Twelve Days in the Northeast

Hi folks,

The most recent trip report is posted here on Climbing.com. I'm no poet, but I took a shot at writing a poem anyway. Because of the way the text wraps around the photos, it doesn't quite look as I submitted it, but that's OK. I really have no clue if it's any good or not. Here is the beginning to give you an idea:

Upon the passing of Hurricane Earl;
he flew in just before
we drove up to Acadia,
to climb the pink granite.

Aid, AIARE, Avalanches, Oh My!

So I've been pretty productive as of late. I took a group up a mountain, I learned to rope solo. I practiced aid climbing. I took and AIARE avalanche course, and I almost got crushed with several hundred tons of ice and snow at the bottom of Mt. Pok-O-Moonshine. Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of pictures. Cry me a river.


About three weeks ago I was visited at work by a group of high school juniors from Connecticut. It was awesome to finally get a group of students who I was actually interacting with instead of just babysitting. Unfortunately, they were boarding school jocks and fit the stereotype perfectly. Either way I got to go climb a mountain. So after trying to get people to get it together we were finally in the van and driving. We get there and the weather is alright. It's sunny and clear but still fairly cold. The peak we were headed for, Wright, is notoriously exposed and windy. So after teaching everyone how to put on their snowshoes we got moving. Keeping people comfortable in winter is difficult. Often people wear too little or too much clothing so either way they are freezing. The fact that in a group of eight their are slow hikers and fast hikers makes this even more difficult. When the fast group would stop they'd start getting cold and so when the slower hikers caught up we really couldn't stop for them to catch their breath and none of them wanted to lead. Nevertheless we made it all the way to the top and it was fantastic. Being above treeline gave us the sun and so we were warm and comfortable and amazingly the wind was absent. This is the first time I've been on top of a mountain without wind.

The weekend after the group left I got to go to my AIARE avalanche course. I got to learn that snow is in flakes until it hits the ground and then it's grains. Kind of like people in agriculture feel the need to differentiate between dirt and soil. Anyways we met near Burlington, VT to do a quick intro of the materials. Me and another person asked if anyone knew where we could sleep without being bothered. He was in his car and I was in my bivvy sack. Poverty, does a body good. Surprisingly nobody offered a room, or a floor, or a couch. I guess we looked fairly unseemly. So I ended up sleeping on a snow bank behind a grocery store. I found out around midnight that I was about thirty feet from some train tracks as the train rumbled by and scared me out of my cluastrophobic sack. The next day was more class work and we learned how to use avalanche transcievers. That night I slept up on a mountain because that is where we were meeting the next day. Luckily their were no trains there. So that next day we dug some pits, looked at some snow, and I made plans to climb ice with the other vagrant.

So I met that vagrant in Wilmington Notch and we proceeded to climb Multiplication Gully, a two pitch WI3. It was probably the coldest it has been all winter and so when my new cohort said he couldn't feel his toes afterwards I was slightly worried he'd be losing some toes. He was alright though. Besides that I lead my first ice climb! Nothing I wouldn't be comfortable soloing, but it was an important landmark. The next climb we did was the three pitch WI3 Chouinard's Gully, another classic. This time we simul-climbed (climbed at the same time). So a climb that would have taken at least two hours pitched out, took less than forty five minutes. From now on, when there's moderate climbing, I'm simul-climbing. Either way I was happy to have done my first real leads on ice. Now I just need some ice screws of my own.

Fast forward one more week. I'm not an aid climber. In fact I don't think I will ever be enclined to aid climb except for reasons of safety or because it's too cold to free climb. So when the mercury was teetering around five degrees I decided to try some new things. One was aid climbing which I had never seriously persued and rope soloing which I had never really entertained because it requires a lot of work. So there are a few ways it can work. You can either use a rope soloing device. Those cost a couple hundred bucks. You can also use a few knots, either a clove hitch or friction knots. Since I'm cheap I used a clove hith. The one thing that bothers me is how to keep the connecting carabiner from cross-loading. Anyways, most people work into this sort of thing slowly, they learn from other people, they read books, take classes, and are careful. I decided to just go for it. So I walked up to the climb, built an anchor at the bottom and started aiding my way up. Things were going pretty well until I got near the top. Since the climb ends at a ledge there was plenty of snow which hindered my progress as the crack I was using filled with ice and snow.

At my topmost point I was slightly below a small red hex. I was trying to get into another crack system which had less ice and snow. As I stretched to clip the piece I had place I suddenly had the feeling of floating and then quickly stopping. I had fallen. I had bounce tested the hex but it had been in my head that I was pulling it in a bad direction, so that's a good reason to listen to your intuitions. So that was my first fall on gear and it held. I only fell about ten feet but even so I decided not to go back up to tempt fate again, because if that piece popped it meant I was on the ground. Unfortunately, this meant I was leaving two stoppers and a draw.

Today I decided to head back and get me gear. No big deal, just climb the ledge system to the left, rap down, retrieve gear, then ascend the line and walk back down. Now it's been unseasonably warm around the Adirondacks recently which means snow and ice are melting and falling. When I pulled up to the cliff I sort of noticed the verglassed rock above where I was going to be. Since a huge ice line was to my left I was more worried about that. As I hiked at the base of the cliff I noticed the tinkling of falling ice. Since it was just small shards I didn't think much of it. It was kind of neat to see the falling, glittering pieces. Then I heard a crack and a swoosh. Looking up I saw I was about to be bombarded by ice ranging in size from baseball to basketball size. Baseball size pieces can crack limbs and knock one unconcious. I quickly ducked behind a tree. I took a few dingers on the helmet and backpack and painful one in the arm but no permanent damage. Being about thirty feet from my intended spot I made a beeline for it. That spot being a small cave. About ten feet from that spot I hear the same stomach churning crack much louder and pronounced. I don't even look up, I just run for the little cave as pieces of ice start to thud on the ground around me. As I dive into the cave and turn I see tons of snow and ice crashing onto the ground, some pieces as large as a dresser. After poking my head out cautiously I decided no more ice was going to fall and quickly headed up the ledge to retrieve my gear while the adrenaline was still pumping. All I could say as I came out of the cave was holy shit.

Overall, it's been an enlightening week and a dangerous one. I'm gonna start watching my back more often before I get myself into trouble.

Upper Tiers at Poke-O-Moonshine

Me: If I could have just one weekend when I didn't have to bushwhack, I'd be in eternal heaven.
"Jello": Suck it up, pussy. This is how we get there.

A 6:30am wake-up call was followed by an hour's hike straight up the left side of Poke-O-Moonshine, only to be overshadowed by yet another adventure to find hardly sought after routes in places no one with any sanity ever goes. Our goal on Sunday was to hit the Upper Tiers section of Poke-O, if only because the approach to the popular sections were too easy, too well-populated and "not there", as Sir Edmund Hillary might have muttered if Everest was only the second tallest mountain in the world. Our team of four slugged its way up to the old fire ranger's house and pushed right into a dry stream bed, thick brush that kept telling us it didn't want us to climb there that day, and onto the base of cliffs that no one can see from below. We were alone to explore, laugh and climb whatever the fuck we wanted to climb. "Chuck" and "Utah" (I didn't give him a name the last time, but there it is, now) went off in search of a hidden gem of a 5.6 that supposedly sat right on the edge of the world as they saw it before them. "Jello" and I found Fairview (5.8), a series of parallel cracks that finish with a slick mantle up on to a nearly unforgiving slab. Our hands were sore from the day before, but we didn't care. There's only one chance to climb that day, right?

Fairview (5.8) - 1 pitch - trad - belay off a large spruce at the top or set an anchor in the crack at the top of the climb - Poke-O-Moonshine - Upper Tiers

This climb starts about 150 feet to the right of the obvious right-facing corner on the left edge of the taller section of Upper Tiers. Sound confusing? Trust me. Just walk in, find the tallest sections and you'll see the the corner hanging tantalizingly above a roof with a 5.11 crack emerging out into the sun (if it's shining, which it was for us that day). Then go 150 feet to the right and find the right-hand crack that goes up about 10 feet and then steps left to another crack for another 10 feet. The route then steps left again and follows the last crack up to the slopey top.

"Jello" led this route to the very last move and had to back down. I don't blame him, either. When I got on the first couple of sections I immediately howled in pain, as the sharp rock turned my hands into a braille art canvas complete with grandma's needlepoint book cover. I felt as if I was being stitched into a series of moves I never would have considered had it not been my cams left at the top.

I placed one hand after another in and stepped across and up with one toe-torque after another. Finally, I reached the top, plopped a small tri-cam in the uppermost hold and went for it: layback, get a tricky right foot up high, slap-slap-slap for the best available sloper, left foot comes up, keep from squatting backwards and...and...breathe...breathe...go...wait...go...nope...PUSH to the crimp that I hoped was there. With my heart racing, I pulled my feet up over the edge and slowly walked to safety. "Jello" came up after me, felt the same anxiety that I did, and swore he'd kick the guidebook author's ass if he ever saw him.

"Jello": That's no fucking 5.8! I would have fallen on my ass! Psychological crux my foot! That fucker's going to get someone killed someday. That's a real crux. The asshole took an onsight away from me. I'LL KICK HIS ASS!

We hurried downhill soon after that because "Utah" and "Jello" had to get back to work. "Chuck" and I hopped in the car, took a picture of Poke-O on our way out and headed home. Damn, if the 'Dacks were that much closer I'd be there more than anywhere else.


