I bloviate about the second week of our stay in El Chalten
patagonia 2014 part I
The first leg of the Patagonia trip, documented.
winter 2014
Some thoughts on this 'winter' we're experiencing so far.
journey 2013
Summarizing the remainder of 2013 travels.
mount stuart
Ticking off a 50 classic in casual form
The Desert 2013
Reflections on time in the desert this year.
r2r2r
A recap of a grand canyon outing
Long Shadow Anxiety
musings on what happens towards the end of the day
There You Are
Where have I been for the last couple months?
Red Slate and the Sea
linking mountains and sea...
Fading Winter
Winter 2013 is slowing fading...
Backcountry Itch
Sometimes you need to scratch it...
Morrison: North Ridge
"It's loose, but manageable"
High Sierra's Matterhorn
G-man, finishing the bootpack section of the day |
It had been over a week since the last snowfall in the
Sierra, so if Garth and I were headed in the backcountry, it was time to look
for where snow might be hiding. Given the previous week’s luck in east and
north(ish) facing chutes, and given how the Sawtooth sub-range of the Sierra
tends to get more snow than many places, we set our sights on the Matterhorn.
One of the last times I had visited the twin lakes area outside of Bridgeport
was to tick “ski dreams” off the list with the G-man himself. Time for a
return.
A brisk start to the day getting across the lake. Yes, those boots are day-glow orange |
The rendezvous at the shell station in town was set for a
casual 0700, but due to some impressive photos up and down 395, that got padded
by 30 min. No matter…the temperature with the inversions settled in the Sierra meant
temps in town were below zero again. “Damn, it’s cold here.” “Yeah, kinda glad
we’ve delayed our start a tad.” Felt like that delightful winter weather from
the week before was staying around a bit – though we would realize later that
true to forecast, that cold, dense air was resting in the valleys, with the
higher elevations being down-right civil.
How long is this valley again? Good thing we never lose sight of the objective. |
No matter…dropping a car in town and finishing off the 13
miles out to the end of the road would be cake…right? “You can’t park in the
gas station here because of all the vandalism.” “Is there really that much
crime in Bridgeport?” “I can neither confirm nor deny…you just can’t park
here.” Sheesh. We left a car locked, void of valuables on the side of 395
and headed straight for the most dramatic skyline in town. To our surprise,
there was another car in the lot…then a second. “Good, he’ll put the skin track
in.” “Wait, they’re still here…let’s get going before they poach our line.”
Valley check. Now for the business. |
Skinning across a frosty, faceted twin lakes by 0815. As
expected, all it took was a few hundred vert for the temperatures to rise.
Shedding layers less than an hour into the climb. Now, when it comes to the
Matterhorn [made famous in Jack Kerouac’s Dharma Bums], it’s easy to forget
that before you start making vertical progress on the mountain proper, there is
a long canyon to cross. Good thing that from start to finish of said canyon,
the Sawtooth ridge dominates your vision without obstruction, and the
Matterhorn is front and center. With a slight breeze, and scintillating
conversation, Garth and I were out of said canyon making progress on the
moraine within 2 hours of leaving the car.
Never a moment that wasn't picture worthy...all day |
In and out of the shade kept the sun and our internal
temperatures in check...before we knew it, we were staring at the last of
the ascent, and 3.5 delightful routes of descent to choose from. We decided to
skin as far as we could on Ski Dreams, finish it off with a booter, and tag the
summit…no big deal. The boot pack was a great mix of unbreakable crust,
breakable, unconsolidated powder, powder, and any combination thereof. Our
strategy to find the powder in the Sierra by coming to the Matterhorn was a
failure. No matter…just play the hand you’re dealt.
Hmmm...what to ski, what to ski... |
We finished off the boot pack, grabbed some nutrition, and
then saw our progress shattered by the scree/talus/wind board/isothermal
melting snow on the south side. After a look down the looker’s right couloir
off the Matterhorn summit, there was a ribbon of windboard to get around the
rock band, then potentially good snow back down to the moraine. We dropped our
packs and headed for the top…
Finish off the booter, G-man |
The backside slog was...well...taxing |
“Summits do matter.” “Yeah, well, that’s just like, you’re
opinion, man.” We scrambled on some 4th class terrain for a bit, and
gained the summit. Due to the slowed progress, we couldn’t indulge in the
summit nap – sigh - we snapped some pics, and while I dug like a squirrel finding the summit register, Gman booked it back to the packs.
What's a day in the Sierra without a little scrambling on immaculate granite? |
Looking down the
couloir, that ribbon of snow was looking thinner and thinner, but we were
convinced it would go. Turns out it was bulletproof…but it would take an edge,
so I swallowed the pride and scraped down the thing, getting no style points on
the effort.
"Summits do matter" |
Garth, in a bout of superior reason, decided it was safer to
inverse boot pack the wind board until the snow got softer, and the
consequences of a fall were less severe. Good man. We got ourselves down to
what seemed to be the only powder on the mountain, and cut through it with big
grins on our faces…at least on mine. It didn’t hurt that the backdrop to our
turns was quite photo-worthy, but we did like the idea of maximizing daylight.
“Let’s get off this thing.” “Amen.”
"I think it'll go." Our descent from the summit. |
We cruised through the low angle stuff and actually found a
great 500’ chute that, though avy prone, was full of the best snow all day.
Next was the b-line through the canyon, passing a guided party headed for our
previously tagged summit, followed by thinking light thoughts dropping down the
lower moraine and a skate ski across the lake to the car. Phew…no headlamps
needed.
"I'm gonna boot this thing until it's safer" - smart man...as an aside, that rock looks good. |
As we gobbled some energy beans and sipped the last of our vino, we
watched the last of the alpenglow disappear off of the Matterhorn’s west face –
lending the deep satisfaction of seeing your completed objective from the car,
in a warm puffy with fresh socks and comfy shoes on our feet. “What’s next?”
“Let’s see where the snow falls before we decide.”
"I've never had a bad day skiing" |
Time for some dinner, hot water to dull the aches and sleep.
There's something so satisfying when able to see your completed objective from the car. |
Sunday brought about a more mellow situation. With no takers
to head out to Red Slate, it was time to get out and explore the snow pack.
Funny, after the first couple hundred vert, it was apparent the effort on the
‘horn on Saturday had sapped a bit more gumption than expected. Coupled with
the lack of clear objective besides just touring around and enjoying the snow
and winter weather, motivation was lagging.
