Migrant Digressions

Maxwell Pass

2012-01-24T21:24:00.001-07:00

A nice few hours of solitude on snow -- a commodity lacking in the Rocky Mountains for much of the winter so far.

Shoulda Brought The Crampons

2011-11-21T15:53:00.007-07:00

Dear Snow,

Colorado is beautiful this time of year. Please come visit.

XOXO
Ryan

The same gully on Mt Machebeuf in fluffier times:

Started getting dicey for La Perita. Lucy started whining. Need to get her little doggie crampons!

Obligatory Self-Port. Squinting from imaginary snow. The seasonal beard is coming in nicely.

Might have to tackle this couloir next weekend on Grizzly Peak. (Imagine a really cool forking couloir)

Of course no trip to the mountains is complete without stopping at Two Brothers Deli in Idaho Springs. Nomnomnom!

Green chili in a bread bowl. Party in my stummy.

Sandstone Sojourn

2011-09-22T11:12:00.010-06:00

The bustle of everyday life can excuse my absence. West the soul points and follow its wake we will.

Four days unplugged. Four days liberated from deadlines, tweets, emails and bogging down from the mundane.

This palisade shall be my sentinel while I await for the stars to reveal themselves in impossible numbers.

Over a bend on the river shall I rest my head.

Around several corners and with wandering eyes, the humble glory of the desert appears. Corona Arch with a neighboring natural bridge. We spotted two more natural bridges that day.

If you're patient you can find many messages from people past.

The way continued upward. Yet the sun was unrelenting. Lucy took the lead & I soon followed with a siesta in the shade.

A reminder that life is but a balancing act.

A nondescript vantage to watch the river lugubriously slide by.

A blaze to celebrate another passing of a year in life.

We often walk by without noticing the intricate beauty that surrounds us.

Fever struck, sickness crept in. A rest in the high desert, shied away from passing eyes. The migration west continued until the road was out. We scampered and picked our way around and over the sandstone mushrooms until we looked down upon the unattainable oasis of the Green River at Mineral Bottom

We backtracked upriver to the valley of giant mud castles. Around we wandered and climbed in the Fisher Towers.

Silent yet steady, this snag still stubbornly clings on after death has stripped it of life.

The Riders Invade Denver

2011-08-28T21:40:00.006-06:00

Spent a sweltering Sunday with tens of thousands of my closest friends watching the finish of the USA Pro Cycling Challenge in downtown Denver.

I'd never seen a professional cycling event in person. I had a feeling I'd enjoy it after attending and having a blast at several of a friend's cyclocross races.

And after Sunday, I am hooked. These athletes are amazing. The speed at which they pass you is not done justice on TV.

Even watching the support cars zip around the course was fun to watch. It was like a bonus Rally race.

After watching six laps from a great vantage point at Colfax & Speer, we made our way down to Civic Center Park to enjoy the festivities. Beer, food trucks and a free concert, plus plenty of people watching.

Rode back home in a headwind. Thought the hill up from Mile High to Sloan's Lake was going to kill me after so much time in the sun.

The great news is organizers say they plan on coming back and holding the race again next year.

Hand Meet Rock

2011-08-20T17:03:00.002-06:00

After a lengthy layoff due to various nagging injuries, I've been able to get back bouldering again the past couple of weeks. Wow, how did I miss it!

Evergreen Session from Ryan Budnick on Vimeo.

Flat Tops Camping

2011-07-17T21:01:00.004-06:00

This story begins with a basic human function: I had to pee....badly.

So after a few hours driving from Denver to the Flat Tops Wilderness, located about 30 miles south of Steamboat Springs, I found an open campsite -- something I considered a bit of luck on a Saturday evening. The entire journey up from Yampa to the meadow-covered playground I knew I was racing against a looming and expanding storm system.

Luck would have it I got to the campsite with the heavens not pouring down. I immediately got out, found a verge and unzipped... and was completely ambushed by giant mosquitoes.

My calves were completely covered immediately. I swatted them away from my face while still trying to take care of business. I looked down and noticed one daring bloodsucker that decided... well, you get the drift.

Business taken care of, I quickly dashed back to the truck and began pulling out the tent. It decided to proceed to rain at this point. I was forced by the dilemma of do I get the tent up and rainfly on as quickly as possible or do I dig out the bug juice and find some salvation from winged succubus?

I chose to get the tent up while being fed on by a majority of the mosquitoes in Routt County.

Mother Nature made up for it that night. While warmed by a campfire, I was a delighted spectator to one of the more unique skies I have ever seen; due east in the far distance, high-altitude lighting sparked and reverberated, turning the clouds from purple to dusky crimson.

To the southeast, the nearly full moon rose, turning a series of pocked clouds in to floating iridescent patina, hovering over the shadows of small hill of pines, silhouetted sharpen stalagmites forming a curving palisade.

Snowfed and Blooming

The reason I made the trip was I figured the alpine meadows would be in the middle of their bloom. I was not disappointed.

Storm clouds formed early on Sunday, standing at attention beginning at 9:30 a.m. So I scrapped my plans of heading up Mandell Trail and eventually Orno Peak. I didn't want to get caught that far out and in vast meadows if a thunderstorm materialized; I once had to sprint in a meadow to the safety of trees from lightning strikes closing in on that exact trail.

So we made our way up towards Devil's Causeway; my 2nd such trip in as many years. I didn't mind since it is a scenic trail and pretty mellow.

We stopped in the basin below the ridge of the Flat top. There was still quite a bit of snow -- the most I've ever seen in the area this late in the year. I didn't bring an ice ax or even a trekking pole and didn't feel comfortable heading up the snowpatch without that, and a way to belay Lucy in case she slid.

Indian Peaks Excursion 6/26/11

2011-06-26T21:04:00.006-06:00

I hadn't been to the mountains in far too long. Combine that with a forecast that malevolently predicted sinister temps in the 90s in Denver, it seemed like a good idea to gain some altitude.

The National Weather Service though wanted to thwart my intentions; they predicted 60 mph wind gusts in the Indian Peaks Wilderness Area. That made me pause and reconsider, but decided to take my chances.

It was well worth the gamble as where I hiked remained calm, occasionally interrupted by a stray gust here and there.

There's still a lot of snow up there

This was taken on the banks of Long Lake. The road isn't plowed to the trailhead yet, as a couple of large snowdrifts still loiter on the roadway.

Lucy & I wandered this way and that, making it around the lake. But there were quite a few people around.

I like going to the mountains to get away from everything, including people. They all have a right to be there. Just like I have a right to go where they aren't.

So we went back to the trailhead, up the road, and hiked up the Mitchell Lake trail. We got to the lake quickly -- I'm glad I brought my snowshoes -- and left a couple of small groups behind as we kept heading west up the basin.

A small tarn in the upper Mitchell Lake basin

We finally made our way to a steeper snowfield that led to a low shoulder of Mount Audubon. He made our way up to the talus -- Lucy was a happy maniac on the snowfield, running with a dog smile on her face -- where I slowly led her safely to a small rise that would do just nicely for a rest area.

Mt Audubon and its east ridge

Looking back towards Mitchell Lake and Brainard Lake in the distance

Pawnee ridge

Little Pawnee Peak on the left, Mt Toll on the right

It was nice getting out into my element without being Type A, obsessed with summiting a peak. We just went where we wanted to.

The intrepid author & his camera-shy canine

Lucy slept well that night

Looking back from near the truck

A Lazy Sunday

2011-05-22T19:07:00.003-06:00

Took advantage of a glorious Sunday to take the dog out and stretch the legs.

While the weather was perfect, thunderstorms threatened. So we just went for a short hike at Corwina Park, up to the Bear Creek Trail and then up to Panorama Point.

Panorama Point May 2011 from Ryan Budnick on Vimeo.

Lucy meet Slickrock

2011-05-15T17:48:00.006-06:00

Finally made my annual pilgrimage to Moab. With unsettled weather this spring, it was about a month later than usual.

Saturday Dan, Lucy & I loaded into Ole Whitey and headed out west.

After some searching, we found some kind campers who let us share a group site off Onion Creek. Some beers, good conversation and star gazing made the 5 1/2-hour drive dissipate.

The next day after breakfast and breaking down camp, we made our way to Hidden Valley for some hiking, scrambling and vista gazing. The thermometer climbed up to about 90. Of the 3 liters of water I packed, Lucy drank 2 1/2 of it.

Lucy liked it when we stopped and she could rest in the shade

The trail ends at a pass where it diverges into a few different ways. We continued down to where the trail merged with the Moab Rim Jeep Trail.

Despite no respite from the relentless sun, Lucy did well. I kept a close eye on her to make sure she didn't overheat and gave her shade breaks when we could.

Trusty trail dog & her owner

A look back at the La Sal Mountains. I still remember skiing there a couple of years ago. A trip I'll never forget.

Really it's May

2011-05-01T16:45:00.005-06:00

There was flat light. The horizon was indecipherable from the slopes. Occasionally a mogul would sneak up on you and tweak you.

"Keep the knees bent," Dan vocalized our mantra for the day at Arapahoe Basin.

Really it's May 1. You couldn't tell by the conditions. You certainly couldn't tell by the surroundings. This was mid-winter conditions. Not that I'm complaining.

Really I did drop off a vertical lip here:

ABasin Medley from Ryan Budnick on Vimeo.

It had been too long

2011-01-30T18:47:00.006-07:00

Here I am brewing java so I can stay awake.

It really wasn't that taxing of a day, it's just I have gotten soft lately.

I picked up Ian just after 8 a.m. and then we made our way to Boulder to meet up with a Meetup group for a day of backcountry skiing.

We met Simone up there and all three of us piled into Old Whitey for the journey to Sweet Jenny Lind, just outside of Central City.

There wound up being quite the gathering -- over 20 people and six dogs.

It was a nice, short trip to break back into backcountry shape, and a good introduction for both Ian & Simone, who were going on their first outings with their new AT setups.

Getting Into The Skis

The approach was very mellow. It deposited us over a bowl that offered nearly 1,000 feet of skiing.

On The Approach

Our group leader Rom suggested we go up into the trees for some tree skiing. I think we all could have done without that as the trees were tight and the going was slow with that many people.

Looking North To Indian Peaks

Ian, Simone & Ian each got two runs in -- and I swear the mountain grew while we were skinning back up the bump -- before heading back and calling it a day.

Some Camera Posing Before The Turns

I took the dubious distinction of falling the most. Because of the warm weather, the pack powder began a melt cycle and then refroze over, creating a crust that slapped me around like an abusive parent.

Simone Traversing Out On The 1st Run

Still, great views, good group and it was great to get away.

Ian Skinning Up For Some More Turns

Just don't quite understand why I'm so tired.

Random Shots of the Week

2010-08-03T18:20:00.003-06:00

Great day of bouldering and trail running at 3 Sisters park today. One of those times that made me ask, "Why the hell aren't I doing this more often?!"

Now to the pics:

I was confused when I first saw this guy scamper up some rocks. I had never seen a black fox before

Fun and easy

Figured out the sit-down start, dyno up to the horn. Now if I could just chop off my right leg, I might be able to send it

A hummingbird caught while drinking in Breckenridge this past weekend

Before Work Bouldering

2010-07-23T14:58:00.002-06:00

My body had fully recovered from last weekend and then three days of extensive yard work and house projects.

I needed to get out and do something fun before being trapped inside at work for the next four days.

I had a small window so I checked out Corwina Park -- between Idledale and Kittridge. I had driven past it enough times to know there were some cliffs there.

I hiked in a little bit uphill and came to these two beauties. I worked a couple of problems for over an hour. I never linked them up, but came so tantalizing close. Plus the schist was kind on my skin.

Deep in forest and situated by a small stream, it was a perfect setting. I will be back.

Como Lake Road Long

2010-07-20T09:47:00.010-06:00

A rare weekend off, I met up with my buddy Dan down at a dusty trailhead in the middle of the state on Saturday morning for a two-day trip into the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.

What I got out of the trip was the rare joy of doing a backpacking trip with a good friend -- my schedule does not allow for such luxuries -- and Dan got to cross out two more 14ers from his peak list in his quest to climb all of them in Colorado.