All this talk of crack lately makes me wish I could add audio to my blog. Because I can't, here's a sample of how I feel about the nearing end of the climbing season ("Jello" won't have weekends off after this coming weekend. Bummer. Looks like I'm inside until Red Rocks):

Lullaby - The Cure
on candystripe legs the spiderman comes
softly through the shadow of the evening sun
stealing past the windows of the blissfully dead
looking for the victim shivering in bed
searching out fear in the gathering gloom and
suddenly!
a movement in the corner of the room!
and there is nothing i can do
when i realize with fright
that the spiderman is having me for dinner tonight!

quietly he laughs and shaking his head
creeps closer now
closer to the foot of the bed
and softer than shadow and quicker than flies
his arms are all around me and his tongue in my eyes
"be still be calm be quiet now my precious boy
don't struggle like that or i will only love you more
for it's much too late to get away or turn on the light
the spiderman is having you for dinner tonight"

and i feel like i'm being eaten
by a thousand million shivering furry holes
and i know that in the morning i will wake up
in the shivering cold

and the spiderman is always hungry...

"Come into my parlour", said the spider to the fly... "I have something here for you"

Losing My Palmolive Hands - Barkeater Cliffs

This weekend's trip consisted of me, "Chuck" and "Jello" finding ways to brutalize our bodies in ways we never planned and didn't expect. Our mission was to hit Barkeater Cliffs on Saturday and Poke-O-Moonshine Sunday, if time and weather allowed. We accomplished both to varying degrees.

The ride to Barkeater Cliffs from Willsboro was about an hour long in a chilly, low-hanging fog that did a nice job of cleaning the one-inch thick layer of dirt off the exterior of my car. We arrived at the parking lot and hiked in with the chill lingering in the air. We had paid attention to the weather forecast, and it was supposed to be sunny and warm all day. But lost somewhere in the radar and doppler signals was the real forecast: that of a biting wind that grabbed the cool air and whipped it through the dark valley where I was saving "Jello", once again, from a lack of proper clothing by offering my pullover even though I was shivering without it.

Big Bertha (5.6) - 1 pitch - trad - chains at the top

This was a nice route, but with the cold air stripping the heat that was generated in our hike up, the rock felt as brutal under my fingertips as a cheese grater feels on a raw day. Start this climb to the left of where the path emerges from the forest below. There will be large boulders all around, and a tree right at the base of the climb. Work up the first notch, and then layback the left-arching crack even though it feels as if it would be better to jam and use the left-hand face for feet. After that, get up the next notch and finish at the chains just below the roof.

Mr. Clean (5.8) - 1 pitch - trad - chains at the top

"Jello" had a story to go with this route. That morning at breakfast he recalled how he had been climbing at this cliff with two friends when one decided to take a run up this route. The kid didn't have enough large cams, so he ran it out a bit to the crux. Finally, he got just below the crux, about 15 feet off the ground, placed the best pieces he had and, just as he was about to clip...slipped off and found the hard ground beneath him. The poor kid refused to be carried out and instead crabwalked all the way back to the car. This time, "Jello" wanted to make sure he had enough proper-sized cams to make this work. We had mine, and he borrowed a couple of a co-worker. The result? Battle-scarred glory.

This route is to around the corner and to the right of Big Bertha. It's the beautiful crack in a wide dihedral that makes the obvious right-facing corner irrelevant. Head up the crack (jamming is hard work, but it'll get one up without pumping out) to the crux, which is a transition from the vertical crack to the left-arching flake. Then head up the notch to the chains below the roof. Don't forget to use the features on the left face to get through the crux. It'll feel exposed in the sense that one has to move away from the gear, but this move is actually pretty easy to make if one's head is in the game.

"Jello" went up the first crack to the crux (about 15 feet off the ground) four times and downclimbed each time. Not once did he fall or rest on the rope. Each time he downclimbed, stiffly, awkwardly and with a lot of pumped veins shooting adrenaline through his arms. He wanted the onsight. He didn't want to fall, and he was driven to get this route clean the first time after working all autumn on learning to climb cracks. Finally, on the fifth time, he found the holds on the left face and cranked through them. Three moves later through the arching flake, he was playing with jugs to the top. The ride down was one filled with shouts and fist-pumping. It was then my turn.

Let's be clear, I don't like cracks. Why? Because I'm a face climber who likes his hands to be no closer or further apart than shoulder distance width. I like my feet underneath my hands in such a way that allows me to control every move with grace. Punching my hands into the unknown where my feet are directly below my hands, and directly above my knees is not the secure feeling I enjoy. But with "Jello"'s obsession to learn to climb crack better, they, too, became my obsession. I wasn't going to lay this back, not like I had done to every other crack I couldn't face climb. I admit it. I was really afraid. I knew I didn't have the pain management that he did, and I most certainly didn't have the technical skill that he had learned through hard work and meticulous attention to detail. I got four moves up and peeled. I worked and worked and worked and worked. The whole thing seemed a nightmare made just for me. I could get into the crack and secure myself. That wasn't a problem at all. It was moving that stalled me. Because the crack was so close to the left face, I couldn't move about freely without feeling claustrophobic. In fact, despite having learned to torque my feet in cracks a long time ago, I couldn't help but leave my left ankle exposed enough for balance to constantly rub against the left face all the way up. When I finally came down, after a couple of rests, I felt the raw air nip at the exposed blood. It hurt, and so did my hands.

"Chuck" was up next, and after a long layoff from climbing, she did pretty well on this route. In fact, she run up the entire first crack with a layback that looked as gentle and smooth as a child swinging on the perfect push. When she came down, it was my turn to go back for the redpoint.

There isn't much to say except that I think I finally learned something the first time up. That's the way I work; in nearly all aspects of life. I fail at most things the first time around, but I always learn. I may even fail the second, third and fourth times around, but I'll always learn someting. At some point, something will snap inside me and I'll get it. Sometimes I won't even know that I got it, or what it is that I had just learned. But it'll come to me and...voila...it'll all come together and I won't even have to think about it. This is what happened: one hand after the other, one foot after the other, reach out to the features on the left face, layback up, drop the heel behind me, mantle, grab the arch and fly to the top. It feels almost as good now telling it as it did on the way up.

Fun City (5.7) - 1 pitch - trad - chains at the top

At times while I and "Jello" were working our way up the crack, "Chuck" was off looking for the next route. I tried a footless 5.8 that looked scarier than any footless 5.10 I'd ever done. I backed off that route after going up four times, and cleaned it the final time down. "Jello" didn't want to try it, and so we turned to the book.

While we were choosing Fun City as our next route, "Chuck" was walking back from finding that route with all smiles on her face.

"Chuck": Guess what guys?
Us: What?
"Chuck": Not only did I find more routes to the right, but I also found sunshine.
Everyone: Thank. You. Lord!!!!

We picked up the gear and headed to two of the finest looking cracks we'd seen (and we'd seen a lot of fine looking cracks the past few weeks). A short, 20-foot scramble to a small ledge led us to the base of Fun City and its 5.9+ variation. I was on lead for the first one and got up it with relative ease. There was one, notable exception, however. At this point, and because I have terrible circulation going to the far reaches of my body (sic - fingers and toes), my hands were in a lot of pain. Each time I cranked a hand-jam into the crack I grunted, groaned and generally complained enough to get "Jello" and "Chuck" to tease me and my wussiness. What was my response?

Me: Hey guys, leave me alone. I'm losing my Palmolive hands.

Ordinarily, a joke like that would get me a few more barbs, but not this time. This time, they just looked at me with stunned looks on their faces. It was as if they looked up and asked, "What did he just say? Did he just admit to have Palmolive hands? Do we even play off that?" The joke didn't go over as well as I expected it to go, but I do feel that it won't be as forgetable as I'd like it to be.

Anyway, the 5.7 is the the left-hand crack that follows the steps midway up to the upper crack just below the chains. You'll need larger cams at the top if you don't want to run it out.

We also did the 5.9+ variation, on toprope. This was the right-hand crack and, I've gotta tell you, this was a hard-on-the-hands crack with a serious move to get over the bulge at the top. If anyone plans on doing this variation, find the crimps inside the flaring cracks and get the feet up. The holds are better once over the top, but not much.

"Jello" worked his way up to the bulge, tried it several times and came down. "Chuck" got up there and found a nifty little undercling that allowed her to get just a little higher up than "Jello" had, but she, too, couldn't get over the bulge. Because I had to clean to gear at the top ("Jello" had set a directional anchor to keep us swinging into the right-facing corner), I yarded up to the top.

Yakapodu (5.6+) - 1 pitch - trad - build your own anchors at the top

It was dark, but we wanted to get another climb in before leaving. "Jello" led this route (follow the crack to the right of the bushy gully, step over the gully at the top and follow the easiest line straight to the top). I seconded the route just so we could get out of there. We hiked off, but, naturally, lost the trail mid-way down. Guess what we did instead? Yup, you guessed it. Bushwhacked.

Poke-O-Moonshine

A lot has changed since my last post on the Adirondacks. I've been outside more than I ever have before, I'm climbing stronger than I ever have before, and I've led (inside) my first 5.11 cleanly and (outside) my first 5.10 cleanly (Lonesome Dove). I've even jumped on my highest grade outside (Hammond Organ - 5.10d), and all of this in one summer of explosive freedom. Then, two weeks ago, "Jello" and I decided, maybe not consciously, to start learning how to climb big, long, trad climbs with each other. Our first venture was to Cathedral Ledge in North Conway, NH. We had a great time, got some good experience in and decided to hit Cannon and the Adirondacks one more time before the season finished. Though there is an outside chance that I'll go back up to climb with him in October, this is the log of what we climbed and how we climbed on the impressively grand cracks of Poke-O-Moonshine.