Call it the winter parking lot for snowmobiles...bleh |
The route chosen was to head towards Reds Meadow and see
what happens after that. Perhaps the snow below the closed road on the steeps
was deep and stable. Turns out it was. Pick the line through the most shaded
old growth area and you might find the deepest turns in the Sierra at present.
As I skinned up the groomed road, however, the grin turned
upside down as the alpine air was saturated with the noise and repugnant smell
of two-stroke snowmobiles. Upon hitting an expanse where a snowmobile party had
treated it like a high school
parking lot and they just learning to drive in the winter - the scene, coupled
with my fatigue from the day before halted progress all together. I stopped,
and just sipped some shiraz for a while before deciding on the next move.
I can’t say the mechanical presence of man was the only reason for halting progress, but I will say it was a player – strange how one can look at a slope and see skied lines and not get the same sense of revulsion, but seeing a pristine, snow-covered meadow torn up by frivolous, mechanized tracks with the faint brapping sounds in the background sullied my mood. Best to make the most of it and get away from the petroleum-powered hoi polloi.
Within minutes of leaving the disturbed area and back to the
untouched winter scenes of the Ansel Adams Wilderness, it was back to good
spirits accompanied by a return of motivation to poke around. Nothing major to
report, just a Muir-esqe stroll in the woods to serve a reminder on how great
it is to spend time with 400 year-old cedars and putting in your own skin
track. So pleasant to see no tracks ahead, and only your own prints behind.
There
was one close call with a lasting lesson. On one section of trail, earbuds
still in, trying to side-hill on unbreakable crust, my uphill ski popped off. I
sat, and just then, a medium-refrigerator sized chunk of ice rolled down the
cliff and stopped right next to me and because of the buds, the only thing I
heard was the twang of Temper Trap’s guitars. Had I been just 10 feet higher, things
could have been nasty. Lesson: When in questionable terrain, be alert.
So there you have it: Another fantastic winter weekend
filled with great people, gorgeous Sierra vistas, wandering about in the frosty
mountains and even a couple lessons. May the winter continue to be fruitful for
you all.
Get out and enjoy winter, and it will return the favor |
I Love Winter
View from the top of Wood: worth the effort |
Weekends can be a number of things: complete duds, magical two [three?!] days, start out
great and end in a disaster, start inauspiciously and be a total silver lining,
and anything in between. With unseasonably cold temperature gracing the Sierra
and greater snowfall than the entirety of the previous season, it was time to
get back and enjoy the white blanket covering the range…well, the northern part
anyway. How the weekend would turn out was up for debate.
Love! We didn't hit the dew point, that means no surface hoar: Double your booyah. |
“Stay Rock Creek or north” was the welcome beta. The other
prerequisite was minimal driving – it had been a busy and travel-weary holiday
season, and just getting over the seasonal crud and illnesses meant I was
interested in staying close to home for a two-day stay-cation. Original
itinerary to chum the waters was to cross two mountain ski tours off my list:
Mt. Wood and Red Slate are prominent peaks in the area – Wood’s east face
dominates a five mile stretch of 395 south of Lee Vining and as soon as you get
above 10k feet between June Lake and Rock Creek, Red Slate sticks out as the
highest peak around. Problem with both is their approaches to ski quality vert
are non-trivial…at least by Sierra standards, so I was flexible. Ski partners
were either all busy, or not interested...it wasn’t looking good.
-18F at the trailhead? within 30 min it felt like +18C |
Time passed and two Tahoe buddies were primed on the itinerary, and one taker
in Mammoth for at least Mt. Wood meant I was set for a great weekend enjoying
the cold temps, the dry, stable snow, and the uninhibited, relentless
California sunshine with grand company.
Why Mono, you're looking as beautiful as ever |
Friday, 20:00: “Garth’s flight is cancelled, bussing in from
Sacramento” and 20:50 “I gotta bail on tomorrow.” Gosh, plans just took a turn for the worse...I decided I would solo
Wood and like Bloody a few weeks back, withdraw if conditions were anything but
safe and straightforward. Sunday? Who knows?
Look closely, and you can see Garth |
Saturday, 0600: “Leaving Tahoe in 15…we’re headed for Wood.”
Excitement of returned camaraderie in the backcountry was back. A later start
was warranted…well, I wanted to sleep in, so a leisurely wakeup, prep and drive
put me skinning in the -18F temps next to Silver Lake by 0830. Within minutes,
the wind died and I was on a pure SE facing pitch: -18 seemed more like 80F
with the merciless sun and my black garments and I felt my progress slow.
The Sierra to the south sure look delicious |
With greater elevation brought the cool breeze and before I
knew it, Garth and Scott were visible behind. Oddly, the distance between
stayed constant, and at the entry of the final ascending couloir, they waited
for me to turn around due to what looked like poor ascending conditions. The
inconsistent snowpack, a delightful combination of 3-6” wind slab, 3’ of
unconsolidated sugar, bulletproof slabs and breakable crust summed to a
psychologically taxing boot pack, but no matter, the summit ridgeline was in
sight.
Not a single bad turn on the entire face |
The time splits were maxed: I was standing on the summit,
staring with mouth ajar at the full east face while Scott and Garth stayed at
the adjacent bowl ½ mile back. We would descend different routes – not a
problem as we all enjoyed over 2k vert of cold smoke. Yes, these cold temps and
their accompanying snow and wind meant the top layer on the leeward faces was
light, fluffy, deep and surprisingly stable. The group was reunited at the base
of the peak proper, and we gang-skied the 3k’ low angle terrain and took turns
taking pictures all the way back to the road. Back to the cars with daylight to
spare, followed by hot-tubbing, cold brews and homemade pizza.
Getting this guy to laugh never gets old
|
Being the first tour of the year for all of us, Garth coming
from sea level and Scott voluntarily lugging around 15 extra pounds of camera
gear, Wood left us a bit drained. The thought of hauling all the way back to
Red Slate to a potentially wind-slabbed, steep and no-fall couloir didn’t sound
appealing, especially since one year prior the long approach was rewarded with
the most dangerous avy pit I’ve ever dug with 7’ crowns surrounding the lower
Red Slate basin. Esha was the new objective for Sunday, provided the road was
open at least a part of the way.
Plan B: Not Boehners, not the morning-after pill, but yes, a morning-after cure to lethargy: sweating out the demons while booting to the summit of McGee |
Alpine start not needed, but upon arriving at the McGee
Creek road, we found it full of snow within 200m of 395. In a moment of
weakness, we all succumb to the lack of gumption to skin 3 miles one way on a low-angle
road that – given a couple days of warmer temps – would be dry and passable by
car.