We both also gained the new expression for our vernacular of Como Lake Road long. Anybody who has ever hiked up the jeep trail -- ranked as the worst in Colorado -- will know what we mean. It is long, it is steep, it is dry and it is demoralizing.

Near where we parked

Dan still early on when spirits weren't crushed

It took us four hours to plod up into the alpine zone and the banks of Como Lake. We set up camp and then relaxed for a couple of well-deserved hours.

Views around the lake

We both got antsy, so we just went wandering up to Blue Lakes, talking and climbing boulders along the way.

Blue Lakes basin

The next morning we made our way up to the top of Blanca Peak. We quickly caught up to a number of people who left earlier than us to achieve the same summit. I found my groove when we got on the mountain and quickly led us up the talus slopes of the 14er to a little bit above a saddle on the ridge connecting Blanca Peak from fellow 14er Ellingwood Point.

From there we stayed on the ridge crest and enjoyed some fun scrambling on solid rock with good exposure to the east. This is why we toiled up this high!

Some Summit Shots

We went back to the saddle and Dan went over and ticked Ellingwood Point. The loose pile of choss held no allure to me, so I relaxed for a while near the saddle while a pika played hide-n-seek with me.

Instead of traversing back the way he came, Dan picked a way down the steeper detritus pile that is Ellingwood's west face. We met back in the upper basin and made our way back to camp.

Dan a speck among the rubble

We packed up camp and made the never-ending hike back to my truck -- over 6,000 feet below.

Some parting shots

Getting Back Into The Swing

2010-07-16T10:04:00.005-06:00

With a trip to the Sangre de Cristo Mountains set for this weekend, I felt I needed to get some alpine time for training. I'm woefully out of shape this summer since much of my free time is spent on my house.

I didn't have a lot of time, so I decided to check out some cliffs past Echo Lake near Mount Evans. The rock quality was dubious at best and at one point, found myself carefully downclimbing 50 feets of loose, broken rock and vertical dirt because continuing up would have been suicidal.

Still came across a good wall and got some high-ball bouldering in.

Echo Lake

Looking towards Chicago Basin

View From Ledge

Rock Quality Was Surprisingly Good, But Still Check Your Holds

Buena Vista & Backyard

2010-06-09T23:30:00.002-06:00

Some stills of life captured but not released last week while bouldering & camping outside of Buena Vista.

What the Collegiate Peaks lack in hands-on fun, they certainly make up for in photogenic comeliness.

Did some more work in the backyard the past two days. I'm almost content. I figure if I ever reach that stage, my life will come to an abrupt halt. So I'll just say just slightly not quite satisfy:

Backyard progress

2010-05-11T21:49:00.002-06:00

Sprinkler system is constructed and working, better than I anticipated actually.

Slowly but surely my patch of dirt is becoming a yard.

Mom Meet Hiking

2010-04-21T15:58:00.006-06:00

I have to say I'm pretty proud of mi madre. She comes visiting out from Chicago and managed to finish a 3-mile hike with about 700 feet elevation gain at Elk Meadows Open Space near Evergreen. Not bad for a 63-year-old grandmother who lives at 500 feet elevation.

It was nice to go at a more leisurely pace than the death march I usually go. You get to see the forest from the trees and the cacti from the grass.

Finding art in nature. Or is it the other way around?

Afterward had an incredible lunch at Two Brothers Deli in Idaho Springs. I can't sing praise enough for how good the food is and how much they give you.

If you're ever on I-70, I highly suggest stopping off and getting either breakfast or lunch. It always feels good to support independent businesses with personality.

What Makes A Home

2010-04-20T21:23:00.003-06:00

A little flair. A little mix and match. And a lot of comfort.

A decanter of wine also helps...

The madre is having a field day. I'm getting saturated with shopping and growing reluctant to spent more money. But an end table is still needed.

I swore I wouldn't do this again

2010-04-04T21:31:00.003-06:00

After the tedious hike down the last time I hiked and climbed up Mt Morrison, I swore I would never go up Mt Morrison again.

But there I was, sucking precious oxygen as if I was tackling Mt Everest. It was my own fault; I only have one gear and if I'm not in the red zone, then I feel I'm being lazy.

But it is Easter. And for the past 12 years, I have either skied or climbed something on that day. I knew I was going to go climbing or bouldering, I just didn't know what or where.

So when a helicopter crashed this morning on the top of Mt Morrison, and media was not allowed to shoot the wreckage, well, I knew where and what I was going to do.

Having an objective in mind I made even better time up -- 35 minutes.

Amazing that the instructor and student both walked away with only slight cuts.

It got windy at the top. I got the footage I wanted so down I went. Miraculously I didn't fall this time.

I did have one dizzy moment about 20 feet up a cliff band. Got slightly dizzy because my heart rate was too high to get into highball climbing. I stuck on my slopping ledge for a couple of minutes to calm down a bit before getting to the top of the cliff.

And I swear, this time, I won't climb Mt Morrison again!

Constructing a patio

2010-03-27T13:04:00.005-06:00

Slowly the yard is coming together. I do feel a few inches shorter now after unloading and laying 3/4 ton of flagstone though.

It's coming together

2010-03-23T17:18:00.003-06:00

I am officially tired of painting. And I still need to touch up and paint the ceiling trim. Sigh... Some day it will all be done.

Before Pictures

Uneva Peak Ski

2010-03-10T10:22:00.007-07:00

Only in Colorado can you get snowed on twice yet come away with a sunburnt face.

Ian joined me for a quick tour of Uneva's slopes. It was Ian's first backcountry tour.

The endless slogging through the trees. I made a mistake and took us off the ski track too soon. We climbed up a ridge before having to drop back down to a basin floor. I like to think of it as our warm-up.

Our destination was the sparsely treed slope in the foreground. We reached about 3/4 up for our high point. I stopped us there because the effort required to go the final 100 feet was not worth the extra 10 seconds of a run. I really got to get me some ski crampons!

Some gladed steeper slopes -- which would be fun yo-yo runs even in sketchy avy conditions -- led us to more trees before the final steep slope.

After a quick bite, I dug a snow pit to determine if we were going to either slough snow or cause a soft slab. Other than some weakness around features and angle changes, it seemed the snowpack was settling nicely. Still on the open slopes we used caution and went down in stages.

Ian's timid first stage of his run

So That's What It's Like Again

2010-02-24T19:19:00.005-07:00

It is rather sullenly to think that it is less than a week until March and til this afternoon I had zero backcountry skiing trips. Goose egg, nada, zip.. you get the picture.

So after the Comcast guy came and hooked me up with my new nifty, uber-quick Internet connection, and after a guy from my home insurance provider came and took some pictures of the house for their files, I jumped in the shower, caffeinated up and noticed it was already past noon.

But I wasn't going to go getting glum. No days on the lifts. Screw it! Time to earn my turns.

I went up towards Squaw Pass to a spot I stumbled upon a few months ago. I figured it finally had to have enough snow to get some tree skiing in. It did... barely.

Still I didn't damage the Shuksans -- not that they don't need a tune from some gravel damage inflicted last spring in the Indian Peaks -- and they didn't complain to loudly as I skied over a small shrub that popped up at the last second, all while grimacing.

I got three laps in and actually enjoyed the searing in my calves and lungs as I skinned up through a variety of snow conditions.

It was only a couple of hours before it felt skied out. So I packed it in, drove to Evergreen and got some inky-black dark roast blend of coffee. That brew will be wonderful as I sluggishly start a new work week tomorrow.

It would some green runs but tight trees keep it interesting.

The intrepid author partway through the third skin back up.

Of course it wouldn't be Evergreen unless you come across an elk... or 50.

The house is slowly taking shape. Spent the past 2 1/2 hours cleaning wood trim and the wood floors. Time for beer.

Bathroom

In Memoriam

2010-02-10T14:08:00.002-07:00

Godspeed feisty little angel! You don't have to hold on any longer. It is better you have shed your mortal robes, dismantled the sinews of life that held you back, and soared above as if pulled by puissant gossamer.

Fly swift! And don't look back.

Some Wandering Is Intentional

2010-01-28T12:55:00.001-07:00

A look back at the beginning of 2009 -- a good thing to do since I won't be able to get out as much in 2010.

Some Wandering Is Intentional from Ryan Budnick on Vimeo.

The End of an Era

2010-01-19T10:39:00.004-07:00

After three years, countless upgrades, downgrades, redesigning and innumerable hours, the bouldering wall comes down.

I need to get the thing down ASAP so I can finish the rest of my packing.

I'm not going to lie, I am a little sad as the disassembly progresses. It has been a great outlet for some rough times, a great workout partner and training tool.

Unfortunately the basement in my new house isn't very tall and really doesn't have room for a wall. But I promise you the wall will live in one form or another, even if it is as only a training wall.

Goodbye Old Friend.

Then there was just a blank wall.

The Year Via Granite & Ice

2009-12-22T12:49:00.004-07:00

A quick look back at the second half of 2009

Cub Bear and The Moon coming together

2009-12-19T21:37:00.003-07:00

Well the children's story I wrote for the kids is shaping up. It's gone through three edits and been picked over by my editors.

Took some pencil to paper and sketched out our title protagonist, Cub Bear. Also doodled a little confused marmot as well.

I just hope the kids like it.

Sore backs, nearby avalanches & drawing a cub

2009-12-18T11:10:00.002-07:00

The biggest mystery to me this morning, other than how anybody could ever watch Glen Beck, is why the heck my back is sore. True I lifted weights for the first time in a week but I took it easy. Also because of the hand, I stayed away from free weights and just did machines.

But it's baffling because I worked out chest, triceps and core - not back. Or it could be this is the first time I lifted since I got a massage on Saturday.

So sorry Kirsten. I undid all of the good work you did on my knots on Saturday evening. Must schedule a return visit for January.

Found it amusing that two skiers triggered a series of avalanches two valleys over from where Dan & I snowshoes and dug avy pits.

From CAIC:
Even though the weather has not been impacting the the snowpack much the last few days, triggered avalanches are still a problem. Yesterday near Dry Gulch east of Ike Tunnel, riders/skiers remotely triggered a good sized slab off Trelease Mtn. The crown was about 1,000 ft away from the skiers when it was triggered. The debris stopped around 400 feet away as it hit a large flat bench. That slide triggered another slide in the next bowl over, (on the other side of a tree island which was about 200 ft wide). Both slopes were estimated at 35-38 degrees steep, NNE aspects above treeline running to below treeline.

I told Dan even after seeing the apparent weak layers in the snowpack, and after triggering collapses with very little effort, I would have felt comfortable skiing where we were. There were a couple of reasons why:

* We were at about tree line and the east aspect we were on was sparsely covered with trees. It created many open slopes but with heavier forestation above us, I felt good that there was enough anchor points to stave off any catastrophic slides.

* We were at about 30-35 degrees. Ideal angles for avys. But what I was seeing and how the snow was reacting, I would suspect that steeper terrain would be the locale for the bad avalanches.

Putting together the children's story book for Hannah & Ryan. I got plenty of stickers, stamps and other little illustrations to make it interesting for the kids. The thing that I was missing was my main character; Cub Bear.

Came across some sketches that will make a good templet for the mischievous protagonist.

And remember, please leave the marmots alone. They're going to wheeze their noses off!

Snowshoe Doubled - Where your feet take you

2009-12-16T15:28:00.008-07:00

Tis the season to wander. Point your two feet in a direction and just go. There be no destination needed, all that is required is around you.

A couple of days on the snowshoes have been refreshing. On Tuesday I drove in a direction and then stopped at a spot on the snow-covered road that had enough width in order for me to park.

It was a nondescript mountain out west. After some aimless wandering searching for ridges, I turned back and went another direction.

I was rewarded with two things: the first was nearly running into a deer buck. The other was finding a secret tree skiing area that will be perfect when there is a little more added to the snowpack and when avy danger is high above tree line.

Trying to see the forest from the trees. The ridges petered out into an indistinct slope. Plenty of wildlife tracks though, including a fresh set of a younger mountain lion heading downhill and to the south.

I will be back once we get another dump to get a taste of the 600-foot runs. If you ask me for the location, Ill let you know.

On Wednesday, Dan and I headed up Watrous Gulch towards Woods Mountain. It was our first outing together since Mt Audubon. And ignominiously it was Dan's first outdoors trip since then and my first time back up in the alpine since our Indian Peaks outing.

