From Squamish to Sitka

Squamish was great. I couldn’t have asked for a better trip really. I made it there with little to no road rage, border was good, wasn't made to strip down and grab my ankles, and my car wasn’t asked to do the automotive equivalent of a strip search, so I was happy. Why is it so comforting to pull into the Squamish parking lot on a sunny day? I have so many fond memories of Squamish, from the very first time before I knew jack shit about bouldering or the profound impacts it would have on my life, with Dom and Laura and Rob and George, to Nick and Jimmy, to the most recent trip with Ty, David and Jimmy and Dom.
I pulled into the parking lot and immediately felt at home. I felt welcome. I felt ready to climb, and laugh, and drink and eat, and sleep in the car with the hatch up, drifting off in a comfortable haze under the star bright Canadian sky with the Chief looming in the background like a watchful and loving parent. I walked through the forest with a smile.

The first people I ran into were a worn out Jimmy, Ty, and David. They had been in Squamish for the last 8 days and were ready for a rest.

I found them standing and watching a group of french Cnadian climbers tackle the low start to a problem called Mr. Bigglesworth. I’m not really sure what they were doing at this particular boulder, since none of them were climbing, but it served me well as a warm up. Mr. Bigglesworth is a pretty sweet V.6 I had never even laid eyes on before. I gave it a few burns before finally leaping to the finishing incut crimp at the lip while the two French guys in the background shook their heads with disgust. The French are much more statically inclined, probably has something to do with their roots in the mime business. I gave the low a once over and approved of the intro, but maybe next time. We scooped up the pads and sauntered through the woods struggling to make up our minds as to what to get on next.

Hunt’s arête? No. Sharma traverse? The Bulb? No. No. The Rookie? YES! Last year I was thwarted by this problem. My access to the upper crimps was repeatedly denied by a lack of confidence in my heel hook and a fear of landing on my back. This year I jumped to the sloper, reached out right and locked off on the crimper, reaching upwards with ease and finding good crimps waiting for me. I hit the jug at the top and then was faced with a boulderers’ nightmare, a blank top out. I had to think about it for a while before finally switching my hand into a palm press and rocking over on a good foot ledge. Whew! It was done! I was psyched out of my mind to have sent a V.8 in Squamish on my first bouldering trip of the year, not to mention my first bouldering trip since I had torn my Achilles. It felt really good to have a couple hard problems under my belt on my first day in Squamish and I was nothing short of pleased and psyched for the rest of the trip. I made it my goal to try and tick all the V-grades from V.0 to V.8. So far, the hardest parts were out of the way but I still needed to find a V.7 that would let me have my way. Enough about that.



Dom had driven up the night before, somewhat intoxicated, so he was napping in his tent. We ran into him later in the afternoon while I was having a go on Mantra. I made some good progress and should have sent. I latched the slopey pinch at the lip but gave up on trying to get my heel high enough to rock over to the finishing jug. There are so many problems I am psyched on at Squamish, I really cannot wait until next summer to come back for an extended (hopefully two week) stay.


We stopped climbing in order to have some dinner in the fading summer sun, but got back to work when the evening cool set in. We had finally congealed as a group and the first boulder we stopped at was the Super Dyke boulder. A viciously crimpy and technical line that has a tree right at your back during the crux sequence. Everyone started shredding what little skin they had left but I only tried it once.


Ty on Super Dyke (V.3)





Dom reaching and balancing on Super Dyke.





Just before the crippling fall!


The above picture is pretty much how the rest of the trip went for Dom. He sent Rainier after Rainier, and then tackled the aspirin bottle which he flashed.

The one huge disappointment of the trip happened on this very problem. Dom had gotten through the crux on Super Dyke but fell on a vicious barn door move coming down awkwardly on his ankle. It was hideously swollen in a matter of minutes and it was clear that his short trip to Squamish was over, at least in the climbing department. We scrambled about looking for a makeshift crutch for him before we finally decided to just put him on our backs (literally), or at least David’s back. The evening sesh ended with beer and a couple of The Fuzz sends. It was great to be back in Squamish. The next morning we splintered into mini groups. Jimmy and I headed to Check Canyon, David and Ty went bouldering at the North Walls, and Dom, well, Dom went to Murrin Park to sit by the lake and read, and not die from an aspirin overdose.