In hindsight, I sound really lazy. But staring at us from the parked car
were a couple of tasty looking chutes that at least looked full. “Look, there’s
a pair of guys already headed up, let’s change the itinerary and get quality
vert from the car.” McGee Mountain it was. Dan set a blistering skin track for
us, but given the slabby nature of the snow, we were only able to utilize ~ 1/3
of it, preferring to set our own path up the gut of the main chute. We topped
out and explored the plateau and a better descent while Scotty dealt with skin
problems.
Is that a ski skin, or a bath mat? G3, you suck. |
Next came the unexpected fun of probing around a new place.
I had been to the top of the main McGee chute before, but due to 50+ mph winds,
I blitzed down the beautiful corn and basked in the leeward sunshine instead of
poking around on top. This time, with two good buddies, we dined, wined, and
topped out on the true summit, affording gorgeous views of McGee Creek, Esha
Canyon and the Convict area.
Sure we looked at Esha’s northern chutes and
wondered what might have been had we sucked it up and skinned the road, but we
were over it, happily snapping our SLR shutters and cracking jokes in the
subzero temps whilst surrounded by an unexpected, gorgeous winter Sierra
panorama.
Scotty, after peering into McGee Canyon, decided topping out was worth it |
The temps hastened our descent, and before we knew it, we
were standing above what looked to be great snow in the next chute north of
what we ascended. Sure enough, it was. Save a little wind slab half way down,
only one rock was nicked the entire descent to the car. Not exactly waste deep
10%, but not a death crust and slab like what we saw on the skin up. Just a
great, non-stressful straight-from-the-car ski day with the guys.
G-man enjoyed the view too |
So what started out as a potential lonely solo mission on
the weekend ended up as two great days touring with friends and finding great
snow. You never know what’s in store in the backcountry, and oft times, you
have to push through: hateful boot-packs, heinous slab and crust, poor
weather…whatever. Bring a positive attitude, good people, ample gumption and it’s going to be
good time, or at least something to laugh about over beers later.
Getting from the summit to the car didn't suck |
Call me crazy, but it was delightful to have such crisp
winter air in the Sierra. When first moving to Tahoe 5 years ago, I recall with
a grin how NPR on the alarm clock would report “Extreme cold warning: lows of
17F expected.” Waking to temps of -20F made me flush with New England and Jackson nostalgia, and though
Rocky Mountain inhabitants will laugh at such temps I’ll take all the sub-zero time
I can get.
"McGee has the worst snow on the planet right now." I couldn't disagree more. |
Keep enjoying the winter where you are, everyone…you know I
will.
Sub-zero temps, great snow, beautiful mountains and these guys: Only good can come of this. |
Holidays 2012
Yes Montana, you have a big sky, and it's beautiful first thing in the morning |
Departing the Eastern Sierra for the holiday season was a
tough move this year. After a great day on Bloody and arrival of a storm as big
as any we received in the 2011/2012 season meant the dawn patrol before
departing town brought the first face shots of the season. “Ian, just point ‘em
down hill…if you’re going too fast, make a quick turn and shower yourself with
cold smoke.” Yes, the snow the week before Christmas was more bountiful, more
stable and drier than expected. That meant deep, hero turns before work…then
departure for some time with family. No biggy…the more it snows, the more full
the backcountry will be when I get back.
So much potential for good... |
The first leg of the journey saw the landing gear touchdown
in DC. With silly-cheap flights to cross the country, then to Vermont, I would
be continuing the one-way ticket travel theme of 2012. That was all fine and
good until getting on the metro to my brother’s apartment I got a call. “Cancel
your last leg…I need you to tow my boat up to New York.” The relaxed holiday
travel just got a little, well, less easy.
...Yet time and time again a bastian for power hungry, do-nothing bureaucrats |
Before finally coalescing and hauling his behemoth
wakeboarding boat behind America’s most ubiquitous people hauler up half the
eastern seaboard, it was time to explore our nation’s capitol a bit. Washington
was great, mostly because I got to spend time with brother, and see some of America’s
most poignant bi-polarism: Much of what is right with our country [world class
museums with free admission], situated directly next to the epitomy of what is
wrong [an almost completely dysfunctional government].
Those semi's probably got better gas milage. Oops |
Pete and I explored the botanical gardens, wandering through
a jungle bedecked with delicate orchids, equatorial spice plants, palm trees
and glass walls dripping with warm humidity. No ticket cost, just a friendly
head nod from the front desk as we wandered through the various rooms. It’s a
source of pride to know that just down the street, anyone can do the same, but
with air and space, contemporary paintings, the bill of rights…the list goes
on. We also took some time to complete a hot lap of the capitol. Years ago
friends and I would point at the marble dome saying “We work there,” happily
reminding ourselves of our senate page duties during the summer months.
The first gift of xmas 2012...and one that keeps on giving |
15 years later, as Pete and I meandered around the global
symbol of grassroots democracy, I could only muster a sense of tepid
ambivalence. Deep down, I want to know our government can do what’s right and
prove again we can be global leaders in the right arenas. More pragmatically, I
look to it as a sheepish sanctuary of selfish politicians eager to do nothing
but hold onto power so they can continue lining their pockets and those of
their wealthy corporate benefactors. I wish you well, DC, and it was good to
visit, but it was time to head to New England.
How many routes can you count from your doorstep? Home sweet home for five days |
Never have I operated a standard road-going vehicle aveaging
less than 10mpg. Waking in the morning to see brother to work, it was then time
for me to go to work, and that meant logging miles quickly and efficiently. I
had to get his 5k lb boat to upstate New York before 4pm, and I was successful.
I even squeaked in a detour through Princeton, NJ – long enough to admire the
beauty of the town and snicker at their namesake institution’s bloated sense of
prestige and importance. Then it was off to the green and white mountains of
Vermont. Three trips home in a year was a personal best in 2012, and though I
can’t expect to repeat it in 2013, it doesn’t damper the joy of spending time
with family, eating local delicious foods, sipping local microbrews and
reminding myself of why Vermont was such a great place to grow up. Sprinkle in
plenty of time relaxing and laughing and exchanging stories over scrumptious
home-cooked feasts, and you have a great winter-warmer recipe.