Dan was also nursing an injured meniscus and I was suffering from tendonitis in my left hand. So we made quite the gimpy pair.

The snow was thin down below but the snowpack at and above tree line was deeper than I anticipated. I broke trail for a good portion of it and we decided to eschew the "trail" and just make a rising traverse on the side of the gulch we were on.

The views were superlative as usual, and the wallowing was fun. I knew we weren't going to get up Woods Mountain. While having a goal is good, you shouldn't have to handcuff yourself to it.

After a couple of hours we found a good spot to have Dan dig his first snow pit. He has been boning up on his avalanche knowledge and I am all to eager to teach him what I know from my experience.

Dan trying to unlock the secrets the snowpack contained.

Dan getting belligerent with the snow.

The two layers of facets were scary. It is a dangerous snow pack out there. Shovel shear tests pried off a foot-deep slab with far too little effort from the upper hoar level. After a small windslab crust, the base of the entire snowpack is on a flimsy layer of facets that can be swept up. I had never seen such a weak layer in my alpine time and numerous pits before.

But even though the evidence we unearthed showed a very touchy snowpack, I informed Dan I would feel comfortable skiing where we were at. Mainly because the slope was fairly well treed and the angle wasn't vertiginously steep.

Mind you if it was an open slope and or approaching 45 degrees, there is no way I would do a ski cut.

Still it was good to breathe hard, point the feet uphill and enjoy the views, company and conditions.

Mt Audubon

2009-11-10T19:43:00.007-07:00

We had the intestinal fortitude, I just had problems with the intestines. Shooting pains most of the day kept me from the summit. Dan didn't want to go alone. So after doing the fun parts we descended. Was rough turning back so close to the summit and with the difficult parts dispatched. But my pain threshold was reached at that point.

Oh, and the fall on to the spire of rock, bruising me, didn't help matters.

Still a great day in the alpine, even if the wind tried blowing us off the Southeast Ridge a few times.

Dan could have used his ice ax and we both could have used our crampons. Next time, I'm gonna cut down on the garlic.

Front Porch

2009-11-03T18:18:00.003-07:00

Dan and I hooked up for a mellow 4-pitch 5.2 in the Flatirons. We got more than we bargained for.

A joke at the base but could have been a harbinger of the day of climbing??

Dan led the first pitch up the east face, south side of Front Porch. He got a piece right about his stance here. Then his next piece was about 80 feet up. Thankfully it was mellow climbing.

After that Dan went a little off-route. He climbed up another 20 feet to underneath a roof. He slotted two cams and then got stuck. Mellow climbing it wasn't anymore. So he downclimbed to his last piece and then a little more to a mellow pseudo-ledge traverse and then up and to a belay tree.

I padded up after him and got to the roof. Once there, we both realized what a terrible traverse with some serious consequences I had ahead of me. I clipped into one of the cams while Dan quickly climbed up above him and created a directional piece that was at least at equal height to my traverse.

Once done I had two choices: either traverse high on some tough stuff or downclimb and follow the way Dan went. I started the downclimb but it just didn't seem right to me. That was going to be about 50 feet of rope out. At least up high the tension of the traverse wasn't going to have the rope pulling me out of whack and with only 30 feet of rope out.

Deep breath and I did the high traverse which included at least one smear of faith. I'd say it went about 5.9.

I got to the anchor and we switched gear. I started going up the slot but I was slightly spooked. Not from what was ahead of me but from what I just completed. Dan noticed I was still breathing pretty hard and asked if I was alright. While I wasn't consciously spooked or scared, my body was telling me differently.

I downclimbed to the anchor and gave Dan the gear back and he led up the slot. Following I realized it was the best choice. Stuff that looked hard while on lead was much more doable. The pitch was awkward with a lot of stemming across a chasm, chokestones, tree humping, chimneying and I did get a chicken wing thrown in for good measure.

We had climbed well over 300 feet in our two pitches and the climb itself was 400 feet. Though we took a long ass time, given the lower part of the route was amorphous, and the upper pitch was grueling.

We escaped from there, glad to call it a day as Dan had to be in Denver at a certain time.

Still a day out climbing with good company is a great day.

However, the consensus was, "5.2 my ass". And put an X next to that number grade.

Ah Vegas

2009-09-24T21:59:00.003-06:00

Spent a wonderful three nights in Vegas with Caitlin. We stayed in Paris and were upgraded to a suite our final two nights there since our room wasn't ready the first night and we had to have two queen beds.

Went out Saturday night on my birthday to the hotspot Tao where we chilled in the lounge and feasted on Chilean sea bass that quite possibly have been the best thing I have ever eaten in my life.

Much time was spent at the pool. Ate a very good dinner at the Bellagio and caught a Cirque de Soleil show.

Caitlin's cousin Nancy lives in town with her husband Jeff and their daughter Nicolette. So we had dinner with them one night.

Unfortunately I still have to get some of the pics. But here are a couple that set the mood for the trip:

Some more pics:

Caitlin & I at my birthday dinner at Tao.

Some familiar faces in an unfamiliar setting. It was a great act of randomness running into my cousins Angelo and Debbie outside of our hotel on the first night.

Giant fortune cookie. Fortunes came true!

Pool at Paris. Much time was spent here.

Caitlin & I at showing of Mystere.

Climbing

2009-09-09T21:42:00.005-06:00

Not nearly enough, but it felt great getting in climbing on three straight days.

Labor Day I left work a little early and headed up to 3 Sisters for a bouldering session. Made the mistake that day of having a skewed ratio of food to caffeine. The hard burly stuff was easy. However anything requiring balance, the jitters made it much tougher than it needed to be.

After struggling for an hour I called it a session.

Tuesday Andrea and I went up to Maxwell Falls and scoped out some climbs. We rapped down and then top-roped a 5.8. It started raining while I waited to get on the rock. But of course it stopped when I finished the climb.

I queried if we should try some more but the thunder and the black wall of clouds moving in from the west and the voice of reason that is Andrea. We cleaned up and hiked back. Had a good time eating in Evergreen and then driving to and checking on a house for sale that had caught my eye.

Wednesday had Chad, Dan and I climbing at Clear Creek Canyon. It was a good completing the circle for both Dan and Chad, since the last time they climbed together was Chad's ignominous accident.

Three climbs a piece. Good evening. All of us it seems are still getting our heads back in leading.

Climbing and drinking beer with friends... it doesn't get better really.

An August roundup

2009-08-20T12:36:00.007-06:00

Yesterday I enjoyed the benefit of not having to worry about thunderstorms and got up at the lazy hour of 7 am for a day in the mountains. A partner bailed but I still went out and climbed the West Ridge of Pacific Peak.

The approach thoroughly taxed me. It wasn't until I was descending back to the truck I realized how steep the hike was. Add to the fact that I went too high and wound up on the west ridge of Atlantic Peak, before descending to the Pacific Creek basin.

The ridge was rather easy and I ran up the thing quickly. A little over halfway up, the fun stops and talus slogging begins. I've come to terms years ago that I am not a peak-bagger. For me it's the journey that makes the day. So when the climbing ended, I reversed course and downclimbed, a little off the ridge crest this time, and got back to the basin.

Forgot the camera on the desk in my loft so no pictures. Not that I was stopped long enough to really do more than take in the views of the basins and the shrill chirps of pikas and marmots.

Some pics from previous excursions the past few weeks:

Spent three days in the Sangre de Cristo mountain range again. Only had one good day of climbing weather, where I rode up the worst road known to man (Hermit Pass Road) and climbed some headwalls that were more than I planned. Also the steep talus and forest in between made for a very stout 1,200 feet of climbing.

The camera tilt doesn't do it justice. Scampered up 10 feet before realizing I couldn't get off the rock on to the steep talus without possibly destroying an ankle or sliding down 100 feet into the forest. So I climbed up the slopping slab.

Some idyllic mountain stream photos. The stillness of the forest was buzzing with the flights of bees and other assorted winged critters. Great place to eat lunch and contemplate the noise of life.

The false summit of Horn Peak tries to peek out from clouds. I took the wrong trail and once near treeline, discovered everything was saturated with moisture. Any climbing was out for that day. Still got about 12 miles of forested hiking in of getting yelled at by numerous garrulous squirrels.

Fun Sangre rock. Some closeups on a boulder problem I scrapped my way up during my hiking.

Crestone Needle and other peaks in the south of the group. Drove up a 4WD road to treeline and nearly got blown away. Constant wind around 40 mph with gusts upwards to 60 mph. My hat blew away once while I waited for the blustery conditions to abate. They never did and so I left. Wasn't going to do a solo ridge climb in such conditions. I like me!

Weston Pass. Decided to check out a road I had passed numerous times in South Park. I got led to this spot, where I ran up a 13er near the pass and got snowed on coming down.

Weston Pass

2009-07-31T11:29:00.005-06:00

Since the weather was gloomy and dreary on my days off in Denver, I sought sanctuary someplace that would be less damp.

I wound up heading out to Buena Vista for it is turning out to be an annual pilgrimage. The weather was unsettled to say the least: sunshine, quick storms, heavy wind, return to sunshine, repeat and recycle.

Still I got in some bouldering sessions in between the brief squalls. Funny how I was climbing stronger and harder in February than I am now in July. But I have been preoccupied with other activities and as a result, my climbing acumen has slipped.

On the way back I decided to sate a long-standing curiosity and turned down Weston Pass Road. The dirt track is located a few miles west of Fairplay and leads up into forested hills and, deeper into the heart, mountains.

Beautiful forested area that stands out starkly to the juxtaposing flat vastness of South Park. I grinded up in 4-wheel-drive to the pass, located a few hundred feet shy of 12,000 feet.

The weather was miserable; cold, beyond blustery and the grey sky streaked with sideways sleet. I donned my rain shell and stretched my legs by first walking, and then jogging uphill to the rounded hump in front of me.

The jogging didn't seem so arduous because of the miserable conditions I was running through. Alternating between a quick walk and a slow job, I made it up to the top of the bump. I saw it was a false summit and the true top lay close by. However finding myself completely exposed now to the elements, the wind which I though couldn't be possibly worst below, was renewed with extra vigor at the top.

I began my run down and was greated by falling snowflakes when I reached the truck. Oddly enough, it was the second time I've been snowed on in July.

Shirtless wishing for gloves

2009-07-13T12:10:00.012-06:00

"Um... uh-oh," Ian called out. He laid down on the rock peering down ahead of me on the ridge. We had just finish climbing the third gendarme on the North Ridge of Mt Neva.

The ridge can go as mostly class 3 with a class 4 section. I read that doing the direct ridge, as in not bypassing the towers and dropping off to the sides goes at Class 5. So the sporting way was the one we picked.

I made my way towards him on the gendarme to see him turn around, lower his bottom half over the edge and then just the whitened fingers of both hands on top of the incisors of a rock flake. I peered down and saw what made him pause. It was a 15-foot downclimb, slightly overhung and very devoid of holds. I spotted a fin sticking out of a thin crack as the only foothold.

I positioned myself over and asked Ian to watch me and help direct my foot to the needed hold. After playing footsy with the rock for half a minute, I finally wedged my boot on it.

This wasn't going to work. My leg was akimbo in a half chicken wing position. The hold was way too high up for me to utilize it with my body positioning. So I backed off and told him I was going to check the sides. On the east side of the ridge there was a downclimb with some holds and then a blind move across a bulging face.

I made my way down and while there were footholds to the side of the bulge, I could not find a good handhold to keep myself in balance. I peered down the 300 or so feet below me down to the bottom of the cirque. Finally I finessed my way around the bulge, joined Ian on the other side of the gendarme, and let out a breath.

"That wasn't as easy as it looked," I informed him.

On the trail heading to the north ridge of Mount Neva, the skyline in the distance

Looking at the ridge from near the start

Ian above me on one of the first downclimbs. We came from the right of Ian's head. There were about four major downclimbs we did on the route.

Ian at an easier part of the ridge. A party of three in front of us. They bypassed much of the "fun" stuff that we tackled head on.