I left work on Friday with the sun shining high above Kenmore Square in Boston and looped through the early Labor Day traffic to Storrow Drive and then Route 2 West. I decided to take Route 2 because when I had taken it back from my Memorial Day trip, I was shocked at how easy and quick it was. The route's mainly two-lane, two-way traffic defied this logic, but somehow, with the same reckoning that leaves the hottest girl in the bar alone at the end of the night, Route 2 was empty of traffic and it saved many miles on my gas tank that I-90 would have stolen. It was a long trip, nearly six hours, but I made it on less than a tank of gas and arrived just after 9pm that night.

"Jello", having been unceremoniously relieved of his duties at his last job in Saranac Lake, stumbled upon the Pok-O-MacCready Education Center as a new opportunity that really seems to fit his skills and personality just right. It's a center where kids come to learn about all sorts of outdoor activities from climbing, to paddling and from horseback riding to tennis. There's a lot going on. In any case, like the rest of the staff, "Jello" lives in one of the farm houses on the property and, as luck would have it, had a spare room for me to crash in while I was visiting. It wasn't much of a room, but when the room is free and the food available, I was not one to complain. That, and the fact that it had a rope swing and water trampoline, I was in out-of-Boston heaven.

When I arrived, "Jello" was there waiting. We hit an end-of-training staff party and decided, thanks to a wonderful recommendation, to hit Gamesmanship (5.8) the next day as our first big route of the day. "Jello" informed me that we'd be climbing in a team of three and that we should get up extra early (7am) in order to be the first team on the ever-popular route. Due to the proximity of the cliffs from the camp, we were racked up and ready to go by 830am. There was no one else around (well, except for the fact that this is the second trip to the 'Dacks when I've bumped into people I know from the gym: this weekend it was Curt, and Memorial Day it was Lars and AJ), and I took the lead of the first pitch. It was a decision that would later come back to haunt me.
Saturday
Gamesmanship (5.8) - 5 pitches - Trad - Switched Leads between Greg and "Jello"

Pitch #1 (5.8) - Vertical Crack - 140 feet - Greg Led

We bumped into Curt on our way to Gamesmanship and he warned us to be cautious with the first couple of moves. "They're tricky," he said, "and not to be taken for granted." We took his advice and on the way there I wondered if the first moves on a climb ever defined the grade of the climb. I know that the start of Child's Play (5.6 - Cathedral Ledge) had a non-5.6 move, but the rest of the route was absolutely stellar. I also know that Ladder Line (5.10a - Quincy Quarry) has the mother of all 5.12 starts, but the rest of that route also runs clean to the grade. This would be the third route I've come across like this, and became a but unsettled knowing that, firstly, it was a crack and, secondly, that I hate cracks. Well, Curt was not wrong in his assessment. The first three moves were of a pumpy, lay-back variety well into the 5.9 grade before the route settled into one of the best face climbs I've ever done. I know. I said that about Toe Crack (5.7 - Cathedral Ledge) too, and I'm not wrong about that route either. But you have to understand, if the holds on the face around the crack are better than climbing the crack itself, man, use the freaking face! That's what I did, and took a load of crap from "Jello" and his friend all the way up. But here's the real kicker...they did the same thing on SECOND AND THIRD! By the time we settled into the somewhat hanging belay (there are anchors), there was a line of folks waiting to get on the route behind us. We smiled at the fact that we had arrived first. "Jello" then took the second lead.

Pitch #2 (5.7) - Left-Facing Corner - 120 feet - "Jello" led

This was a quick run-up for "Jello" that led to a large belay stance below the choss-looking dike on pitch #3. There wasn't much excitement on this pitch, except we think we saw our fair share of death stares from the folks waiting for the first belay station to empty up. Oh well, suckers. Next time get out of bed earlier.

Pitch #3 (5.4) - Right-Leading Dike to Trees - 100 feet - "Jello" led

Another not-so-spectacular pitch, but it did provide some good views of the valley below and me a chance to spring one of my bad jokes on "Jello"'s friend. I won't tell the joke, but let's just say it took him the third time to realize that the cars that were "tailgating" the RV's on I-87 below us were actually being towed. This is also a chance to point out that, thus far, I have led the best sections, and "Jello" has led the least desirable pitches. Remember that.

Pitches #4 and #5 (5.7 / 5.1R) - Vertical Hand Crack to Run out Slab - 140 feet and 150 feet - Greg led

First things first, pitch #4 is supposedly a short crack that ends at an "obvious" birch tree just below the slabs. Secondly, this was the first crack since Bombardment (5.8 - Cathedral Ledge) time that actually forced me to climb in the crack, with my hands jammed into wide fists, my knuckles screaming for relief, my feet directly below my hands, and my body tensely trying to stay in a linear line from top to bottom. I felt off-balance the entire way up. I wanted crimps. I wanted stems. I wanted to stop thinking of busting my biceps on laybacks. When "Jello" reads this, I'm sure he'll say something about me wanting my Mommy too. OK, so I used the face and the parallel crack when they became useful, but I slipped above my gear and was lucky to have caught myself on the way down. It was a bugger of a problem for me, and I'm not sure if I'm ever going to learn how to climb cracks comfortably...ever.

I was glad when the crack was over and reached the bottom of the slab. I looked around for the birch tree and saw nothing but a couple of very young cedars and a few bushes hovering around the base of the slab. "OK," I thought, "Maybe the birch is higher up." So I went higher up on to the slab. I knew the slabs were the next pitch, but considering I couldn't see the "obvious" birch tree, I figured there was a slight slab section below the birch and that if I just went up a little more then I'd find it. No birch. I was now about 20 feet above my last piece. It was easy smearing on the low-angle face, but I was starting to worry a bit about getting to the top. Still, no birch. Another 30 feet without pro, and still no birch. I was definitely on the slabs now (pitch #5), but I couldn't see where I was going to belay from. I could have down climbed to the cedars, but these were no more than a few inches thick. I could have wrapped both hands around their trunks. They weren't good belay anchors (just to be clear, there weren't any cracks either above the hand-crack I had just climbed). I saw what I thought was the top of the cliff and wondered if there was another section of slabs above where I was at that moment. "It's possible," I thought, "that I just can't see the next pitch due to the rounding of the top of the slab." I climbed another 20 feet, and then another. I found one, sliver of a crack to dump a #5 nut into and climbed another thirty feet to a three-foot-tall left-facing corner from whence I could see the top of the climb. I stepped up and pulled the rope...ugghhhh...another pull...nnnnggghhh...a third pull...arrrrghhhh - WHAT THE FUCK AM I PULLING UP WITH ME?

There shouldn't have been any rope drag because I hadn't felt any until this point. I wondered if maybe the rope had become stuck in the crack below and jammed. I waited a few moments to see if "Jello" could pull it out. I pulled again and felt the same tenseness as before. "God dammit," I muttered. "I must have run out of rope. Holy mother of..." At that point I realized that I had to build an anchor on that three-foot left-facing corner I standing next to. There was no down climbing, not when the entire slab was friction on the way up. The crack in the corner was tight, but I managed a #.5 nut, a #.4 microcam and a #1 nut in three different spots. I set my anchor and tugged the rope hard, twice so that "Jello" and his friend knew to climb. When they came up, they confirmed I had run out of rope and that I was not crazy for missing the birch tree, because it was not there. I let "Jello" and his friend run out above me the remaining 20 feet to the top (something his friend was not thrilled about doing) and we rapped off. Our adventure wasn't over yet, however, as "Jello" managed to toss the rope into a bunch of trees on the second rap pitch. We made it down alive, but not without a few smiles on our faces.
Snake Slide (5.8) - 1 pitch - Trad - "Jello" Trad led and Greg Sport led

"Jello"'s friend had left to meet his parents and "Jello" and I were looking to finish off with something easy and / or single pitch. We chose Snake Slide; a shallow, left-facing corner that was best used as an under cling flake before topping out at a set of anchors above Libido (5.11). The moves are easy, but the feet were really sketchy where one doesn't want them to be sketchy. "Jello" has his best Elvis-leg going on this pitch.
Libido (5.11) - 1 pitch - TR

This was a great, great project route that I would absolutely love to climb with my Katanas (btw - thanks so much to La Sportiva for not having size 39.5 available before this trip. I had to climb all weekend in loose, bought-for-route-setting-only Mad Rocks that do nothing on crimpy, edgy climbs). It starts with a hornet-nest infested crack (seriously, there were five of the meanest hornets guarding the comb - DON'T USE THE LOWER CRACK), and then moves up to a series of opposing side pulls before ending on a series of ledges and smears at the same anchor as Snake Slide. These are serious crimps, and I loved every damned one of them, even if I flailed up the thing. It was such a relief, I almost led it (but didn't).
Sunday
Paralysis (5.8) - 6 pitches - Trad - Switched Leads between Greg and "Jello"

Pitches #1 and #2 (4th class / 5.8) - Scramble / Vertical Crack - 50 feet and 140 feet - "Jello" Led

So, because I had the choicest routes on Saturday, "Jello" took the choicest routes on Sunday, and the first pitch of Paralysis is every bit as good as the first pitches of Toe Crack and Gamesmanship. There were a few scary moments for the boy wonder, but he powered through each move and managed to protect the scariest sections with relative ease. I highly recommend this pitch. However if one does it, one must face pitches #2 and #3 in order to get down.