Yes, it's ok to smile whilst ice climbing...because it's so damn good |
Travelling out of Vermont proved to be difficult for
everyone but my father as he eschewed the travel advisories accompanying the
biggest storm in two years and got me to Hanover with time to spare for the
next Dartmouth Coach to Boston. Buses, an airport bivy, planes full of winter
sickness and two rental cars later, I was in a place that should elicit a smile
from anyone: Cody, WY. It was time for the annual ice pilgrimage to the Rocky
Mountains with a bunch of College gents and it was not to disappoint.
Mr. Feinstein even joined us for a couple days. Photo: Jeff Hebert |
The South Fork, Shoshone River area is a fantastically
beautiful concentration of conglomerate rock cliffs, mountains and buttes
spewing ice flows over cliffs in a frequency unmatched by any locale in the
contiguous 48. In the last 5 miles of the drive you set eyes on 100m flows of
ice from the cozy confines of your car seat and stare with pavlovian
anticipation of the next day’s objective. This year marked the first for
opening the Flying H ranch at the end of the road to ice climbers.
Eben, a little wet, but no worse for the wear |
There are
three alternatives to this lodging arrangement: car camp at the near by Deer
Creek campground [convenient, but rugged if you don’t love camping in < 0F
temps and have wet, cold gear], bivying at the base of climbs [brrr…why would
you ever do that?], or drive back into Cody and get some inexpensive lodging.
Problem with the latter is the road is 37 miles one way, winding in places and
speckled with deer at sporadic and unpredictable intervals. We jumped at the
possibility of sleeping out there [nice work, Ryan], and we were set for five
days of winter glory.
Day 1: Broken Hearts
Day 2: Festering Ice, Ice Fest
Day 3: School House Gully
Day 4: Mean Green
Day 5: Spying and Flying
Mr. Hebert was even smiling...but then, how can you not? |
Bryan joined us for the first two days of climbing while the
author had to bail after half of the climbs on day 2 due to illness. Of course,
there has to be something memorable with every trip and this time it was an
unfortunate turn of events. Ryan took a chunk of ice directly to the left
pupil, rupturing capillaries and abrading the cornea. That meant a late night
run to the Billings Clinic for a qualified ophthalmologist to conclude that
Ryan would regain full vision, albeit with some side effects including x-ray
and augmented reality vision a la the Terminator [watch out, ladies and the DOD].
Eben taking on pitch 1 of Mean Green. Photo: Jeff Hebert |
After some tasty talking with airline personnel exploiting
some ‘medical emergency,’ he was back home to accelerate his recovery and we
were back at the Flying H to make the most of the rest of our stay. Eben and
Jeff kept up the continuous climbing and got an afternoon in the Schoolhouse
gully after rallying from Billings in the am, and while the author took another
rest day to purge the travel demons, the ambitious pair knocked off the first
three pitches of Mean Green the next day. Jeff parted ways back to the pacific
northwest while Eben and the author went exploring for Spying and Flying. The
first pitch was too wet and thin in spots for our liking [quite surprising
given air temps were barely double digits F], so pitches 2 – 4 were completed
in its stead. Compared to the other climbs, S&F had a longer and more
arduous approach, but the quality of ice and aesthetics of the climb [certainly
even more so with pitch 1 fully in] are well worth the price of admission.
Mr. Hebert exercising wardrobe/gear color coordination and safety first on P2 of Mean Green. Photo: Eben Sargent |
For the author, it was then time to spend some welcome time
in MT with the better half – introducing her to ice climbing after a day of
flying with her and her father over the Beartooth Mountains in his Comanche
4-seater. There are fantastic ski and rock lines in those mountains for those willing
to endure a little approach and bush whack, and I was delightfully surprised at
the general burly-ness of this previously unknown terrain – I can’t wait to get
back with the AT setup and some additional gumption.
The author leaving the evil at the belay on pitch 4: Spying and Flying. Photo: Eben Sargent |
Lauren scaled four pitches of ice with nary a complaint –
not a surprise given her Montana heritage and how there was thick, blue plastic
ice everywhere in that canyon. One more day based out of Red Lodge involved a road trip with the lady up East Rosebud Canyon – a gorgeous glacially
carved valley on the Beartooth’s northern fringes. Home of California Ice and a
couple of other hidden and not-so subtle ice flows, I’m surprised I haven’t
explored more of this area and can’t wait to go back with more daylight and the
pointy bits.
First day ice climbing...and this has been in your back yard for how long? |
Yes, don't be afraid to smile when getting the goods... |
So after a couple weeks of getting around and about, I’m as
enthused as ever to make the most of the 2013 winter [with some work mixed in
for balance of course], I wish all of you a happy and healthy season, and look
forward to seeing you outside.
Highest peak in Montana...from the window of a Comanche...sure looks like fun |
Water and bubbles sure do funny things when it gets cold |
Bloody Couloir and Appreciation
The Sierra from Bloody Mountain: it is a young winter, and it is beautiful |
Living in an area where everyone else travels to spend their
vacation can be a double edged sword many times. A negative aspect is that one
is prone to taking for granted how good life can be where you live, and the
Eastern Sierra is not immune to this. With unsettled weather moving over the
Sierra, it limits the opportunities available for recreation: Is the snow
stable enough? The right consistency? Is it warm/cold/sunny/dry enough to
engage in other activities, etc., etc. The fact that out our front doors we can
go for a walk, ride a bike or even drive a car to a favorite reading locale in
one of the most beautiful areas of the country can get lost in a selfish
pursuit of personal objectives or an agenda of predetermined activities.
Cragging in a tee shirt, in December. Not bad. |
There is a silver lining to this cloud of inherent
geographical selfishness: when things conspire against your primary desires, it
only sharpens how good the experience can be once the opportunity returns.
Since returning from fall travels, the Sierra’s alpine environs have been in
the grey area of not summer, and not quite winter. That means rock routes will
be cold enough where much of the enjoyment of climbing them would be lost in
keeping warm and safe, and short days and snowy approaches call for greater
commitment. That doesn’t stop a lot of passionate members of the outdoor
community – and for others it merely highlights the need to change the activity
of choice or embrace the commitment.
Chasing 5 star sport routes: a fun way to change things up |
Activities were structured the last week to welcome dawn
patrols and gorge season. It’s easy to forget that one of California’s premier
sport climbing crags is just down the road, how one can have a civil wakeup
hour, and after a short drive on one of America’s most scenic roads be clipping
safe bolts and anchors on very enjoyable steep, volcanic tuff…in your tee
shirt…in December. Couple that with being surrounded with great people who are
eager to get stronger while enjoying each other’s company, and the recipe is
there for a great day…all the time.