Looking down through a notch in the ridge at Lake Dorothy below

Ian coming across the last sketchy section on the ridge. The photo doesn't do the situation justice. It is an awkward knife-edge arete with serious exposure -- 500 feet down -- on Ian's left side. When I tackled the arete I found myself climbing up and facing straight out into the void. Thrilling!

Chewing up the last bit of scrambling and hiking to the summit of Mt Neva

Summit shot. I look odd.

We found the route description's crux section to be rather easy compared to some of the other climbing. We both agreed that the climbing was pretty easy and thought it was Class 4 with Class 5 consequences in a lot of spots.

Instead of reversing the ridge, I led us to a saddle between Neva and Jasper Peak. I spotted a lower-angle talus field leading to a valley between the mountains. When we got to some snow, I made a deal with Ian; he could use my trekking pole for the glissade down but I was keeping my rainpaints to keep my ass dry.

I grabbed a couple of rocks to use for self-arresting if needed and down I went. Ian followed and really enjoyed his first glissade. At first slightly apprehensive about the snow travel, by the time we finished our way down the valley, he was totally comfortable and talking about getting an ice ax.

Ian after his second glissade.

I have to give myself a pat on the back for picking a pretty good line on the bushwack out of the valley and back to the Arapahoe Pass trail. We only had to survey one time through a thick copse of stunted evergreen. We leaped over a quick-running stream and only had to make our way on the periphery of one bog. Probably the easiest bushwack I've had in the Indian Peaks.

On the trek out to the trail

As for the meaning of the title, when we got to the start of the ridge, it was cloudy and the wind was blowing hard. We had ever layer on and each wishing we had brought our hats and gloves. I contemplated about our chances of continuing in the bitter cold as we were ill-equipped.

The wind subsided partway through the climb and I got warmth in my hands halfway through the ridge.

On the way back, the sun broke through the clouds finally and we hiked back out with our shirts off because it was so warm.

All in all, another glorious day in the mountains.

It's not the marmot you see you must fear

2009-06-24T17:35:00.004-06:00

It's the little, fluffy furball behind you who will get ya!!

Sangre de Cristo / Wet mountains

2009-06-17T18:35:00.009-06:00

Ah the fickle weather of Colorado. Tuesday was supposed to be thunderstorms during the afternoon in the Sangre de Cristo mountain range in central Colorado but perfect on Wednesday.

So I was in no hurry to get out the door on Tuesday. All I wanted was enough daylight to scout out some potential lines on one of four targeted peaks; Horn, Little Horn, Flume, and Commanche peaks.

I got there quicker than expected and was doubly treated by the unexpected beauty of the Wet Mountains on the drive to Westcliffe. I admit that the Wet Mountains are what I pictured Colorado to be like when I was a kid and during that dream, of owning 100 square miles and being independently wealthy, where I would live was a close facsimile to what I was driving through.

Found a nice campsite in one of the cleanest campgrounds I've been to; you can tell it doesn't get much use.

I could tell from my topo map that a tangled web of trails led out. I could tell from reconoitering during the drive in, I wanted to hit either the North Face of Horn Peak or a nice couloir to the south of the summit of Commanche.

Horn Pk on the left, Commanche to the right of it. You can see the delicious couloir I wanted to crunch into.

So I checked out the approach and the trail junction. Solitude and trees is the best way to describe it.

The next morning woke up at 5:45 am to the wind howling. It didn't stop for the nearly three hours I was at camp and packing up. I've nearly been blown off mountains twice. Last year during my traverse of the Pawnee Ridge was the latest episode. I remember crouching down on a shelf on the north side of the ridge for nearly 15 minutes waiting for a respite in the bluster.

Not looking for a repeat, I cut my losses and decided to explore the Wet Mountains some.

First some pics of the Sangre de Criso Range and Westcliffe. I will be back.

Took a nice hike along Squirrel Creek. Then checked out this oddity called Bishop Castle.

Nearly stepped on these two little guys

Squirrel Creek

All handmade and open to the public on a donation basis. Bishop Castle looked a little to suspect to me to wander inside. Plus it was too cartoonish for my taste. But if it breaks tourists to the area, which in turn helps support the local economy, go for it.

Hardscrabble Pass. Nice granite, and some dubious outcrops too.

Pack the tent, stay in a motel

2009-06-11T11:47:00.007-06:00

I currently feel like somebody shoved an eggplant in my ear. Long night out hitting fancy spots downtown. As one friend put it, "No way! You at Martini Ranch?!"

Good times. Chores and unsettled weather made my days off not as satisfying as I would like. But the Tacoma has new brakes and it passed its emissions test.

Last week was spent out in Fruita. I needed to camp and it was the only place in the entire state of Colorado without rain.... for a bit.

Some cactus blooms. I find myself drawn more and more to flowering cacti. I think it has to do with the juxtaposition.

Got two real good rides in. On the second one in the evening, I saw the blackness creeping closer. Distant rumbling of thunder approached and stopped being so distant. Knowing a deluge was imminent, I started hauling ass back to my camp.

I made it back right when the skies opened; talk about fortunate timing. I was forced to hide in my truck for over half an hour as the storm pounded the area, casually tossing lightning bolts and quarter-sized hail down.

I discovered I'm still shell-shocked by lightning from nearly getting struck last summer. When the lightning and thunder were synchronized in real time, I found myself nervous. I closed my eyes, controlled my breathing and began meditating. In short, I felt the closest one could get in a war trench.

I drove into town, since cooking at camp wouldn't be possible. I was treated to views of a double rainbow with lightning continuously forking through the middle of it -- that image will stay locked in my memory for a while.

Driving back to camp, I reached the dirt road again and drove through some flowing water. Soon the night was obscured through my windshield by inky blackness. Water flowed over my roof and engulfed the truck. I laughed uncontrollably.

I met up with another truck and the driver informed me I wasn't getting back to camp this way. Over three feet of water jumped an arroyo and was pouring over the roadway.

I tried a backway to get to camp and after driving far enough down 16 Road, I turned and saw a dry stream transform into a rushing river.

So I drove back to camp and spent the night in a motel room. The next morning I was able to get back to my camp and discovered my tent performed beyond expectations. Nothing was wet inside despite the dumping and the 60-mph winds.

The Tacoma the next day. I had to clean the windows off in order to have periphery sight.

The aftermath of the road

On my way back to Denver, I checked out around Rifle. According to some reports and my map book, there are some trails in the area for mountain biking. I was deep into carnivore country and quite surprised I didn't run into a bear during my exploring; it was ideal territory for them.

Stymied by a gate. The cirque looked very cool.

Glenwood Canyon on the drive back.

Mountain bikes, sunburns and petroglyphs

2009-05-09T11:57:00.006-06:00

Spent two days in Fruita. As always it was wonderful. Got about 30 miles in on Tuesday at The Book Cliffs.

Had a cool camp neighbor with whom I spent the evening with around a campfire drinking beer, him doing bowl hits and talking about life.

Wednesday hit Rabbit Valley for the first time and did a loop on part of the legendary Kokopelli trail. Then went hiking down a draw, looking at petroglyphs and hiking several miles with a nurse wearing a bikini.

All in all a great trip. Sunburn is now itchy and that nether region where you sit on your saddle is still very sore.

Kokopelli Trail

Petroglyphs

Canyon walls after the trail was either lost or ended. Followed game trails for a bit.

Berthoud Pass Backcountry... kinda

2009-04-29T15:44:00.007-06:00

It's too easy to be the backcountry, too populated and too accessible. When you have snowboarders building ramps for hucking while a boombox (yes, a real live boombox) plays Sir Mix-a-lot, can it really be considered backcountry?

Backcountry, sidecountry, in between-country, who cares? It was still a lot of fun. And for a change I didn't mind just strapping the skins on, walking across the highway and skinning up the mountainside.

Snow was wet corn below treeline. Above treeline it was wind-scourged hard. I was there for some fun turns, not some ignominious summit. So when I reached a weather antenna with a rocky area crowned with a cairn. I stopped, switched over and shot down.

Views from the wx antenna

Nice cornice

I contemplated climbing up the peak. It was maybe 15 more minutes. But I didn't have the confidence or insanity to drop down and ski that face.

The Shuksans are hungry for more. Look at those greedy, hungry visages!

Last run of the day the snow was getting gloppy. I had put in well over 3,000 feet of climbing in and the quads were getting a little tired.

Bringing Skis to Moab

2009-04-23T21:48:00.014-06:00

It's past midnight. I've already struck out on several previous campgrounds -- "No Vacancy" would flash the neon blinkity sign if it were a motel. Slowly I grind down the gravel road silently apologizing to each tent I pass for my late-night intrusion.

I empathize with the campers since I've been on their end; awakened from sleep by a straggler disturbing the nocturnal solitude with V6 pistons in a low hum. When I reach the end and discover that I have met a dead end, I turn around and repeat my mental mantra "Sorry, sorry, sorry".

It's high season in Moab. Everybody who has ridden a mountain bike, thought about riding a mountain bike or knows somebody who has ever thought about riding a mountain bike is in town. As I drive through town I note more of those blinkity "No Vacancy" signs lit than not.

I drive south of town, which borders expand ever further southward to my dismay, and hook on to the La Sal Loop Road. After several miles nothing is looking promising. Getting slightly frustrated, I turn the trusty Tacoma around head back north through town and head to my backup camp spot.

A dirt road shooting off the highway that dead ends at Island in the Sky District of Canyonlands, I bypass the group campsite and soon see silhouetted against the starry sky two bulks showing RVs have laid claim to my backup spot.

Further into the waste I drive until many miles later I spy a smaller dirt track branching off to the right. I turn and follow and then take a left branch, and another branch that I'm pretty sure is made for ATVs, not my trusty 4WD companion.

I see a lone tree and a tall black mound in front of me. I pull off and park. Works for me. I can scan slickrock slabs that then rise vertical beyond the span of my headlights.

I set the tent up. It's past 2 am. I scan the stillness -- utter stillness that I can hear my ears ringing from the lack of stimuli -- to see if green irises are lightly illuminated. I read that the pupils of mountain lions refract green, and this outcrop in a land smooth for miles like a sanded table top would seem like a good perch. Satisfied that I would not wake up becoming Meow Mix, I crash.

I'm stirring by 8:30 am to escape the radiation that is slowly cooking me in the tent. There is no sleeping in with the desert sun. I finally take a look at my campsite and proud that I can even pick pretty ones in the dark.

Who needs coffee to help circulate the blood and arouse the mind when you have sandstone beckoning you in a murmur, "Climb me". Who am I to deny?

Looking down from the summit

Plenty of nooks and crannies and general desert beauty

And some desert ugliness

Into town for some breakfast. My original hopes of an early start are thwarted by my very tardy arrival. The impetus of this journey was to ski/climb up Mount Tukuhnikivatz, second highest peak in the La Sal Mountains and ski down. Truthfully I just wanted to stand on the top of a mountain and gaze out and down 8,000 feet onto canyon country; look at prehistoric slickrock fins, buttresses, arches, windows, mesas and buttes stretch out to eternity until buffeted by the Henry Mountains over 80 miles to the southwest.

I decide to scout out the road to my trailhead anyways, being curious as to how far/close I would be. Well, it's not close, but it doesn't seem impossibly far. Spurned on by the thought, "I might never have the chance again", I unpack the K2 Shuksans... and off I went.

Mount Tuk on the left. The right pyramid is actually part of its NW ridge.

Slow and steady I skin up and around, never stopping for more than a half minute to wipe of the sweat that is cascading down me or to catch my breath. I realize if I stop, I might not discover the drive to continue the plodding climb. And I might get lost in the views west which are beginning to arise in view.

The pictures do none of the vistas justice. Trust me.

As I discover getting to Mount Tuk won't be easy, let alone the ascent of it. I'm a drainage removed from its flanks. And the thought of dropping down the preciously won vertical feet to only reclaim them on the other side disparages me.

I decide to keep going to whatever ends this mount will lead me. I just want to rise above treeline and look out unobstructed.

After a calf-burning stretch up a steep ridge, I break through the trees. I spot a telemark skier ahead of me with skis lashed to his pack slowly plodding up through the alpine which is speckled partly with exposed talus.

I ski on with entire carpets of snow collapsing underneath me onto the talus, as if I am the action to cause the reaction of all air pockets trapped underneath to be exhaled.