I had an excellent time sport climbing. I started the day off with a super classic .10b at the Forgotten wall called the Voodoo That You Do. Next up I went for the onsight of .12a called Got Pull? It didn’t look exceptionally tricky but I was definitely struggling on some of the moves just out of sheer fear of the unknown. It turned out to be quite easy. A couple big pulls in the middle made up the crux, but the start and the finish were probably 5.9? It’s not a super proud .12a, but I was still really psyched to be able to just hop on a .12a and send. Jimmy flashed, then I tried the .12b next door but it was awkward and crimpy and I just didn’t have a good time climbing on it. Jimmy nabbed the .12b and then stepped right and onsighted a sweet looking .12a called Trunk Monkey. I really regret not trying this line, it looked great. I was kind of saving my energy for the Fleeing Heffer, but I started to get in the groove and everything looked appealing to me (I love that feeling, the fear melts away and all of sudden you want to climb everything!). The sun was not cooperating so we retreated to a shadier spot near the Circus wall called Toxic Lichen wall. I onsighted a really crimpy and technical .11c there called Mutation which is given 4 stars in the guide book. It was not my style at all, and I didn’t enjoy it at a 4 star level, but it is definitely a classic. Jimmy onsighted another .12a called Ms. Negative and after watching Jimmy on it I decided to pass this one up as well. Infact, I was feeling pretty tired so we just packed up and left without even getting on the day’s main objective! Oh well, next year (I said that a lot on this trip).



I wolfed down a foot long from Quizno’s and then we headed to the lake to meet up with the rest of the crew. We dipped our feet in for a while and then, accompanied by a woozy Dom, we made our way back to the Chief parking lot. I was on a mission. The sun had started to slowly dip behind the elegance that is the chief and I was loading my back pack with beer. Jimmy, Ty, David, and myself headed into the woods to see what we could find.

(There was supposed to be a video of the send here but my internet connection is fucked!)

Another failed sesh on Mantra led me to Breakfast at Tiffany’s, just what I was looking for. The holds are all really good, and so are the feet, perfect. I can usually tell right off the bat whether or not I have a good chance of sending a boulder problem, and with this one I not only thought I could send, but I really felt like I could flash this. In my overenthusiastic flash attempt I pulled on way too relaxed and watched as my foot slipped right off the starting foot ramp. Oh well. I figured out some better foot beta for the first move and I had my hand sequence absolutely dialed. For extra encouragement I decided to perch my camera on a nearby stump and get some video footage (I was also by myself, so I thought it would be good to have some evidence of the send in case there were some haters). I pulled on and nailed my hand sequence and the new higher foot I used kept me on quite nicely. Everything was working out swell, I had to make a harder than I thought from the ground stab to a slopey side pull but once I stuck it, in typical Squamish style (hand slaps rock and slides down a good 6 inches from where it started before sticking in place from pure friction and will power), I grabbed some incuts and started pull my girth over the slopey bulge that is the top out. Uh oh. I couldn’t quite get my right foot onto a huge foot ledge at waist height. Crap! I was starting to overgrip, plus there was noone spotting me. I tried to stab for higher ground with my hands but no dice. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a guy jump over rocks and downed trees to come to my rescue. That definitely took some of the fear out of my grip and I finally relaxed enough to grovel the rest of the way up. I had completed the V.7 for my collection! YES!


David on a sweet and burly V.3 traverse.

Now it was time to sit down, stop shaking, and drink the pain away. I cracked a cool Rainier and sat on my crashpads soaking in the streams of light that made their way through the dense trees of the forest. Cheap beer has never tasted so good. I think the last time I had bouldered it had been in the Fall, almost a year ago, and this trip had absolutely infected me with the bouldering bug once more. I sauntered through the woods looking for my wayward friends. I found them monkeying around on an obscure boulder above Mantra, which was actually home to a splendid V.4. I ticked one more number off the list. I gathered my friends and we plodded through the forest stopping whenever we saw a line we wanted to climb on. This worked quite well actually. We kept stumbling upion really sweet low balls. The first was a traversing line on good incut crimpers across an otherwise blank face. The straight up version was V.3, check! Just over a dead tree laid another sweet looking line that was V.2, check! David took us to an awesome low ball roof called Diabolica. With some toe hook trickery I was mantling my V.5, check! We wandered on down the trail and stopped one last time at another traversing line that was really good as well. I still had a V.1 and V.0 to do but I wasn’t worried. We kept walking down the road to the powerline boulders but didn’t climb anymore that evening. What a day it had been.


Sport climbing, bouldering, the only thing I was missing was multi pitch trad climbing, but since Dom had fucked his ankle up beyond belief I would have to do without. I decided since I was going to be pretty much sedentary for the next few days that I would wake up early before my long drive to Prince Rupert and hike the Chief trail.


