was eclipsing the better part of valor. We decided right then that we were going to climb The Nose with only a single rest day.<br>
<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdcxoO7PM2ph3MizPP1NFOryL8JKQRVUmI54BXeZnQZgA2fA4OVMc5oLFP1CKfF2cZXN3FDxc2BuIlUMAFbetOjh3AdqXAswUkg17sIUn7TzmaLbFPb3gVb-quiOP7t7BWrOw_KkBseqy/s1600/P1070360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdcxoO7PM2ph3MizPP1NFOryL8JKQRVUmI54BXeZnQZgA2fA4OVMc5oLFP1CKfF2cZXN3FDxc2BuIlUMAFbetOjh3AdqXAswUkg17sIUn7TzmaLbFPb3gVb-quiOP7t7BWrOw_KkBseqy/s320/P1070360.JPG" width="240"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Nose of El Capitan, as seen from the approach trail.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2013/02/bailing-gumbies.html#more">Read more »</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-989852442888336272013-02-06T17:21:00.002-05:002016-01-07T10:33:41.390-05:00The Push<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOQzp0NkV1iLGt-eeQx_5jgAK3fQ34gsyT8T93rvKnmRMnUvNMAu0eiccSH4WlCR_fwdPsPo9h3P-kTwzj-0oplYyPiTupaXhTF3d74NK-bbRvetfe8zq6Yp5gnUOqcmNGqRrFOfMvsY/s1600/DSC08646+Half+Dome+and+Ahwiyah+Pt+Slide.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOQzp0NkV1iLGt-eeQx_5jgAK3fQ34gsyT8T93rvKnmRMnUvNMAu0eiccSH4WlCR_fwdPsPo9h3P-kTwzj-0oplYyPiTupaXhTF3d74NK-bbRvetfe8zq6Yp5gnUOqcmNGqRrFOfMvsY/s400/DSC08646+Half+Dome+and+Ahwiyah+Pt+Slide.jpg" width="400"></a></div>
<br>
I write, now, from a million miles away. Not like for the other posts. For those I was on the scene, in the present: training, climbing, daydreaming about climbing. These activities have occupied me for the last 6 years in ever more coherent and intense cycles, right to this last effort in preparation for our trip to Yosemite.<br>
<br>
It was a perfect push. Sport climbing last year showed what was necessary to access hard grades. Reading the China Study inspired me to overhaul my diet. Working with Dan Hague (author of The Self Coached Climber) helped to optimize our gym sessions. There was the marathon last year that illustrated how to increase training loads to a crescendo, then taper for a performance peak. The <a href="http://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/05/31.html" target="_blank">31 pitch</a> attempt last May that offered confidence climbing through the night. <br>
<br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc4Lo04j7eu_v30DoCgTdr5qyg4n0ZZ2R3nAKiWTv9_HUiuykcRC_mkeoP6ViSOmPhqf_O-jEAmjweBn2md9H-GkDnNDXIs5jlzKAfFoCOvhTAFVkENcavlM9CmDLXOysv-04BSCdvfbI/s1600/IMG_0434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc4Lo04j7eu_v30DoCgTdr5qyg4n0ZZ2R3nAKiWTv9_HUiuykcRC_mkeoP6ViSOmPhqf_O-jEAmjweBn2md9H-GkDnNDXIs5jlzKAfFoCOvhTAFVkENcavlM9CmDLXOysv-04BSCdvfbI/s320/IMG_0434.JPG" width="320"></a>Past trips benefited from flashes of inspiration. The Yosemite trip would test the sum of our experience.<br>
<br>
It was my last hard training week. I ran 31 miles, climbed 30 hard routes in the gym, and many boulder problems. I ate quality food, and abstained from booze. It was time to taper. That's when life outside of climbing--long held at bay--started to pour in, and I started to float away.<br>
<br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTlVGj0L3PSk7zCVVwi_y97Mkzv7qRmBMzw1Qn7BPb889ZH5XxtVsXsLC5S-DyyGzfN9Nvs-CHfAyNxCMb8JLFtAlUkE5q6120qzu5dvDamv7IzRT8ZuWjj6PhOL7b6i8DbvJOJnpVbY/s1600/2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrTlVGj0L3PSk7zCVVwi_y97Mkzv7qRmBMzw1Qn7BPb889ZH5XxtVsXsLC5S-DyyGzfN9Nvs-CHfAyNxCMb8JLFtAlUkE5q6120qzu5dvDamv7IzRT8ZuWjj6PhOL7b6i8DbvJOJnpVbY/s400/2.JPG" width="300"></a>None of that mattered for Yose though. We found ourselves buzzing after the red-eye to San Franscico at 2am. We jumped in our rental, skidded around the turns in Yosemite at 7am, checked in to our tent cabin, bought food, and were hiking up the Death Slabs below Half Dome by 2pm. <br>
<br>
We decided on the drive in that we had no time to mess around with fixing ropes, or waiting to start predawn. The fancier our tactics, the more water and food we would need to carry, the slower we would go. We packed our rope, rack, some water, and commenced.<br>
<br>
We gained the top of the slabs 4 hours later, rested, and started climbing around 7pm. I short fixed the first 4 pitches as the sun set, then in the dark. After midnight, Alex took over and pushed the rope another two pitches. We settled to bivy on a slight, ramped ledge around 2am.<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzM0iVo8O5goqEnSQsi2DeFxB2ZLfSgakqjLhblhQCxNcm8z7tftaD2J86Fwz9JezdHuievGGPPx9ncdi4rP7fWgSc5PwjHpuwZsJQqjoUtz7k9uUdRcmL1sk-hkCE9XdnxLOSHFd6SfU/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzM0iVo8O5goqEnSQsi2DeFxB2ZLfSgakqjLhblhQCxNcm8z7tftaD2J86Fwz9JezdHuievGGPPx9ncdi4rP7fWgSc5PwjHpuwZsJQqjoUtz7k9uUdRcmL1sk-hkCE9XdnxLOSHFd6SfU/s400/5.jpg" width="400"></a></div>
We ate sandwiches, drank from our meager water supply, and tried to sleep. First we shared a single butt scoop, side by side. Then Alex tried to find a more restful position a few feet away, slightly weighting his harness to avoid sliding from the ramp. I nodded off for around 20 minutes, Alex barely a wink.<br>
<br>
A few hours later, the moon rounded the corner of Half Dome and the entire Yosemite Valley showed bright in ghostly light. The chill of the 50 degree evening gradually overtook our thin jackets and mylar foil blankets. We could rest no more. "Time to go."<br>
<br>
Several pitches later, day broke and we heard the clanging and whispers of a team cleaning up from breakfast on the wall above us. It wasn't all ours after all. <br>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-push.html#more">Read more »</a>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-40359110223544670452012-08-28T17:14:00.005-04:002012-09-04T11:48:26.959-04:00The North Cascades: An Onsight, A Bail, and an Alpine AdventureIt was early August in DC, and most of the city was enjoying vacation. For the unfortunate few who were left without an escape plan, life oozed by like molasses. Our aggressive training schedule for the upcoming October trip to Yosemite had me psyched to climb, but I was bored of Seneca quartz and New River sandstone. I felt like I was missing something in my climbing. It had been too long since I last felt the exhilaration and uncertainty of casting off on an adventure climb. Call it serendipity, or perhaps just blind luck, but in the midst of these feelings, my buddy Spencer e-mailed me and asked if I'd like to meet him in the North Cascades for some alpine climbing. When I read his e-mail, I knew immediately what I had been lacking: I needed to fill up on some mountains. I accepted his invitation, and within a couple of days plans were laid to meet in the Cascades in two weeks.<br>