I stash the skis and clumsily make my way in the ski boots up on talus and snow. I reel in my companion despite his headstart and we reach the summit at the same time. There is a weather station and we discover our "Summit" is really a knob on a ridge to a neighboring peak. We're both content with our high point and plop down.

Dana is a helicopter pilot in Florida who comes out west a bit in the summer to fight forest fires. We exchange notes of our trip and he looks at me surprised when I inform him it took me two hours to get to our location. Slow and steady and now long stops is the key to success in the alpine.

We make our way down, not skiing together but within proximity of each other. It's a refreshing change to actually be skiing in the backcountry with somebody else around; I'm able to unreign the skis and point them more aggressive downhill.

The skiing is terrible. The week before, I would later learn that night talking with locals at the Moab Brewery, a dust storm blocked out the sun and coated the area, it then rained, essentially raining mud.

That mud layer coated the snow so unless it was pure vertical, it felt more like standing glissading than actual skiing. I lurched down the mountain, with one ski getting slowed down by the crud, or the other, or both. I eventually unclip the heels on my randonee skis and started telemark turning or skating to keep the momentum up. I did one faceplant and chuckled.

The night at camp was dominated by a fire made with collected aspen branches littering the forest floor in the La Sals, Tecate beer and getting lost in the stars which stretch from horizon to the end of the Earth.

After a good night sleep, I'm up early due to some uncourteous neighbors. I hear the ground vibrate with thuds under my ear. I rise and yell out at my intruders. The bovines scamper off quickly, not expecting an oddly-green contraption to be yelling at them.

The day is spent soaking my feet and writing on the shore of the Colorado River.

A couple of hours of bouldering at Big Bend Boulders.

And scampering in and over a slot canyon in Castle Valley near Castle Tower

Steamboat and taxes

2009-04-15T13:11:00.010-06:00

A comedy of errors, or could it be a healthy dose of hubris?

Maybe a warning never to think life is going well; it will give you an atomic wedgie when you've got your back turned.

For all rights and purposes, 2009 has been a good year so far. I'm happy, enjoying life, feeling content with things.

Then I did my taxes...

Now I knew I was going to owe money, I just didn't think how much I owed would be what I owed. Yes I procrastinated because I knew I owe. It's sophomoric thinking, but I want the government to wait as long as possible for my money if I owe.

So I see some masochistic bouldering in the plans for this afternoon to get out this aggression.

However looking back to happier times, went up to Steamboat Springs over the weekend. I've wanted to go for several years now but for some reason or another, I never made the trek.

The snow was not inspiring when we began skiing on Saturday.

Jess doing a backwards roll to get out of Fakey

Early afternoon brought a gift though. We saw the clouds sitting low, black and ominously to the west. Soon the upper part of the mountain was covered in fog. Soon flakes began spitting out. Then it began hailing Styrofoam. Then it was a full-on white out

Looking from a mid-mountain hut. There is a chairlift not more than 30 feet away.

It was the last weekend the mountain was open, so the food selection was very sparse.

Mmmm, Doritos for lunch, washed down with a full-bodied Bud Light.

After 20 minutes of warming up, we hit the mountain again. Hardly anybody was out during the snow squall. But in that hour's time about 2 inches of satin fell. It was glorious skiing.

We skied the full day - barely making the final chair out of the untamed backside of Morningside Peak and then piecing together which runs and chairs we needed for the long -- over 4,000 feet vert -- to get back to the base.

The night was spent going to an expensive steakhouse where Jess felt conned out of her money; she bought dinner. Now the steaks were delicious - however they made you cook it yourself. You were given your pick of meat, as if you were selecting at a butcher shop, and then sent to a grill with cooking instructions.

If you are a DIY type person, then you'll love the 8th Street Steakhouse.

A quick nap, a failed aborted attempt to find the Hot Springs without directions and soon we were downtown Steamboat at a bar hosting an 80s party. Shots were taken - I'm still not sure how I was able to get out of bed the next day.

Sunday was slow going. My legs were jelly and neither of us were enthused on getting in only half a day of skiing since the last chair went out at 2:30 p.m.

Instead we went to Strawberry Park Hot Springs. I highly recommend the drive. It is about 12 miles north of town by a dirt road (I suggest good tires or 4WD). It is clean, quaint and extremely relaxing.

Smattering of life

2009-03-25T13:40:00.006-06:00

I know time is pretty relative as far as we know it. However, it does seem like it is dancing by at a quicker tempo than it used to.

Got a surprised email followed by my friend Craig who was in town. It was strange to count up to four - the number of years it had been since we saw each other. It seems like that gourmet burger-making day was just yesterday.

Last week I took my first semi-annual pilgrimage to slickrock country. After driving Monday night, Jess and I spent two days playing peek-a-boo in canyons and just soaking up the sun.

All of the trips and the lengthy tenure I have spent in the area, I still find new places to go. I don't think I will see even half of it before my flame is extinguished.

It was time well spent and I was glad to introduce a special area to me to somebody who had never awoken to being surrounded by sandstone canyon walls standing sentinel.

I've gotten more than I bargained for already

2009-03-11T19:35:00.011-06:00

It was a 3-Advil trip. And the litmus count would be higher if I wasn't afraid of feeling worst by taking five.

I want a hot tub and an IV. I am whooped and in a sadistic way, quite content with that.

I returned to the Indian Peaks to complete some unfinished business. The last time I was here, I had the binding issues.

This time I had some of the worst snow conditions I've had the misfortune of skiing in. And only a stubborn idiot like myself would continue.

Devil's Thumb Loop - roughly 8 miles. Took a few detours to check out some slopes for clicking down the heels action. However with the warmth and the solar energy coming down like frickin laser beams, snow was sliding pretty badly on the steeps.

A Ryan "shortcut"

Deteriorating slope. It took closer scrutiny to determine this SE-facing slope was just slush. I got lashed severely making my way through the vegetated palisade in the foreground.

I had to portage the sticks about four times, walking on either bare ground or ice while hefting the skis. It got annoying, especially on the way out when I was beyond "bonk" stage.

Took a break at the trail junction to Devil's Lake. There was a nice rock ramp to perch on and eat some food.

Looking at the nearby Continental Divide. Well it was nearby at my turnaround point.

I had gone 2 1/2 miles more or less in an hour & 15 minutes. From that point on, I was breaking trail as nobody went further. I can now kinda understand how people get lost in this area. If you don't keep your wits about you, a person could get disoriented.

I lost the "trail" many times because, well, there were no markings on trees showing the path. I would usually find it and then dispatch from it again before crossing it again. Wasn't too concerned. I had Bryan Mountain and then Woodland Mountain on my left as a guideline and Chittenden Mountain and Jasper Creek on my right.

WHAT I didn't count on was missing the junction for the trail to loop back. I kept on heading towards Devil's Pass. Finally looking around, I realized things weren't jiving with what I remembered from the topo map. Devil's Thumb was way too close.

Jasper Peak on the right. You can read my shocking trip to the summit here.

So I did what you're supposed to do, I turned around. After about 10 minutes I saw my error. I completely missed this mostly-buried sign.

Now for a bit, my skis were getting sluggish and my legs were getting tired. The snow was liquid goop, collecting copiously on top of my skis and then refreezing to create a nice load.

Also my skins had over-saturated and then froze. So I had chunks of ice on the bottom, negating any glide I might get. After crossing Jasper Creek, where the return trail went was anybody's guess. I just picked a way that made sense to me.

I stopped a few minutes in, took a break and proceeded to attend to the skis. This was just getting to be painful. I stripped of the snow and let the sun melt off the crud on the skins. A big wedge of ice formed on both skis at the tip under the skins. This required more maintenance.

After a little more I had enough with the crappy snow and my beaten-up skins. I knew from the topo -- and by what I came up -- I should gradually be heading down.

Well cross-country in the Indian Peaks doesn't live up to topo maps. After stripping the skins I made some good downhill time -- crossing over and skiing on top of frozen-over Jasper Creek.

Then came the inclines...

And the willow thickets...

And the frozen killer waves of snow...

And then boulders, close-spaced trees, downed logs, gaping pitfalls... you get the picture.

It was beyond taxing and it was slow going.

Finally the skins came back on as I was doing more up and down then down. And then I came to the trail. It was quite easy to spot.

Where's the bloody snow?!

There was more ski carrying, and then more chaotic terrain. I know better than to travel cross-country in the area. It's some of the more rugged topo in the state.

Finally I hit the return loop. It was 2+ agonizing miles back to the truck.

The slush has frozen in the evening chill. Yum!

As challenging and frustrating the return part was, and here is my sadistic side, I would do the same damn thing again. I was in a beautiful area, deep into the wilderness and aside from fatigue, dehydration and some pretty good raw spots on my shins from my boots, I was fine.

I chose the path that wasn't there

2009-03-09T22:05:00.004-06:00

One of the things I enjoy greatly about Colorado after spending a number of years in the temperate jungles of the Pacific Northwest, is off-trail travel is so simple.

True there are excepts and the biggest one I've encountered is in the Kenosha Mtns. However, every place else, it is a breeze. No dense vegetation, no impenetrable thickets of slide alder and devil's club. Just find a bearing and go.

Sunday was beautiful and I wasn't going to waste the afternoon inside. The divots in my hands are still healing - and quite rapidly - from the bouldering debacle from the middle of the week, so climbing was out. I also remained apprehensive of mountain biking for the same reason.

So a nice easy hike was on the menu. Jess was up for the distraction and I was pleased to share a quiet hidden eyrie with her. For me it's a close-by secret place and I don't just anybody learn of those.

After a couple quick miles on the trail, we cut off through some scrub oak and scrambled up some easy 3rd-class to the ridge. Normally I like tackling a crumbling tower which acts as a rampart to the edge of the ridge. But I had company so I was going to behave.

Jess coming up the last bit of scrambling

There is a little bouldering wall in the area. While it is terribly brittle and friable sandstone, I have had a few mellow sessions on it. The one drawback; a bad fall could lead to a long fall off the ridge.

One of my favorite features up here, a long catwalk of folded sandstone. It conjures up what I think petrified brain would look like.

Funny thing is the wind started raging once we got off the trail. It never mitigated during our stay up there. I would call it strong gusts, but it was a continuous gale with only a pocketful of brief interruptions.

After finding a nice nook to lounge in, we passed the eating, talking and just plain enjoying each other's company.

Jess gives her approval

What just happened?

2009-03-07T11:46:00.009-07:00

I am mainly Socratic in my philosophy and development of morasses. However I also subscribe to Aristotle's philosophy of substance, matter and form. It was the latter that caused my fall - literally.

Wednesday was a warm albeit windy day. I planned on getting in a few hours of bouldering and there was one rock in particular which was garnering my attention. Located at the second junction of the Silver Fox and Homestead trails when you leave the west parking lot, the 12-foot-tall piece of granite overhung beautifully on two sides.

I had tinkered on it before but nothing with any earnest. My first problem I figured would go at V3. Severely undercut at the bottom, you start with two huge jugs with your right foot toeing a little cove deep underneath and your left smeared on a less-upside down contour.

It took over a dozen tries but finally I linked the problem together, the crux being throwing a slap to a slopper with the left hand from the starting position. From there the problem goes down easy. I think I was conservative with my initial grading but would want an independent arbitrator to confirm before I chestbeat.

Starting holds. You shoot for past the hump at the top skyline.

Pleased, I went to the other end of the rock and came across a fun traverse on a rail, to a heel hook and reach up to small but positive pinches. While not a hard problem, it is fun and adds the spice of a large fin of rock underneath you that would like to fillet you if you fall.

Easy stuff on the east side.

My undoing was trying to develop a line in the center of the face. There was a beautiful starting hold but I couldn't scry a clean line that didn't seem contrived.

However the angle of the rock and the starting jug tempted me to try to forge something after dismissing it several times earlier.

I tested the start, putting one hand on a vertical rail which resembled a tufta soldered to the rock. Right hand went on a corner knob. To the left was a big incut cleft on a angled shelf - too easy. Straight up was some frictioned pinchery and slaps. Tough but maybe possible.

So I positioned my pad to the left of me to protect from the fin of rock in case of a pendulum in the likely case of failure.

I positioned myself on the ground for the sit start, took a deep breath and shot up to my planned slap. But a funny thing happened along the way.