"It's like outdoor gym climbing" |
There are nearly 700 named routes in the ORG guidebook, and
more every year. Heck, many routes are highly rated trad climbs, so bring a
rack down to mix things up. Bottom line is to have that outlet for strength
training and outdoor activity at any time of the year is quite an asset, and
not to be overlooked, nor should the effort expended by the many people over
the years to make that area available to everyone, to make it safe and
enjoyable for all to recreate. Thank you.
Sure the ORG isn’t the most spectacular place, but its views
are quite beautiful themselves, and waiting patiently for your return from the
depths for a post-climb beer at the car is a panoramic vista of the frosty
Sierra, providing another visual reminder of how lucky we are. Every trip down to
the ORG I’m meeting climbers making the commute from San Francisco, LA, San
Diego, Reno, you name it. If it’s sunny anywhere in California, chances are
high it is in the ORG, and it’s fun, and it’s in your back yard.
As yes, 'tis the season for...Sastrugi? How are those early season conditions again? |
Alas, as John Muir penned, “…the mountains are calling.” Though
belaying from a comfy bench in the California sun is delightful, being able to
get up into the higher mountains - at times - has become almost as necessary as
eating and sleeping, sometimes regardless of weather or conditions. After a
couple of laps in the Sierra backcountry last week, conditions in areas were
questionable, but more and more reports were coming in with the annual early
season advice: “If you’re hungry for it, and get out to the right places, the
goods are there.” With some most timely advice from locals, the sights were set
on Bloody Mountain’s Bloody Couloir.
It looks like it just might go |
It was a late start and because we’re nearing the winter
solstice, that meant movement would be constant throughout the day, and time
splits would be required. With sun setting between 1630 and 1700, that meant
turn around at 1400, with a little margin barring conditions and situations.
I’m not terribly proud that I didn’t have a partner for a backcountry ski
outing, but since I had done the approach before, knew the fastest, safest and
best way for ascent and decent with cell coverage throughout the day, I deemed
the risks of being alone manageable. Further, with conditions in the couloir
being relatively unknown, extra caution would be exercised, and no regrets
would be had if safety was at all in question and a retreat necessary.
With nothing but Dostoyevski, a playlist full of goodies and
my own thoughts for accompaniment, I left the turbo at the intersection of
Sherwin Creek Road and Laural Lakes OHV trail at 0930. Miles were covered
briskly as the cool morning air kept temps in the sun civil and ripe
discussions of the sensual Karamozov men rang in my ears. An hour in brought a
switch from approach shoes to AT boots. The OHV road leading virtually to the
middle of Bloody Couloir was a mix of snow and dirt, so that meant after
switching to boots, I was constantly swapping between skinning and walking. No
matter, before I knew it, the road was switching back, and slopes held snow
consistently. I was in the base of the couloir, risers on high by noon.
Risers on high at high noon: it's looking better |
Next came the crux: would the conditions be safe for a solo
ascent and descent? As I continued so gain elevation, it was apparent there was
a firm and stable base, with a delightful dusting on top ranging from a few
centimeters, to boot deep…this could be good. As the heart rate climbed, it was
time to switch from literature to music, and from skins to boot pack. The
rhythm of punching steps and sticking poles made the vertical pass by, and the
calories evaporate. Had to stop for nutrition half way up.
It is stable, and it is good...really good |
The couloir is split in the middle by a deceptively large
rock buttress, and having chosen the looker’s-left path the last time, I made
my way up looker’s right. For safety sake, unless there was ample evidence to
the contrary, I would be coming down what I went up. Consistently checking the
snowpack, with each segment of boot pack it was becoming readily apparent that not only was the snow stable,
but the dust on top was getting deeper – not deep enough, or slabbily unstable
enough to slide, but great to climb and an absolute dream to descend.
Being the first time above 11k and the longest day in a
while, I stopped a few times to catch a breath and take a photo, and before long,
I was at the steep roll over. Without my inclinometer I would pin it at ~45
degrees right now – enough where I was ascending on all fours, digging in the
whippet less for safety but for balance and efficiency of movement. Still
checking the safety of the snow pack, even at the roll over there were no signs
of unstable layers or facets to cause anxiety…the summit would be feasible, and
fun.
When the Going gets steep, put it in four low |
Another few steps and Eureka! – sunshine and the col at the
top. I dropped the skis, scampered to the summit and checked the time: 1345.
Plenty of minutes to soak in the sun, absorb the beauty offered by the Bloody
summit, and take in some calories and hydration. Through the beats on the
ascent, there was an echo that this type of day was much needed: constant movement,
an objective, and the humbling presence of the mountains. Sitting on top,
sheltered by the wind, showered in cloudless sun and surrounded by the
stunning, dusty white Sierra, never were the day’s decisions more
vindicated…until I strapped in and enjoyed ~2300 vert of cold dust glory.
In the middle of a hero snow descent off a 3800m peak: stop, breath, and reflect on how lucky I am |
Yes, only the very top had the breakable crust seen
elsewhere in my BC travels the previous week, and after the first few feet, it was stable snow on
top of a firm base. I didn’t even hit any land sharks on the way down. The
turns were so good, I was a bit disgruntled I didn’t start earlier to afford
the opportunity for a second lap. After all, the boot pack was in, and the
other side of the couloir was probably just as good. Oh well…next time. At the
bottom, looking up, I could do nothing but stare and smile.
Not a single bad turn in the entire thing |
Returning to the Laurel lakes road, it was back to the
on-again, off-again skis as I picked my way back down to my approach shoes,
stopping periodically to look back at the line with a grin and a deep sense of
satisfaction. By 1600 I was out of ski boots and scampering down the rest of
the road to the turbo, and eating snacks in the drivers seat by 1630.
If only there was more daylight for a second lap... |
All told, it’s been a great week to stop and think how lucky
it means to be in the Sierra: a few dawn patrols, humbling whippers in the
gorge and solid rest made the appetite for the mountains this weekend as ravenous as ever. That outdoor hors d'oeuvre made the return to Bloody and the higher mountains on fantastic conditions that much more poignant and unforgettable, and just whets the appetite for more winter splendor. Heck, I haven't even swung the nomics yet this year.
With holiday travel looming on the horizon, and with this backcountry deliciousness lingering, I have a renewed confidence this will be a great winter, and I'll be sure to appreciate whatever the weather brings in this ice-stone-and-snow shangri-la.