<br>
With little time to plan, we immediately began spit balling. We e-mailed back and forth, sharing links from <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/">Mountain Project</a> to climbs that looked like they might possess the right combination of challenge, adventure, and access. We only had five days, so we knew we wouldn't be able to trudge too far into the wilds. Plus, I wanted to maximize the Yosemite training potential of this trip, which meant that pure rock routes would be the flavor du jour. That ruled out some of the big boys of the range. But not to worry; this was the Cascades, after all. There were still plenty of climbs that fit our narrow selection criteria.<br>
<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/images/64/73/105856473_medium_9c9f1c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="229" src="http://www.mountainproject.com/images/64/73/105856473_medium_9c9f1c.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Liberty Bell Group. <br>
Photo from Mountain Project.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With our hopes and dreams for this trip laid out, it soon became clear that the routes in Washington Pass were good candidates. More specifically, the Liberty Bell group had a number of clean rock spires that appeared to possess the right combination of good rock, challenging climbing, and access. <br>
<br>
The Liberty Bell group, which includes five granite spires, is tucked neatly into a hairpin turn in the North Cascades Highway. Conveniently, this meant that the approach would be trivial by Cascades standards. We decided that these routes would be a good starting point to get a feel for the rock and the range as a whole.<br>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-north-cascades-onsight-bail-and.html#more">Read more »</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-90918096471912855352012-06-07T18:01:00.003-04:002012-06-12T11:41:01.218-04:00The Long Story of The Prow<br>
As we promised, what follows is an after-action report from our Memorial Day weekend trip to New Hampshire. In an earlier post, <a href="http://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/02/goals-experiment-prow.html">I shared one of our goals for the trip</a>. We also had another goal, which was to onsight the <a href="http://mountainproject.com/v/vmc-direct-direct/106028120">VMC Direct Direct</a> in a quick push. In short, I guess you could say we failed to accomplish either goal. We did not onsight the Prow and we didn’t even get on the VMC DD. However, I was proud of our efforts, and we did succeed in several unspoken goals: get back safe, learn something, and have fun. <br>
<br>
We arrived in Manchester late Thursday night and picked up our rental car. We settled for your run-of-the-mill midsize sedan, but I really think we should have shelled out the cash for a little extra American muscle—something boss, like a Camaro or a Charger. You see, we had no intention of showing up at the base of Cathedral Ledge as boring old Dan and Alex from Washington, DC. An historic and badass line like <a href="http://mountainproject.com/v/the-prow/106011864">The Prow</a> would require historic and badass new identities. This particular weekend, we’d be climbing as Burt Reynolds and Tom Selleck.<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="oh yeah" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntTrL9-JIu1YxvzTjFTZGpMH0T8gq-Z__q-CIpxj9gOFWKHRbcvymhxAao1yyyXu3cohWH7cj4xYB9b7TLQeUT71lQr8lTMI1SS-ZVGfWpdps1OodXLsj8DQfA6bKP8iyTDKlk_rZoeRr/s320/IMG_0279.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="american badass" width="320"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">American badasses.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweNhA1xIgTVE4_su8QdOG5ZdHvdDqwD4q-9kGjVucBIW0Rm8ezhs5rjLmrvrsgizueiTzrEt_GR1Dq0RNHIKOpCC8LkUzQcF4SD62hqqn0nIxIUpuXpKVEynWfbXCIINPHJHMcGDslZIG/s1600/P1070095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweNhA1xIgTVE4_su8QdOG5ZdHvdDqwD4q-9kGjVucBIW0Rm8ezhs5rjLmrvrsgizueiTzrEt_GR1Dq0RNHIKOpCC8LkUzQcF4SD62hqqn0nIxIUpuXpKVEynWfbXCIINPHJHMcGDslZIG/s320/P1070095.JPG" width="212"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/06/long-story-of-prow.html#more">Read more »</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-64935250139986063662012-05-31T13:11:00.000-04:002015-08-11T08:30:54.614-04:00Thirty OneI thought we'd try 31 pitches in a day at Seneca for my 31st birthday, then get home in time to enjoy steak and wine for dinner.<br>
<br>
What is it about this stage of life that makes me want to inaugurate my years with cute feats of athleticism? Must I prove something? Am I satirizing the impulse that I should prove something? Either way, it's good fun. <br>
<br>
Plus, a day of moderate routes has been on my mind for a long time. We spend so much time pushing the frontiers of our ability that we seldom revel in the hills we've captured. This would be a chance to enjoy the freedoms of vertical movement we've worked so hard to earn.<br>
<br>
"To be home for dinner at 7pm, we need to hit the road by 4pm. Assume 2 pitches per hour, up and down--that's 15+ hours of climbing, and we'll need to start by midnight." The calculus was steeped in optimism, but it offered a glimpse of what we were dealing with.<br>
<br>
I should note that Seneca is not your typical crag. It's not a simple junction of vertical and horizontal with a park-like atmosphere, like something out of a Seurat painting. It's not the Gunks or the New River Gorge. Seneca is an MC Esher with ledges, ramps, and walls that connect in baffling ways. These would be 31 rope lengths in a three dimensional labyrinth. Who knew how this would go?<br>
