Designed to Placate

Blog post as mitigation.  Here you go...

Jason Pinto on Veritas.  We've been spending a great deal of time at this boulder recently. Mostly under it. Rarely atop. We hope to favorably alter the ratio of these prepositions soon. I did manage to climb to the top from the original stand-start last week, but the sit-start still eludes me, so my work here is not quite finished. 

Lauren ekes out a reluctant smile despite rainy/snowy Memorial Day conditions. The technicolored raincoat amplifies her intrinsic cheer. (Note the aspens, which had not even started to bud. It was evidently a long winter for chumps in the high country).

Simone and Russ most certainly misbehavin'

The aftermath of debauchery at Camp Dick.  The restaurant crew wanted to go on a backpacking trip, so I very carefully coerced them into going to Camp Dick, where I had an unfinished project (Put Some Hair Around It). It was an altogether successful trip, culminating in the construction of the "perfect smore," a virtuous sort of outdoorsy drunkenness, and an ascent of the boulder problem that has spit me off for two years. I can't wait to convince these non-climbing friends that Mt. Evans is a really scenic place to camp.   

Mt. Meeker and Long's Peak. 

By Way of Update

I really have nothing to say, and will belabor that point with many words.  Some of you have issued demands for an update, and must now receive it graciously.  Those who haven't asked for one-- indeed stumbled upon this blog by sheer accident -- will be labeled as "collateral damage."  I will now proceed.

During this past month in Colorado, I've been forced to alter my criteria for a successful day of bouldering.  In the Southeast, a successful day was one in which I sent many quality problems, finished a project, or came so heartbreakingly close to finishing a project that subsequent success was essentially guaranteed.  I think that's a pretty safe, generic way to define success in bouldering.  But I have manifestly failed on all of those counts since returning here.  Therefore, I've been forced to redefine success so that it appears less fleeting.  

For example:

• Success is getting really good roundtrip gas mileage to and from the crag by employing my mad geriatric driving skills.

• Success is knowing that Simone deconstructed an entire elk carcass during one of my flail sessions on Get Over It.  (She then deconstructed laissez faire economics and string theory just because).

• Success is defecating once, twice, nay... thrice before giving my chosen boulder problem an earnest burn.  Praise be unto coffee. 

• Success is chewing up and swallowing my performance-enhancing chunk of ginger without succumbing to the full-body, spasmodic hiccups that it sometimes causes.  It's the damnedest thing when that happens...     

• Success is -- between attempts -- reading ten pages in Oprah's new self-help book-of-the-month pick, hugging myself for purposes of stretching and reassurance, and sobbing uncontrollably in order to purge excess water weight (spitting in a cup is so crass...)
  

So there you have it.  Definitive proof that I am a successful rock climber and can continue to flaunt my self-aggrandizing demeanor, in spite of the dearth of problems on my 8a spraysheet. I hope all of you youngsters in my readership have learned that with a little self-delusion, a flair for sophistry, and some good old fashioned determination, you too can be successful one day.  It's all a matter of definitions.  

Next week's lesson:  Successful Career Evasion and How to Drink Copious Quantities of Wine! 

Back in Boulder

Snow-capped peaks; Potent microbrews; Militant, wheat-free vegans; Beautiful people walking comelier dogs; Painful, granola-induced diarrhea (quickly remedied with kombucha); Chinook winds; Vigorous grade debates; Prius drag races; Painful crystal pulling; Three-hundred days of sunshine (with attendant melanoma); Low atmospheric pressure (allowing for expansive egos); Charismatic fauna; Multiparous mothers who are stronger than you; Cultural diversity...  

Well, maybe not that last one.  We tend to reflect a lot of light here.* But the other overlying idiosyncrasies are just part of what makes me glad to call this place "home"... at least for a while.  

Just making sure that I can still do the move on Moffat Direct, one year crustier.  While it is much maligned, Flagstaff Mt. is a good place to try and earn street credit.  Not that I need any... yo.

Andy Mann warming up for a session at Arthur's Rock

Andy on Ode to Failure

Simone, content to burrow wherever we are.  (Note to park rangers:  No actual erosion was caused by this placid K-9.  Blogs are not real life.)

Jason Pinto on Laying in Wait, the "best slab in Colorado."

*Yes, I am conflating culture and color.  What of it, you goddamn hippie!?

A View From My Vernal Vantage-Point

Here is what I will do this summer:  

I will eat about a thousand pounds of mushrooms, porcini mostly (though I'll also devour ample amounts of hawk's wing, hedgehog, and prince mushrooms).  This season is certain to be the most fruitful since I began to forage several years ago.  And this year, I will tackle any squirrels, bears, or Polish expats who stand between me and my bountiful fungi-fare.  Troublesome empiricists might ask, "What's your evidence to suggest that this year's flush will be so extraordinary, or that your ability to comb the forest floor will have improved?"  Such incredulity doesn't even dignify a response.  Doubters will go hungry, mark my words.