I had always seen hordes, masses, swarms of people making their way up this trail but had never let my curiosity run away with me. My plan worked well, I woke up at 6:30 and by 7 I was on the trail. It was absolutely abandoned except for two people, who quite frankly looked as if they were not going to make it, and they were only 10 minutes in (or at least I was only ten minutes in when I ran across them). The hike was steep but on all sides of me there was immaculate, soaring walls of tan, salt and pepper, and almost a smokey colored granite. I liked being the first on such a popular trail, it felt serene and calm amongst the sleeping giants.



The view from the second peak, Squamish in a nutshell.


I did the first peak, had a good look around, then hiked the second peak. I guess you could say I was procrastinating a little bit, since I wasn't entirely thrilled about hopping in my car and driving for 18 hours, but I eventually managed my way back down the trail (which was now swarming with people) and said a fond farewell to my friends who I probably won't see for quite some time.



Mt. Geribaldi



Leaving Squamish behind, far behind...


Aaaahhhhhh, finally, Prince Rupert!! This was the view while I waited to board the ferry.





And finally, presenting, SITKA!! This is the view from the library where I spend a lot of time on line, reading, writing, and looking for jobs! I was so stoked to finally get here. Rolling off the the ferry at two in the morning was a very surreal experience. Luckily, Sitka is not very big and it was easy to navigate my way to Steph's place. I've been here for three weeks now, and well, I guess you'll just have to check back in a couple of days to see what I've been up to...