<br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdubELGWfI6fhor4WEbtJJNcjdUK23EJRjUFs7Y3pDxnKfR7AUNfrp5wusP_u9um33WH3rSfv0o6CoABXOL4ZpfddHbEKkZ1tiPaUNIujVibA_YR7_RzcYK2NJ08eWaicCr4cWaBo_7CM/s1600/P1070064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdubELGWfI6fhor4WEbtJJNcjdUK23EJRjUFs7Y3pDxnKfR7AUNfrp5wusP_u9um33WH3rSfv0o6CoABXOL4ZpfddHbEKkZ1tiPaUNIujVibA_YR7_RzcYK2NJ08eWaicCr4cWaBo_7CM/s400/P1070064.JPG" width="400"></a>We armed ourselves with home-made black bean tacos and a trove of <a href="http://community.tasteofhome.com/community_forums/f/30/p/289933/291284.aspx#291284">addictive cookies</a> baked by Laura, waded through the Friday rush hour, and exited the highway by the three giant white crosses, two oversized american flags, and municipal water tank--all arranged upon the hill like a still-life representation of the lands were we about to enter.<br>
<br>
The steering wheel of Alex's Subaru tugged to the right. I knew the tires were near bald from seasons of pushing them north, south, west...maybe this was just a warning.<br>
<br>
"It's flat."<br>
<br>
We pulled to the side of the road, swapped the tire by the light of a kind WV officer who'd come to investigate our hazards, and continued on our way listening to the whine of the front differential compensating for the doughnut. Our adventure had officially begun.<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
We could see headlamp beams draped across the distant wall as we pulled into the lot around 11pm. We met their owners as we silently marched up the darkened stair cases in the woods, and exchanged a few words. They had their adventure--finally coming to a happy and welcome close, triumphant over stuck ropes and the uncertainty of darkness--and we had ours, just now emerging from belligerent daydream to the conflicting sensations of reality.<br>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/05/31.html#more">Read more »</a>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-49303807577580462812012-04-10T14:42:00.000-04:002013-03-11T10:23:35.234-04:00Arcteryx Acto MX Hoody Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDPuP_4X5EsUTFgLg2v4Kq1_YcE-q3gJ0DmGXGKmgjw9jhm7G43fkuTXudXnlp91cm522_fxx-20e8CJVGhDgQm8I4JMC6kximc1bB9g3D5UdgB2NHYurXXxGpqsHiTyNbldu0LTjgf0/s1600/white+canvas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEDPuP_4X5EsUTFgLg2v4Kq1_YcE-q3gJ0DmGXGKmgjw9jhm7G43fkuTXudXnlp91cm522_fxx-20e8CJVGhDgQm8I4JMC6kximc1bB9g3D5UdgB2NHYurXXxGpqsHiTyNbldu0LTjgf0/s320/white+canvas.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
9 years ago I stood in a Philadelphia art gallery next to my professor, gazing at a blank white canvas with a $7000 price tag. I was pissed.<br>
"This isn't art!" I told my professor. "Who's going to pay $7000 for a blank canvas?" It wasn't completely blank. The artist had painted it white.<br>
"Ah, but what is art if not something that evokes an emotional response? Look how flustered you are."<br>
<br>
I thought it would be easy to write a critique for what was, effectively, a blank canvas. Yet, I learned, if I was going to pass the assignment, I'd have to offer my definition of art--my paradigm for what it should and shouldn't be--and show why I thought this was a poor specimen.<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_dEygxK__lMUgoQq32SZdmsjY6hPR2dB6RwH2s8N0r6lRnu1qxAYhyK5Zp39UE31Ja5zl1GpE_8cPunkKwhP4ihQUn6P0m2zAv9lZsm4k2xVC2g3TXxrwbDEVsUAl8qtevz6wvL7Zrs/s1600/Acto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_dEygxK__lMUgoQq32SZdmsjY6hPR2dB6RwH2s8N0r6lRnu1qxAYhyK5Zp39UE31Ja5zl1GpE_8cPunkKwhP4ihQUn6P0m2zAv9lZsm4k2xVC2g3TXxrwbDEVsUAl8qtevz6wvL7Zrs/s320/Acto.jpg" width="213"></a></div>
<br>
You would think reviewing climbing gear would be an easier, more concrete task, but you still have to reveal your calculus of psychology, environment, hopes, and dreams to qualify your opinion. Otherwise you're like this guy, who reviewed the Arcteryx Acto MX Hoody on the Backcountry.com website:<br>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">"I had the chance to try this jacket on recently and I found it to be an amazing piece of equipment that I can't live without. You can rock it on it's own or use it for layering. It is super versatile and extremely technical. Perfect for any outdoor enthusiast. The liner is a fleece grid that can let heat out while wearing it alone or keep heat in if you are layering. Use this for anything you do in the snow. Not to mention it has a lifetime warranty. Awesome!"</span><br>
<br>
His basis of review is from trying it on?<br>
<br>
Anyway. I have been interested in the Acto MX Hoody since Jason Kruk's "<a href="http://blog.jasonkruk.net/2011/09/acto-psa.html">Acto PSA</a>" (found via <a href="http://coldthistle.blogspot.com/">ColdThistle</a>) piqued my interest in the jacket. Then I got it for Christmas and have barely taken it off. Here's my take:<br>
<br>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/04/arcteryx-acto-hoody-review.html#more">Read more »</a>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-42480242147116209152012-04-02T22:42:00.000-04:002012-06-05T09:15:21.501-04:00NRG - Area 51- Replicant<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsa0UsXNdrv-V8C5z_B70S0ulRW1eQXIPlsRc0O-mBstyZpqO1GL0_lOICmfeE8JO_7gbxUlkHW1n_vKMRhefpBWspHR8cRVNGPjzTyodb89tQeyhW3rBhtk7s73Xh1-fJ5ckh7bMwb_M/s1600/replicant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsa0UsXNdrv-V8C5z_B70S0ulRW1eQXIPlsRc0O-mBstyZpqO1GL0_lOICmfeE8JO_7gbxUlkHW1n_vKMRhefpBWspHR8cRVNGPjzTyodb89tQeyhW3rBhtk7s73Xh1-fJ5ckh7bMwb_M/s320/replicant.jpg" width="240" /></a>Alex and I returned to the New River Gorge last weekend, this time attached to a crew of five experienced and talented climbers from the DC area. We arrived at the crag, Area 51, Saturday morning, and proceeded to dispatch more hard climbs than I've witnessed being climbed in such a short period. The company both daunted and inspired me.<br />
<br />
There was one climb I thought stood above the rest. It was a perfect dihedral perched upon a massive overhang--a line called <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/replicant/106968435">Replicant</a>. The route caught Andre's eye too, and he went for it without delay. Past a thin and crumbly start, large whipper potential at the roof, and well into the smooth corner and tips crack crux, Andre took a fall. Undetterred, he finished the line, rested, then quickly red pointed.<br />
<br />