I felt momentum up and then I felt momentum backwards. When I got my senses back, I found myself on the ground on my back, legs sticking up in the air - rigor mortis in the positions and angles they were on the rock during my dyno.

I craned my neck and looked and saw a big rock on my stomach and looked up to see my hands fountains of blood.

The big welded tufta wasn't as solid as I suspected and now the big chunk was on my. During my dyno, I must have pulled so hard that not only the rock came out but, my momentum carried my quite a ways away from the rock.

I picked up the 20-pound chunk and removed it from me. As I turned to toss it, I noticed the familiar firmness of rock on my right side. I was lucky. If landed a little to the right I would have landed back on a half-buried boulder.

The rock. You can see my toes in the bottom of the photo for size comparison.

Where the hold pulled from.

This was my second straight bouldering session of pioneering problems on terra incognita where rock broke and I found myself unceremoniously dumped on the ground. The last time was at the junction of the Hidden Fawn trail and the Dedisse Park trail when I made the same error of not listening to my gut.

I attempted an overhanging face with less than dubious rock and when 12 feet up a crystal I was pinching while doing a cross-over popped out. My movements caused me to helicopter off and I landed equally on my face and shoulder - thankfully on the crashpad.

The lesson I have now had hammered home -- If it looks suspect, don't force it.

Devil's Thumb Aborted Trip

2009-02-18T16:13:00.006-07:00

All things considered, if there was ever going to be a trip to have issues with my bindings, I would have chosen today.

It really wasn't a day off. True, it is my day off - however I found myself at work -- and amazingly conscious -- at 8 am for a 3-hour tease-writing workshop. Yes it stinks going in on your day off, but I'm not complaining loudly. It was informative, helped me think outside of the box and it's nice working some place where they give you such training and workshops.

By noon, I was threading my way up Boulder Canyon - jonesing big time to get outside and go climbing - on my way to the Indian Peaks. The Devil's Thumb loop off the Hessie Trailhead looked like it had promise after consulting a topo map.

The wind was hurricane force when I parked on the icy road. To avoid superlatives, to demonstrate the strength of the wind, I'll just say it actually pushed me backwards -- UPHILL -- when I was stopped for a quick breather.

But less than a couple hours in, the breeze began subsiding. And the over 2 miles of skinning got me past the trailhead and near the goods.

And that is when I started noticing my right binding was popping on the steep uphill skin. And then, I was no longer in my ski.

I snapped back into my binding, shuffled upwards a couple more steps and out popped the left foot.

Somehow when I got my skis tuned a couple of weeks ago, they stretched out the bindings. So I decided to save myself the aggravation, as well as not get further than the 2+ miles I was already in, and turned back.

My companions. When I was putting the skins on my skis near where I parked, I was bent over and began feeling a thumping on my leg. It was the wagging tail of one of these Huskies.

They were very friendly and just out for a wander in their "backyard" I ran across them again near where I turned around. They followed me for a bit and then when I turned downhill, couldn't keep up anymore.

I took my skis back to the tune shop. I explained what happened. They apologized and will fix the bindings as well as smooth out a couple of nicks I engraved into my base today - gratis.

Some potpourri of the past couple of weeks:

Musings on Radiohead and Classical Art

2009-02-12T22:33:00.004-07:00

This is time we're shaking
Unwrapping the candy-striped
lamp post at the corner bar.
Splashing down lugged soles
into a collected pool off the curb
shod by the grasping tendrils
of a workplace left but not forgotten.
Into malignancy we stride,
sitting on a stool next to a shadow;
in our youth we called it wantonness.
Now it grasps its stale beer,
pint glass glazed by dozens of sticky
fingerprints, pulse slightly detected
by an involuntary twitch betraying
its Dürer Stare into a luminescent
reflection too often mistaken
for tarnished dismissal.

Piety is not religion

2009-01-26T23:00:00.003-07:00

Pixilated presence leered over my shoulder
Impetuous confidence exuded the stench of
saltwater left to winter
in a caliginous closet.
He professed no apologies for
theomanic visions,
puissant neurosis,
religious leverage.
Proscribed my moral direction
demagnetized by megalomaniac mendaciousness.

Yet the more he spouted recklessly
the more he swayed in his interlunar lunacy -
stronger at midday -
more forceful with a fortified diet -
cigar afterwards -
brandy snifter pockmarked by chapped lips;
A satiated gourmand,
mouth aflame and sullied brain.

Awaken after his bacchanalian recourse
he launched vociferously into dogmatic digressions
to an empty cupboard and an idle-brained audience
of him
& Him.

For I left alone,
taking the long way round,
Fearful of being mistaken for a zealot,
or worse still,
An epigone,
poor both in manners and money,
plagued by theological halitosis.
Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
The incense flutters past The Stations no longer.
I know the hill where I confess my love of man
and donned mortality once more.

Grosbeak

2009-01-26T22:58:00.004-07:00

I felt the cold rain before the approaching sun.
The chilly respite caused me pause,
contemplation of its icy staccato.

There is light and warmth unblemished
outside the trance of this nightly nadir.
Shivering, I beckon the acquiescence.

The mist dissipates into the twilight.
The scene transmutes into ocher folds,
sandstone spires stand sentinel in the sun.

The fluttering flight of a grosbeak breaks the horizon.
Untouched by eons, it relents to instinct,
throaty song a harbinger of my rebirth.

My wrinkles have grown on me

2009-01-26T22:53:00.003-07:00

Let's try this life on;
tailor-made cosmopolitan
tweed tied tightly as a garrote,
A lil' snug 'round the neck.

Wash and wear instructions;
faded sanskrit indecipherable
like prerogatives over a cell phone,
Was that double entendre?

Clearance sale rack bargain;
Blemished and irregular fit
No refunds or returns allowed,
I just got used to this kabuki mask.

Because somebody has to do it

2009-01-20T21:23:00.006-07:00

I sat looking at grey creamy snow, whipped up by the melting rays of the sun and the slush produced by parking cars. Peering towards the rearview mirror, I spied the twin pickets of my skis; a pair of Thunderbirds gazing back with lidless eyes.

I shifted in my seat, legroom made cramp by the ski boots I donned 10 minutes earlier.

A wave of goose-bumps synchronously lapped over me as I listened to a man, a simple man, over two thousand miles away address the throngs eagerly sipping up every word, satiated by the ambrosia of hope that rushed forward like a fountain from his mouth.

I can honestly say I have never had a politician inure such a reaction in me - and I have sat in press row back in college during a trip by Clinton in the 90s (Yes I'm dating myself).

But a man cannot change a country of millions. That is up for the republic to decide; whether to continue to live in ignorance and excess or to subscribe to a little charity and humility. We'll find out.

As soon as the words, "God bless the United States of America" finished ushering from the President's lips, I was turning of the radio and getting on my skis.

I mean somebody had to go and enjoy the natural splendor of this great country. Why not me?

See this guy? Cute, ain't he? Looks rather innocuous and was a rather good companion when he flew in and started hopping towards me, emitting little cheeps.

The Mountain Jay, or also known as The Gray Jay or The Hiker Jay, due to their seemingly lack of fear of man. They are known to land and perch in people's hands. I've seen the photos.

Well, I'm guessing in those pictures, the birds aren't January hungry. He was an aggressive little guy, dancing to within a few inches of my boots, then scooting off and then swooping in close, hovering a mere foot from my face before landing.

And then the solitary jay became two, and then six. Soon I was vigilant as I ate my lunch. But with three directions on which to spy, I let my guard down. That's when I heard a strange scratching sound near my ear.

The initial jay tried landing on my ski helmet and was now hovering in front of my turning face. I shooed him away and hurriedly ate the final bites of my apple, before hucking the core 100 feet.

That bought me time to shove a PB&J sandwich in my gullet. But I was noticed and the second wave of harassment commenced. I tore up a couple of corners and tossed them to gain a few seconds of solace in which to finish.

Looking down valley during a rare moment of tranquility

Since soaking in the sun and the views was out of the question, I skinned back up the long slope I just skied down. About a third of the way up, towards the point where I would have to put the skis on the pack and boot up, I turned my head and noticed a parade of the same jays fluttering from tree to tree on the periphery.

I was being followed. And the thing is whenever I would look over there, I swear to God, they would act inconspicuous. Seriously, like, "Oh nothing to see here. We're just foraging on these branches."

Anyways, while the goods weren't that great, it still was a great day. Calm and warm weather, so much I was skiing in a shirt and my Moonstone rainpants (good call on my part to leave the heavier snowpants at home)

Looking out from a 5 1/2-foot deep snow pit. Nice consolidation on the slopes. The snow is setting up perfectly..... as long as you ignore the 6 inches of facets that all of these tons of snow sits on. I don't want to be around when these gigantic hard slabs decide to go.

I did three laps, though each subsequent skin/boot up was a little less as high. By the time I was doing the third lap, I was looking for the rope tow. And I knew I had about four miles to ski out on an icy, hardpack trail.

The goods. Over 1,000 feet of skiing.

About halfway up while taking a breather

Looking across the valley to Mt Machebeuf. That's a fun ski. I'll have to do it again this year.

The day previous I spent the afternoon bouldering at 3 Sisters. It was a great day as evident by the picture of my climbing without a shirt.... in JANUARY!

Found some new stuff and gave it a go. Worked this project until finally if felt like my left calf was going to separate from the bone doing my 12th heel hook.

While eating a snack, I heard a man constantly calling out in the distance. I discerned after a few listens that he was searching for his dog. Well, after shouldering the bouldering pad, I heard a jingling behind me. I turned around to see a black and white shepherd come bounding towards me.

She stopped about 20 feet away abruptly when she realized I wasn't her owner. Looking at me confused she let out a low growl which tapered off into a whine. She was scared. She was happy to see a person but it wasn't the right person.

I knew what I had to do - and why do I always choose to do the right thing? I'm going to get a reputation if this keeps up. So I beckoned the dog towards me and started breaking out cross-country towards where I last heard the guy calling out from.

I urged the dog on with reassuring cheerful calls and she would bound after me happy, and then distrustfully remembering I'm a stranger. But she came.

Finally the guy called out again in closer proximity. I responded telling him to keep yelling out. Soon invigorated calls began coming one after another and I looked back at the dog. She knew where her owner was now. Gleefully she bolted away towards the voice.

Thirty seconds later, I heard a "Thank you" reverberate from the pine trees.

A perfect rest day

2009-01-13T21:03:00.011-07:00

The plan was to do nothing but maybe clean the condo today. Then I stepped outside....

Less than 10 minutes later I was heading towards the hills, clothes changed and backpack with stuff shoveled in haphazzardly with the snowshoes lashed on.

Life is about having fun, playing hard and eating well. I accomplished all three today.

Since it was a late start, I just went to Deer Creek Canyon. The conditions were perfect; so good I never put the snowshoes on, just took them for a nice day out.

After a little bit of trail, I decided to try my straight-up climb of Mt Herman. Normally you need a good dumping and good consolidation of the snow to make the 45-50 degree slog not miserable. And Tuesday was the perfect conditions.

Picking a way through the never-ending thicket

It's funny. It was my fourth time up to the top of Mt Herman, and I've never ever gotten there by the trail that goes to the top.

The unspoiled trail which I intersected just shy of the top

Summit Rocks

Looking down on the affluent neighbors

Reversing my way would have resulted in much sliding, bruising and stabbing. So I decided to actually take a trail. Gasp!

On my way back down, I noticed a broad ridge across the drainage which was beaconing me. I had to oblige. Some steep hiking and some rock scrambling brought me to the top of Plymouth Mountain.

Summit Rock. A wet and snowy V1 on the east face and on the south side. I gently padded up the slab, loving my mountaineering boots for edging so well and not falling on the tumbled blocks which would dice me below.

Only fell flat on my ass once on the steep way down, when I stepped on a snow-covered slab. Oops!

Some natives nibbling a late-afternoon snack

Of course one should end a day with a terrific meal polished off with a glass of Camenere. It was the best meal I have had in a very long time. The sad thing is I could make it again and not capture the culinary magic which occurred that night in the kitchen.

