Backyard Friction

My first Sandias climb of the season was in February. I took a fall wearing boots on 5.6 terrain when my foot unexpectedly popped (it was clean). Today, the stellar crux pitch of Mountain Momma (III 5.10c) is behind me and I'm breathing easy. In rock shoes, I understood friction properly and employed physics well.

In the mountains, with light and fast as the creed, I tend to slide down the scale to light and slow. That's never a good thing, but today I don't mind it. Today I find myself ignoring my watch. At belays I stare idly across the canyon at The Thumb, and try to keep my eye trained on swallows as they swoop the wall in and out of nest (I think one flew into the upper crux crack with Micah just below). I want the granite to inflate to the size of the day and displace everything else. We often scheme tactics to compress a big objective into a day, so why not stretch a small one to the same end?

At the top we banter on cruxes while looking down on the city. We feel lucky but valid in our position; we also feel sorry for the people driving the matchbox cars on the distant roads, knowing full well that tomorrow will have us equally trapped. Were it not for this craggy hill outside of town, Albuquerque would be just barely tolerable. But we do have the foothills and the crest and the option of projecting hard trad after work, and I can run off for a quiet and contrived mission when I hanker. The Sandias may well be the dirty old cowboy bar of the alpine world -- a brawl is always an option if you're asking, or tuck yourself in the corner and no one will bother you.

I can't identify my house, but what's the difference from up here? Our position on the Torreon has done its job as a filter, stripping away so much of our culture to yield a simple existence, at least for a while. On Monday I will stare out my office window and the mountains will appear as a TV image. I'll be working towards an end I'll never see nor feel, which started in a place I will never really understand. Contrarily, I understand each step I took today as elements of scree and sticks and soil, and I can almost hear the ring of pins being pounded in 1977. Tomorrow, I will be thankful for the cuts on my knuckles.

Backyard Fiction

DC has a lot to offer, but it comes short of providing the ideal backyard.

Nick wags his mouse, taps his password and settles into his chair for another long day sitting at his cluttered work desk and computer.  Knowing the routine, his body fades to the background and fidgets. His mind, on the other hand, runs wild, occasionally lighting upon the work he is supposed to be doing.

At the work day’s close, Nick bends in his chair, unties his brown leather dress shoes and pulls on running slippers.  The refrain of Mr. Roger’s theme song plays in his head, "would you be mine?"  He grabs his pack and races down the stairs, out the glass doors to the outside.

Warm, humid air snaps Nick from his reverie.  Clouds hang still in billowy forms.  There will be a thunderstorm later.  Nick breaks from a walk into a clumsy jog, finding his muscles stiff from sitting.  Walking again, Nick feels his body loosen and warm.

Back home Nick strips off his clothes and hesitates in his dim living room.  The couch invites him to eat, drink and be entertained by shows on TV.  First he would choose the right brew or grape to compliment his thirst, then the right snack to fit the drink, and then the right show to fit his mood.  It would be wonderful, but the next day he’d be back at his desk fidgeting and have nothing to show for his daydreams.

Strangers on a Bight

Email reply, August 30, 2010.

Andrew
Interesting timing with your partner bailing. My partner just bailed on me this afternoon for South Platte or Lumpy Ridge for the weekend. Still interested in the Diamond? I've been eying it up for a few years but haven't been. The Diamond might be tall proposition for having never met but we can talk. We could at least think about Lumpy. Which route on the Diamond, the casual?

I'm out of town for the week, returning Friday afternoon. What was your plan for heading to CO? Give me a call sometime.
Dave

Andy and I made acquaintance at the Denver airport Friday evening and went on to climb the Casual Route Saturday, September 4. Here, Andy moves into the crux. Sometimes two bails do make a send!