I will climb all of my projects, thanks to my new found physical prowess (owing to the mushroom consumption, of course).  This needs no further comment.

I will summit many of Colorado's proud peaks.  In recent years, my desire to be a hard boulderer has taken priority over my desire to be a hardened mountaineer.  However, I will find a balance between both ambitions this season.  After all, some of my most memorable experiences have taken place on the flanks of some majestic mountain, where I find myself somewhere between physical rupture and emotional rapture.  I won't deprive myself of that experience this summer.

I will go on a date, or some such amorous excursion.  Seems like high time.  I admit, this is the most tentative of my summertime resolutions, as it's the only one that requires mutual inclination.  But it seems like a reasonable thought to have in spring, with all of its fecundity.  The mushrooms will no doubt aid me in this endeavor as well.

Soon, summer will come to pass judgement on the merit, or folly, of my April ambitions.  Until then, they all seem highly plausible.

New River Gorge

We traveled as a three-man extractive industry.  We sought to better mountain-top removal miners with our unbridled crushing capacity.  However, the EPA summarily banned us, citing stream pollution, deforestation and general habitat destruction.  Go figure.

 

Beautiful scenery...

Pleasant company...

Ice cold beer...

Edward Abbey might disapprove...

Anthony on Tribe of Two Sheiks

 

John on an unknown, but quickly realized problem.  (Yikes -- epistemological disarray!)

See John Dubose and Anthony Lett for more.  I call that blogging by proxy.

Matt's Prow

I am opposed to the death penalty, and, as it turns out, execution of all sorts.  My climbing performance on Sunday was illustrative of this aversion to completion.  I took a day trip to Boone, which is no zippy commute, only to climb to the top of and back away from Matt's Prow (v8).  Three times.  

To be sure, the fall is harrowing.  It's not exactly tall, but it is rocky and uneven, and seems to scream "COMPOUND FRACTURE!" or "BACKWARDS CATAPULT!"  One should have a spotter, and I was alone.  Nevertheless, I chose to go ahead and climb on it, and should have finished it.  Otherwise, I should have chosen not to climb on it and expended my effort elsewhere.  There is plenty of elsewhere in Boone.  

The inability of a 26-year-old college grad (who is also uninsured) to make intelligent and mature decisions about which little piece of rock to climb is sad.  The inability of said grad to conjure up some balls and see those decisions through is utterly disgraceful.

And now for my public shaming:

Sorry for all the self-laceration.  Perhaps my upcoming trip to West Virginia will dry my sodden spirits.

The Dali

Ah, The Dali...  A jolly warm-up for many, but a project of monumental proportions for yours truly.  The day that I finally climbed it was fraught with frustration and emotional discharge.  It was to be my final attempt to send before moving to South Carolina for an indefinite period.  My motivation couldn't have been greater.  And, as you will see in the feature film below, success appeared to be fleeting as the session wore on.  However, I managed to pull it together just before the alpine sun peeked over the Eastern Ridge, which on previous days signified the end of my “workday” (at about 9:00 am).

I’ll spare you the verbiage regarding my level of psych or white-kid-introspection or fulfillment or whatever.  I’m sure all that noise is implicit.  It’s not that I’m being flippant about personal achievement; indeed, I’ve remarked on it plenty of times before.  It’s just that I sound so trite when I do.  Ultimately, better people have expressed wiser thoughts about harder climbs.

Then again, the above statements could be perceived as some sort of false modesty, or a futile attempt to rise above the fray.  Fuck it.  Scrutinize my ego as you see fit, just don’t say shit about my tank-top. 

Take Note: The Columbia Scene is on Fire!!!

Eat your collective heart out, Boulder, Chatt-Town and SLC...  Columbia is officially a SCENE!!!  Barrister/Boulderer John DuBose and Longman/Strongman Anthony Lett now have blogs.  Ignore them at your peril.

John Dubose -- petrocasuistry.blogspot.com

Anthony Lett -- wwwantsrant.blogspot.com

Patio Roof

Here is a video of my ascent of the Patio Roof (v8), on the west side of Rumbling Bald.  Critical viewers might mistake my unabashed body slinging and complete lack of style as gestures of disrespect for this little jewel.  But please understand, I know no other way to climb.  The citadel of my athletic repertoire is too well fortified to be penetrated by something as timorous as grace (read: I'm heavy and stubborn).  Anyway, I hope you enjoy.  

Full size?  I don't get it.