With holiday travel looming on the horizon, and with this backcountry deliciousness lingering, I have a renewed confidence this will be a great winter, and I'll be sure to appreciate whatever the weather brings in this ice-stone-and-snow shangri-la.
Red Slate, you're looking rather handsome...perhaps you'll be next... |
Gear:
- Thermal next-to-skin long sleeve base layer
- OR ferrosi hoody
- Mountain hardware synthetic puffy
- Mammut softshell pants
- Dynafit TLT5 boots
- Dynafit vertical bindings
- Dynafit Stoke Skis
- BD Ascension Skins
- BD Agent Pack
- Camp Al Crampons [not needed]
- 1 whippet
- La Sportiva Boulder X approach shoes
Nutrition
- 2x gu chomps cranberry apple [3.5/5 stars]
- Dark Chocolate Dreams sammy
- 125g of frito/jalapeno cheese puff salty crunchy deliciousness combo
- 1.5L water
- Thermal next-to-skin long sleeve base layer
- OR ferrosi hoody
- Mountain hardware synthetic puffy
- Mammut softshell pants
- Dynafit TLT5 boots
- Dynafit vertical bindings
- Dynafit Stoke Skis
- BD Ascension Skins
- BD Agent Pack
- Camp Al Crampons [not needed]
- 1 whippet
- La Sportiva Boulder X approach shoes
Nutrition
- 2x gu chomps cranberry apple [3.5/5 stars]
- Dark Chocolate Dreams sammy
- 125g of frito/jalapeno cheese puff salty crunchy deliciousness combo
- 1.5L water
A Red Rocks Thanksgiving
Flaming sunrises are a bonus to unsettled Sierra weather |
Over the last few years I’ve had some good trips to Red
Rock National Scenic Area west of Vegas. They were composed of large groups gang-roping crags in the desert
sun for temporary relief from winter’s grasp, two-person missions to tackle
long classics and medium group tours of the moderates covering the large canyon
walls.
Before heading to Red Rocks, let's get some turns in, whattya think? |
It was this Thanksgiving’s trip to Red Rocks that has proven
to be one of the best on memory. With work’s demands preventing larger travel
to further destinations, a high pressure system camping over the desert southwest
prescribed unseasonably warm temperatures, scant wind and ample opportunity to
continue experiences on some of Red Rocks’ most classic routes. I would be so
lucky to have a companion on the trip, and after some last minute planning,
another posse of good friends would be making the trek south from Tahoe as
well. A storm was brewing: a storm of good times.
Mercy that's a lot of varnish to grab onto...and to snag a rope on rappel. Birdland: a winner |
Since moving out west and making periodic trips to Vegas,
experiences were usually balanced: rustic camping in the campground on the edge
of the city, tackling the sandstone and varnished rock offered by canyons and
crags, then taking in the spectacle of Las Vegas: the flashing lights,
misplaced architecture, bursting fountains and craziness of Sin City. Through
it all, there is one part of Las Vegas that has always garnered personal
interest: the fact that Cirque Du Solei has helped define Vegas as a hub for
world class theatrical entertainment. With a lady for accompaniment showing the
same interest in catching a show, it was time to make it happen.
Lauren topping out on the unforgettable corner distinguishing pitch 8 on Black Orpheus |
A good friend in the area hooked us up with tickets to Ka at
the MGM grand, mother nature cooperated to make rock climbing a perfect outing
and a posse of good folk assured this was to be a Thanksgiving to remember.
Topping out on Black Orpheus: Worth the five stars |
All told, climbing included unhindered pitches on Birdland,
Black Orpheus and Sour Mash, with a Thanksgiving Day cragging session in the
Calico Basin. Birdland was finished with plenty of time for lounging at our
hotel, a leisurely stroll up and down the strip and a delicious Thai dinner at
Bally’s. Then it was on to the MGM to take in the marvel of the Ka set and its
theatrics on its 7 moving stages. I’ll say the hype is worth it for the show,
as I was mesmerized by the moving set alone, to say nothing about the
acrobatics of the actors and screen play.
That's a wrap: stuff that gear away and lets go get some dinner |
We woke up late on Thanksgiving Day, rendez-vous’ed with the
Tahoe crew, procured all the fixings for thanksgiving dinner and cragged until
the sun set over the Rainbow cliffs to the west. Thanksgiving dinner was
surprisingly delicious as the traditional menu was not compromised by the
rustic Red Rock campground accommodations. Friday and Saturday held in store
unimpeded ascents of Black Orpheus and Sour Mash, with the only hiccup
occurring when the new iphone 5 used for beta took a 300’ freefall halfway up
the Black Velvet Wall. Oh well, at least it’s a broken phone, and not a broken
limb or spirit. Memorable was being that
guy who asked parties on neighboring routes for beta while we worked our
way up another five star route in Black Velvet Canyon. “The next pitch says to
work your way up left then right, and then, oh…you’re going to die.” Awesome.
The Black Velvet Wall is justifiably crowded: ironically, we didn't have to wait once on Sour Mash |
Sunday brought another early start for a trail running photo
shoot followed by breakfast and a departure to our respective homes. It brought
an end to an impromptu Thanksgiving that is one for the books – a balance of
great rock, weather, entertainment and time with great people. 2012 has been
the year of making lemonade, and this was no exception.
After 29 pitches in four days, it's time to get ready for winter |
Fall 2012
When I say fall, what do you invision? |
It’s been a while since the last entry, but not because I
haven’t been out and about doing memorable things. Merriam provided a great
bookend to the Sierra Alpine season, which brought with it the ambivalence of
Summer’s end: Sadness to call an end to running around our nation’s mountain
ranges in short sleeves looking for fun things to do in great weather
contrasted by the excitement of watching trees turn their golden, red and
orange hues, the crispness of the air, and a shift to different activities.
The fall colors aren't restricted to the trees |
First stop was a trip back east to see good friends tie the
knot and to see friends and family in New England. There’s nothing quite like
driving through townships established in the 18th century with grass
being the only thing making their town greens green – their aged soft- and
hardwood canopies painted with the palette of fall as the birches, sugar maples
and oaks usher in the fall and winter months. A great time of year to put on a
sweater – and a rain jacket, as it turned out – and enjoy the company of family
and friends at home.
A typical October scene in New England |
I was greeted at home with new technology, and something for
which I’m most proud of my parents: Taking advantage of state incentives to
make their home more sustainable and self-sufficient, I got to observe the
installation of a 5kW solar system on the roof of the garage. What was
previously a south-facing slant of asphalt shingles is now a functional and
aesthetic black silicon power plant that through the photoelectric effect is
now making the electric company pay my parents, instead of the other way
around.
