tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14172349747013515242024-03-12T16:44:17.445-07:00Austin Siadak's BlogAustin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-28766827704647048762013-04-03T01:22:00.000-07:002013-04-03T01:22:55.376-07:00Patagonia: Lessons in Ego and Caring<div style="text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn't believe it. Climbing conditions were perfect -- </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">there was hardly a cloud in the sky, t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">he sun shone bright and warm on my face, the air hung still, a rarity in windswept Patagonia -- and yet we were going down. Away from the summit. Bailing. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The previous day Cheyne Lempe, Matt Van Biene, Joel Enrico and I had hiked up to Laguna de Los Tres with our sights set on climbing the classic Californian Route on the south face of Cerro Fitz Roy. Heavy winds on the approach subsided as we cooked dinner in camp, and after a few hours of sleep and rushed pre-dawn preparations our crampons crunched confidently across the glacier. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the weather, getting psyched for the next morning. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First light beneath the east face of Fitz Roy. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First light on the approach to Fitz Roy<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt nearing the mixed climbing on the approach to La Silla. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the time we finished the approach climbing up to La Silla, a snowy shoulder partway up the south side of Fitz Roy, I was suddenly less confident. The Californian appeared covered in rime and ice, and the entire route was already in the shade. We had planned for a quick one-day ascent and hadn't brought any cold weather clothing or bivy gear. We are also weak children compared to the likes of Salvaterra, Garibotti, Karo, Donini, and other Patagonian hardmen who probably wouldn't have given the icy conditions a second thought. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After some brief discussion we opted instead to try the neighboring Franco-Argentine route. The crack systems in the upper half of the route looked pretty icy as well, but at least it was in the sun. Unfortunately the ice started lower than we had thought; most of the second pitch was completely covered in a huge slab of rime and ice, and it didn't look like conditions would improve as we got higher. So after only one pitch, in perfect weather with nary a cloud in the sky, down we went. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joel starting up the splitter first pitch of the Franco-Argentine.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half-joking, half-not, Cheyne lets Fitz know his feelings.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hiking back to town the next day we rested next to the dusty trail and berated ourselves for turning back. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"We should have just gone for it."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Everybody else is sending <i>right now.</i>"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I looked up at the sunlight floating through the swaying branches of the <i>lenga </i>trees overhead. Why was I so concerned about what everyone <i>else </i>was doing? Didn't I come down to Patagonia for <i>myself</i>? For my own hopes and dreams and desires? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And why was I so unhappy without our decision to bail? Hadn't we just enjoyed two days of amazing weather while moving through an incredible landscape of ice and stone, surrounded on all sides by breathtaking views that only a relative handful of people will ever see?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Guys," I said, "Every reason that I can think of for being unsatisfied with what just happened is coming from my ego -- some deep desire for others to respect me and think I'm cool, and a subsequent worry that they'll judge me for bailing off 'the easiest route on Fitz Roy' and not respect me because of it."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A silence fell over our conversation as my words sunk in. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other guys nodded in agreement. Soon we were all smiling and joking, our spirits lifted. Recognizing my looming ego and it's attempt to control my attitude allowed me to appreciate how amazing the previous few days had been, even if we hadn't reached the summit. I finished the hike back to town with a deep gratitude for the sun on my face and the air flowing in and out of my lungs. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I should have known escaping my ego couldn't be that easy. It never has been.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just got the ropes stuck. Matt and Cheyne are psyched. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking back to town with Aguja Poincenot in the background.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In El Chalten it is pretty easy to feel small and unaccomplished. Situated in Argentine Patagonia at the edge of Los Glaciares National Park, home of the Fitz Roy and Torre massifs, this small town attracts some of the best alpine climbers in the world. Out of the crew that I spent most of my time with this season, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">a lot were solid 5.13 climbers, one had recently freed multiple routes on El Capitan, many had already climbed in Patagonia numerous times, half were sponsored athletes and most of the rest should be, given their tick lists of impressive ascents around the globe. It seemed like every time I mentioned some hallowed destination that I dream of going to -- Alaska, Pakistan, Baffin Island -- someone would tell me a story of when they had been there and put up a mega first ascent. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7lCXjAR2cRyLk-wYd5IFTcrlqBfynz6mo4ZMX1ciTDCQrPVaCjsuKTTHuNuyvb5TDte4RIEEZnne-Og8hz7_aw3Y1a8VfTiwRgJXs98uyRGA5-74SsZjliQLVZXtxXG-zatiquIwbAaHb/s1600/_K1A9088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7lCXjAR2cRyLk-wYd5IFTcrlqBfynz6mo4ZMX1ciTDCQrPVaCjsuKTTHuNuyvb5TDte4RIEEZnne-Og8hz7_aw3Y1a8VfTiwRgJXs98uyRGA5-74SsZjliQLVZXtxXG-zatiquIwbAaHb/s400/_K1A9088.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Fitz Roy massif looming over the streets of El Chalten.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Meanwhile, I'm lucky if I make it up 5.11 without falling and this was my first major alpine climbing trip, save a relative handful of adventures in the Sierras, Rockies, and Cascades. So maybe it isn't that surprising that I often found myself thinking "Man, everyone is doing bigger and better things than I am. All of these people are so much cooler and more badass than me." I wondered whether the others would respect me. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I <i>wanted </i>them to respect me, I wanted them to like me. </span>Did they think I was just some gumby? That I shouldn't even be down in Patagonia? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've often thought about why I worry about things like this -- why I worry about what others think of me. A</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">t a deep level I think it's because I want to feel like I belong, to
feel that I'm part of a community. Growing up I never had any truly close friends. I always floated between different social groups and never belonged to any one in particular. I always felt like I was on the outside looking in at everyone else. I wanted to be cool, to be the person that people liked and loved and admired. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Most of that changed in college -- I moved across the country and became my own person, distinct and separate from my past. I found some close friends and gained a new introspective view on life, myself, and the world around me. I discovered hiking and climbing and the wild wonder of the outdoors. Most importantly, I found the outdoors community -- a group of people just as inspired by wild places as myself, people who were psyched to wake up every day and live life to the fullest, people who weren't afraid to cast aside the traditional life-script and pursue their passions with hearts wide open. I stopped caring about what the vast majority of people thought about me. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ironically, however, my relationship with climbing, the activity that took over my life and that I pour so much of my energy into, remained mired in expectations, self-doubt, and a desire for the respect of others. I'd like to believe that I climb as a way to escape the rat-race of our ego-driven society. It offers a way to become absorbed in a moment, to test yourself against your own fears and abilities. But somewhere deep inside I know that that's not true, at least not completely. Part of me definitely wants other people to think I'm a good climber, to think that I'm a badass or awesome or whatever. When I'm out a crag I feel embarrassed if I don't send the hard routes. I feel like I should be able to climb 5.12 comfortably, and get mad at myself when I fall far short of that expectation. I often feel like I need to apologize for not climbing harder. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know how ridiculous that sounds. I know that I shouldn't care what they think, that I shouldn't view life as a constant competition between myself and those around me. I know that walking that path is a lonely road to disappointment and emptiness. But that's my rational brain thinking, and my ego is anything but rational. It is deeply, ravenously emotional. It is greedy and envious and jealous and needy. It thrives on compliments and congratulations, grows larger every time someone tells me I've done something impressive. I'll openly admit that it sometimes feeds on the failures of others. It feels good when they don't succeed. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hate this part of myself. It sickens me when I feel some twinge of happiness from seeing someone else fail. I try to push it away, out of my life, because I know that it isn't me. It's not my rational self. It isn't the person I want to be. I want to feel only empathy and compassion when others don't succeed, and only joy and happiness when they do. I know that <i>that </i>is the real path to lasting fulfillment. I feel engaged in a constant struggle with myself; or rather, a struggle between myself and a part of me that feels like someone else entirely, someone who I despise. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That moment on our hike out from Fitz Roy was merely another battle in this ongoing war. Though I won briefly, the struggle began again almost as soon as we got back to El Chalten.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cheyne, Joel, and I slumped sweating onto chairs inside our small cement shack in the middle of town. Matt had left to get an updated weather forecast. It was so hot that we had to keep the front door wide open to capture what little of the breeze we could. Unfortunately that meant that we also had a perfect view out the door toward the summits of Poincenot and Fitz Roy. They seemed so close, taunting us. Carsten, our landlord, had told us that t</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">he shack used to be sleeping quarters for the town police -- it certainly felt something like a jail cell now. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The reality of the situation had darkened my happy demeanor from the hike back. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was confident we had blown one of the few spells of good weather we would see all season. Long weather windows are extremely rare in this part of the world. Friends who had been on previous trips to Patagonia spoke of three and four week stretches without a single day of good weather. We had just seen three gorgeous days in a row. How many more could there be?</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ8OOTAe80HTqXfGsgeTqLpOZDV-vK2EYkEJp4vV0KO6XRosu07Wk2Nvv7b-yHrD2-dRuL5G5yE1N4rrgBTYbg0ztyECbnuFMS0j6Rkl59FLBwWbP8O0UgUyqUcUDRIxEiZs_mD2IiQZxt/s1600/_K1A9356.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ8OOTAe80HTqXfGsgeTqLpOZDV-vK2EYkEJp4vV0KO6XRosu07Wk2Nvv7b-yHrD2-dRuL5G5yE1N4rrgBTYbg0ztyECbnuFMS0j6Rkl59FLBwWbP8O0UgUyqUcUDRIxEiZs_mD2IiQZxt/s400/_K1A9356.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheyne checking gear while the mountains remind us of their presence.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was only made worse in my mind by stories of successful missions brought back by friends streaming into town. Dozens had climbed the Ragni Route on Cerro Torre. Word on the street was that Kate and Madeleine had climbed Fitz Roy via Mate, Porro y Todo lo Demas. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mikey and Josh had put up a massive new traverse between Aguja CAT and Bifida.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Mikey, a fairly reserved and quiet person, laughed like a little boy as he told us about the climb.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"There were perfect hand cracks everywhere," he said with a giddy grin on his face, "</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I mean, <i>everywhere</i>. It was some of the best climbing I've ever done down here."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was incredibly psyched for all of my friends who had just been through amazing experiences up in the mountains. I was genuinely happy for them. I could <i>feel </i>the energy and excitement as they recounted close calls, incredible views, splitter cracks, and unbelievable summits. But I could also feel my ego starting to twinge with envy. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Everyone is doing bigger and better things than I am. </i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>All of these people are so much cooler and more badass than me.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> </i>wanted to be in their position. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I </i>wanted to be able to tell others about <i>my </i>success. I wanted to be able to see the wonder and happiness on their faces as I told them of our hardship, perseverance, and heroic achievements. I wanted them to wish they were me. Instead, all I could do was look out the door toward Fitz Roy and Poincenot and tell them about how we had bailed.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>III. Going Big -- Really Big</u></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Guys," Matt called out as he came through the doorway. We all looked up. He had a huge smile on his face. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's good."</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He paused.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Really good."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He pulled up the meteorogram on his computer for us to look at. The jumble of dashes, numbers and squiggling red and blue lines that was indecipherable to me only a few weeks before now revealed an unbelievable prediction: at least six more days of high pressure, no wind, few clouds and no precipitation. Perfect weather.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Yes!" I practically shouted at the screen, "</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We're gonna get another chance!"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We spent the next few hours talking about what we should do. Matt wanted to try another big route. Joel was unsure. They talked about a new route on the west face of Guillamet that Matt had been looking at. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As our own separate team, Cheyne and I briefly discussed a few options. The North Pillar of Fitz Roy? The west face of Poincenot? Maybe something in the Torre Valley? Nothing jumped out at us. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFcWm-VhJSGb5oSKE_9YsHz-Rr0SRr6UNuJguiqUDimrhv1emOA9ANRCcE2VxSc2DrAJm17T0TS_Nq33-j2ZzAreJhQfcnFZs5CrNybt8eltqyp8M0c4ODF723IGvAJdJlQgE3e93vLtp8/s1600/_5D30969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFcWm-VhJSGb5oSKE_9YsHz-Rr0SRr6UNuJguiqUDimrhv1emOA9ANRCcE2VxSc2DrAJm17T0TS_Nq33-j2ZzAreJhQfcnFZs5CrNybt8eltqyp8M0c4ODF723IGvAJdJlQgE3e93vLtp8/s400/_5D30969.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thinking and planning. Matt Van Biene photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That evening we strolled through the dusty streets of El Chalten to find some dinner. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Dude," Cheyne said as he walked next to me, "I think we need to go big. Really big. This is probably going to be the window of the season." </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, when Cheyne says he wants to "go big" it probably means something different than what you and I think of as "big." At the tender age of 22 he's already climbed El Cap more than 20 times, many of them solo. He recently soloed The Nose in 19 hours. The previous season in Patagonia, his first, he established a new 6,000ft linkup on Mermoz and Fitz Roy. Quite simply, he devours big walls for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. So I was curious, and little worried, as I asked him what he thought we should do.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Care Bear Traverse is about as big as it gets in the Fitz Roy area -- an obvious skyline traverse beginning on the north ridge of Aguja Guillamet, continuing up and over Aguja Mermoz, sidestepping the smaller Aguja Val Biois, and finally surmounting the imposing Goretta Pillar of Fitz Roy. All told it contains about 6400ft of climbing, more than twice as much as Yosemite's fabled El Capitan and longer by far than any technical route I had ever attempted. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpQuHCjWF2X7ogP9nvmVq9JnFZeXXIBac6_dPW4QXYoiDiRkixwKAQ8m2w-Fq0fRI80qEGm-KlcYqZL1LZZxuU5R0Zc58P5BBKSjy-KB4Yt1XQZGLp6QzUw8pHfNH6Lncopb6jucTQMDt/s1600/fitz_T.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpQuHCjWF2X7ogP9nvmVq9JnFZeXXIBac6_dPW4QXYoiDiRkixwKAQ8m2w-Fq0fRI80qEGm-KlcYqZL1LZZxuU5R0Zc58P5BBKSjy-KB4Yt1XQZGLp6QzUw8pHfNH6Lncopb6jucTQMDt/s400/fitz_T.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Care Bear Traverse. Rolo Garibotti photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't remember when I first heard about the Care Bear, but I distinctly remember thinking two things about it: 1) that it sounded like one of the coolest climbs I had ever heard of, and 2) that it was <i>way </i>beyond me. I mean Freddie Wilkinson and Dana "Mad Dog" Drummond, the first ascentionists, are two hardcore-bad-ass-alpine-motherfuckers. Who was I to think I could step up to one of their lines? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was a couple years ago, and while I knew I'd improved a lot as a climber since then it still seemed pretty out there. Hell, before this trip I thought just climbing the Goretta Pillar would be all-time, and now we were talking about climbing a couple thousand feet just to <i>get </i>to the Pillar.</span></div>