The leftward traverse to gain the hanging corner looked dicey. Your last protection is well behind, and below you, and the thirty foot ride would have you swinging backwards, uncomfortably close to the rock. But having watched Andre, and ruminating on it, I thought I just might be able to piece it together.<br />
<br />
I climbed in a state of total focus, and stole every possible stance where I could regain strength. Safely beyond the roof, I entered the crux dihedral, but I couldn't get my finger tips to dig into the pencil-width crack. I edged on that damning feedback loop where you pull harder on the muscles that are losing feeling, but then eased my grip, and transferred weight to my feet. The stream of blood in my forearms trickled back to life. I'd have but a moment once my forearms recovered to finish the section before my toes gave out. I leaned to the right on my finger tips, stepped up, and smeared hard on the left wall with my right foot, then the left. Jamming my right shoulder into the wall, I stabilized, removed both hands from the crack, reset them higher, and pulled to a bridged stance. Gradually the crack opened to accept more of my hand. Gradually it dawned on me that I would pull this off. What a great feeling.<br />
<br />
Here's a photosynth with the photos I took of Andre's on-sight go. It captures the first half of the climb up to the roof.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="300" src="http://photosynth.net/embed.aspx?cid=e4cebd7f-c661-42b5-9340-33cb96283167&delayLoad=true&slideShowPlaying=false" width="500"></iframe>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-66107926342396963762012-04-02T13:47:00.000-04:002012-04-30T13:35:18.344-04:00Summit of Campanile Eslevano, Frey, Argentina '08<iframe frameborder="0" height="300" src="http://photosynth.net/embed.aspx?cid=4410132e-4b34-452e-bca9-ae03bffd2f03&delayLoad=true&slideShowPlaying=false" width="500"></iframe>
<br />
A friend showed me <a href="http://photosynth.net/">Photosynth</a> this weekend. It stitches photos into a 3 dimensional collage. This is a test with some shots I took on a trip four years ago. It's from the summit of Campanile Eslevano in the Frey climbing area, which is just outside of Bariloche. We'd just climbed a spectacular 5 pitch 5.10 called <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/imagnate/106140727">Imaginate</a>.DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com0Ruta Provincial 82, Río Negro Province, Argentina-41.165732428401839 -71.742782592773438-41.21354692840184 -71.821746592773437 -41.117917928401837 -71.663818592773438tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-81408493040572308712012-03-29T11:39:00.001-04:002012-04-06T13:18:29.943-04:00This One's For the Bobcat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UDkHjFCGXQFM2nIkapjUOSt5UvabsltbXgKVsgswavsmJ26pkAukDgihi7ecRE-zMHji0AqjnG9use264ynaH9hNALkb0f_7WGaj5V6oH6OnCZlNFEVypCAhbjT1xnXLeTg94giNleo/s1600/bobcat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UDkHjFCGXQFM2nIkapjUOSt5UvabsltbXgKVsgswavsmJ26pkAukDgihi7ecRE-zMHji0AqjnG9use264ynaH9hNALkb0f_7WGaj5V6oH6OnCZlNFEVypCAhbjT1xnXLeTg94giNleo/s1600/bobcat.jpg"></a></div>
I found myself more centered last weekend at the New River Gorge than I was on my <a href="http://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/02/old-ragged.html">prior outing</a>. I was rested, and not so thirsting for beer as I am sometimes at the end of the week. I felt simply glad to climb--not overly eager, and fretting over details. This would be a good weekend.<br>
<br>
Saturday morning at Endless Wall, Alex won our customary rock flip and started us on <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/discombobulated/105948290">Discombobulated</a>. Apart from fingery holds at the second and third bolt, the difficulties were punctuated enough for the route to serve as a decent warm up.<br>
<br>
Next came <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/aesthetica/106259865">Aesthetica</a>. I was pleased with my flow, and lack of hesitation on the <i>aesthetic</i> long moves, but it wasn't enough to win the onsight. I took a fall at the crux. Then, high stepping to a two-finger pocket, I skipped the big hueco out left, and climbed the second half to the chains. Alex flashed the route.<br>
<br>
Winning the second rock flip, for <a href="http://www.rockclimbing.com/routes/North_America/United_States/West_Virginia/Roped_Climbing/New_River_...egion/New_River_...aries/Endless_Wall/Undeserved_Area/Mig_Squadron_78912.html">Mig Squadron</a>, Alex racked and hiked the starting layback flake to a good stance preceding a blank traverse. He inspected the diminutive holds, committed, toes smedging on glints in the sandstone, but ultimately fell in a slight pendulum. Second try, he negotiated the thin part to an awkward stance, high stepped, and gained a moderate dihedral to the finish. Informed by Alex's ascent, I cruised the route. How great to cruise 11a on gear. The training must be working.<br>
<br>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/03/this-ones-for-bobcat.html#more">Read more »</a>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-44786211292586078232012-03-05T19:20:00.000-05:002012-04-30T13:35:34.883-04:00DC Tribute: Earth Treks Rockville<span style="font-size: x-large;">C</span>limbers are keenly aware of the best places to live to support their life style. There's Boulder in Colorado with it's many crags and 14'ners; Southern California with it's fair weather and sun-drenched granite; and Salt Lake City, UT with its backyard of desert walls. However, beyond these obvious climbing centers, there are many unsung locales that harbor all of the basic ingredients, just on a smaller scale. Some make up for that scale with other, less obvious ingredients--ingredients that combine in unexpected, yet fortuitous ways. It's like arugula on pizza. With a squeeze of lemon, and a compliment of prosciutto, you have an unexpected masterpiece. That's DC. Its vertical assets are modest, but the way they combine is exquisite.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcsYaQtoVltOrWa41vDHsn5a_wIYZqFKpqQFH1gtIZnZmMszCU9Z2BwAWsZNC1opyavjPII68Z7WKVO7jKEawd12F5B4VoJzigQ8QS9CKH1ECkjDfEhCCe3o3FdPsJwPYPmCRiz_Gc_I/s1600/washington-monument-address.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcsYaQtoVltOrWa41vDHsn5a_wIYZqFKpqQFH1gtIZnZmMszCU9Z2BwAWsZNC1opyavjPII68Z7WKVO7jKEawd12F5B4VoJzigQ8QS9CKH1ECkjDfEhCCe3o3FdPsJwPYPmCRiz_Gc_I/s200/washington-monument-address.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