Panels to turn the meter backward |
For someone who works in the renewable energy industry, I’m
excited to see those closest to me taking steps to improve the earth, and we
all get the geeky entertainment of logging directly into the system to see its
output when the sun comes out and watch the meter on the side of the house turn
backwards…swiftly.
A macintosh that doesn't have to apologize for its maps app: I love eating |
A wedding happened in a part of New Jersey that I didn’t
even know existed. Here I thought the state consisted of a turnpike, an aged
and antiquated casino city, and a garden of industry helping to fuel the greater
New York City metropolitan economy. What I witnessed was plucked from a movie
set: rolling, manicured hillsides with old wood fences penning in horses and
giving stately presence to the splendid homes of the 1%. Throw in a fine
celebration to mark the union of two great people, reunion with an old friend,
and the Jersey trip was well worth the effort.
Don't let a little overcast get you down: go find a new trail on Snake Mountain and make sure Dad is on board |
One doesn’t vacation to New England in the fall to get
immaculate weather. Usually there are at least a few brisk, sunny days making
strolls through the foliage-bedecked hills mandatory, but even I was surprised
to return to Vermont to two solid weeks of either rain or heavily-overcast
skies. No matter, as the hospitality was more than warm, stomachs were never
not full of the finest homemade goods, the seasonal fruits and vegetables
heavenly and the fall colors better than any impressionist rendition. Besides,
people flock to the desert southwest for the sunshine and warm temps, which is
exactly what was next on the agenda.
Did I mention I love eating? |
The flight pulled into Vegas on time…just in time, actually,
for more rain and low pressure. Yes, rain in Vegas, and after stops for
provisions, that rain continued all the way to Zion National Park. The best of
intensions for rock climbs in that incredible cathedral of sandstone were for
not: Three straight days of rain meant the stone was saturated. For both safety
and proper climbing etiquette, climbing classics on wet sandstone is to be
avoided, so after a perusal of the walls, Ian and I decided our plans for Zion
would have to wait, as the necessary weather and time windows were not in our
favor.
How do those things exist? |
No matter: with the road winding through the park closed to
all motorized traffic except for tour busses, what cyclist in their right mind
would not pedal the miles of red chip seal with nary a car in sight? Certainly
not this guy: One of our country’s most beautiful parks, and some of the best
views to take in while breathing fresh air and cutting through the Virgin River
Canyon on two wheels was not to be missed. Especially poignant was the
post-apocalyptic visions of an entire two-laned roadway with only periodic
pedestrians and cyclists. Where are all the cars? Who cares? Not me.
Not a surprise to see the Trek cycling vacations van parked
at a local hotel.
With the Zion plans postponed to another season, it was time
for the annual pilgrimage to the sandstone paradise that is southeast Utah.
There is something about the glowing red sandstone of that part of the world -
Arches and Canyonlands National Parks, Castle Valley, the Fisher Towers and
Indian Creek to name a few highlights – that feels like home.
Who loves fall in the desert? This guy |
Sure home
has always really been New England, but the red hues of an exposed petrified
sea floor have a special way of drawing you back, and reluctance to see you leave.
When driving across the southern Utah high desert, I’m struck by how there are
actually billboards I like: they are billboards telling the story of millions
of years of geological history, they are everywhere you turn and they force you
to get out of the car and stare in wonder while making your face hurt from
smiling so much.
Billboards I can tolerate |
Where the jamming is so damn good |
Enough with the frothy eloquence: To Moab and to Indian
Creek to be humbled by splitter cracks gracing Wingate walls. Days of climbing
desert cracks never cease to provide at least two things: ample humble pie and
reminders of how there is always room to get stronger at something. Desert life
is simple, mostly made up of minimal ingredients: sleeping, climbing, eating,
reading, conversations, story telling and a touch of tomfoolery. Throw them all
together with a group of great people in a dramatic and mostly pristine
landscape and you have the recipe for an unforgettable experience. Highlights included Ancient Art in the fishers, and lots of milage on many walls in the creek.
"Damn I love the desert" |
The views indicate you're in the right place |
Alas, unlike some who call that part of the country home for
months, I had to make my visit more temporary, and schedules had me fleeing
westward back to the Sierra. For anyone making the trek across the southern
Utah desert, it’s worth the detour to check out Monument Valley. It’s not a
wonder that our Native American friends hold such reverence for that area: The
towers are improbable, and the views majestic. The very existence and shape of
the Mittens, the Totem Pole, the North Window all defy logic, and demand at
least an hour of detour time in the trek from points a to b.
Worth the detour |
After ogling and picture taking, it was time to express to
the Eastside. Next came trips over to the Bay and Lovers Leap, and before I
knew it, fall was coming rapidly to a close. Cool temps in the Sierra got
cooler and snow blanketed nearly everything, which means it’s time for another
season change, and here’s hoping for the coldest, snowiest season in memory.
Lauren squeezes in one last lap on the granite before the temps drop and the snow falls |
Still eating...this time a platoon of gingerbread soldiers |
Fall, it's been great this year, and I bid you adieu 'til next |
Merriam Peak
Keeping things fresh and new is healthy in all aspects of life: changing up the diet to experience new things and find a new favorite dish, travelling to a new global location lending perspective to our developed, comparably posh American living, swapping authors to get a new literary taste.
|
It was high time to change things up a bit in the Sierra. Five straight weeks of ridge traversing: most all un-roped outings following precipitous ridgelines and experiencing constant movement at the various altitudes throughout the range. Though it did involve multiple trailheads, one neglected origin of Sierra adventure was noticeably neglected, and the more I thought, I remembered it had been over three years since my last outing out of Pine Creek Canyon. Funny, because a pair of ski tours originating from the area since, and the last time I left for a summer soiree all left me with the desire to explore the area more.
There is a presence in the canyon that is unmatched – in my opinion – by any other trailhead in the Sierra: You’re looking at 6k feet of vertical relief from the road to the Wheeler Crest, and coupled with color of the rock at all angles, the view is never old. Some might view the Tungsten mine and its accompanying aging infrastructure as a visual blight to the canyon. Sure, it’s a rusted metal vestige from postbellum times long past, but it gives the canyon scale: Like the clouds necessary to give dog-fighting jets a backdrop showcasing their maneuvers, the mine is the stationary, human scale at the bottom of the picture, giving a reminder to visitors they are surrounded by a nature that makes our mortal influence paltry in comparison. It doesn’t hurt that the roads constructed to reach the tunnels far above the mine evoke an image of access to the world’s great ranges, and you have a stage from which many good things can – and will – happen. Not a wonder Galen Rowell purchased stock in the mine back when he had the opportunity – if I knew it gave me a piece of the area and a stake in preserving its beauty for future generations, I would do the same.