Pitch #3 (5.6) - Straight Traverse - 75 feet - Greg Led

This, despite it's odd lack of good pro, was a rather easy climb. I wasn't sure what each move was going to be like, so I protected it was well as I could considering the plethora of flaring rifts between lower face and upper roof. Cams would have gone, but I didn't have enough large cams. It wasn't as well-protected as I would have liked, but it worked.

The problem came when I got to the left-facing corner where I was supposed to belay from. All I could see was an incredibly wet corner (which I've been told is always wet - wanna bet this climb doesn't last forever?), an old coradlette that I should have take out with me (it was stiffer than bike frame) but forgot, and three, amazingly rusted pitons that looked as if they had been there since the glaciers receded. All the cracks around me were flaring and wet, I had just left all my cams of that size in the traverse for "Jello", and I was started to think this was not going to be one of my best days. For a brief moment I thought, "Next time, save the
best routes for the second day." Well, I slung the same rock that the stiff cordalette was slung around and clipped into the pitons (what the hell else was I going to do - at least they're still there) to build and anchor and just started to pull the rope in when, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of something silvery below me. I leaned out and swore profusely. There were the fucking bolts. Great, that took another 20 minutes just to down climb and set up a new anchor. All the while, "Jello" was baking in the sun at the top of pitch #1. That was mistake #1.

"Jello" finally made it across in much faster time than I had taken to just set up the stupid anchor, and we began to exchange gear so that he could lead pitch #3. Just as I was about to put him on belay, I pulled my Reverso off my biner and...

Greg: WHOA!
"Jello": Grab it.
Ping!
Greg and "Jello" together: ROCK!
Ping...Ping...Ping... ... ...Ping...THUNK!
"Jello": That's OK. You have your other one, right?
Me: Gulp.

That was mistake #2. Neither of us had brought a spare belay device, but thankfully "Jello" knew how to belay with a munter. He jumped into pitch #4 and I swore angrily at myself that this was not my day.

Pitch #4 (5.7) - Awesome but heady Cave Traverse- 75 feet - "Jello" Led

This pitch was unbelievable. When one climbs a chimney, the idea is to use body tension by pushing one's back against the vertical side of the chimney with one's legs, which are pushing from the other side of the chimney. This cave was a chimney rotated 180-degrees. Instead of pushing against a sidewall, one has to push upward against a low-angle slab with one's back pressed firmly against the roof. There are no great holds (though there are some to assist in the traverse), but these holds are only good with good feet, and there are no good feet. Just imagine walking into that closet space underneath your stairs in your old house. That's what this was like, and if one looked between one's legs, one would see the whole 150 feet of open air leading to the ground below. If I ever were one to crap my pants on a climb, this would be the cleanest place to do it.

Pitch #5 (5.8-) - Over a Bulge - No Length Given- Greg Led

Remember when I told you to remember how I got the best routes on Saturday and Sunday was "Jello"'s turn? Well, this was the defining moment of that decision. From the proper belay stance, when one looks up, there are various bulges / roofs that one can see. There's the one slightly to the left over the cave we just climbed, one directly above the belay stance, and two roofs to the right, above where "Jello" was belaying me from (note: he belayed here because people were using the belay station to belay climbers coming up another route). The two bulges I noted before were covered with lichen and did not look as if they were the next pitch on what was supposed to be a very popular route. The two roofs above our belay stance were not covered in lichen, and thus it seemed to us, one of them must be the route. After all, the book said that the route went directly above the belay. (note: read that again).

I looked the line over for a good twenty minutes and placed three, solid pieces in in the lower part of the first section: I don't know what to call this, but if it were rotated 180 degrees then it would be a dike; otherwise it was a series of nasty, whole-hand pinches / grabs with a stiff and slick, unprotected (repeat: UNPROTECTED) layback near the top. I climbed up into the start of the layback three or four times, and just couldn't find the 5.8- sequence. This was really bothering me because, while I've been told the 'Dacks are sandbagged, I have yet to find any route in the 'Dacks that is sandbagged above the first move. This didn't seem right to me, but maybe there was something I couldn't see. Maybe there was something I was missing. Maybe, just maybe, this was slightly harder than the grade suggested and I'd be able to pull out fine if I just committed to it.

The first move out of the crack (where the gear was) required the use of a two-finger, shallow, finger pocket that led to an opposing side-pull just above the pocket. That required a very dicey body-weight switch that soon led me into a solid, but stiff layback at the top of the section. I didn't like the feet because I was completely smearing, but as long as I could keep my body tense in the layback, the holds were jugs for the next three feet or so. But as I moved upward, the layback went flat, and there was nothing above that except another, incredibly insane grab that I thought (nay: hoped) was a jug. It wasn't, so I backed off, but because of the awkward body-weigh switch below, I stayed in the layback. I was getting tired, but I was about seven feet above my last piece (remember, I said unprotected), and that was more than the distance between my last piece and the small, two-foot square ledge just above "Jello"'s head whence I started from. I looked behind me for a please-please-please foot ledge and saw nothing. I looked below me to see if I missed anything there, but my body and gear were in the way. I looked at the arrete in front of me. I studied and figured that I could dyno for the ledge. I just needed to know if there was something to grab. I pulled myself deeper into the layback again and upward toward the arrete. Imagine now that before doing this, my hands were above my feet, but my butt was not over my feet. Thus, my weight was being driven into the rock through my legs, like a layback is supposed to do. By pulling my body up, I was completely depending on my arms to hold my onto the route, because my butt was now above my smearing feet, and not driving my weight into my feet.

I looked the arrete over, but couldn't see anything worth jumping for. Knowing the large grab above the layback wasn't as juggy as I had hoped it would be, I assumed the arrete was going to be as crappy. I was in a precarious position. I just couldn't trust that by going up, I was going to find more solid ground. If I was wrong, then that meant falling even farther than I was already going to fall.

I backed off (and I'm shivering just typing this), tried to pull into the layback a little more. My hand searched for something good, something positive that would allow me to reclaim my vertical self. Nothing. Nothing at all. I remembered the awkward move from the two-finger pocket and the opposite-balance side-pull. "Too hard," I thought. I then thought of jumping out. I knew I was too high above my gear to be caught by it. Jumping would at least give me a shot at not decking out. But then I thought that if I did that, I'd slam right into "Jello", and, as he put it later, possibly lose all three pieces I had placed, rip him out of his anchor and send us both down 150 feet below. I had to downclimb. I couldn't hold this forever. My biceps were burning. I had been there for about five minutes, holding a no-longer easy dead-arm. I just couldn't go beyond this section. I stepped down into the lower layback. No problem. I stepped down, still smearing, into the beginning of the layback and felt the jug disappear. I had all of two seconds, I thought, as I felt my feet giving way, to grab the side-pull and find new feet without losing my body tension. I grabbed the side-pull, let my right foot dangle in order to find the next hol -SLIP!
...
...
...
Thud!

Me: AHHH!
"Jello" furiously checking ankles: That hurt?
Me: I'm fine. I'm fine.
"Jello" cautiously checking my ribs, spleen and kidneys: That hurt?
Me: I'm OK. I'm OK.
"Jello": You sure?
Me: Yeah. Let me rest a minute.
"Jello": OK. Take your time.
Me: If that's the line, I'm not leading that again. That's not 5.8-. We missed something. That's not even sandbagged 5.8-. That's 5.10 somethingorother. That's fucking hard.

The gentleman who was belaying another climber below us (on the proper belay anchor) said that the climber on his way up knew the climb we were on and could tell us the correct line. But when he came up, it had been 30 years since he had climbed that route and couldn't remember where it went. Not knowing where the actual line went, we decided to rap off and finish our day. After the two other climbers below us rapped off, we got down to the proper belay station and determined that the route was where the first two bulges were, but even then, we couldn't figure out which bulge it was. Because the book said that, despite the bulge looking harder than it is from below, the bulge was the way to go, and because both bulges looked impossible, we figured that we could't find the remainder of the route. It was a disappointment for both of us, but the correct choice. Especially since we didn't have two belay - OH FUCK!

As it turned out, niether one of us knew how to rap using oval biners. That was OK, however, because "Jello" could rap off and tie the belay device on the rope for me to pull up again. That's what he did, and I began my rap. But as I did, I looked at the rap anchors and saw that there were six slings / cordalettes wrapped around a large chockstone. Before I headed down, I remembered what happened to Mat, took a deep breath, remembered that this was my second time decking on lead, turned around and let out my breath when I was firmly on the ground. Even though I had a prussic on my rap, I was thankful that "Jello" was also giving me a Fireman's Belay at the bottom. In all, however, I'm fine.

I got up this morning at 7am and took "Jello"'s suggested route home: take the ferry from Plattsburg Bay ($9 per car and driver with $3.50 for each passenger) to Grande Isle Ferry (24-hours it runs, with trips every half hour). It cost me more than the Route 2 direction, but it saved me about 45 minutes on my trip (I-89 to I-93). I think I'm going back. It was just too damned good.

Adirondacks - Fall Trip

So I was supposed to go to Cannon this weekend, but "Jello" has car problems (bad alignment = blown tire on the way to Philly from Cathedral - bummer) and thought he needed more time to get his car fixed. He felt it was best if I drove up to the 'Dacks and hit Cannon next weekend instead, after his car got fixed. I'm OK with that, but I had tentative plans of going to the 'Dacks with other people. This meant that I could have driven with someone, shared the costs of the trip and had company for five hours of driving. Now, that looks unlikely. But in some aspects, it is also a good thing (I doubt my original partners will go up this weekend - too many obstacles in my mind). I think he and I will be able to climb more routes and do what we want to do. We'll be more efficient and productive at the same time. But we'll see.