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So I couldn't help but be more than a little nervous as Cheyne and I settled into our bivy at the base of Guillamet the next evening, looking up at what would be the first of many pitches to come. Matt and Joel had decided to attempt the traverse as well and sat cooking dinner nearby. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Heading up to camp at Paso Guillamet</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TIewnHcIwNSW-qpOsQ8kvPvVV-depaQctgag1HeqSt1QqaMHTEmif4J-G4coNWqvsNWmKpZ8AhYCWJz7gRzPErZc4grt1c9cIQOtJpc9rHnmF_eCoVjqy3ywJy_0pHHg8ToEggO2N025/s1600/DSC02972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7TIewnHcIwNSW-qpOsQ8kvPvVV-depaQctgag1HeqSt1QqaMHTEmif4J-G4coNWqvsNWmKpZ8AhYCWJz7gRzPErZc4grt1c9cIQOtJpc9rHnmF_eCoVjqy3ywJy_0pHHg8ToEggO2N025/s400/DSC02972.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hanging out at Paso Guillamet, getting ready to blast in the morning. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGvQG8nMGLgF-eOEJVi2Iorbgf6mdknqF2zzSuym87wCIevK0BRt9-OJ-8awxN_gQH7QaVLJmuS0SnSo95HAdIFjgeU7JbxKyIiQqEEpcAa39GH384zc7Xm-raFy3FRXQKlm9FiqYZBY-L/s1600/DSC02988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGvQG8nMGLgF-eOEJVi2Iorbgf6mdknqF2zzSuym87wCIevK0BRt9-OJ-8awxN_gQH7QaVLJmuS0SnSo95HAdIFjgeU7JbxKyIiQqEEpcAa39GH384zc7Xm-raFy3FRXQKlm9FiqYZBY-L/s400/DSC02988.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The night sky above our Paso Guillamet bivy. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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A million thoughts raced through my mind. <i>I am so psyched. This is going to be awesome. Did we bring enough food? Should I have brought a warmer jacket? What would we do if our stove broke or if one of us dropped our shoes? Who should take the first block? Would the weather hold? Would I be able to keep up with Cheyne? Would I slow us down?</i> </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I watched the first stars begin to twinkle in the sky above us I found myself thinking how cool it would be if we did the whole thing, how impressed people back in town and back home would be. We'd be only the 5th or 6th team to ever climb the route, and certainly the youngest. That would be <i>so </i>cool. I tried to push the thoughts aside. I knew I shouldn't be thinking like that. I didn't <i>want </i>to be thinking like that. I didn't want to worry about what others would think. I became mad at myself -- here I was in one of the most beautiful places in the world, at the base of the biggest route I'd ever tried, and all I could think about was what everyone else would think if we succeeded. As I fell asleep I wondered if I'd ever be able to shake my ego. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fortunately, for the next four days these thoughts disappeared from my mind as the route consumed every ounce of energy I had. From the beginning I never quite <i>expected </i>us to succeed. I mean, I knew we had the <i>potential </i>to climb the Care Bear -- we had the strength, the skills, the experience, the weather -- but I also knew we would have to push ourselves hard, move quickly and efficiently. Go too fast and we'd risk making a mistake. Go too slow and we might never make it to Fitz Roy. We'd have to walk a fine line. </span></div>
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<b><u>IV. Walking the Line</u></b></div>
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In the end, walking that line demanded much of us.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It demanded concentration. In the first half of the traverse we routinely free soloed 4th and low-5th class terrain. I watched Cheyne scramble nimbly up and down cracks in his sticky-rubber approach shoes and scolded myself for trying to save weight by bringing my lightweight trail runners instead. With a 1,500 foot fall to the glacier waiting for us if we made a mistake, even "easy" moves required focus and care. Later, high on the Goretta Pillar, I weaved up steep cracks that became increasingly wetter and choked with ice. Multiple times I found myself high above my last piece of gear and realized that I could not let myself fall, yet the wet and icy rock made it just possible that I might. I examined each foothold with heightened awareness, felt the individual quartz crystals as I jammed, and rapped my knuckles against flakes in search of loose rock. We kept moving. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitduTHsb0z0PAYzjhwLqAnf3Ur_ihBvgc25KP6sPhmBHKC5uISt85kfoV2XQOmyH8yHinDuwIACE8T5dYh-Jdt2j9rlBoOe5c-BjO0gacCqyUxFv0-iivy7tntMzn9ogC8psO3ouasI3xh/s1600/DSC03000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitduTHsb0z0PAYzjhwLqAnf3Ur_ihBvgc25KP6sPhmBHKC5uISt85kfoV2XQOmyH8yHinDuwIACE8T5dYh-Jdt2j9rlBoOe5c-BjO0gacCqyUxFv0-iivy7tntMzn9ogC8psO3ouasI3xh/s400/DSC03000.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first of many jams. Into the maze we go. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLO3k3-DuhphYIlcMVS0KCgRN443n8pNipkENnrvIyUnaN5s4wSZqVakgB_-G5MtgjaNkt3gFijVmGYs5xAW5QSpBuZy_dlejOHBuoKsH_xQ0niwIWu3Pq31cL_zOGDKhyphenhyphenFqRljaGhasZ0/s1600/DSC03014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLO3k3-DuhphYIlcMVS0KCgRN443n8pNipkENnrvIyUnaN5s4wSZqVakgB_-G5MtgjaNkt3gFijVmGYs5xAW5QSpBuZy_dlejOHBuoKsH_xQ0niwIWu3Pq31cL_zOGDKhyphenhyphenFqRljaGhasZ0/s400/DSC03014.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A nice steeper pitch on the Brenner Ridge of Guillamet. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENNAYCs-cpY-LUBz11GG0dEMJKId60YIpGukm0kYFqXjYl67VvF1tsFCqvhzSazQOh-bu7kfRUA9DrwkpETWoDgOxT9zKML-hvo7VnPBI1QpNp3eGhDnGjK6m0oyCW3P6oREj6NNWrnAv/s1600/_DSC0134.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENNAYCs-cpY-LUBz11GG0dEMJKId60YIpGukm0kYFqXjYl67VvF1tsFCqvhzSazQOh-bu7kfRUA9DrwkpETWoDgOxT9zKML-hvo7VnPBI1QpNp3eGhDnGjK6m0oyCW3P6oREj6NNWrnAv/s400/_DSC0134.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheyne and I between Guillamet and Mermoz. Matt Van Biene photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPaO0snj9MLZGoi4wpXur6aa-SMiPwJ_LhloxLEULIxk9pwdd6Uunof0yNlFGZrd3WBIgN0zBxPGcaiMbtVvOnlacFatX5oczrHm0fR_uKqFKRgva6QpVWj0lhmwvf1AQ3uoPssvl4ZG8j/s1600/DSC03313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPaO0snj9MLZGoi4wpXur6aa-SMiPwJ_LhloxLEULIxk9pwdd6Uunof0yNlFGZrd3WBIgN0zBxPGcaiMbtVvOnlacFatX5oczrHm0fR_uKqFKRgva6QpVWj0lhmwvf1AQ3uoPssvl4ZG8j/s400/DSC03313.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crack climbing is harder when the cracks are filled with ice. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It demanded fear and our ability to control it. The first day, as I followed Cheyne across a snow traverse, the sun-baked crystals suddenly collapsed under one of my feet. To save weight we hadn't brought snow protection and the rope arced cleanly to my left for more than 50 feet before snaking out of view. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cheyne had our only ice axe, and a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">s I felt my footing give way and my body tip over backward I clawed at the slope in front of me with bare hands, desperate to avoid the massive fall that I was about to take. Somehow I caught myself and stood motionless trying to catch my breath. I coaxed my heart back down into my chest. A sharp tug on the rope reminded me we had to keep moving. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few hours later I found myself traversing another icy snowfield. It hadn't looked serious from above and so I left my crampons and our ice axe with Cheyne 70 feet to my right. Bad decision. The slope steepened and my trail runners slipped around in the small footsteps I could kick. Only 15 feet to my left lay a small stance big enough to belay from, but I was more concerned about the fact that I had</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> no gear between myself and a small cam nestled into a crack 30 feet to my right. Below me the wall dropped away precipitously. I felt like I'd slip off if I moved at all, so I stood frozen. <i>You can do this. You know how to do this. </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I breathed deeply, kicked as hard as I could with my trail runners, and dug my bare hands deep into the snow. A couple balanced moves later I was standing on bare rock. I built a belay and noticed my fingertips were bleeding -- I had shoved my hands into the icy snow so hard that my fingernails had separated from the beds on seven of my fingers. Still, we kept moving.