This will be the first post of many that will identify and honor DC's finest ingredients.<br />
<br />
<u>1. Earth Trek's Rockville</u><br />
<br />
When they opened the expansion this new year, I felt how I imagine you would feel if your company went public and you became a millionaire over night. ET Rockville is now the largest climbing gym in the country, and 20% larger than the 2nd largest. The expansion offers the Gnarwall, which overhangs as far as it is tall; the Death Star, a floating planet of a top-out boulder; the Reactor Wall, which looks is like climbing the outside of a cooling tower; 5 cracks (yes, I'm including the off-width curtain slot in the new birthday area); an upgraded work out room; and a yoga room. The gym single-handedly quashed this military brat's impulse to move every few years.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTD5lw_7bmbY6ughcM4FuHGEsUpx84CsMhpkAkjS31L7z0gdF_yYphJd_m0FPds-YgMrO_KqqFUBdz4f-z_8smzDA-UkrLpPxln8_VxHL2WhkrXBjlD6DXZDbl7jU_QaeZ8W5y-Wa1mRc/s1600/ET+Rock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTD5lw_7bmbY6ughcM4FuHGEsUpx84CsMhpkAkjS31L7z0gdF_yYphJd_m0FPds-YgMrO_KqqFUBdz4f-z_8smzDA-UkrLpPxln8_VxHL2WhkrXBjlD6DXZDbl7jU_QaeZ8W5y-Wa1mRc/s400/ET+Rock.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a corner of the new gym.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Here's to the route-setters: to Skilla for his bounty of quality, flowing routes; to Dickey for his damning cruxes; and JK for finding ways to make large holds utterly useless. <br />
<br />
Here's to the Roadies and Road instructors who would all have bright futures in alpinism given their predilection for suffering. I'm with you, but enough plank already.<br />
<br />
Here's to the staff who wear their calves on their forearms, and campus more naturally than they walk.<br />
<br />
Here's to the kids on the climbing team who hike my projects mid adolescent hormonal spew of gossip, texts, and posturing; who remind me that I could barely do a pullup at that age; who make me wish I found climbing much, much earlier.<br />
<br />
Here's to the members who make the place feel like a second home. I'm constantly impressed by how hard you pull after a full day of keeping government secrets, and saving the world. That's right. I'm on to you. I know you're all spooks.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.earthtreksclimbing.com/rockville-climbing-center.html">Earth Treks Rockville</a><br />
<br />
<u></u><br />
<u></u><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-32919120235886373152012-02-29T12:05:00.001-05:002012-03-06T11:17:36.449-05:00Goals experiment: The ProwIt's common knowledge that most climbers don't like to talk about their future goals. Honestly, I don't really understand this. I guess talking about your goals feels a little too exposing, for some. Or maybe the fear is that it will set you up for failure. The fewer people who know that you intend to climb something, the fewer people you will need to explain your failure to. Maybe some are just frightened of jinxing themselves? I can't say. But I do know one thing. That shit is boring.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZSYqktLOB8PWpSMPX48YPqCerqid9tajhgsxFXDAh5XOekpP3InbSkSLP4V3DiYT_aHQnAXOOQiDsDk0MbAAAnVVsKPAhXZQt-FNPZl-9QonHTqBRGQDSnVhc6jsDL8lRn8qFsjEqPrjr/s1600/prow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZSYqktLOB8PWpSMPX48YPqCerqid9tajhgsxFXDAh5XOekpP3InbSkSLP4V3DiYT_aHQnAXOOQiDsDk0MbAAAnVVsKPAhXZQt-FNPZl-9QonHTqBRGQDSnVhc6jsDL8lRn8qFsjEqPrjr/s400/prow.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crux pitch of The Prow (it can't be that hard...girls can climb it!)<br />
Photo from mountainproject.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We aim to push the boundaries here at the Bailure Blog -- climbing norms, societal expectations, and even good taste. So we decided we'd not only talk about our dearest, most closely held climbing goals, but we'd also like to lay them out in detail on this blog for all to see and judge. <br />
<br />
For our first experiment, we decided we'd give you a gift, dear reader(s?). We're going to offer up one of our longest-held, most sacred free climbing goals for your scrutiny. Dan and I have been talking about onsighting one of Cathedral Ledge's tespiece climbs, <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/the-prow/106011864">The Prow</a>, for over a year now. We think we're capable, and we're going to give it our best effort. We hope to post a few times on this blog in the weeks leading up to our attempt, in order to document our training and thoughts on the upcoming climb (but no promises). Then, of course, we'd like to do a trip report or after-action debriefing. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10xNiMfd_yeA03Mk0SXvL2D7iuwBJWaR5yjtUs9Lpzk3jUdSxFK1Fmjg0cY81toqOUA4wCAlfvcEOpB3sPu419pNIvzlwvKylq23w-1PjFxe9eywVn_VH-kEFoW2H2BYfnYUsafSGNRdP/s1600/greater_internet_theory.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="97" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10xNiMfd_yeA03Mk0SXvL2D7iuwBJWaR5yjtUs9Lpzk3jUdSxFK1Fmjg0cY81toqOUA4wCAlfvcEOpB3sPu419pNIvzlwvKylq23w-1PjFxe9eywVn_VH-kEFoW2H2BYfnYUsafSGNRdP/s320/greater_internet_theory.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greater Internet Fuckwad Theory</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We realize that by posting this, we're opening ourselves up to a lot of criticism. In essence, we're calling our shot, Babe Ruth style. We're going to walk up to The Prow and onsight that bitch. We understand that we may get exactly the type of crude, malicious invective that only anonymous internet posting can deliver, according to the Greater Internet Fuckwad Theory. But, we hope we'll receive thoughtful, incisive commentary instead. So, feel free to engage in this experiment. And that's exactly what this is, an experiment. We'll see how it works out. In the meantime, check back for possible pre-game posts about this classic New Hampshire route.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-10823321381549250212012-02-28T16:30:00.001-05:002012-02-29T10:13:12.569-05:00A collection of movements and a pair of testiclesWhat makes a man a man? Luckily, we've had the answer to this question since 1998, when the Dude summed it up so nicely: It's being prepared to do the right thing, whatever the cost ... along with a pair of testicles.<br>