The trailhead also serves as another takeoff point for a variety of adventures in the Sierra. Are high-country fishing or low-key hiking, photography and backpacking your thing? It offers spectacular views of alpine lakes and peaks to sate your backcountry pallet. For Mike and I, it also offers a handful of alpine rock routes that are either queued for more ascents, growing in popularity, or patiently awaiting discovery. For this go, it was our turn to try our hand on the direct north buttress [DNB] of Merriam, a route many of our colleagues had done earlier this year with some fervor, and with some pictures posted begging a visit to the area.
Mike being a stronger climber, his original sights were aimed at the newly established Croft-Rands route. When Peter and Lisa put up a first ascent and you hear rumblings it might quickly attain ‘awesome’ status should his encyclopedia of Sierra alpine climbing be updated, making it an objective makes sound sense. I was not strong enough for the sustained 5.11 climbing, however, so the DNB became the objective. Not interested in lugging overnight gear back to Royce Lakes and setting up a base camp, we aimed for a car-to-car schedule having us back in civilization at a reasonable hour. After sorting gear in Rovana, we were moving towards the day’s objective by 0430.
Now the optimism I mentioned earlier about the trailhead is not shared by all, and frankly when you’re doing the seemingly endless switchbacks under a cloak of darkness where you only see the rocks strewn in front of you illuminated by the beam of your feeble phosphorous-tinted LED headlamp, it’s necessary to rely on your other senses to make the approach more bearable. With a diurnal breeze filling the branches of old growth cedar along the trail’s lower reaches and the murmur of the surrounding creeks filling the breeze’s lulls with a delightful white noise, the miles tick by and before we knew it, dawn with her fingertips of rose were lighting up the clouds overhead, and giving a most delightful reflection on the creeks underfoot.
“Pink in the morning, sailor take warning.” Mike mentioned. The forecast was ‘partly cloudy,’ which, when translated into Sierra dialect usually means abundant sunshine; as the hours ticked by, though, it seemed like we would experience a rare overcast day in the Range of Light. A novelty given the consistently good weather typical of these mountains, but given the approaching fall season and the aspect of our climb, such a meteorological projection was not conducive to being warm today. No matter…we came prepared.
After a quick stop to drop some gear, we finished off the talus approach to the base of the DNB, were roped, geared up and ro-cham’ing for the first lead by 0900.
"Damn I love rock climbing," Mike reports on pitch two, getting into the goods |
Mike took over for the next two pitches and pulled the cruxes with ease. Steep hands to ‘tenuous lie-backing’ to wide crack was not a recipe for me to send clean, so Mike welcomed the offer to do double duty, and he did so with style. Well done, sir.
One more pitch involving an airy fingers traverse under an enormous summit block was very memorable. 4th and 5th class scrambling with a gratuitous a-cheval move on a knife edge and we were sunning ourselves on the summit in a cloud break, sipping some cab and devouring the salty crunchy mix that justified bringing the Petzl Bug on the climb. 1330: not bad. The early start to the day, coupled with the 8+ mile approach and requisite technical climb almost caused a summit napping hour, but we delivered ourselves from the temptation in favor of attaining another objective: getting to the car without needing headlamps again.
...and the traverse in better style |
“Should we go tag Royce because it’s there?”
“That choss doesn’t look like much fun.”
“Agreed.”
“Let’s bounce.”
The NE ridge descent was a delightful medley of well-behaved talus, boulders and sand. Within minutes we were gawking at the splitters on Merriam’s NW side and searching for the aforementioned Croft-Rands, and a few minutes more sorting gear at the nadir of Merriam’s north moraine as Mike was reunited with his stashed pack.
We took an alternative descent – opting for a direct line to Pine Creek pass that has us walking across the Royce Lakes Basin. You might as well photo-shop a person into the Mars rover pictures, as the basin is a saunter across rocks, sand and sparse alpine grass ringed by red and white mountains…nothing more.
I’m always slow on the descent as I oft sit, breath and liberally attempt to do digital justice to the scenes nearly unchanged from when the first trekkers visited in centuries prior. Sure we all lament at the end of a long alpine day how nice it would be to have the Sierra equivalent to the Aiguille du Midi or Montenvers to briskly shuttle us back to hot saunas and jovially-shared stories over libations of our choice, but it is also incredible to appreciate the efforts expended by our predecessors to ensure the only influence by man in our periphery are our foot prints.
Mike and I spent 2/3’s of our day walking in places we didn’t see another footprint. Humbling. When will I be back to Pine Creek Pass again? Another three years? I should hope not, now that I know the rock and vistas that await another sortie to the area.
"...and miles to go before I sleep." |
Mike and I spent 2/3’s of our day walking in places we didn’t see another footprint. Humbling. When will I be back to Pine Creek Pass again? Another three years? I should hope not, now that I know the rock and vistas that await another sortie to the area.
Due to travels this year, my Sierra alpine season was abridged; I was able to get some things done, yet there are still many objectives remaining on the list.
If Mr. Croft is still putting up memorable first ascents after spending the time he does here, I’m confident that objective list could balloon with a little effort and attention. For now, though, it is time to change gears: getting ready for fall and the adventures a changing season brings: keeping it fresh, and leaving some excitement for next summer’s alpine agenda.
One of Pine Creek's many rock flavors |
If Mr. Croft is still putting up memorable first ascents after spending the time he does here, I’m confident that objective list could balloon with a little effort and attention. For now, though, it is time to change gears: getting ready for fall and the adventures a changing season brings: keeping it fresh, and leaving some excitement for next summer’s alpine agenda.
Pine Creek: Lots to love |
- Single rack camelot to 0.5, double rack 0.75 to 2, singles 3 & 4
- One set of stoppers
- 4 Alpine draws
- 5 biner'ed slings
- 70m 9.2mm bipattern
Nutrition:
- 2 gu's, 1 package gu chomps
- granola bar
- delicious homemade deli sandwich
- 250g salty, crunchy concoction [assorted sesame stix, fritos]
- 500mL vitamin W: 2011 Cab Sav