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfYeoxqQlZAGpDWL2uk-nJRVxPG0aJPxRpRTvz2UltcOqMjqgxq3xcU2RPclqpGDGYaH_cIj6i4-DQayt5zhQTzIZ3f3jC-tRcEDnkgY5H5AjtmXk7025FU4sscTFeuMGOQbJ_qq5hael/s1600/DSC03135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfYeoxqQlZAGpDWL2uk-nJRVxPG0aJPxRpRTvz2UltcOqMjqgxq3xcU2RPclqpGDGYaH_cIj6i4-DQayt5zhQTzIZ3f3jC-tRcEDnkgY5H5AjtmXk7025FU4sscTFeuMGOQbJ_qq5hael/s400/DSC03135.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wishing I had my crampons right about now. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRyRnft-DBNCwuGP4L1clx9cnLHgvYfz6RRrXNTZMcHebwTCW9KgkCeLgJ_SlWprjuz_Y0hBlJEVFbNoI5VxXPDsKshtgfEDeToQVNfkjPqMoA00R-kIkVKvfpv52r4wfCnEz8aKMuH4q/s1600/DSC03317.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvRyRnft-DBNCwuGP4L1clx9cnLHgvYfz6RRrXNTZMcHebwTCW9KgkCeLgJ_SlWprjuz_Y0hBlJEVFbNoI5VxXPDsKshtgfEDeToQVNfkjPqMoA00R-kIkVKvfpv52r4wfCnEz8aKMuH4q/s400/DSC03317.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My fingers later the next day. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIiqTla7ka0ej295UnJdkLGp_Xp65N-qk5nEHDq57iXgFGyWfypjG8qAObdnQD-HyHW5HLPwKgPzPX_OzrHDXf7o561J_oPTi1Bt064JyyPAPeeX4ZRInHjSYjDoouj1g4hyv_kNzvGkB/s1600/P1020341.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCIiqTla7ka0ej295UnJdkLGp_Xp65N-qk5nEHDq57iXgFGyWfypjG8qAObdnQD-HyHW5HLPwKgPzPX_OzrHDXf7o561J_oPTi1Bt064JyyPAPeeX4ZRInHjSYjDoouj1g4hyv_kNzvGkB/s400/P1020341.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheyne leading on the North Face of Mermoz</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRsQDytIj2qxvxygamjk8wZQhJWuMjHbkKqwY7FewenCAbS7c2JK0iYCZDY9pA6uflKX_38h1oxmRMvQJKuKx1D2FD2DvGKyG-axapepuV39GES7LnWdg4ItDHDtNXNeoZqldwQvghei0V/s1600/DSC03079.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRsQDytIj2qxvxygamjk8wZQhJWuMjHbkKqwY7FewenCAbS7c2JK0iYCZDY9pA6uflKX_38h1oxmRMvQJKuKx1D2FD2DvGKyG-axapepuV39GES7LnWdg4ItDHDtNXNeoZqldwQvghei0V/s400/DSC03079.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Myself following the same terrain. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It demanded pain and discomfort. Our first night, after climbing for more than 15 hours and drinking less than two liters of water, I felt a lightning hot pain sear up the inside of my thigh. The cramp was so bad that even after standing up and straightening my leg it wouldn't go away. I was seriously scared that I was going to tear a muscle thousands of feet above the glaciers below. Finally, after a few agonizing minutes I was able to massage it away. A couple of days later my abs cramped so badly that I writhed in awkward motions across a ledge. My separated fingernails worsened with each day and each pitch. Every night after Cheyne fell asleep I lay awake in my sleeping bag and squeezed my throbbing fingers into fists until the pain became too much, all so that I could bathe in the brief wave of relief that flooded over me as I uncurled them.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fr_pGxiwKnVq30cGn8UDg3NXxpd_23LojZnBd2-gy0-KQtIHft6YWi8TGWdDdiLJSksXODOiICrQKq8i056Hd28sPjv-fVCslK844IA7xW_SPrSef6Kl6pvleK7ffyyi0pR5Z2KNpOLC/s1600/fitzpanomermoz3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9fr_pGxiwKnVq30cGn8UDg3NXxpd_23LojZnBd2-gy0-KQtIHft6YWi8TGWdDdiLJSksXODOiICrQKq8i056Hd28sPjv-fVCslK844IA7xW_SPrSef6Kl6pvleK7ffyyi0pR5Z2KNpOLC/s400/fitzpanomermoz3.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Goretta Pillar of Fitz Roy from the summit of Mermoz</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEV1PrEX8Iv1RaY8-V2n5rUd31Byj1zxxqArk222kAwezkyXzVVk-9qFeG4q7GGOOwsKqsE_dkG1NKxD6V0pEaA4KaND6UBjHrrNL7JULhlzOnwJZ6pq_C0o43lzK5MLS7DPqO5aB8x7i1/s1600/DSC03053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEV1PrEX8Iv1RaY8-V2n5rUd31Byj1zxxqArk222kAwezkyXzVVk-9qFeG4q7GGOOwsKqsE_dkG1NKxD6V0pEaA4KaND6UBjHrrNL7JULhlzOnwJZ6pq_C0o43lzK5MLS7DPqO5aB8x7i1/s400/DSC03053.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt and Joel enjoying some true "Care Bear" weather up in the clouds. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It demanded trust. Every time I ran it out above my gear I had to believe in my ability to remain in control and execute the necessary moves. I had to trust that Cheyne would catch me if I whipped big. He had to do the same for me. I had to trust my instincts when I felt we were going the wrong way. I had to trust Cheyne when he told me that I should lead most of the Goretta Pillar, even when I didn't want to. I had to trust that the sketchy rappel anchors would hold us. Thankfully, they did. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPl1sWmF2W7owCUJZLvckTWC8yspz4v-eL5ZWvRXZQ3XwYkzJsc65kEEsgxlqSGSzaTTHgUFPBr5Mb3IAXCWYciaKqF7Mgnyr8CYI9fEWw_oddRaYgc060W8xSnMWkHLXBKl1r_3A13-MV/s1600/DSC03062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPl1sWmF2W7owCUJZLvckTWC8yspz4v-eL5ZWvRXZQ3XwYkzJsc65kEEsgxlqSGSzaTTHgUFPBr5Mb3IAXCWYciaKqF7Mgnyr8CYI9fEWw_oddRaYgc060W8xSnMWkHLXBKl1r_3A13-MV/s400/DSC03062.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the less awesome rap anchors. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmPmYgOiZORiWLF62N1R7t0-m_Z7nDp6RiQjIdCopBDvYDG-qC4ufsznEYhPW3BXbqkjErOXN7uJAq9-FB2yAQBbfYekT3r9kbyt1cNsg6zszIeNEF0juFsKz3FeCVYTjYxMwIZSzFDLc9/s1600/DSC03267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmPmYgOiZORiWLF62N1R7t0-m_Z7nDp6RiQjIdCopBDvYDG-qC4ufsznEYhPW3BXbqkjErOXN7uJAq9-FB2yAQBbfYekT3r9kbyt1cNsg6zszIeNEF0juFsKz3FeCVYTjYxMwIZSzFDLc9/s400/DSC03267.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Which crack to choose? Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It demanded frustration, with ourselves and with each other. On one sideways rappel my prusik became so tight that I couldn't move down the rope and I grew increasingly exasperated and frantic, practically yelling at myself until Cheyne calmly showed me a trick to get it loose. High on Fitz Roy our food, water, and energy ran low and impatience began to run high. I wondered why he was taking so long on his leads. He couldn't understand why I was so slow jugging behind him. Our conversations were curt. Luckily we've both climbed enough to know that everything seems to take forever when you're not the one doing the work. We each knew that the other was trying as hard as he could. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44CfsYz755cTk5kT0XiFOztTd_DNuLGgUBn0b4lW0NJFbgAr92a1jFKjl-6HRrbC6ccei8KGFPIe7-kxWD-I87xmiFdCMgMqLWz1kOhfJ5T5Z2gC3FYBScwDykmwhkmr14peer1-SD55-/s1600/DSC03521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44CfsYz755cTk5kT0XiFOztTd_DNuLGgUBn0b4lW0NJFbgAr92a1jFKjl-6HRrbC6ccei8KGFPIe7-kxWD-I87xmiFdCMgMqLWz1kOhfJ5T5Z2gC3FYBScwDykmwhkmr14peer1-SD55-/s400/DSC03521.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following near the summit of Fitz. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfQZ7X_y-M3CwJoPa7RXdwrhcoKy4J6ngP1Io-S6yIyk1ooZnA7PQuU9fMj1nmoLk1geY3JzbiTRp7cEj8d3lERqq2SsQTlnymGbEdEtaOIDCht1DG3usUKz2f-uDyTYacZ6UQzYZlKZW/s1600/DSC03214.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfQZ7X_y-M3CwJoPa7RXdwrhcoKy4J6ngP1Io-S6yIyk1ooZnA7PQuU9fMj1nmoLk1geY3JzbiTRp7cEj8d3lERqq2SsQTlnymGbEdEtaOIDCht1DG3usUKz2f-uDyTYacZ6UQzYZlKZW/s400/DSC03214.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Awesome climbing, awesome weather, and awesome views. It doesn't get any better. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It demanded flesh and blood. With each day and each pitch the number of cuts and scrapes on my knuckles, shins, and knees grew larger. My fingernails continued to bleed and seemed to catch and tear on every possible protuberance. On our second day, as I jugged behind Cheyne, my foot unexpectedly caught the underside of a loose flake and snapped it in half. I shot my hand out and grabbed it but I couldn't stop a second lemon-sized chunk that plummeted toward Matt and Joel 30 feet below. "Rock! ROCK!" </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I watched in horror as it slammed directly into Matt's hand, smashing two of his fingers against a small ledge. I could see the blood from where I hung. My heart sank -- at worst I had just amputated two of my friend's fingers, at best they'd have to immediately bail off the coolest climb of their lives. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a few minutes they called up to let me know that it wasn't too bad and that they'd be able to continue. I breathed a sigh of relief and kept jugging.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKugBd2mrGFRFaWL34Ck3rGwE1y2CRAF0ziI5W4hw3IWq14w9Hbb4V-wC9xebSRExmBHU8V6sXVm4FobmqnbHpcjc0SL4Pw7s7U-2ilOR1XKFkvlfltaA9vpvWkY07WXXTCBvtpIbgq4cn/s1600/DSC03250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKugBd2mrGFRFaWL34Ck3rGwE1y2CRAF0ziI5W4hw3IWq14w9Hbb4V-wC9xebSRExmBHU8V6sXVm4FobmqnbHpcjc0SL4Pw7s7U-2ilOR1XKFkvlfltaA9vpvWkY07WXXTCBvtpIbgq4cn/s400/DSC03250.