<br>
But what makes a route a route? Can a climbing route be more than just a collection of movements over rock and ice, or is it exclusively the sum of its parts?<br>
<br>
Well, I think that depends on the person who climbs it. After all, it's people who create routes. Without the individual's experience, a route would be nothing more than just a series of movements. But when you add the human element, a route can become so much more. Take for instance New Hampshire's classic alpine route, <a href="http://mountainproject.com/v/black-dike/105890633">The Black Dike</a>. After three winter climbing seasons, I finally had the opportunity to climb this route in late February. To me, this route was much more than just three pitches of moderate rock and ice climbing in a stark alpine environment.<br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yHFasCAOXiZNoVoOLnRjUkvbk9xhqjgO71LkL0LuQyK9qS37m4vU0FVhKpvQPW4F1oB_hloNmFsT8lnz2E7HeYJDVU4IJOI1SNvRE9JjrpuITAZ2Myfi8AF4nJl_5m4tEqNVBpac2VVT/s1600/black+dike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_yHFasCAOXiZNoVoOLnRjUkvbk9xhqjgO71LkL0LuQyK9qS37m4vU0FVhKpvQPW4F1oB_hloNmFsT8lnz2E7HeYJDVU4IJOI1SNvRE9JjrpuITAZ2Myfi8AF4nJl_5m4tEqNVBpac2VVT/s400/black+dike.jpg" width="297"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Dike in condition, February 2012<br>
(photo taken from mountainproject.com)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/02/collection-of-movements-and-pair-of.html#more">Read more »</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-50460169286922658592012-02-23T16:32:00.000-05:002012-03-06T17:57:32.825-05:00Old Ragged<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHObzdxJtVUIs7H3NhAb4bZGGshisvEyYONOQuPyr-BSaNESXf-cT74jvzLfdzmDjsZlnNNvAFdcLTGCUJCjnbMn2TEu8xqEL56YtQ6ygEp-OPuH1IdhUp_bAlX1hBfVHyrBgthlQxg0/s1600/533083-bigthumbnail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguHObzdxJtVUIs7H3NhAb4bZGGshisvEyYONOQuPyr-BSaNESXf-cT74jvzLfdzmDjsZlnNNvAFdcLTGCUJCjnbMn2TEu8xqEL56YtQ6ygEp-OPuH1IdhUp_bAlX1hBfVHyrBgthlQxg0/s200/533083-bigthumbnail.jpg" width="200"></a></div>
When I started climbing 5 years ago, I liked how it brought out the best in me. I liked how it drove me to bed early, how it inspired me to eat well, and how it stripped my focus to a crystal edge. Climbing still focuses me, but I've become more comfortable, and have allowed my other life--real life--to encroach upon my climbing discipline more and more. This weekend my "comfort" reached a new level.<br>
<br>
The plan was to join Andre, one of DC's finest trad climbers, for a day on the granite of <a href="http://www.summitpost.org/old-rag-mountain/150782">Old Rag</a> in the Shenandoah Mountains of VA. To prepare, I planned to get a light workout in on Friday night, have dinner with Laura, and get a solid night of sleep. Nope.<br>
<br>
Friday we said goodbye to someone I've worked with for the last 5 years. He was a boss, colleague, and friend. What started as a farewell happy hour at Matchbox gained momentum until there was no jumping off.<br>
<br>
My alarm went off at 6:15am Saturday morning. "Why do I have an alarm set on a Saturday? That's ridiculous." Then it all came back. Andre would pick me up in 15 minutes.<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmOaVdEFMARkYaLQJSvz8aC0faTblwQjXuQlxUS4PuouLhpwKV1-UNIpzMbtKP5OHjgzSLt8bBbnvguxmOfW9FHZwOqhhgEa2PkV6cSKsc5dLZQ4TQdLCflEmWEq-_EVjq0aA6nBCzYI/s1600/hungover-owls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmOaVdEFMARkYaLQJSvz8aC0faTblwQjXuQlxUS4PuouLhpwKV1-UNIpzMbtKP5OHjgzSLt8bBbnvguxmOfW9FHZwOqhhgEa2PkV6cSKsc5dLZQ4TQdLCflEmWEq-_EVjq0aA6nBCzYI/s320/hungover-owls.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"What have I done?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
In a stupor, I filled my climbing pack, and jumped into Andre's waiting car. Part of me engaged in conversation about our coming day, and another reeled in horror. "When did I go to sleep last night?" "How did we get to Cleveland Park from Rockville? Right, we took the metro, but Grosvenor Station was closed, wasn't it? We rode a shuttle bus?"<br>
<br>
On the rolling, curved roads at the base of Old Rag I became overwhelmed by nausea. Andre kindly stopped the car and stood aside as I retched coffee and fruit.<br>
<br>
Thank goodness for the hour and a half approach hike. Thank goodness for the redemptive, cleansing therapy of long slow cardio.<br>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2012/02/old-ragged.html#more">Read more »</a>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-73903954364699065562012-01-06T13:49:00.000-05:002012-01-10T16:34:00.687-05:00White Thumb<div style="text-align: justify;">
I can't shake the feeling that I came into climbing in the wrong generation -- all the low hanging fruit has been plucked, coddled, and juiced. I want to explore! People say that we're now in a prime place in climbing history with modern techniques and gear opening up new amazing FA possibilities, and it's true. New routes these days blow my mind. But all that still falls into the elite category. If you look at the rates of growth of techniques, gear, and FA completion, I would propose that there was a knee in the curve when techniques became fairly modern but a lot of rock remained unexplored. It might be interesting to try to put some numbers to my harebrained proposal; in the mean time, my real point remains: new challenges are just fun!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The Sandias are full of unclimbed rock, linkup options, hardman potential, and training opportunities. When the first cold, snowy day hit us this winter (Dec 3, 2011), Micah and I sniffed the curious alpine fruit -- a snowy rock climb to whet our ambitions for AK 2012! (Note: I'm not suggesting this was the first snow climb of the route, no doubt it's been done.)