When stubborness and stupidity prevail

2009-01-11T17:47:00.005-07:00

When I drove through Evergreen, the bank clock read 28 degrees. I put that thought out of my mind as I made my through town and parked at my home away from home.

I had plans to go bouldering with Rak after work on Sunday. So I tidied up everything at my job, handed off the reigns to a coworker and gleefully skipped out of the station.

Called Rak and he was confused. He was at work finishing up a design project and forgot about the bouldering session. Well, I'm still going.

It was cold but it really didn't affect me as much as I thought it would. Oh sure the fingers would go numb after crimping up a problem. But blow on them, stick them in some gloves for a couple of minutes and they were back to normal.

The worst part was the wind. After an hour I got tired of having to chase down my windstopper jacket and crashpad as the gusts would send them skidding across the forest floor.

Well Rak told me to bring the camera so I did. And just taking pictures of a rock is just plain boring. So I was my own model. I do have to add this wasn't posed. I actually started off on the left side of the frame and traversed over and up from a sit-down start.

And yes, those are wool dress pants I am wearing. Let me explain.

In this modern world, companies have spent time and money researching the perfect cold-weather performance fleece pants. And yes you can spend $80 for such a Patagonia pair or something of the ilk.

Or you can go to the thrift store and spend $3 and have a pair of wool pants which do the exact same thing. Hmm.... that's a tough one.

Plus the bonus is, I can just change my shoes and shirt and then go to a fancy dress party!!

I surprised myself and spent a good hour climbing. It got tricky at sections as snow built up in cracks and on holds, so sometimes you had to improvise on lichen-painted slab 20 feet up.

Walking back I decided to do some exploring. The wind nearly knocked me over a couple of times as the crashpad acted like a parasail on my back.

We nearly ran into each other. I came around the corner of a fold and he came up. We both looked up at the same time about 15 feet from each other. I backed up fishing the camera in my pocket to snap a photo.

He came forward.

So I went forward.

He backed up.

I backed up and he came forward. Are we waltzing here?!

Finally got the camera took the picture and shooed him off.

Breaking in the blisters

2008-12-30T18:50:00.008-07:00

It's an annual rite of winter; my first backcountry tour trip. The trip itself is not actually the momentous occasion. Rather it is the result of the outing which alters my body for a good 5 months - the forming of the heel blisters.

Like a patient vineyard owner, it takes attention and time to cultivate such painful spots on my heels. But after the growing and the consequential ripping of the irritated skin, I can grow calluses, which will save me - hopefully - from painful skinning across valleys and up slopes.

Was out way too late with friends on Monday night. After feeling like I have lived at work the past few weeks - because in a sense, I have been - I slept in on Tuesday. My laziness made my initial destination moot. I wouldn't be able to get a good full tour up at Forest Lakes with the later departure time.

So I loaded up the pack and harried the Tacoma to a familiar haunt - St Mary's.

Looking down while skinning up the slope. It was about this time I began developing the first blister on the left heel.

I was expecting hurricane-force gusts once I broke out of the forest. Instead it was sunny and relatively calm. I soon began overheating. However I had a good tempo going, so instead of shedding layers, I merely unzipped and poled with my arms further akimbo.

I quickly caught up to a couple of hikers - I'd call them snowshoers but the snow was so firm, they merely carried the snowshoes - whom I spied taking off down the trail as I pulled into the parking lot. We talked for about 10 minutes and I offered some good snowshoeing destinations when queried.

When I realized that we were going about the same pace, I stopped for a bit to let them get ahead and enjoy some solitude. I felt foolish for having my probe and avy shovel, because the snow was bulletproof sustrugi - frozen wind-sculpted waves. The texture is completely unpliable and if you don't stay focused and scout a good line of least resistance, can result in some dangerous skiing.

Pretty for pictures, pain for skiing

It was a good tour and I stopped on the flats at the top of the "glacier" where it expands into a giant tundra leading in several directions for miles. My stopping point wasn't dictated by stamina nor fatigue; I was entertaining the idea of skiing up the slopes of James Peak - I felt that good. Instead it was the snow got more wild, more bulletproof - would that be missile-proof? - and I knew that skiing down what I already came up was going to be a strenuous task for my quads.

James Peak. A pretty view from the top. Very seldom does it have good snow for skiing.

Mount Bancroft. A fun mountain I'd like to scale this spring. Some nice technical steps, as Rak would attest to.

The ski run down was as how I prophesied; challenging and bouncy. I had to actually jump turn at one point to avoid a mawing hole in my way. But no torn ACLs and only one skid out on the final bomb back to the lake.

My line down. To skier right, above the rocks was filled with stored energy, waiting for catalyst to instigate a fracture line. A few smaller ones sheared on the other side of center.

Some alpine texture

The National - Mr November

Powder shots

2008-12-05T11:32:00.006-07:00

Tuesday I made the plunge. While I said, and truly believed, I wouldn't go resort skiing until after the New Year, I was too tempted to not make the drive up I-70. Loveland Ski Area reported almost four feet of snow over the previous weekend. A friend confirmed that the snow was spectacular when she went up on Monday.

It was good to get the first turns in. And yes, the snow was glorious and the ski area was less crowded than I expected; the benefit of having a Tuesday off.

It got a bit windy later in the afternoon, as evident by the above video. That was taken off the top of Chair 2.

I found out that I was a day premature. John Sellers, the PR guru at Loveland, informed me they opened up Chair 4 - where some of my favorite terrain is located - the next day. Also Chair 8 opened up later in the week as well. That leaves only Chair 9 as the lift not yet operating.

Mount Morrison

2008-11-25T15:53:00.008-07:00

AKA: When the toughest part is going down

It never warmed up to the 60s promised in the forecasts. Tiring of waiting and holding onto the faith of meteorologists' reports, at 11:30 am, I decided it was time for a different plan other than mountain biking.

Hiking seemed a rather mundane choice, but better than not doing anything. Then I remembered this "route" posted on MountainProject. It seemed like a good choice. I remember a few years back Tasha and I trying to find a way up, only to get stopped by barbed-wire fencing.

Mount Morrison is easily seen from any place in Denver. It's the bump above Red Rocks with antenna on top. I parked at the upper circular parking lot at Red Rocks. After reading the start of the trail can be difficult to spot, I stumbled upon it 15 feet from my driver's seat.

Some strange ruin about 200 feet up the trail with Red Rocks behind

Looking up at the midway point of the hike

Funny how the trail looks like it is going down. It actually is a gentle uphill section

So this "route" was beginning to become lame. It's a hike. I'm on a trail, albeit a steep trail that is giving me a good cardio workout. Those cliffs better hold some promise.

Coming to the first outcropping, I wandered off the trail to the lowest one and began scrambling. It is nice solid gneiss and deceivingly tougher than it looked. Much of the bedding was down-sloping. Some nice edges and round knobs though made it fun and doable in my approach shoes.

The "route" was enjoyable enough. A series of 20-30-foot-tall rock-croppings interspersed by grassy benches. Finally I came to one which looked like it would be a challenge to tackle straight on. Slightly overhanging with a semi-detached tower on it, this cliff looked like it had some spice to it. I just underestimated how much.

The first half was easy. Then came a stem across a very blank slab with an overhanging finish. A break partway up proved to be a Fool's Gold area. All the handholds faced down. I grabbed a slightly positive edge, other hand on a slopper, one foot smearing a bump and the other stemming across, toeing an indentation in a dihedral.

And then my good foot blew. It was a strange moment. I could feel gravity pulling at me like a hand trying to pry me away, as opposed to "This is Physics - gravity is all around you, you fall you go down". I know it really doesn't make sense, but it really did feel like a hand grabbing my shoulders.

The other odd thing as I could feel my weight shift perilously towards the jumbled rocks below was the thought which formed in my head. Nothing along the lines of, "Get your foot back on!", nor "Don't fall!", and not even something as base as, "Oh sh*t!".

No my single thought was, "How humiliating would that be. I'm on Mount Morrison of all things."

Suffice to say, I got my left foot back on, scrambled my right foot up putting me in a frog position, hip shift, reach up to a flat edge, and past the difficulties.

The next rock-cropping was the same way. A climb up led to a traverse which led to a foot blowing when the rock crumbled under my weight and I whacked my knees pretty hard into the rock. Smeared the right foot back on, left foot up to a heel hook and reach up to a bomber hold.

Some bedding where a tram rail once went up. You can see the gash in the mountainside from the parking lot

Some more hiking and I was at the top. 40 minutes to go 1,400 vertical feet.

No, apparently I can't put a hat on straight

The views:

Now going down. How to describe the hike down? Mmmm.... ball-bearings, tedious, torturous, and treacherous. Now the following statements will read like hyperbole, but while slowly making my way back I mulled over things and decided these were much better alternatives I have experienced:

• I would rather downclimb vertical scree on Jasper Peak.
• I would rather climb a mountain with a severely sprained ankle.
• I would rather read a Charles Dickens novel.

I nearly bit it countless times with my feet sliding out from underneath me. It took me 50 minutes to get back to the car with a couple of sore knees.

And here's the thing; I'm dumb enough to go do it again. Sometime in the future the awfulness of the hiking down will wear away, the memory will become somewhat frayed and blurry and I will think, "It wasn't THAT bad, was it?"

Actually I would like to try it again with all of the stuff frozen solid and a bit of ice on top.

When is enough going to be enough

2008-11-19T15:24:00.004-07:00

Helped out on a Habitat for Humanity project today. Instead of giving a hand building a house, I helped with a deconstruction project. One could argue these types of projects are what keep Habitat going.

Denver Metro Habitat has two home improvement warehouses where donated household and construction items are sold. Because of the success of these two stores, Habitat can say every dollar donated goes directly to a building project. The two outlets cover the organization's overhead and office costs.

I arrived at the house to be torn down and was shocked at what I was greeted by. A block east of Washington Park, this house was an incredible century-old house. It was renovated only five years ago and was not only in solid shape, it was beautiful.

The kitchen while the island and cabinets are taken out.

I don't know exactly what happened, but my guess the house was about to go through or went through foreclosure. We were guestimating while eating lunch that the lot itself would go for $500,000 because of the location. The developer, who lives three houses down, is going to completely tear it down and build a brand new house, which will probably be too big for the lot it will sit on.

It's a shame really. This not only is a beautiful house, but it was once somebody's home. I am reminded about the temporary nature of things whenever I go back to Chicago to my mother's neighborhood. My best friend PJ's old house he grew up in, across the alley from my mother's - gone. Nothing but a lot.

Still it made me a bit sad and wonder, what is the limit when enough is enough.

Work interrupted, handlebar ejection

2008-11-18T16:08:00.004-07:00

It's a little more than a week before Thanksgiving and it's over 70 degrees outside. And luck would have it, it's my day off. Sometimes fate does smile upon me - and not only after pulling the karmic rug from underneath me either.

Not too bad considering I had to keep my eye on the trail.

Two big loops in three hours. One instance of being jailhouse violated by my saddle when I unexpectedly came to a switchback. And one instance of a spectacular over-the-handlebars flip when I pinched my tire in a granite constriction. I stuck the landing and avoided the tree so I should receive high marks from the judges (except the Peruvian one. He's always shifty.).

Wanted to kick myself for not bringing my climbing shoes or at least my approach shoes. Elephant Butte was beckoning me. Perfect temps, perfect lighting and no compound fractures. I really just need to start bringing the whole kit when I head out. Some 300 feet of solo slabbing would have been a perfect dessert.

Is this how it starts?

2008-11-16T20:17:00.003-07:00

It's a bit past 8 o'clock and I'm ready for bed. Got up at 6 am for work. Worked. Picked up Rak and off we went to Matthews Winters Park for bouldering. Went to Golden, visited with Steve and Robyn for a couple of hours. Drop off Rak. Home.

Seriously, it's 8 o'clock and I'm tired! What's next? This?

And I can't even really all what we did as bouldering. While driving we decided on Matthews Winters, but neither of us were really up for an intimidating match with the Millennium Boulder. So I had remember ready some other stuff on the cliffs. So off we went and came up empty handed after much bushwhacking through rocky brush. Either too easy or too Sharma.

So we settled for this block I remember bouldering on before, and distinctly remember thinking, this sucks. Well it did. But it didn't just suck, it just shut us down completely. And the sad thing is I remember nailing two of the problems I was trying. Hell, the easy stuff on the west side I have done before was shutting my ass down.