Adirondacks - Sunday: Rain and The Rest of the Trip

We awoke to dry skies on Sunday, and that perculated our hopes enough that we felt we stood a good chance of beating the weather and getting a good, day-two of climbing in. The desired destination was Washbowl Cliff in Keene Valley, which was essentially across the street from where we parked the day before at Beer Walls.

Screw it, there's just too damn much to write. It rained. We climbed a bit in the rain at Beer Walls and then went to Lake Placid. "Jello" and I sat in the rain later on at his place with a good-sized fire roaring and chicken breasts cooking on a stone that we threw into the fire. It was good chicken, and I'm damn surprised at how fires can survive even with steady downpours. That fire didn't go out until the next day.

Anyway, we bouldered again at Mackenzie Boulders on Monday before heading back. Our trip back was easier and, despite the slow driving, we made good time on Route 2 from Troy, NY. I'll be going back in September to do a 12-pitch 5.7 with "Jello" if we can get the same time off. I really looking forward to it.

Adirondacks - Saturday: Part Four: Midnight Bouldering

There's always one in every group. It's not a bad thing. In fact, it can be a good thing, but it is always both predictable and unpredictable at the same time: extra energy in youth will always have to find a way out of the body and into some adventure that makes one scratch his head. "Jello" is "that guy" in our group.

He got his nickname by wearing a Dead Kennedy's shirt to the gym (Jello Biafra being the energetic lead singer) the second time we climbed with him, and almost had his name changed to "Macchio" after refusing to stop doing the classic Karate Kid kick over and over again (which, by the way, he's so young that he really didn't even remember that there was a movie called "The Karate Kid", let alone know who Pat Morita and Ralph Macchio were - the bastard). Throwing kicks and punches into the air is his modus operandi. Leading whatever is in front of him comes a close second, then throwing large stones into fire pits (I'll get to that in another post) and the like come in third. The kid just does things, and I presume that's because he has so much damn energy that he simply doesn't know what to do with it.

Well, that last sentence isn't exactly true. At one point, at 10:34pm (not to be specific or anything), he decides he wants to go bouldering...at that moment, with headlamps, mattresses stolen from the bunk beds in the house we're staying in, and a suspected mountain lion on the loose near Lake Placid. I, being a humble thirty-two years old, question the kid's sensibility, mainly, also, because I'm thirty-two, and ideas such as this don't make as much sense to me as they might have when I was his age (go on, I can hear the "Old Man Burns" taunts percolating. Just do it and get it over with!). But naturally, what I think is irrelevant. The next thing I know "Jello" is throwing mattresses into the back seat and trunk of my car (need a better lock system, I guess) and "Unity" is searching for an extra headlamp for me to use.

"There's one particular climb," he tells me, "where we'll need the mattresses. I hope they work." I think he also hoped that his boss didn't come home that night to see the empty bunk beds. But whatever. I believe him when he says this and I drag my old bones to the driver's seat before heading off to Mackenzie Boulders in nearby Saranac Lake.

I park on the side of the road and we head into the woods. The path in is obvious and easy; no bushwhacking today. It's a good thing, too, because even with the headlamps, it is difficult to see anything other than what is lit up by the lamps. When we approach the first boulder, a pristine, lemon-shaped chunk of granite that rises about fifteen feet above the clean, pine-needle floor, I am shocked at how enticing the rock looks. This isn't just some random rock sticking out of the trees with moss all over the unclimbable sections. This is what I expect to see in a climbing video somewhere in Fountain Bleu, France: with all the brush meticulously pushed aside (as if it was landscaped), leaving several feet all around the boulder for ease of movement; clear, white marks on the usable holds only; and a perfect canopy of leafy and needled tree branches thirty feet up, which provide the kind of roof you dreamed of as kids whilst looking for a natural tree-house. It's just so perfect here. I'm actually glad that I came.

We walk deeper into the woods with the path never becoming overgrown or difficult the deeper we go. We pass through what seem to be little, intimate rooms of more boulders. Each room seems to have its own decor: the interior decorator choosing to blend the entire house with pines and maples but making each room different enough to fit the personality of the kid living in that room at that given time. There is one, tall boulder right in the middle of one room, and the path circumvents the rock in such a way as to casually deflect the passersby past anyone trying to climb and into the next room a few yards down the path. In tghe next room, the path splits several boulders on each side of the room; allowing the kids to feel hidden from view on the edges as thier parents walk from room to room looking for them. Finally, we stop at one room where nature has built us a jungle-gym of bouldering options. I am both nervous and oddly excited. My arms are shaking and I can feel my breath getting heavier. I say "oddly" because I don't boulder. In fact, until this moment I haven't bouldered more than once in at least three or four years.

I gave bouldering a shot a few weeks before at the gym and did OK, but not great. It was fun, but not as fun as roping up. The truth is, I've always had the this notion that I'll get hurt, and that notion is partially true. Bouldering is just a jerky sport. I obviously don't mean that boulderers are jerks. What I mean is that the moves are jerky; they require either a solid amount of core strength or dynamic moves that snap the joints and tendons upon landing. Naturally, the static moves are the way to go, but dumb people like me, until I bouldered at the at the gym a few weeks ago, tend to jerk our bodies around just so we can show how manly we really aren't. I also weighed an unhealthy twenty pounds more that I do now when I was bouldering, thus making those hard landings even more severe (by the way, by "landing" I mean finishing a move, not falling to the ground. Picture a dynamic, two-point move where the climber is moving through the air toward the next hold, and the he or she "lands" on that hold). It was always that landing that pulled a muscle, strained a joint or seriously pissed off a nerve. Because of this, I've been leery of bouldering since I began climbing.

But these boulders are different. I don't know what it is, but I've never seen such obvious lines and opportunities. Everywhere else I've been outside, and seen bouldering, it's as if the bouldering is some made up route on a mossy, short cliff hidden in the woods. Either that that, or it's a traverse that cuts across the bottom of a series of roped climbs (probably first climbed when some poor chap forgot his harness). This place, Mackenzie Boulders, isn't like that at all. These are boulders. Real boulders. Not the bottom-of-the-cliff kind of stuff you find elsewhere. They look like Hershey's Kisses that have fallen from the sky. On top of that, I think I can climb these!

But then I get on the first climb, a V0 (maybe - even that looks soft). It's a simple crack with a face move out to the right. The first five feet? Easy laybacking. The next three feet? Moderate face climbing. The next five feet (already eight feet in the air, at night, and with mattresses for pads)? A footless dyno off a tiny crimp to an unseen jug at the top. Uh-huh. "What am I doing?" I get through the dyno, however, and feel the adrenaline drain into my swelling chest. Sigh. And that was, as I said, only a V0.

We look around for more opportunities to climb and see a lot of problems, but we're tired and don't feel like doing anything where we actually have to read the route. Remember, it is dark outside, and the only light available to us is the direct beam emanating from our heads.

Finally, we settle on a deep, traversing crack that finishes, or so we think, on a roof with a sketchy move that leaves our backs parallel with the ground...a good ten feet in the air. The book says it is a V3. I'm not sure I feel like doing something this hard, but I have no choice in the matter. "Jello" and "Unity" are already on the route.

We start by working the roof, and jumping on the traverse a little below the roof to do so. It's a juggy start, with a crack so deep I can wrap my knuckles in it. But the crack ends about four feet below the start of the roof, and the roof itself extends outward from the face about three-and-a-half feet. Getting there requires leveraging our bodies with a series of dead-arms against a flat, upward facing panel with only a couple of nubbin slopers to hold onto.

After several tries, we manage to wrap our fingers around the flat edge that is the roof. It requires starting from the juggy crack, and then moving to a controlled barn-door off two or three slopers (depending on how one does it) before the the feet go up into a heel hook that allows for just enough leverage to swing out wide to the edge. If the edge isn't gained, well, a ten foot drop onto bed mattresses covering medium-sized, round rocks below awaits. These round rocks, to be clear, are right under the landing spot and can certainly be felt through the mattresses. I'm worried about sprained ankles. It turns out there's other ways to get hurt, too. But more on that in a moment.

After gaining the roof from the middle of the climb, it's time to link the whole traverse together. We disappear around the corner and discover a sit-start, and immediately avoid it. My old bones don't like moves that jerk the ligaments, and "Jello"'s and "Unity"'s lazy bones don't feel like doing it either. The rest of the route is smooth, however. Each hold is a jug where the hand can get buried deep enough to not be seen. The feet aren't great, but who cares. It's just a jug-fest where the hands and legs jump over each other with every move. I'm beginning to think the name of the route should have been "Crossover Heaven". It's called the "Great Wall of Taiwan" instead. Interesting.

In any case, "Jello" managed to get to the roof first again, and once "Unity" and I each reached the roof, all three of us headed back to figure out the sit-start. With "Jello" and "Unity" being years younger than me, they make the pumpy, dynamic move with little grunting and greater fluidity than I do, but they tire out quickly and come off somewhere in the middle of the route. Me? I can't even do the sit-start they way they are doing it. My feet are too spread out, the hand-hold is too low for me to utilize it well and my center of gravity as I pull and push upward is square on my elbows and chest. The move hurts, and I can already feel the strain on my elbow. As I mentioned before, I bouldered for the first time in years a few weeks before this. I was hesitant then, but my friend, the one who convinced me to go bouldering that night, kept telling me to stop making "big boy" moves and work on making static moves instead. "Static?" I wondered. "Not everything can be done static." But she was correct in the end. I bouldered the entire evening statically (if that's a word), and never felt an instant of potential bodily injury creeping up on me. So as I flew through this sit-start, I kept thinking of her advice. "There has to be a way," I thought. Three tries in and I found a way up.