</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWvxYqAYZOG2OdlffRyHMLEJ0_f3JAEXF1OXiylEEiU96MOVbhnk18FQCPVFyrHzxugfhu8rOAbNICILL5gARnEnb7KmdDhI-ZvRmDaghKgavNk78Gat2c3T_yRqdLhVy78dBChAK_Fo/s1600/P1040438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFWvxYqAYZOG2OdlffRyHMLEJ0_f3JAEXF1OXiylEEiU96MOVbhnk18FQCPVFyrHzxugfhu8rOAbNICILL5gARnEnb7KmdDhI-ZvRmDaghKgavNk78Gat2c3T_yRqdLhVy78dBChAK_Fo/s320/P1040438.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Excited for the unknown?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We would hit the NW ridge of the Thumb (III 5.5), a route I'd done in a few configurations already - with rope, without, etc. It'd be a perfect avenue to scratch up with crampons and a tool. And it was a blast!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaONC63VpYzNRATI2WENebrVNMKbXSid3vV1gZOhbWr1Q1KCvUXqUYG2KCvh09y2tUWExezNMVJcMKh8YLGeCkyebhoiPvBUrpw5Nl4kolvplvi68zpGtPZsbXUY8a-2R0b754onLwcw/s1600/P1040452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaONC63VpYzNRATI2WENebrVNMKbXSid3vV1gZOhbWr1Q1KCvUXqUYG2KCvh09y2tUWExezNMVJcMKh8YLGeCkyebhoiPvBUrpw5Nl4kolvplvi68zpGtPZsbXUY8a-2R0b754onLwcw/s200/P1040452.jpg" width="133"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starting up easy ground.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6Tx48iqciTEIak8MSHfwtL0JC3-ZrDwS0UQ6ad_rEvYDqq8ng_TlAIjHKTBFfoP5Q-lP8-mRicqTN7tQsneSgaGI2Ni8H-G-LJmp47PRURcF86b4FB0uO3BcVJXxMwt2BtJPY8LL3Ck/s1600/P1040456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ6Tx48iqciTEIak8MSHfwtL0JC3-ZrDwS0UQ6ad_rEvYDqq8ng_TlAIjHKTBFfoP5Q-lP8-mRicqTN7tQsneSgaGI2Ni8H-G-LJmp47PRURcF86b4FB0uO3BcVJXxMwt2BtJPY8LL3Ck/s400/P1040456.jpg" width="266"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a treat being completely alone in the canyon!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: justify;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNQVg_oUJGu53HdvbHoMbuTBQBepm-A6MX4_Xwv-Mfpu2udGsKanOp5Wg3QCA0fIglouVcU5gaVPdw6N4YTtrJxUhLxWa-CLdjcPjhAZ7kz7oOLEmNArOg5KQlMgPKN-SzaJq3Ew5Rsw/s1600/P1040459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNQVg_oUJGu53HdvbHoMbuTBQBepm-A6MX4_Xwv-Mfpu2udGsKanOp5Wg3QCA0fIglouVcU5gaVPdw6N4YTtrJxUhLxWa-CLdjcPjhAZ7kz7oOLEmNArOg5KQlMgPKN-SzaJq3Ew5Rsw/s320/P1040459.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We roped up about 1/3 of the way up, where the sidewalk ends.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2011/12/white-thumb.html#more">Read more »</a>DaveThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05154992458492482093noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-83226984616417670302011-12-14T12:50:00.000-05:002012-05-01T09:12:28.628-04:00Whiteside, North CarolinaDan and I headed down to North Carolina this past weekend for another "Smash and Grab" style road trip. We logged close to 19 hours in the car over a 48-hour period. Our destination: Whiteside Mountain.<br>
<br>
In the climbing literature, much is made of the fearsome reputation of Whiteside. "With a reputation for loose rock, steep routes, skimpy gear, and wild weather, Whiteside Mountain remains among the most feared and revered climbing areas in the Southeast," reads the introduction to the wall in Lambert and Shull's <i>Selected Climbs in North Carolina</i>. Or, even more whimsically, Whiteside is "immense, scary and the closest thing to big wall, run-out adventure climbing you'll find in the south. This is the place for you if you wish to avoid the crowds and soil your drawers," quoth Thomas Kelley, author of <i>The Climber's Guide to North Carolina</i>. We didn't necessarily find the climbing to require multiple pairs of undies (at least not on the routes we chose), but there is some truth to the loose rock and runout-climbing rumors.<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGA585o2VQo6sAaxI_qqt_5l26qP-ITnm4SlMAMCz4v3NkLjdUN8oWXCe88T11BYkRSnMtWZKJhc-kvhU7D83b40HeAesGKm2JOv-Z3znQmBpEP-r23uGBUs0T50lgFAcFcqIYWC4T92kw/s1600/arm-and-hammer.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGA585o2VQo6sAaxI_qqt_5l26qP-ITnm4SlMAMCz4v3NkLjdUN8oWXCe88T11BYkRSnMtWZKJhc-kvhU7D83b40HeAesGKm2JOv-Z3znQmBpEP-r23uGBUs0T50lgFAcFcqIYWC4T92kw/s200/arm-and-hammer.gif" width="200"></a></div>
<br>
<br>
As is our custom, Dan and I debated for hours in the week leading up to our trip over which routes to attempt and in what style. We ended up settling on <a href="http://mountainproject.com/v/arm-and-hammer/106916902"><i>Arm & Hammer</i></a> as our first adventure. We chose this route carefully. We knew that retreat on any route would be difficult given the long pitches and our choice to climb on a single rope. Yet we still wanted to challenge ourselves physically and mentally. A&H seemed a good compromise, as it is near our physical limit at 5.12a, but the most difficult pitches would be protected by bolts -- although they also happen to be the last three pitches of the climb. Bailing for any reason from the top of the climb would be "sporting," to say the least, as we would be several hundred feet in the air on an overhanging headwall. But at least, with the bolts, we stood a good chance of "failing upwards" (that is, admitting defeat yet continuing to make vertical progress by pulling on bolts and gear -- essentially finishing the route in poor style).<br>
<br>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2011/12/whiteside-north-carolina.html#more">Read more »</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-47221993645774083792011-11-01T10:02:00.000-04:002011-11-01T11:12:28.234-04:00Early Gunks Winter<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVP-NFQzQ4w72OysgJGVtG84IICX5pI1GsfGimgR5zMA1qtgTTYxdw1I3fMuBVSwauGVTjy-M0959hrDLPNSftWKs9FdJc7aX33RMnly6bUf1p1gQ2JwBbMi3icGMdFUpfKVwHbQTfVH8/s1600/IMG_0022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVP-NFQzQ4w72OysgJGVtG84IICX5pI1GsfGimgR5zMA1qtgTTYxdw1I3fMuBVSwauGVTjy-M0959hrDLPNSftWKs9FdJc7aX33RMnly6bUf1p1gQ2JwBbMi3icGMdFUpfKVwHbQTfVH8/s400/IMG_0022.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pat McNally after leading the first pitch of Shockley's Ceiling amid the Halloween snow storm at the Gunks, NY.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-89424449135128605222011-10-21T12:19:00.000-04:002012-04-30T13:53:22.553-04:00Spock's Brain at Seneca Rocks<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="330" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/30911191?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="576"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/30911191">Seneca Rocks - Spock's Brain</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user8981340">Daniel Ressler</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