From Dusk Till Dawn

You know the signs of a person who spends the majority of their time outside right? Tan, good looking, nice body etc. Oh, shit, I think I may have described the majority of people who now reside in south beach Florida, oh well. Maybe the outdoorsmen needs a little fine tuning. Okay, how about this; tan (but not that Jersey Shore wanna-be fake tan orange bullshit), bug bite-ridden, emanating a distinct odor that says “I’m comfortable with how dirty my asshole gets on long climbing trips and you should be too!”, unkempt, white powder streaked clothing, a dazed look graces his/her face, callused hands, and a physique that screams “I got this way by hauling 50+ pounds up a sheer rock face for the pure enjoyment of the scenery and the experience!”. I guess that kind of sums it up better, if you have addendums please write.
So this is a write up about my latest outdoor excursion. The plan was carefully crafted by myself and my best friends I, P, and A. Wednesday! Yes, no one will be out there Wednesday! I exclaimed, fool heartedly. Infinite Bliss, albeit the most popular multi-pitch climb in the Northwest, is also the longest multi-pitch sport climb in North America. That’s right, North A-freakin’ merica. How was it that I had never attempted such a beauty? Years of insecurity and a major “I’m too good for that ‘dirt-bag’ shit” attitude, that’s how. Anyway, good friends Dom, Esteban, and James were all in agreement about this endeavor to tackle the 23 pitch monster so there I was driving frantically to North Bend at 5 in the morning to meet up with the team of destiny.
The approach to the base of the climb is a multi-pitch slog in and of itself. It’s fucking steep and it feels like it never ends. Luckily I had been training for just such occasions and only managed to sweat through an entire long sleeve shirt. I left it hanging on a tree to dry out, thus I climbed all day shirtless, BOO Yah!
After the bun burning approach we were all cooking in our own juices but happy to be face to face with some of the finest granite in the state. The first six pitches was a blur. The rope teams were James and myself, and Dom and Esteban. James and I went first. 600 feet of mega slab was taken down in a cool half hour. I’ve never climbed so fast in my life. It was a white blur of wind and water polished granite. When we finally stopped we had put down the first ten pitches in a matter of an hour and a half, and one of those pitches included a really cool 5.9 pitch that is no slouch. We were on track to slay this beast with the quickness. Pitch eleven was one of the harder pitches going at 5.10b. That’s 5.10b slab everyone, just for those of you who don’t know, I am not a slab climber by any strectch of the childhood imagination. But, there I was, roped up and on lead, clinging desperately to micro sized crimps and smearing on fingernail edges. I made it through the heinously thin crux section to the enjoyable 60 foot 5.7 section. It was a good pitch. Following the first hard pitch there was approximately 2-3 more pitches of really nice featured slab climbing at 5.7/8.
We finally got to a good ledge and some chains. This would mark the end of the 13th pitch and the beginning of the ‘shit show’. An immense sea of choss, shrubbery, grass, dirt, loose rock etc. was staring us in the face. No bolts, no rope, YIKES! James stacked the rope and started climbing and I followed suit. I’ll sum it up like this: IT WAS THE SKETCHIEST 300 FEET OF CLIMBING IN MY ENTIRE LIFE!! I’m not gonna’ lie, I was scared. Petrified would probably be a more astute adjective to describe my state of mind, but you know what, I went for it. I soloed the 300 feet of choss and was more than relieved to make it to the next set of anchors. We had a bit of an epic on this choss section but we all managed to get through it safely and soundly.
We did a couple more pitches of cruiser 5.7 and then it was time for the hardest pitch on the route, a high angled slab of 5.10c. I, once again, was roped up and on lead (and psyched to be given the opportunity to onsight the hardest pitch!). It was immaculate! This pitch alone was worth the 300 foot solo on death scree. A perfect granite face climb utilizing amazing crimpers, flakes, side pulls, slopers, smearing, edging, the whole package! It was a long pitch as well, 90-100 feet. The hardest part for me was the very last crux that involved a highstep and a thumbercling (although I may have been the only one to use it). If the choss section was gone, I would probably come back to this route just to climb this pitch again, it was that good.
After the .10c it was a short pitch of 5.8, to an incredible open book chimney that went at 5.10, and was almost 120 feet long! This 5.10a pitch of chimney climbing was hard at the end of the day and involved a lot of body jamming, pinching, and lie backing. At the end of it we were pretty much there! One more pitch of stellar 5.8 climbing on polished blocky jugs up an exposed arête, to one last pitch of absolutely amazing 5.9 friction climbing that had a really interesting lie back crack section. Five feet from the summit my feet were on fire!! I literally crawled the last couple yards to the summit and screamed like a girl (no offense girls) upon taking my shoes off. Both of my big toes were numb.
We had done it! We started the day at 6:45 a.m. and we were now comfortably seated at the summit of Mt. Garfield (a.k.a Infinite Bliss), a mere 23 pitch jaunt from the car below. The view was, of course, aesthetic beyond all belief. The Middle Fork of the Snoqualmie River snaked through the valley, wriggling in between the tree covered hillsides and mountainous peaks. Snow covered rocky outcroppings could be seen in the distance inviting would be mountaineers, and sinewy white clouds hung above the jagged mountain tops that seemed to be surrounding us on all sides. We cracked a Rainier, and I could hear John Denver’s “Sunshine On My Shoulders Makes Me Happy” being played in the background.
Well, not to ruin a perfect moment or anything but we were not the only party making our way up this behemoth. Six more people were below us, two of which had made astoundingly quick work of the route and joined us at the summit. This turned out to benefit us on our rappel since we could now utilize three rappel teams and four ropes. We double rapped the first 13 pitches before shit just started going wrong. I pulled a rope that had a knot in it and ended up having to climb an easy 120 foot pitch of 5.8 to get the rope un-stuck (yay). At this point (and several points before this one) we were all tired, vitamin-D overdosed, and dreaming of cheeseburgers and pulled pork sandwiches as big as VW beetles. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention we were also in a war zone. Even though the majority of the pitches on IB are bullet stone granite, there are a lot of opportunities to kick down loose rocks (some the size of peanuts others the size of bowling balls). Since we were the first people rapping down, the other people that had previously been below us were now above us, and the occasional death torpedo that had gained terminal velocity would come whizzing by with only a couple seconds of notice. This phenomenon turned out to be the scariest part of the day for me. I was in a rap team with Esteban and we were the last ones of our group to rappel down (hence we were following everyone and so far having to do very little work). However, Esteban almost got annihilated TWICE by baseball sized rock grenades. One of them was at the base of a pitch on a huge ledge. I had sat down to wait for our turn. I heard a whirring noise that got louder and louder and in a panic looked up only to see a large chunk of granite spiraling towards us at 100 mph. The rock smashed to bits on a ledge only five feet from where Esteban was anchored in. The sound of something potentially lethal barreling down on you, when you have no bearing or possible idea of what that ‘thing’ could be strikes the kind of fear in you that gives ordinary people the strength and energy of ten men. We rapped the last 8 pitches with fervor, to say the least, and finally made it to the base of the climb just as the silvery slither of moon could be seen cradled between two distant mountains.
Oh but the fun didn’t stop there. We made our last rappel, but upon pulling the rope realized it had gotten stuck (AGAIN!). In a rage Esteban prussiced up the last two pitchesd we had JUST rapped down and trouble shot the situation. We got our gear, ropes, and ourselves down safely. SUCCESS! Now for the descent hike (double fucking UGH!). I had no head lamp because, like a true idiot, I always come unprepared! It was a good half hour or so of blind stumbling and knee crushingly good times, accompanied by my partner in crime, my rock, my beacon of light, Esteban! Who showed the way with his head torch. I don’t think I have ever been so happy, amazed, or confused, upon arriving at my car.
Well, that’s it, that’s my story. I tried to sleep in today but my dog keeps pestering for me a walk and food and things of that nature so I have dragged myself out of the comforts of my bed to peer wide eyed

The Beach?