Just not a good active day and now I'm pooped. This isn't going over too well in my head.

Ah well. As The National sing:

I won't f**k us over. I'm Mr. November. I wish I believed in fate. I wish I didn't sleep so late.

Actually I don't want a lap dance

2008-11-14T10:26:00.007-07:00

First off, the numbness is starting to wear off. Maybe the shock is passing on Thursday night's announcement that the Cubs aren't going to pursue re-signing Kerry Wood is passing. I've gotten learned in experiencing shock. It's not the initial blow, it's how quickly you recover.

New teams beware of injuries accrued by playing Guitar Hero

Still it would be easier if the guy was a high-ego, self-centered scumball. Instead, here is a guy who was invested in the community and because of his bulldog competitiveness probably made himself more injured than he should have. A really good column puts all of this much more succinctly than I can.

OK, the title probably caught some people's attention. The proposition certainly caught my attention when it was uttered to me. It must be that I appear trust-worthy, honest or just not like a serial killer. That or I have a "Taxi" sign on my Tacoma. But on both Monday or Tuesday I was implored for rides home from strange girls late at night.

Monday after meeting my climbing buddy Ian for drinks I'm walking the four or so blocks away where I parked in a brisk breeze. Some hipster asks me if I'm going home and if I have a car. She offers me gas money if I could take her home. A sucker for a damsel in distress, I offer. Before I know it I'm giving two girls, coming down from the happy effects of liquor and ecstasy, a ride to 11th & Washington.

Ian enjoying a beverage at The Irish Rover

The girl in the front won't shut up. The two girls start arguing - not yelling, but that raised imploring voice girls use with each other. I tell them if they want the ride home, they gotta knock that out. Girl in front begins apologizing and leaning over and rubbing my arm and chest. "And you gotta knock that out to."

Drop them off at 11th & Washington. Girl in front doesn't know where she is. "I'll just walk home from here." "You don't know where you are. How the hell are you going to walk home?" Girl in back, who has been quiet and leery outside of the argument - probably because she looked over and saw I still have a hatchet in the back of my truck from my camping trip the weekend before - states she can get her home.

Tuesday after a strong night at climbing gym and then beers at CB & Potts and The Cherry Cricket, driving home. I'm thirsty so I stop at a gas station for a Sobe Green Tea. Girl comes up to me and asks if I'm going north. She needs a ride and where she's going is less than a mile away. I chuckle and comply.

Get in, she tosses me a fake name. I ask if she's had a good night. She says she just came from her girlfriend's place and got a great lapdance. "Why? Do you want a lap dance? I can give you a lap dance if you want one."

Hmm.. .let's see: Girl is barely legal, girl has bloodshot eyes, girl is, well, she's not the type when you were younger that you brought home to meet your mother. And wow, getting offered a lapdance in less than a minute into conversation. While I admire her candid get-to-the-pointedness, yeah, DEFINITELY going to pass on that one.

Get to her apartment complex. She thanks me for the ride. Asks if I really do want to come up for the lapdance and.. oh! Here's the caveat: "Do you have any drugs on you?"

Have a good night fake girl name. "You know my name is ____? Wow, you have a good memory."

Which of course made me think, do I look like the guy desperate enough to accept a lapdance from a tripped-out girlie picked up at the gas station? And are there guys ho have evolved to possess opposable thumbs who would?

Finally...

Scanned in some old Utah photos from a trip back in the 90s. Good times with Mike & Simon. Whenever we reminisce about it, our jaws hurt afterwards from laughing so much.

Mike's boulder he wanted to take home from Capitol Reef NP; Mike bouldering outside of Moab. Me leading a climb on a windy day in Capitol Reef NP

Two snakes in the reeds

2008-11-08T11:05:00.008-07:00

Knowing that full-time employment was impending on Monday, last Friday I shuffled some obligations and plans and gunned the bug-splattered nose of the Tacoma away from the waxing sun, climbing higher on its journey.

I originally planned on setting up base on BLM land northwest of Moab. However while speeding through DeBeque Canyon, the pull of my home was too strong. I decided to shelve any decisions until reaching Moab, which happened a couple of hours later. Gassing up the truck, gaging the position of the sun, the decision to go another 75 miles was easy. I'm going home.

Pulled into my normal campsite. I thought it would be strange since the last time I stayed at this spot I was married. But memories didn't haunt this sojourn. After quickly setting up camp, gunned west again and hopped out of the truck, slung on the pack and off I went - time for some sandstone scampering.

Unfortunately this next photo does absolutely no justice to the scene transpiring at the time. In truth, unless you have a very nice camera and an advanced proficiency of using it, you can never capture The Needles very well.

I started on one side of sandstone, scampered to a sentinel, and then picked my way across the slickrock due south. Sometimes I had to make a leap across a gaping slot, sometimes I climbed up hoping there would be a different way down. All in all I mentally marked three key bottleneck downclimbs and hoped I would find them by headlamp on the way down.

I went 2-for-3, not too bad; the third required only a few minutes of wandering to find.

Saturday I blended my memories. Sometimes time blurs together and two landmarks which are on two separate trails were merged into one journey in my synapses. I hit a nostalgic pass first - encumbered with no distraught - and then continued down Lost Canyon.

Now here is when things got jumbled again. Parts of the trail seemed familiar. Others did not match up with my mental map. I'm pretty sure I've hiked every single trail in this district of Canyonlands. Either way, I enjoyed the time and the unique setting. While I am partial to as much slickrock as possible, I followed canyon bottoms for much of the time.

I came across a couple of watering holes, two snakes and something large which shifted as I passed by. Parts of it where a poor facsimile of what I imagine the Serengeti would feel like - sans the towering canyon walls surrounding me. Dried grass and still green reeds stretched higher than my head at times. An elephant could be practicing yoga 10 feet away from me, and at times, I wouldn't be able to see it.

Finally I came up to another pass, took a nice long break to eat, strip off the boots and shirt and just soak in the place.

After completing the 9-mile hike, I decided to visit an old friend. As a child I spent countless days exploring and daydreaming on the slickrock which butts up against the Squaw Flat campground area. I hadn't been up that way in more than two decades. So I picked a spot and began climbing up. And that is when I discovered you can never go home again.

At some point between Regan's presidency and the waning days of the current Bush's, the NPS decided to build a cairned trail up on the bluffs. I came to a special spot for me - a double hump topping the sandstone mushroom like ocher icing.

Instead of feeling the joys of childhood innocence reclaimed, I felt sadden by the desecration. A USGS marker topped one of the camelbacks and defiling scrawls left by visitors, whose intent was to capture their names for eons on the soft rock, marred the second.

Sunday, armed with a camera, car keys and a Clif Bar I took a hike up in Island in the Sky District before breakfast and coffee - yes, I can actually function before the first cup of coffee. I just prefer not to.

My quick jaunt wound up being a 6-mile wandering. It was good it was cool, overcast and breezy since forgetting a water bottle at the truck would have been uncomfortable if conditions were different.

Grim blackness cloaked distant ranges and towers in three directions. After eating a large, late breakfast in Moab, it began drizzling and canceling the bouldering session I had planned at Big Bend boulders.

I have an established history of driving through snow storms returning from Canyonlands. I wished to avoid that this time - since nothing is better than driving through blinding snow at slow speeds at the end of a 5 1/2-hour drive.

I lucked out with dry roads - the storm went north and hit Steamboat Springs instead - and felt lucky to bring in November with a great trip and probably the last mild weather spell of the year.

Stuck on you

2008-10-28T14:32:00.010-06:00

I'm not talking about the emotional clingy type, nor the over-infatuated, nor even the statically charged kind.

I'm talking about how I was with two problems at Joe's Valley, Utah.

When I pulled into the area Saturday afternoon, I admit I was underwhelmed. Jumping on Buoux Boulder, I was intimidated but still not sold on my decision to make a journey of over seven hours to come out to a rather drab area.

By Sunday afternoon I was sold.

I'll stay away from the superlative of it being the best bouldering in the U.S. I won't go that far. But the thing that Joe's has going for it is a number of good problems - and not contrived, ungainly sequences created by pad people with too much time on their hands - which can be found on the same boulder, the abundance of good landings and pretty good sandstone.

In three days, I had four bouldering sessions and ticked off or tried over 40 problems. Other than mantling a sharp hold and blowing a gaston - the causes of the gouges in my hand - my hands were in pretty good shape. Sure I had sore tips and by the end of Sunday, I climbed so much that it hurt to just touch rock.

The beta photos: UMWA

Funny, I couldn't get the VO on the left side but could get the V3 dyno right next to it and the V4 overhung hueco-fest around the left corner.

The Small One

Moby Dick Area

This is a big hunking piece of sandstone. The problem to the right of the arete is called A Big V1 I think. And it is. Actually did the problem in my boots and sans crashpad. Was just checking out the area and before I knew it I was at the big hueco near the top. Knew going up would be better than going down from that point.

Boy Size area

Left some of my skin on this one. It's either V4 or V2; couldn't figure it out with the guidebook. The problem is V2 I would say. The top-out is scary as hell as you pull on a very fragile edge to get your leg up.

Here it is from the sit-down start:

Man Size area

Warmup Area

The funny thing is I saw ONE other person bouldering. That ws when I pulled up to UMWA. Rob was just finishing one problem and flashed another one. We talked a bit and he and his significant other went down the road to Boy Size. Everybody else? Either they were arriving as I was leaving or they were taking a rest day. And I can tell you a rest day sucks at Joe's Valley. There is nothing out there but a sleepy Mormon town of Orangeville with shuttered businesses and boulders. That's it.

Finally back on some rock

2008-10-15T20:33:00.006-06:00

After only worked a handful of hours in the past week and a half, I really haven't done jack with this time off. Having interviews and looking for other jobs is a full-time gig in itself.

After yesterday's dose of bad news followed by more this morning, i decided to make up for being a cliche last night and sweat out my hangover with a good day of bouldering.

While driving to Evergreen I couldn't decide what I was in the mood for; slabby highballs, overhanging buttkickers or crimpfests of pain. I decided to check out a new area on the south side of The Brothers to see the potential. After much scrubbing and some knocking off loose rock - and whacking my knee a few times - a problem was born.

Took me a while because I wasn't sure what I was shooting to was going to be a good handhold, or even something that wasn't going to break off.

Further up the slope I found this beauty. You start by straddling the arete on a sit start, reach up to some bomber holds below the roof, heel hook and reach up and grab a big knob on the roof, turn the corner and then grunt up to the top.

On the other side is another fun sit start. More to the right yields some positive starting holds. More to the arete is just plain fun. Actually was tougher than the roof. Topping out is a chore.

Hiked back over east and went by The Eggs. Worked a few problems on this block. To the left of the tree shadow is an easier route but the right hand seems hollow and the topout is wallowing you hips over the lip. The problem on the right is thin and spit me off a few times until I got the body tension down. From there it was a nervous crimp up high left and a smear of faith.

Good day out. Got home to read an email stating I was terminated. I guess I'll have more time to boulder now.

Blustery, bitter and boring

2008-10-12T18:33:00.008-06:00

And that's just the weather outside. Okay, I've been really busy lately, hence the lack of an update. I was working alot which meant no play time for Ryan. Now I might be unemployed which means lots of play time for Ryan but the weather has turned to crud.

So here are some pictures from the past few weeks. I figure posting them gives me respite from the terrible prose I've been hacking out the past half hour. My honors lit teacher would be grimacing right now.

My sister canoeing with her hubby on the Chicago River this past summer

My niece Hannah in front of a neighbor's firetruck (yes, he's a fireman)

My little nephew Ryan just looking plain adorable

One of a giant herd of elk outside of Evergreen. They provided entertainment for a good hour with their posturing and bugling

A couple of boulders near Evergreen. The one in the background has some nice highballs with more traffic. As a result, I fell a lot pulling off lichen and loose rock - not good for the ankles tumbling from 18 feet up.

Sign of the approaching Apocalypse: Dan Gillett - a photojournalist - in a suit, during our "job interviews" to retain our positions at KWGN.

A couple of shots from the last concert @ Red Rocks this season: Sigur Ros - an Icelandic group.