<br />
My first video attempt. Thanks to Tim G. for the footage, Brian G. for the belay and BurnDown for the track.DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-31598056923583524442011-10-12T09:40:00.000-04:002012-04-30T13:53:41.979-04:00Super Glue: a climber's secret weapon<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7JBXs3lHeSvCI_ssQoY0yrSfZCtt8HqS99r2Qg8SQ0FWGF_ohVZut3DAqhGrHyD4IDDmElJCwh0lbUglwuW-yuj4I1CTfe19_a0sp5NdgOEGFIi9FndxmVeZTyrvnROODLR4vp6X3yY/s1600/P1000417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7JBXs3lHeSvCI_ssQoY0yrSfZCtt8HqS99r2Qg8SQ0FWGF_ohVZut3DAqhGrHyD4IDDmElJCwh0lbUglwuW-yuj4I1CTfe19_a0sp5NdgOEGFIi9FndxmVeZTyrvnROODLR4vp6X3yY/s320/P1000417.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fingers after a proud effort on the Incredible Hulk in the Eastern Sierras</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
There are climbing areas where the rock and style of holds conspire to separate your finger from your nail. Sierra granite and Red Rock sandstone come to mind. It's like the old torture with the bamboo splinters under your nail.<br />
<br />
The good news is that you can treat these wounds with Super Glue. If you're really smart, you'll foresee the insidious grit and apply the glue under your nail before you climb. Unstoppable.DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-352210200818234452011-10-11T10:23:00.002-04:002011-10-25T11:19:20.835-04:00Trad and the Self Coached Climber<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8cTylUj9TSQB80ms6zKEt0jBn-23UR734kaRDyRoctQYxXanQJMRKcccnvngTZuyGw4YBPSeO2nOHBYAzY1_GSnGOa_mx4Np1XeKB6PIKXxdbGjId8_IAxbOlj_rfSKPRyhlVGB12yU/s1600/P1030242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8cTylUj9TSQB80ms6zKEt0jBn-23UR734kaRDyRoctQYxXanQJMRKcccnvngTZuyGw4YBPSeO2nOHBYAzY1_GSnGOa_mx4Np1XeKB6PIKXxdbGjId8_IAxbOlj_rfSKPRyhlVGB12yU/s400/P1030242.JPG" width="285" /></a>There's only so much you can climb in a given week. How you use that time makes the difference between languishing in a comfort zone or thriving as you expand your ability and gain access to more of the world's greatest climbs.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I directed a few questions to Dan Hague, one of the authors of the Self Coached Climber, last week, hoping to apply his work in sport and bouldering towards on-sight trad climbing and larger mountain objectives. You can find the questions and his response <a href="http://www.selfcoachedclimber.com/2011/10/training-for-trad/">here.</a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>DanRhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02203038112150609990noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4242403581176436751.post-68419144987992626922011-09-23T13:44:00.001-04:002011-09-30T11:56:39.149-04:00Alpine Starts and Classic Climbs<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">...Just not in the same place.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">That's the magic of the Front Range. Too much ice on the route? Retreat to Eldo. Heavy rain? Down to Eldo. Numb toes? Eldo. High winds? Eldo. Tired? Eldo.</span></div>
<div style="font-family: arial; text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">No wonder there are so many accidents there.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">On the menu were <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/pervertical-sanctuary/105748939">Pervertical Santuary (IV 5.11a)</a>, <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/sykes-sickle/105748499">Syke's Sickle (III 5.9+)</a>, <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/the-barb/105750154">The Barb (III 5.10-)</a>, and <a href="http://www.mountainproject.com/v/directissima/105750085">Directissima (III 5.10b)</a>. Pervertical had us excited for its hard climbing and prime setting. Syke's won over our aesthetic sense with its direct line up the center of a gorgeous piece of rock, but it left some technical challenge to be desired. With The Barb next door on the same piece of rock representing a classic 5.10, maybe we could ride perfect weather into a link-up. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Directissima would be a shorter day option and offer a foray into wide crack climbing. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Thus, objectives were formed.</span><br>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWe-ijdVBdl_vhLPVZqDMeSZOJwegQvgPQs2tqBKkQqYkyg4h0ubsX3RRXCPbEtzkY4oRjAQLILjwYCFW_M0_zfCciXbuBvub23uO6KrAFTvPJkqrDGe-4mopAsr11kh8z6ScDssTF7_k/s1600/P9160643br2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWe-ijdVBdl_vhLPVZqDMeSZOJwegQvgPQs2tqBKkQqYkyg4h0ubsX3RRXCPbEtzkY4oRjAQLILjwYCFW_M0_zfCciXbuBvub23uO6KrAFTvPJkqrDGe-4mopAsr11kh8z6ScDssTF7_k/s400/P9160643br2.JPG" width="400"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Micah topping out Yellow Spur on its immaculate knife edge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;">Weather and success would dictate our selections. For Saturday, with a marginal forecast (30-40% chance of precipitation), we would try the least committing: Syke's with The Barb link-up option if time permitted and weather cleared. We made this decision on Friday after my intro to <a href="http://pimpinandcrimpin.blogspot.com/2008/06/crag-exposure-eldorado-canyon.html">Eldorado Canyon</a>, first the mega-classic <a href="http://www.climbing.com/exclusive/classicclimbs/yellowspur258/">Yellow Spur (5.9 6 pitches)</a> and then a bonus, Calypso/Raggae (5.6/5.8, 2 pitches). I took the 5.10 variations on P1 and P5 on YS (the first one I recommend, second one I don't) and smiled widely with the excellent climbing and abundant stopper placements. In preparation for an early start, we left Eldo by 6pm for RMNP. A few campground shinanigans later we were racked and inflating pads.</span><br>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial;"><br></span></div>
<a href="https://bailureblog.blogspot.com/2011/09/alpine-starts-and-classic-climbs.html#more">Read more »</a>DaveThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05154992458492482093noreply@blogger.com0