The starting hand hold is only about three feet off the ground. If one spread-eagles the feet, then one can get four solid points on for nearly the entire start. But that's hard, and it doesn't feel solid while the move is being made. To me, I feel like I want to shift the pressure from my arms to my legs, but with my legs so far out from each other, it is difficult to do this. I look around and spy a long, sloping face to my right, about five feet above the ground and two feet above the starting hand hold. Perfect! It's as good a heel hook as I've ever seen. For an old man like me, getting into it is as ungraceful as carrying a refrigerator up a spiral staircase, but I get my heel up and my arms breathe an immediate sigh of relief. All the weight has now been shifted to my legs, which are holding my drooping buttocks as I chalk up my happy fingers.

Pulling all my upper body parts from my upper hamstrings to my Achilles tendon, I rise from the start hold and snare the second hold with ease. I smile as I realize that I'm not even tired. It's a cruise from that point on: right hand over left, swing the feet, cross left hand over right, right foot over left foot, and so on. By now, even the roof is easy. I gain it will only a minimal amount of god-I'm-old-and-its-fucking-late grunting, swing my feet out to the boulder behind me and drop down. Success...until I hear "Jello" say, "Now we have to link the top." The TOP?!?!?

Sure enough, the roof isn't the finish. As it appears to me, there is a dangling-feet campus move where one has to squeeze the roof hold with the left hand and throw the right hand out about two feet back toward the traverse. From there, it is a near impossible (OK, really fucking scary as I was imagining it) crossover with the left hand to a crimp, all this with no feet. I never got that far, and "Jello" never got that far. Only "Unity" was able to grab the next hold after the roof, and then she fell...into my spotting hands...and never got her feet under her. PHOOOSH! She hits the mattresses on her back, her neck slams the round rocks underneath and she sits still for a few moments while "Jello" and I nervously wait to hear if she's OK. When she stands up, "Jello" and I are relieved that she can actually walk. We were done. She's hurt, we're nervous about her being hurt, and it's way past midnight. A 10am rendezvous back at the campground awaits us. We pack up and leave, and "Unity" seems to be OK.

Adirondacks - Saturday: Part Three: Ski Jumping and How It Relates To Climbing

Not every trip of mine is feted through an obsession of some sort, but this trip did have one element that caught my fascination more than climbing itself: ski jumping.

As I noted on Friday's post, I was driving to "Jello"'s when I came around a corner and saw these tall, dark structures rising above the trees and towering into the dark, late-night sky. My first reaction to these "things" was, "What the fuck is that?" In my mind, there shouldn't have been anything that tall out in the middle of nowhere. I was surrounded by rows of trees that filled in the valley I was driving through. On either side, at any moment on the drive from North Hudson to Ray Brook, there were mountains (soon to be seen in daylight with cliffs dripping from the summits) and / or lakes filling out the wilderness that made the drive so dark and enthralling. I knew Lake Placid was nearby, but I also knew it wasn't a city. There shouldn't have been anything more than a few stories high, and certainly nothing a few minutes drive from the downtown area itself. If anything, I figured I would have seen the lights of Lake Placid itself rising up from the town before I saw any towering structures in the dark.

To be clear, these towers could not have been confused with the normal things you'd see rising above the treetops. These were much taller and leaner than a water tower, but denser than cellphone towers at the same time. They weren't radio antennas either, though they did have blinking, red lights at the top. And the vertical section of the towers, if they were alone in their secrecy, would have come across as something that was probably easily explained during the day as "the thing the weird guy on that farm built twenty years before". But what made the whole thing so intriguing was the sharp slope that ran downward from the peak of each tower to the disappearing point of the tree line. It got my blood simmering and I couldn't wait to find out what I was looking at. It was then that I saw the sign: "Olympic Ski Jump Facility Ahead". At once, my simmering blood stimulated my brain cells and asexual endorphins began spewing thoughts of amazement that sent a shiver through the rest of my body. What a thrill! I couldn't believe that I was not only driving past an Olympic landmark, which is exciting in itself because I have always been enamored by the spirit and competition of the Olympics, but past one of the most exciting venues in the Olympics as well.

I don't know what it is, but there is something about watching these competitors, all with a story or a geographic or emotional place whence they came from, as they try to reach the top of the medal strand with flowers in hand, medals dangling around their necks, and anthems making their hearts bleed and eyes swell. Think about the fact that they only get this shot once every four years. If they are hurt, there's no "next year", it's all about that moment in time and no other time else wise. If they fail; if they twist wrong, run too slow, trip or jump to early; if the conditions are poorer for them than they were for their rivals; if somehow the wind blows at the wrong moment, then they'll have to watch the awards ceremony from afar; their dreams crushed; their moment lost - and they'll have to wait another four years to regain just the possibility of that moment again.

Maybe they won't be in their prime by the time the next Olympics rolls around. Or maybe some sixteen year-old who was on the cusp of greatness the first time around will have grown, matured and catapulted to the top of the betting slips as the the new, potential gold medalist. In essence, what makes the Olympics exciting for me is the moment. Much like American sports in general, it's all about that one instant before the action takes place: when the pitcher comes to the set, the quarterback steps under center, as the defender takes on step backward too many away from the two-guard with a hot hand in the closing seconds, when the goalie steps out of goal to meet the rushing skater or dribbler. We live for the moment in American sports, and I think that perspective has translated well into climbing. When I'm on the wall, my entire focus is on that one moment and my emotions range according to the situation I'm in. Is anyone actually afraid of the fall itself? No. They're afraid of that split second before the fall when all these thoughts rush into the brain: where's my last piece, how much rope is out, will the rope hold, is my belayor capable of catching me, will I deck out? It's always about the next move and sometimes what the next hold will bring. It's always about next.

Anyway, I was clearly excited to see the towers in the daylight for the first time. I'm not sure why, but I've always been in love with the risk, power, speed and grace of ski jumping. I know many people think it is a boring sport, but not I. There is something about the fear of plummeting one's body toward the earth on boards strapped to one's feet and ultimately being catapulted into what should be an open space but is actually like a large box that gets smaller and smaller the closer one gets to the ground. Imagine standing at the top and seeing in front of you a long, direct route to an unforgiving edge that leads out to empty space, eventually ending on the white earth that you'll be landing on shortly. Imagine seeing the crowd forming a "U" around the landing site. Imagine the rush of having the courage to compete in such sports. It is why I climb. I can imagine the ski jumper thinking of nothing but the next step, the next move in the process. He sits on the bar, lets go and disembarks downward. He reaches the edge and jumps, lifting his heels backward and shoving his chin toward the tips of his skis, floating, floating, floating until it is time to land; gently settling the skis on the wet snow, one in front of the other for just a long enough time period for the judges to access your style as well as your distance. It gives me shivers just thinking about it.

For me, when I climb, I think of nothing else in the world and all my stresses disappear. It becomes a survival moment for me, as if I'm playing a game that gives my life meaning away from the corporate cubicle and spreadsheets. It's no different than a man in a suit sometimes wishing it were he digging the ditch, only if because it would make him feel like a man for just a few moments. It's a do or die moment. Each move is meticulous. Each position is pushing me to think of only me and nothing else.

Sometimes when I reflect, I can think of myself on the wall as a jumper who is floating through the air with one goal on his mind: to land well enough to be satisfied with the endeavour. To see the steep drop of the ramp melt into the slope of the landing ground below. To look up at the scary crimps above me and realize, once I've reached the top, that the bottom has become the top in one, full swoosh of the body moving the mind upward. It became an obsession of mine every time I drove past the site, probably to the dismay of my passengers because I was the one driving. My heart still races when I think of it.

Ahem, I notice that this post has gone long as well. Midnight bouldering will come in the next post. Sorry!

Adirondacks - Saturday: Beer Walls - Part Two: Still Getting There and Then the Climbing

Now, I'm not going to point fingers here, because really, it isn't any one person's fault. No one had been climbing at Beer Walls, not even "Jello", but because he lived in the area, albeit for only a couple of months, and because he had been reading the guidebook dutifully since we left the house that morning, the task of getting us to the crag, which ever one that may have been, was given to "Jello" and we followed him blindly into the woods. The guidebook said to follow an obvious path uphill from the right-hand side of the parking lot, and that this path would take us to the top of lower Beer Walls; presumably where we wanted to go, but we weren't really clear on that, so that indecision made things a little hazy in the details.

But the path "Jello" found was, in some regards, obvious. I mean, it was obvious that someone had actually walked this way at some point in the past month-and-a-half. The fallen, brown leaves that covered this so-called path were quickly assumed to have been due to the lack of traffic that would have cleared them from under our feet otherwise. "After all", one person noted, "it has only just begun to be summer in the 'Dacks." We all agreed even if that sounded a little bit silly.

In any case, "Jello" seemed to be vindicated as we came along an obvious path that led us to the top of something. What that was at the moment we didn't know, and how to get to wherever else we wanted to go we also didn't know. So no one complained, even in the face of imminent where-the-fuck-are-we-dom.