The Hulk preview video

Dan and I on Positive Vibrations of the Incredible Hulk, September 15, 2009 (somehow the introductory text was stripped on export). We were an inch away from leaving the Hulk without an attempt, but we finally decided an effort like this was exactly why we were there and completed what I would call the finest route I've been on. It was an ambitious step, however, and our style suffered -- I downclimbed and hung at the crux, and our performance deteriorated from there. Regardless, we had a new alpine 5.11 wind at our backs that would push us to the next big reach.

Seminal Climbs: Granite Peak

Granite Peak, the highest point in Montana, had been calling my name for some time. I was still a novice climber (hell, I still am), but I had learned just enough to peak my interest in remote alpine objectives ... and just enough to be dangerous.

Granite Peak, 12,799 feet.

I had originally planned to climb Granite with my girlfriend, but by the time I was ready to start working on logistics and buy the plane tickets, she had become my ex girlfriend. I knew it would be futile to find a trustworthy partner on such short notice, so I didn't even try. Instead, I resigned myself to climbing it solo and considered it something of a penance for my sins against womankind.

My excitement grew as the departure date got closer. I was in good shape, I hadn't bought a pack of smokes in over a year, and my climbing had progressed by leaps and bounds over the summer. The climb would be a challenge for me, no doubt, but I was ready for it. It had been a difficult summer personally, and I was looking forward to some time alone and a good adventure to clear my head and consolidate the life lessons I had learned over the past few months.

I arrived in Bozeman to pleasant weather. Unfortunately, this was not the case in the mountains. There was rain, hail, and high winds in the Beartooths (Bearteeth?). The weather was "icing" me--I'd have to wait it out in Bozeman, just me and my nerves. This ended up being quite pleasant. Bozeman is a terrific town, with an eclectic mix of citizens. In fact, Bozeman may be the only place in these United States where you can drink a craft micro brew while conversing with a cattle rancher, a college professor, and a ski lift operator, and then buy a dime bag from any one of them. I had no problem relaxing while I waited for more stable weather, which was a good thing, because I had to wait for three days.

Theft at Seneca

We finished our day on the Seneca classic, Ecstasy, this past Sunday. Before starting the climb, a couple guys stopped to pick our brains on Candy Corner, asking whether it could be done with a rope that'd been chopped to 45 meters.

The guy doing all the talking was fat, sported tribal tats, a green plug earing, and a backwoods drawl.  I didn't see him climbing anything, let alone on lead. "Good for him," I thought.

He told us they had only a few black diamond camalots, a set of wired nuts and their chopped rope, all distributed between the several bags they were carrying.  I wasn't sure why he was telling us all of this. Meanwhile, the other guy smirked off to the side.

The thought popped in my head halfway up the climb, "Those guys are going to take our stuff."

We cruised the last pitches and rapped The Burn. I chanted in my head, "please be there, please be there," as I rounded the corner.

The scene was exactly as I'd feared. Camera, wallet, keys, ipod, climbing gear and shoes--gone.  My partner's pack remained, but they had taken his shoes.  They took our freaking shoes so we would be slow to follow.

I tore down the stairmaster, crossed the stream and sprinted, barefoot, into town.

The pain in my feet felt good and I couldn't wait to connect with the scum who took my pack.

Town was deserted. A girl walked out of Yokums and stared, no doubt wondering what this barefoot, sweat drenched, crazy-eyed climber was doing in the middle of the street.

Later I gave a police report and wrote notes for the guys at the Gendarme and the climbing school.

Much thanks to those at Yokums last night, and to the guys at the Gendarme who have been spreading the word.

Renters insurance covered everything. Then, the rotund thief and his banjo accompaniment were caught. Tim and I went to the station one Sunday evening on the way home from Seneca for the photo line up. To this day I get small restitution checks from the Pendleton County Police Station. Big thanks to trooper Ware who is the funniest/most intimidating officer I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.

Welcome to New Mexico

Fresh in NM with no partner, my first destination was the local boulder pile in the foothills. I was alone, off balance from just having moved across the country and longing for the wild alpine that felt like home a year prior.