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt leading on the Pillar shortly before I dropped the rock. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFEXbgrN8MFXR-Xg6WIC05x9fQTGvUwr7SKZ1BaAeP7_3-8o0rpT3izVTSvJ_nB2Gz45zEhyphenhyphen-gQkcZFXcOAg7RyS-KlG7rhBQivVGVDFUOaoQClSwVnN__9Fwub_JF8k1oVqoqxJQjAwFY/s1600/DSC03116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFEXbgrN8MFXR-Xg6WIC05x9fQTGvUwr7SKZ1BaAeP7_3-8o0rpT3izVTSvJ_nB2Gz45zEhyphenhyphen-gQkcZFXcOAg7RyS-KlG7rhBQivVGVDFUOaoQClSwVnN__9Fwub_JF8k1oVqoqxJQjAwFY/s400/DSC03116.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traversing toward the summit of Mermoz. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjomHT9g1UNEtItxZ5DL4sdwBdQDDPAiyGbVqmvX856bHHD0WPIMfl2wuvJxo3e0Wm7F_lRbQ6R_Zdk_Qr2y3PK00ul6MzXtNH9elfxVo4Mbo4jftHeEBO3tebnJLTjUjsXPJyriN9kMwdF/s1600/_1020386.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjomHT9g1UNEtItxZ5DL4sdwBdQDDPAiyGbVqmvX856bHHD0WPIMfl2wuvJxo3e0Wm7F_lRbQ6R_Zdk_Qr2y3PK00ul6MzXtNH9elfxVo4Mbo4jftHeEBO3tebnJLTjUjsXPJyriN9kMwdF/s400/_1020386.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt and Joel rapping into our first bivy site</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJug4jaie8hooibdgkJ9SBigBO4ZHvdS6mbX2ngYikxv8akWCAfcoVUZZuqK42X-C-4t9sP4QLpXeReKxU26qay6IwUSX-7ym7qMxVdf0AOmXHeeK7l7ABhyphenhyphenUsCvfKwntYWW2z33z_WT3/s1600/DSC03363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKJug4jaie8hooibdgkJ9SBigBO4ZHvdS6mbX2ngYikxv8akWCAfcoVUZZuqK42X-C-4t9sP4QLpXeReKxU26qay6IwUSX-7ym7qMxVdf0AOmXHeeK7l7ABhyphenhyphenUsCvfKwntYWW2z33z_WT3/s400/DSC03363.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So tired. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It demanded exhaustion. We climbed for more than 12 hours every single day, often closer to 14 or 15. Each night I arrived at our bivy dead tired, not wanting to move another step. I had to dig deep to motivate myself to help with the little tasks -- melting snow, cooking dinner, organizing our gear. Cheyne kept me moving and psyched, and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> was thankful for his experience and focus. Many times I would sit down for a few minutes and turn around to find him offering me a hot drink. </span></div>
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But even at its most demanding, the experience offered so much in return.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It offered beauty. From our perch high on the endless ridgeline we continually looked down at the maze of granite spires, massive walls, and snaking glaciers that spread out all around us. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are few sights in this life like looking out over the Southern Ice Cap at sunset. The entire vast expanse of white turns a brilliant pink for just a moment, and then quickly dissolves to a soft blue as the sun drops away to the west. To be part of that landscape for a brief moment in time is an incredible thing to witness, feel and behold. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was beauty in smaller things too -- a band of quartz swirling through a granite face, clouds enveloping the ridge and casting us into a ghostly landscape of smoke and stone, massive condors soaring around us on all sides, the smile on Cheyne's face when I pulled out a packet of hot chocolate I had secretly brought along. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImIdxjnCLRY9ucs9mgzBbad35XL5iKwwydVqROiCXgsI-4EueBP9opkFN_n31SDTBXKWtDWanzzUQmhh6-YUg_wyxRRv1adoKKlhwNZG7LWIYLI-AOsqspkGCYASjCBEBQH1LpGNAnFlx/s1600/joelmattbivy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImIdxjnCLRY9ucs9mgzBbad35XL5iKwwydVqROiCXgsI-4EueBP9opkFN_n31SDTBXKWtDWanzzUQmhh6-YUg_wyxRRv1adoKKlhwNZG7LWIYLI-AOsqspkGCYASjCBEBQH1LpGNAnFlx/s400/joelmattbivy.jpg" width="383" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt and Joel settling in for the night on the Goretta Pillar of Fitz Roy</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6OTeuksiDB9kgzxn7qXk4lFFqltoWd7t15bJjgwPQ83fJun6aZzIXl6m5HXWrsEZp2HzxmfFPVmOmqe8gl99GpIAOeCLQo9GBmMIqCpCh_kBYHEhCfqnEkxCkWitPC0D0pqLr44tHZEV/s1600/cheynepillarpano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG6OTeuksiDB9kgzxn7qXk4lFFqltoWd7t15bJjgwPQ83fJun6aZzIXl6m5HXWrsEZp2HzxmfFPVmOmqe8gl99GpIAOeCLQo9GBmMIqCpCh_kBYHEhCfqnEkxCkWitPC0D0pqLr44tHZEV/s400/cheynepillarpano.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a bad view. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvpXeC9xYpGBK80d0cXpfcCP7Po48v6FoD1JMriDq3WsrjGZDMm3K6VVkLBOzMElXftANtfLI5i1QszFthtcNH1ZdDVOYBdpoXPV0hAjimBQ1eifioyWyOcd2tQgaUuiu8HcPT9oN3Wyq/s1600/P1020307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvpXeC9xYpGBK80d0cXpfcCP7Po48v6FoD1JMriDq3WsrjGZDMm3K6VVkLBOzMElXftANtfLI5i1QszFthtcNH1ZdDVOYBdpoXPV0hAjimBQ1eifioyWyOcd2tQgaUuiu8HcPT9oN3Wyq/s400/P1020307.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheyne lost in the clouds between Guillamet and Mermoz</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQ7zKHKOm-9XRPBu4zveJ8Txq3bsOmcdUI1QdirpdWXq4X19V4BpoY1Gaz6hpnDBIaoKn8MZTVR2Mq6Cl-jiNwadb-XTOud0dSCbx0GlB2_JOfEv7_hwZHJj8nmn9p14sMJQ-VKSqh4rn/s1600/cheynecomp1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQ7zKHKOm-9XRPBu4zveJ8Txq3bsOmcdUI1QdirpdWXq4X19V4BpoY1Gaz6hpnDBIaoKn8MZTVR2Mq6Cl-jiNwadb-XTOud0dSCbx0GlB2_JOfEv7_hwZHJj8nmn9p14sMJQ-VKSqh4rn/s400/cheynecomp1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheyne rapping with the Pollone and Piergiogio massifs in the background.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It offered moments of relaxation. Sitting on a spacious belay ledge in the sun, finishing my lead block and turning it over to Cheyne, sitting in our sleeping bags eating a dehydrated meal, chatting with Cheyne about subjects completely unrelated to climbing while we brewed more hot drinks.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPdhn7T5ihTyIvK0J26UYHOnERTADSm7A9xPYhNdkh_VZEC5xJD1d73JKkqRqXVJzbLRt2N9lpNTQBnSWuSyWothfgI2_qPPpMRg352t7L3kSl76WEtbawenfrA4ZobjVeUEh9cA4JDt5o/s1600/_DSC0253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPdhn7T5ihTyIvK0J26UYHOnERTADSm7A9xPYhNdkh_VZEC5xJD1d73JKkqRqXVJzbLRt2N9lpNTQBnSWuSyWothfgI2_qPPpMRg352t7L3kSl76WEtbawenfrA4ZobjVeUEh9cA4JDt5o/s400/_DSC0253.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheyne and I resting on the Goretta Pillar. The next morning we climbed the righthand side of the dihedral above us. Matt Van Biene photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It offered reminders of the simple pleasures in life. Sliding into my sleeping bag at night, putting on a puffy when the wind picked up, the warmth of the sun on my skin, finding a flat spot to bivy, a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> hot drink at night, a cool sip of water from depressions in the rock, discovering a half-eaten bar deep in my pocket</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. Food, drink, warmth, rest -- so simple, yet so profoundly satisfying.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuwCSVZ9bShxzg1lrjudzuqsl9ii8xn-u13NohPrNYhMdqzWWKagyPgTktujPwPszBwpIkhZ1B4eVEyPrdvWvyj2CwHGtlJpgKrifNOWdCmnPDmc5IJeMmerqEWrZIPWNAPA3tfqYqQyW/s1600/DSC03154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAuwCSVZ9bShxzg1lrjudzuqsl9ii8xn-u13NohPrNYhMdqzWWKagyPgTktujPwPszBwpIkhZ1B4eVEyPrdvWvyj2CwHGtlJpgKrifNOWdCmnPDmc5IJeMmerqEWrZIPWNAPA3tfqYqQyW/s400/DSC03154.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the sunrise from our first bivy. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSLzx52I2Zv4DQkYHtw4eWjX1C5yCn2WXat5bIS4Ek2KS2LyMZE20JH9zIW6gbNItc0tom2qfYkacux6YINrK4Zyh79cv75F8uTpRqJS2rNW9SvGUzebZGqasceH5BJhAkqSb8gj2diXx/s1600/P1020422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaSLzx52I2Zv4DQkYHtw4eWjX1C5yCn2WXat5bIS4Ek2KS2LyMZE20JH9zIW6gbNItc0tom2qfYkacux6YINrK4Zyh79cv75F8uTpRqJS2rNW9SvGUzebZGqasceH5BJhAkqSb8gj2diXx/s400/P1020422.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheyne pondering the next pitch on the Goretta Pillar.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It offered fun. The sun was shining, the rock was dry, and the smiles on our faces were about as wide as the traverse itself. We joked and laughed our way along the skyline. It seemed like there were cracks <i>everywhere </i>and it felt like we were in a landscape made for climbing. At times it was so good that I started hooting and hollering uncontrollably. There was no place else on Earth that I wanted to be except right there, right then. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It offered joy. Deep, profound joy. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Near the top of the Goretta Pillar I led through a wild corner system that, while not terribly difficult, required every technique I have learned in my four years of climbing. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At one point, in a single 30 foot section I finger-jammed, hand-jammed, stemmed, chimneyed, pulled hard on an icy fist jam, made some techy face moves and aided/pendulumed off a suspect green Camalot. Each pitch had its own character and as I moved higher I fell into a classic "flow state," unlocking each puzzle as it came and delivering us through the vertical maze. I was fully absorbed by the movement and the moment, my mind focused on nothing but the next few moves. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Waiting for Cheyne at a belay it all hit me at once:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I am climbing in Patagonia.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>We are perched high on Fitz Roy.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All my years of climbing have prepared me for this.</span></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>We are SENDING.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>This is a dream turning into my life. </i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I won't lie, I felt my eyes start to tear up. But right then Cheyne popped into view below me and hollered up with a monkey call. I looked down, saw the huge smile on his face and started laughing myself. Turning around I looked up at the 1,000 feet that still remained between us and the summit. I wiped my eyes and pulled slack through my device. Onward and upward. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvebooOd9KvYuPwaIrUkkF2BIQoHXzynV5AVlDm_hkFS4NKfCPJMcnupiq65MxujwP5RPFilrVZkMUWRiJ3iChZONt_GRa4cp7D2Yag1hYXbt7XI4OHVMhVcTf-kla9wNAH0q03R1squtL/s1600/DSC03395.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvebooOd9KvYuPwaIrUkkF2BIQoHXzynV5AVlDm_hkFS4NKfCPJMcnupiq65MxujwP5RPFilrVZkMUWRiJ3iChZONt_GRa4cp7D2Yag1hYXbt7XI4OHVMhVcTf-kla9wNAH0q03R1squtL/s400/DSC03395.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beginning the upper pitches of the Pillar. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymVrfrxZPdCDUSk0bdEVrtn8nry17qKvP1M-MWW9Pk1ULia5oalfW2qbU81FZJASNYe3ehIwIplxKqsQfwZAw5AAxn27t4FTdTPAz4afsln_jjxPJpA7t9d5gnAgOZC9-r4hLv-hQqj-S/s1600/DSC03438.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhymVrfrxZPdCDUSk0bdEVrtn8nry17qKvP1M-MWW9Pk1ULia5oalfW2qbU81FZJASNYe3ehIwIplxKqsQfwZAw5AAxn27t4FTdTPAz4afsln_jjxPJpA7t9d5gnAgOZC9-r4hLv-hQqj-S/s400/DSC03438.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Weaving through the wet and icy maze. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJTOqiPzJOeb43YJ4hjac7SrRGJjIs_hYNuMrUcGyj0BdhExvyrh5_2fduE9uAAAUtB-Tbd7UIRU_WfcBXv7r3Z36-cEcu8JxWxvtPxltHvTc_XOfgUUf4CvJ-fzS47bb2wLB8QKmITsz/s1600/DSC03459.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWJTOqiPzJOeb43YJ4hjac7SrRGJjIs_hYNuMrUcGyj0BdhExvyrh5_2fduE9uAAAUtB-Tbd7UIRU_WfcBXv7r3Z36-cEcu8JxWxvtPxltHvTc_XOfgUUf4CvJ-fzS47bb2wLB8QKmITsz/s400/DSC03459.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some fun OW on this pitch. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADFJySXQdQBnWumWY0I8Kcbslbm_IrlmraS7qh7Fnc35owr1MQVi4CAZO7cdnCsLdRxZOTQKvbOlupuhDz1zwn3RuNyRi5xx00AQbkIicU3IetO2IcHCGGJgYUPsfSDNMSQxamtW5vBGB/s1600/DSC03531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADFJySXQdQBnWumWY0I8Kcbslbm_IrlmraS7qh7Fnc35owr1MQVi4CAZO7cdnCsLdRxZOTQKvbOlupuhDz1zwn3RuNyRi5xx00AQbkIicU3IetO2IcHCGGJgYUPsfSDNMSQxamtW5vBGB/s400/DSC03531.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Silhouette of the Fitz Roy massif as we neared the summit. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, just after 10:30pm on our third day, I kicked a few more tired steps up an ice slope, transitioned unsteadily in my crampons onto bare rock and joined Cheyne on the summit ridge at the top of Fitz Roy. I raised both arms above my head and a weary smile spread across my face.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Dude, we did it," I said to Cheyne. "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can't believe it." </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXqLTJGKfKABPbnMTNvAChQswdZlRpd-FoUs-fTD1sJWSod0dh5gTZvZ_aovCvjaDRQoQb6rWUQGTh3JdgwAc2EtazzhnLr1MsAr0DeLZrZ9qTHlfxVjHHjlOL_Cbve3KBhJF72Zx6a-f/s1600/DSC03541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXqLTJGKfKABPbnMTNvAChQswdZlRpd-FoUs-fTD1sJWSod0dh5gTZvZ_aovCvjaDRQoQb6rWUQGTh3JdgwAc2EtazzhnLr1MsAr0DeLZrZ9qTHlfxVjHHjlOL_Cbve3KBhJF72Zx6a-f/s400/DSC03541.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Myself just after reaching the summit. Cumbre! Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We went to high-five each other, but I think we both realized that it wouldn't do the moment justice, so we hugged instead. In the fading light we dug out a bivy-site and said hi to some friends who had just climbed the Afanasieff route and were also spending the night on top -- all in all, 11 people slept on the summit that night, which is probably some sort of record. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lying in my sleeping bag, clenching my aching fists over and over, I shivered and wished I had brought a warmer jacket. I snuggled closer to Cheyne to share some of his body heat. Staring at the stars overhead I suddenly realized why I was so cold -- I had been so absorbed by getting to the summit, making a bivy spot and cooking dinner that I hadn't noticed the light breeze that was now blowing against the fabric of our sleeping bags. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I bolted upright and looked to the west. The sky was still and clear, but I was scared. Patagonian winds are legendary in their ferocity, known to knock full grown men to the ground and blow teams <i>up </i>dihedrals. I was convinced that our luck had run out, that the window was closing. I saw in my mind a vision of us being blown sideways across the walls on our descent. I wondered whether we should pack our stuff and go down immediately -- even a few hours head start could mean the different between safety and peril -- but the thought of descending without any rest was almost unthinkable. I just prayed that I was wrong and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">laid back down next to Cheyne</span>. Sleep did not come easily.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><u>V. Down, Again</u></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next morning the wind blew harder, but thankfully not too strong. We watched the sun rise against Cerro Torre's massive east flank, snapped some summit photos, and took video of ourselves yelling "cumbre!" at the top of our lungs. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn't stop looking around, the view intoxicating in its grandeur, stillness and beauty. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I also knew we had to get down. In the Fitz Roy massif there's no such thing as a walk-off, and we had 4,000ft of rappelling between us and the glacier far below. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjsHScjLVFS_Tq7GgzusEe3cOaUh4OxXnO7zwxP1mFhMlIfCN-9951BxTYQRJBoBkp9OC4y5t3qsB20WjotEUA6CHfT4viGVoPxBb3TPYUQyg0YdJ44kI81A-krxf85MtlZIbzgJ8qFkh/s1600/DSC03550.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizjsHScjLVFS_Tq7GgzusEe3cOaUh4OxXnO7zwxP1mFhMlIfCN-9951BxTYQRJBoBkp9OC4y5t3qsB20WjotEUA6CHfT4viGVoPxBb3TPYUQyg0YdJ44kI81A-krxf85MtlZIbzgJ8qFkh/s400/DSC03550.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our spacious bivy on the summit. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OtyWG-jh7iDDr4i7HIvQ-ZvaDzng7ZvvEcne3kLQPrP7BJYshc8HEdPWPqoKRhlTJPJQNvu7JtoXRrHrRBrCrl0HG2xtFcGO3hOasO63pNigFD11gs2eTg1sEjtVx8DNqzsVdxSavydD/s1600/DSC03552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5OtyWG-jh7iDDr4i7HIvQ-ZvaDzng7ZvvEcne3kLQPrP7BJYshc8HEdPWPqoKRhlTJPJQNvu7JtoXRrHrRBrCrl0HG2xtFcGO3hOasO63pNigFD11gs2eTg1sEjtVx8DNqzsVdxSavydD/s400/DSC03552.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon Gleason and Ben Ditto enjoying breakfast after a cold night. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVyMt0PNiNKk9LBMbwDMGgZceGvhrFBwtk7XQTVGkN0G_rEyJGSGmmsVhO9SO-quWUvLjz6Su1T3v-ZhlP-EcqfC4LrRco3BEDU51YicL_X8ND0aXJhoWBPSsfcytofTVgZbwEsu5db8TG/s1600/P1020452.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVyMt0PNiNKk9LBMbwDMGgZceGvhrFBwtk7XQTVGkN0G_rEyJGSGmmsVhO9SO-quWUvLjz6Su1T3v-ZhlP-EcqfC4LrRco3BEDU51YicL_X8ND0aXJhoWBPSsfcytofTVgZbwEsu5db8TG/s400/P1020452.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Torres at sunrise. </td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We decided to descend the Goretta Pillar with Ben Ditto and Jon Gleason, two friends who we unexpectedly ran into on the Pillar the day before. As we finished our first rappel Ben quipped, "Well, that's number one." By the time we got past number twenty I think we all stopped counting.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The day disappeared in a blur of downward motion -- countless rappels, good anchors, bad anchors, hanging anchors, huge exposure, scary blocks, stuck ropes, good jokes, terrible jokes, thirst, hunger, freezing cold in the shade, burning hot in the sun. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At one point I think the ropes got caught on 9 or 10 rappels in row and multiples times we had to climb back up to free them. Near the bottom of the Pillar, after the ropes caught yet again, we all pulled as hard as we could but couldn't get them to budge. The wall leading up to the stuck rope was steep and imposing, and none of us wanted to climb back up. Frankly we just didn't care anymore. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we left the entire rope behind, an offering to the mountain. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilT01KMryqSVoKStGEg2EmepW2oKe2NasKmFBPCURqn5dI0qLmbmZrXINUDqMHhw0s9YOxvMEfodHW_Z9ZFI0Bqxnn4R2nchJqmUO1PhS6mmSV5jsJjvE0icaDiAQMn-oEchU5nQQFHb8D/s1600/P1020464.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilT01KMryqSVoKStGEg2EmepW2oKe2NasKmFBPCURqn5dI0qLmbmZrXINUDqMHhw0s9YOxvMEfodHW_Z9ZFI0Bqxnn4R2nchJqmUO1PhS6mmSV5jsJjvE0icaDiAQMn-oEchU5nQQFHb8D/s400/P1020464.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Psyche was high in the early rappels. Not so much later on.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgto9slOJlWhWGkAAwBkYME3DXTVqMQE9UoF82Tek4gyWEa3pKR7k4Kq-JdvHx96D8ye6m3_oYTnnEsV4hkiUeu6dK4n59l4ffMkQrSHnv0MtkNNMHefT-cpdEN_7F0jld_fVHBofB4fdMi/s1600/P1020491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgto9slOJlWhWGkAAwBkYME3DXTVqMQE9UoF82Tek4gyWEa3pKR7k4Kq-JdvHx96D8ye6m3_oYTnnEsV4hkiUeu6dK4n59l4ffMkQrSHnv0MtkNNMHefT-cpdEN_7F0jld_fVHBofB4fdMi/s400/P1020491.jpg" width="390" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon rappeling about halfway down the Goretta Pillar</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPYSpZJ3UGICC39t8jhS-AFySHHFgl5F3IOzX2jamllviTAo7NDaPKLArS-C02KL4ybVc7W3Z_CgA49JVHMvYmjysigC6C3ur2snbYgJMoVBHkWV9sncmj8esHCFlxyV39qALxDfTWkdb8/s1600/DSC03607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPYSpZJ3UGICC39t8jhS-AFySHHFgl5F3IOzX2jamllviTAo7NDaPKLArS-C02KL4ybVc7W3Z_CgA49JVHMvYmjysigC6C3ur2snbYgJMoVBHkWV9sncmj8esHCFlxyV39qALxDfTWkdb8/s400/DSC03607.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben trying to MacGyver some water off the rock. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By 9pm we reached the Bloque Empotreado at the base of the Goretta Pillar and dropped into the steep gully on the east side of the massif. Jon had rappelled this same terrain a few years earlier while attempting the Care Bear and assured us that there were bomber anchors the whole way, that we'd be at the base in a couple of hours. But as he hung at the end of the ropes on our second rappel and traversed back and forth across the gully I knew something wasn't right.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"What's going on Jon?" Ben yelled down.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's totally different down here. There's no snow or ice at all. I don't see any anchors anywhere."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well, what do you think we should do?" shouted Ben.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I don't know. There's massive death blocks everywhere. This thing's gonna rip the second one of us touches it," Jon said, pointing toward a coffin-sized chunk of stone with his foot.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I stared wide-eyed at Cheyne. I remembered every single time I had read or heard the oft-quoted climbing dictum: most people die on the descent. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"How are you doing?" Cheyne asked me.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I don't know man. I'm honestly pretty scared right now. I feel like we might be walking into a trap."</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A tense conversation followed as we debated whether or not to continue down the gully or climb back up and over to the west side. My body just wanted to go down, to get to the glacier and to get back to town as quickly as possible. But in my head I knew we needed to think carefully and find the safest way down, even if that meant retracing our steps. D</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">espite the seriousness of the situation, I couldn't get R. Kelly's lyrics out of my head -- "My mind's telling me no, but my body, my boooody's telling me yeeeessss..." </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We eventually decided to take our chances with the death gully. By then it was dark. We gingerly lowered further into the blackness below, careful not to dislodge any of the blocks precariously perched all around us. The hours continued to pass and I grew more and more exhausted. I'd finished the last of my food at breakfast, and though Ben had given me a couple of bars during the descent I'd probably eaten less than 500 calories all day. I knew I had to stay alert, that our safety depended on it, but it was just so hard. I started to fall asleep standing up at the belays. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GXhxEH-Ykw6VvqbMos1DU5mWhMHKhyphenhyphenDCJmET2jwUQT74WXeTEczQoJtDPO0gpknzhfd7Est-8D4HY4-8dlo52K-oEMTx0cRcm5RAjDcE587u2QzgcWxOvmoe8nABHSHgIkSrMR-K1jh-/s1600/DSC03625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-GXhxEH-Ykw6VvqbMos1DU5mWhMHKhyphenhyphenDCJmET2jwUQT74WXeTEczQoJtDPO0gpknzhfd7Est-8D4HY4-8dlo52K-oEMTx0cRcm5RAjDcE587u2QzgcWxOvmoe8nABHSHgIkSrMR-K1jh-/s400/DSC03625.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben rapping into the abyss. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Through the exhaustion, slowly, quietly, my ego crept up on me once again. <i>What are Cheyne and Jon and Ben thinking about me? Do they think I'm weak or a pussy for not pulling my weight when it matters most? Does Cheyne wish he had climbed with someone else? Do they feel as tired as I do? How do they seem so alert and focused?</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've imagined myself in situations like this before, when I read epic stories in climbing magazines or books about all-night descents and precarious moments. I always figured I'd find the strength to focus my mind and take control when I found myself in that position. But in that moment, as the shit inched closer and closer to the fan, I realized that I just didn't have it in me. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I wanted to be able to take the lead. I wanted to pull my weight. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn't want to look like a gumby in front of such accomplished people. I wanted them to like me and respect me. But I was just so tired. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Disappointed in myself, I took on the easiest role, going third on each rappel as we descended further toward the glacier. At each belay I waited for the unmistakeable sound of a huge block tearing loose above us. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When my feet finally touched down onto the snow of the glacier I felt incredibly grateful for flat ground. I post-holed down the debris-strewn snow cone, away from the danger above and toward the tiny circle of light coming from Ben's headlamp. Soon the others joined us and we pulled out our stoves to melt some water -- none of us had drunk anything in hours. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Man," said Ben in a serious tone, "There were a couple moments up there where I was fondling my wedding ring, wondering whether I'd see my wife again."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We nodded in understanding. All of us had been scared. A few days later some friends would tell us that they had seen huge blocks ripping down the gully all day. Why none fell as we rappelled is something I'll never know.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we slurped down hot Emergen-C I realized I had lost all sense of time.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gleason pulled out his watch.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"It's 2:30 in the morning."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We had been on the go since at least 8am the previous day, eighteen and a half hours ago. But despite my desire to curl up right there and sleep on the glacier, there would be no stopping tonight. We had no more food and hardly any gas left. We had to keep going. Growing cold, I set off in front of the others. I fell into a mindless gait and plodded alone across the glacier. <i>One foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other.</i> I was thankful for the unknown climbers that had left a highway of tracks to follow so that I could avoid the gaping crevasses that lurked in the darkness beyond the light of my headlamp. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the time I reached Paso Superior I was so exhausted that I questioned my ability to safely negotiate the steep snow slopes below. I had stumbled a couple of times on the glacier simply because I stopped looking at where I put my feet. Doing the same on one of those slopes could easily mean a death fall. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I took off my pack, sprawled out on a flat rock in the middle of the trail, and promptly passed out. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catching a few winks before the march continued. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twenty minutes later the others woke me as they stepped over my outstretched body. I was so incredibly tired that I considered sleeping there for a few more hours. Cheyne's offer to leave me both of our sleeping bags made the idea that much more tempting. But the soft snow would only get worse once the sun rose, so I trudged onward as the first faint wisps of red and orange appeared on the horizon.