We did manage to find Upper Beer Walls, but there were people toying around there already. We then found what we thought was the top of Lower Beer Walls, but we weren't sure. There was no rappel station, and the nine of us that stood on the occupancy-seven ledge were a bit freaked out about just how much personal space Americans really need to lose before the shoving begins, even amongst friends.

But we never feared, because our leader did not. "Jello" recognized the lost-sheep look in our eyes, and he took it upon himself to find the way - bushwhack style, the only way he knows how to travel. To be fair, he did find a path for us to follow, the problem came when we got a little off course and ended up falling into soft patches of leaves whilst battling downed trees and branches. This was all going downhill too, which made the travelling that much more sketchy for those who had a brain freeze at the campground and decided to wear sandals. But in the mind of our fearless leader, downhill was exactly what we wanted, be damned how it happened. If we were initially at the top of the Lower Beer Walls then it made sense to go downhill to get to the bottom of Lower Beer Walls. Why we don't have more people like this I'll never know.

Well, "Jello" led us to the bottom of the hill alright, but there was no crag to be seen. We were standing in a ravine, a gully or something of similar description when, using his noddle, "Jello" narrowed down our options to climbing up the hill opposite the one we had just come down or climbing up a gully and into the thick brush that separated the two hills. The using his head part wasn't just figuring the options. The man is a politician waiting to be elected. Instead, he gave the group the options and let them decide. After all, if the group chose correct then he would be the hero. If the group chose incorrectly, well, then what the fuck was the group thinking? He's only in his mid-twenties, but I tell you, he's going places.

The group almost immediately and unanimously chose the thick gully. It turned out to be "Jello"'s day after that. While the gully was certainly no fun climbing up (I'm not sure how many times I got whipped by a branch thanks to the person in front of me), it turned out to be the miraculous decision. As we emerged, scraped faces, arms and all, from the thick of the forest, we saw before us the shimmering glow of sunshine heated rock; all of it waiting to be climbed. Sure enough, we had found the bottom of Lower Beer Walls.

From then on, the climbing was great. For one, there was hardly anyone there. It is almost an unimaginable concept for me. The Adirondacks have far more climbs than Rumney, Cathedral and Whitehorse combined, yet no one was there. In fact, I'd even bet there were more climbs in Keene Valley alone than in the 'Gunks. I know, it's a long drive and the crags are not all situated in one location (though they are kind of across the street from each other). But still, this was Memorial Day weekend and I was looking at some of the finest rock I had ever seen. It blew my mind that we never had to queue for a route, and that we, a group of nine, more than doubled all other groups in the area combined.

In any case, we split off into pairs and monopolized every moderate route we could find: from stiff, single pitch 5.8s to long, smooth, multi-pitch 5.7s and 5.6s. There was nothing we didn't climb, and it felt damn good to get all that climbing in after the adventures we'd had the past couple of days. The next few paragraphs will go through some of the climbs and experiences that I had while at Lower Beer Walls that day:

Equis (5.7) - This was my first route of the day and the most obvious line that we found as soon as we arrived at the crag. The bulk of the route was a flaring flake with a cedar tree in the middle that ended on an easier-than-it-looked overhanging section just below the bottom of the cliff. Even the start looked harder than it was, but with the proper body position, gaining the flake wasn't that difficult and walking the flake was nearly a category four scramble. It was the top part that had most people concerned. Not only did it look overhanging, which it really wasn't because the easiest moves were more face-climbing on the side of the overhang than in the overhang itself, but a new word was spread around that also incorporated with the steepness the possibility of water in the cracks: Manky. Manky apparently means "suspect" as in - Boy that six-day old jug of non-refrigerated milk looks manky. I think, however, I was the only one who wasn't concerned about the wetness. I did note that it was wet to "Red" (who belayed and seconded), but it was never an issue for me. It was never an issue for "Red" either, and she came up to the top with a look of satisfaction on her face. We agreed it was a good, first climb.

The funny part of getting to the top of this route was that we discovered a path down from the top to the bottom, without bushwhacking. In fact, much to my amusement, before bushwhacking, we actually stood at the top of that very climb no more than twenty minutes before. How we didn't see the obvious trail down, I will never know.

Rockaholic (5.8) - I had seen a couple of guys run this while I was scouting Equis and it intrigued me. To be honest, it intrigued most of us, but the protection seemed very sketchy and thin (except to "Jello", who turned out to be correct in the end when he believed the crack was deeper than it appeared from the bottom). The two guys, by the way, were actually MetroRock routesetters: one of who's name rhymed with "Mars" and the other's initials were "AJC" - small world.

Anyway, they said the crack was deep and while it did not take cams very well, it would certainly eat nuts. This to me was acceptable, and I decided to make it my second climb of the day. But it also looked difficult. For one, I am not a crack climber (though at one time I used to think that I was. Why this is so, I do not know), and this climb was a diagonal crack leading from about ten above a blank-face start to a large block where there were rap anchors waiting at the top. I watched "Mars" and "AJC" work the crack from the bottom, that is, with thier hands holding the bottom of the crack and their feet smearing below the crack. They climbed this with ease, and I felt that this must be the best way to approach this climb. Boy, was I wrong about that. "Mars" and "AJC" were the only climbers of the day whose feet did not slip on the smears below the crack. Everyone else, including myself, found this section to be particularly strenuous. When I got on the climb, I went up and down several times before I told myself that this approach was ridiculous.

Now, I understand that people had told me the 'Dacks were sandbagged (meaning the routes were harder than the grade), and as I was flailing on this climb, I really began to believe this was true. However, it was what I did next that completely changed my mind on this topic. Instead of climbing the bottom part of the crack with my hands, I laid back against the top part of the crack and walked my feet up the bottom part. Sure, it felt exposed and not at all like what the route wanted me to do, but it actually felt 5.8, whereas the other approach felt more like a sloppy 5.9+. From that moment on, I essentially ran up the crack (well, as much as one can run while trad leading) to the block and made it to the top with ease. It wasn't long after that "Jello" asked me if I felt the grades were, in fact, sandbagged. I told him a resounding "no". Maybe it is true that the harder grades are sandbagged, but the easier ones we did at Beer Walls were accurately graded. All one needed to do was to find the easiest way to get up the damn climb. This isn't the gym people - everything is on!

Pegasus (5.7 - two pitches) - This was the best climb of the day, although to call it two pitches is a bit on the farcical side. Certainly, there was a first pitch, but it was only forty feet high and could have been topped by walking up a category four scramble to the right of the climb itself. Instead, there was what looked like, again, a stiff, flaring crack with jugs on the face that looked perfect for laying back on. However, the guidebook said the climb required creative thinking, and that worried me a little bit. It couldn't be all that bad, I thought. After all, I had just come to the conclusion that these routes were not sandbagged. If the book said it was a 5.7, then it had to be a 5.7.

The only problem with this line of thinking was the ringing voice in my head that kept saying: "be creative, be creative". I didn't know what that meant until I got up into the flaring crack and tried to layback off the jugs I had seen from the ground. Well, guess what, those were jugs without feet, and, in my mind, jugs without feet aren't jugs at all. For a good, few minutes, I was actually kind of scared...on a 5.7. This couldn't be right. "It's a damn 5.7," I kept telling myself. Finally, being nearly pumped out from laying back, I needed a rest and I gave up on the worrying and laying back and jammed my shoulder into the flaring crack when, suddenly, I got the amazing sensation of...SECURITY!!!! That's right. Being creative didn't mean reading what seemed to be obvious; it meant doing what was easiest instead. From then on, I slithered my way up the crack with my right shoulder (and the whole of my right torso to be honest) firmly stuck between the opposing sides of the crack until I was able to use the jugs I tried using for hands before...for feet! What a concept!

To say this route was the best of the day is really an understatement. Once "Wrongway" and "Red" made it to the top of the first pitch, I was in heaven as I wound my way up what seemed to be a runout face climb all the way to the top. I say "seemed to be" because in the end, there were plenty of places to put gear, they just weren't obvious all the way up. The book said this was the most popular route in the 'Dacks, and I believe it. It had everything: route-finding skills, exposure, a small roof, a long flake and, best of all, mucho, mucho face climbing. Whoohoo!

On a side note, before we began climbing Pegasus, we heard "Jesus" and "Ankle" communicating on another 5.7, two-pitch route that was directly above us. From the start, it sounded as if they had some serious route-finding issues that ended up throwing them into a long traverse that maybe they didn't want to get into when they started. As "Wrongway" and I were scouting out the exact starting spot of Pegasus (because that damn flaring crack couldn't have been the start), we overheard a couple of points of the "Jesus" and "Ankle" climbing conversation -

"Ankle" - I can't get this piece of the crack?

"Jesus" - What piece? They're all cams.

"Ankle" - I'm going to need to rest to get this piece out. Take!

"Jesus" - Take what?

"Ankle" - Falling! Whooo! jingle, skid, jingle, bounce, bounce, jingle

I didn't see the fall, but I saw "Wrongway"'s expression when it happened, and it wasn't one of "wow, that was a nice, clean fall." I looked up at "Ankle" to see if he was OK. He had apparently fallen something like ten feet down (due to rope stretch) and fifteen feet across (due to the traverse). I didn't realize this until later, but he mildly sprained his ankle during this fall and didn't climb the rest of the day (though he made it to the top, and this, I think, was a good decision. This is mainly because if he couldn't walk on his ankle then he would be that much closer to the parking lot to be carried out. If "Jesus" had let him down all the way, then we would have had to carry him back up the cliff and down again the other side). I also learned later on that "Jesus" felt the cam placement should have been easy to pull out. He justified this by saying he himself had pulled it out before finally placing it. He also said that when "Ankle" asked for him to take the rope that the rope, as far as he could tell, was already as tight as he could take it. It is believed that when "Ankle" asked "Jesus" to take that he wasn't asked him to pull in slack but to ensure that "Jesus" had him tight instead. Still, to be injured on the first climb of the weekend, that sucks. Traverses are always dangerous for seconds, and we learned that lesson well.

Afternoon Delight (5.5) - Is there any better way to finish a day but on a 5.5 jug haul that has more potential gear placement opportunities than a foot-long ruler has quarter-inch markings? I vote no, there isn't a better way, and this is what "Wrongway" and I did to finish up. I let him take the lead since I had just led Pegasus for two pitches. To be honest, I don't think I've been up as juggy of a route before. I mean, there were these massive - three or four of them - diagonal cracks that could have been climbed separately themselves and still have been a 5.7 at the hardest. I think most of the time when I get on a climb this juggy it turns out to be more of a hard scramble than an actual climb. But not this route. "Afternoon Delight" was just that, an afternoon delight that was essentially a face climb that used the space in the cracks as a way to get the climber from the ground to the top safely. We both got up with broad smiles on our faces, and we knew our day had been completed (or so I thought).

"Red" then asked me to lead "Rockaholic" again so she could second it, but I was hoping that "Jesus" would lead it as he said he would after he finished with "Afternoon Delight". When he came down to lead the route, "Red" asked him again if he would and he, looking up and seeing "Sherpa" already on the route asked, "What? Right now? At the same time?" We all kind of laughed and suggested that "Jesus" could actually lead the climb as "Sherpa" was seconding. The only downside for "Sherpa" was that she would have to carry "Jesus"' gear on her rack so that all he had to do was stand up and pluck whatever nut suited his fancy off the back of her harness. It was going to be, in our minds anyway, just like going to a store and picking items off a hook or shelf in front of you, hence the nickname "Sherpa", because "Sherpa" was going to carry all of "Jesus"' gear for him.

That finished the day for everyone and we all took a much more direct route out than we had taken in. When we got back to the parking lot, we actually came out a different way than we had gone in - no surprise there. While "Jello" certainly chose the wrong, obvious path, it wasn't all his fault. He did choose a path at the right side of the parking lot, and that path did get us to the top. The book didn't say exactly how far away from the right side of the parking lot the trail actually was. It turns out it was about fifty feet further down from the path we took. Oh well.

I hinted above that I thought my day was over, but that it actually wasn't. I'll post my notes from later in the day tomorrow. Until then, Apropos of Nothing -

1) "Jello" had a hard time getting his nuts out of the crack all day, even the dirty cracks.

2) "Jesus" was the only person who fell on "Rockaholic" causing me to think, but not say because no one knew what I had given him for a nickname yet, "Jesus Hangs!"

3) Greg really did have snacks that he forgot to take out of the trunk of his car, and he still has one bag as proof!

4) "Wrongway" didn't get lost on the way back, at least I don't think he did.

5) Greg hates snakes, especially ones that hang around the belay area with a large object being digested in the middle of its body

6) Beer Walls will always be remembered as a great first day in the 'Dacks

Adirondacks - Saturday: Beer Walls - Part One: Getting There

I awoke to "Jello" knocking on my door - a knobless piece of wood on hinges that served better as a deterrent to light than sound - and the smell of cheap pancakes sizzling on the stove in the kitchen next door. It was seven in the morning and I was as hungry as surprisingly well-rested. I don't sleep well when I'm not in my own bed. That's why I prefer staying in an actual bed over camping. If I'm not going to be in my own bed, then at least I'm actually in one. So to say I was well-rested is not accurate without context. To be honest, the drive up the day before had taken its toll. I roll my eyes as I type this. I'm thirty-two years old and can't take the same punishment that I could ten years earlier, but what is it going to be like in another ten years? Seriously, will I be crawling? I doubt it, but then again, maybe I won't see forty-two - so why care?

I crawled out of bed and stuck my hand in the open window to feel the crisp air waken the nerves in my palm and fingers. When we left Boston, it was a stark ninety degrees. In Ray Brook, it felt closer to a mild eighty; complete with the smell of pine and long grass, what you don't get in the city. After breakfast, "Jello" asked "Unity" if she wanted to join us, and she did. Our plan was to hit Beer Walls in Keene Valley, hopefully with the rest of the crew who didn't travel to Rodgers Rock, which, by the way, are the only pictures I have from the damn trip. It would be nice if people picked up the slack and sent me some Beer Walls photos (HINT, HINT).

However, I was unsure if we'd meet up with "Jesus", "Naples", "Lucky" and "Bikeman". The area seemed large, as in "Rumney" large with several different sections of crags available for everyone to pick and chose. I also didn't know if people were simply pairing up and taking off into the woods, only to be seen again as dusk settled in over the mountains the crackle of the campfire roared to life in North Hudson. I was mostly concerned, however, that my pals from Friday would not have a ride to the crag. I tossed and turned in my head the thoughts of going straight to the crag and heading to the campground to see if they needed rides. In retrospect, this sounds selfish and I should not have second guessed going to pick them up. But my main problem was not knowing how far away they were during the day without traffic from "Jello"'s place, and how far away again they were from the climbing site. In fact, we passed the climbing site on the way back to the campground, so the thought of missing valuable climbing time was pressing whatever lobes in my brain make decisions such as this. In any case, I decided to head to the campground just in case someone needed a ride.

I was lucky in the sense that if I had not gone back to the campground then everything would have been as confusing as I had thought it would be - with many places for people to hide and possibly, as a result, missed opportunities. We we approached the "Sharp Bridge - 1000 Feet" sign - a sign, by the way, "Jello" took offense to because there was no way the entrance to the campground was more than five hundred feet down the road from the sign - I was completely expecting to drive all the way in to the back of the campground to see if anyone was stranded. As it sometimes turns out, timing is everything (Yogi Berra would be proud). Sitting at the Ranger's office were two cars full of excited campers ready to go climbing. There was "Bikeman", "Jesus", "Wrongway", "Red" (btw - in an earlier post I had given the nickname "Red" to a person already, but upon seeing this new "Red", I realized I needed a new nickname for the old "Red". The old "Red" will now be known as "Sherpa" - story to come later),"Sherpa", and "Ankle". We smiled. We shook hands. We greeted one another and kissed our fingers to the sky as a sign of respect to life as we knew it to be. In short, we were damn lucky we had met when we did, because if we didn't meet at that moment in time then we would have had a helluva time finding each other at the crag.

After our greetings, it was noted that the campers had to stop at a general store to pick up supplies for the day and that evening. We all got in a line and drove to what turned out to be the local "Jellystone Park" campground, complete with Ranger Smith, Yogi, Boo-boo and bags of ice, water and goody snacks to be munched on later. But this wasn't without some adventure.

I was driving the third and last car in line when the first car, presumably driven by "Red", banked a right turn toward I-87. Not knowing where we were going, I followed "Wrongway" up a small hill and around a quick corner where, oddly enough, I found him sitting on the right side of the road with his left blinker on. "OK," I said. "I guess we should have followed "Red"." We turned around and headed toward I-87 when I was looking at something (not the road in front of me, and definitely not the car in front of me) and heard "Jello" shout "They're...they're...STOPPING!" I slammed on my brakes and went into full skid mode. "Wrongway" leisurely turned into Jellystone, where "Red" had turned, and I flew right past him, happy that his car had turned when it did because my car had neither the distance to turn nor time to get out of the way. (btw - because he had gear in the rear window, he never saw this happen). After scaring the shit out of my passengers, I calmly backed up and took the only remaining parking spot left (the handicap spot) and waited for us to head off again. When we finally did, I was happy to see that, in fact, anti-lock brakes do not leave skid marks. This required me to recite the conservationist mantra of "leave no trace" with a grin on my face not shared by my passengers.

But this wasn't the end of our little adventure. Far from it in fact. Once on the interstate we were all aware that we needed to take exit thirty to get to Beer Walls. We drove for a few miles in tandem at about eighty miles-per-hour until I, the second car in line behind "Wrongway" noticed that exit thirty was approaching. I also noticed that "Wrongway" was not slowing down and was still in the left lane. Here is the conversation that transpired:

Greg - Is he going to pull into the right lane?

"Jello" - I don't know, maybe he doesn't think he can squeeze in front of you. Trying slowing down.

Greg slows down..."Wrongway" does not.

Greg - Do they see it?

"Jello" waves both hands through the sunroof. He points, waves, even shouts a bit - not sure why as it was an interstate and he was more than listening distance away. "Wrongway" does not slow down nor does he pull into the right lane.

Greg and "Red" take exit thirty. "Wrongway" keeps driving. "Jello" confirms that exit thirty-one is a long way down the road and does not intersect with Route 73, where Beer Walls is located

Greg and "Red" drive to the Beer Walls parking lot. Greg suggests everyone heads in because it is going to be a while before the others show up. "Red" notes that, other than "Jello" and myself, "Wrongway"'s car has not only all the other leaders, but also all the climbing gear. Greg is intrigued by the fact that "Red" has all the food...mmmmm

But then all was well. No more than five minutes later did "Wrongway" surprisingly show up coming from the same direction we came. It turns out that "Wrongway" has a set of nuts (pun intended). He didn't need no stinkin' exit thirty-one, not when there are more than enough of those handy "authorized vehicle only" turnaround spots to use. We laughed, collected our gear and followed "Jello" into the woods.