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally we reached the end of the snow and stopped at Laguna de Los Tres to rest and fill up on water. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gleason took a nap on the far side of the laguna. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cheyne and Ben decided to push on, hungry for the empanadas waiting in town. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was out of food and just as hungry as them, but I knew I had one last Starbucks Via packet in my bag and I needed that caffeine to get me through the final push back to El Chalten.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending the final snow slope to the laguna. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ben looking very tired but also very happy as the sun rises on a new day. Cheyne Lempe photo.</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I watched the others disappear out of view and soon I was alone. I closed my eyes and listened to the hiss of the Jetboil and the rush of water flowing down the rocks next to me. I ran my hands over the smooth, cool stone beneath my legs and </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">felt a light breeze blow across my face.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> The first rays of sunlight fell upon my back and I took off my shirt to soak in their warmth. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I opened my eyes and looked up to see the entire east face of Fitz Roy glowing pink before me. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I started laughing. A low chuckle at first that soon morphed into a full-on laugh-out-loud howl. If anyone had come across me at that moment, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">shirtless, sweaty, laughing, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">they would have certainly thought I was crazy. But I couldn't help it, it was just so improbable -- that such a mountain could even exist, that I was there to see it, that we had just stood on that faraway summit, that we had climbed the Care Bear, that we had made it down sore as hell but safe and unscathed. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More than anything I could not believe how absolutely, wondrously, indescribably beautiful the mountain was at that moment. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And not just the mountain but really how beautiful that entire moment was in life. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And not just that moment but really how beautiful <i>all</i> of life surrounding me was and is. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe it was the coffee, or maybe it was the sun bringing new energy to the day, but despite five days on the go and only 20 minutes of sleep in the previous 24 hours I felt vibrant and alive and deeply happy. And I realized that I couldn't care less about what anyone else thought about me right then, whether they liked me or respected me or loved me or hated me. Their thoughts couldn't do anything to how I felt at that moment -- content with myself and with life. </span><br />
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A few minutes later I finished my coffee, turned my back on Fitz Roy, and with a smile on my face started toward town, into the light of the rising sun.</div>
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Downing some much needed empanadas in town after the climb. Matt Van Biene photo.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b><u>VI. Return</u></b></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the end of my trip I had the fantastic luck of standing on five summits in the Fitz Roy massif. Since returning from Patagonia I've had numerous friends and acquaintances congratulate me on my season down there. They say things like, "Dude! You climbed the Care Bear! That's so fucking rad!" or "God I am so jealous of your life right now!" or "Dude that is bad ass!" </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part of me -- that greedy, needy, desirous ego -- can't help but enjoy soaking in these compliments. It feels pretty damn good to have others think that you're cool or a badass. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But an even bigger part of me can't help but think that many of these congratulations are based on the wrong reasons -- the same false reasoning that makes me think others are better or cooler than I am simply because of the routes they have climbed. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Many of my friends showered me with their compliments after I mentioned only which climbs I'd done -- not how long we took, not what style we climbed in, not how deep we'd had to dig, not whether it had been easy or hard, not what the experience had been like for us. All they knew was that I had climbed a couple big routes in Patagonia, and that was enough to warrant their congratulations. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We're taught to think that the longer and more difficult and more remote the route, the more respected it should be. This belief is </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">reinforced by "newsflashes," blogs and magazine articles that celebrate the "hardest" ascents or "biggest" climbs, citing mere numbers as the important information we need to know and care about. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I am convinced that the "worth" of a climb, if there even is such a thing, lies not in its size or its difficulty or its reputation. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It lies in the <i>experience </i>of the climber -- the fear and joy and exultation felt as you move higher up a wall, the concentration required to unlock a difficult sequence, the overwhelming tiredness that envelopes your body at the end of a massive day, the smile that creeps across your face as you look out over a magical landscape, the joy of pushing through exhaustion and discovering that you're capable of more than you ever thought possible. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps most importantly, it lies in what you take away from the experience -- what you learn about climbing, about yourself, and about life. It lies in the new thoughts and beliefs you bring down from the mountains to influence your daily life back home. Because, honestly, if you succeed in climbing a massive, fabled route in some distant land and yet it doesn't change how you act at home, or in some way make you a better person, is it really worth celebrating or caring about? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On a windy day near the end of my trip I hung out in El Chalten with the usual crew of gringos. My friend Colin and I sat discussing the scene at our local climbing gym, the Seattle Bouldering Project, and the large numbers of cute college-age girls that climb there. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Dude, wanna know what sucks?" Colin said to me. "You're gonna get back home and go to the Bouldering Project and none of those girls is even going to know what Fitz Roy is, let alone care that you climbed it. They only care if you climb V10 or not." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I laughed. Even though he was joking, he was probably right. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But you know what? I don't care. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I don't care, because <i>I </i>care. Me. Myself. I. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I care that I climbed Fitz Roy. I care that I climbed Guillamet and Mermoz and St. Exupery. I care that I climbed big routes in Patagonia. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I care not because I hope that people will think I'm badass, but because of what I experienced on those climbs and what I learned. I care because of what the whole experience of climbing in Patagonia this year represents to me -- taking on challenges with outcomes unknown, overcoming fears and self-doubts, and confronting my ego head-on. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It represents discovering deep reserves that I've always hoped I had, but hadn't been pushed hard enough to find before -- as well as finding out that these reserves aren't quite as deep as I had hoped. It represents the raw excitement and electric elation I felt as I moved up and down those granite giants. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It represents both the joy and disappointment of seeing how I react in trying situations, of seeing both how strong and how frail I can be in these moments. It represents newfound confidence in myself and newfound respect for the power and danger of the mountains. And a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">bove and beyond everything else, it represents a moment in my life when I took my dreams, acted on them, and turned them into reality. A moment when I showed myself just how possible this is. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And <i>that, </i>I believe, is something truly worth caring about.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hasta luego. I'll be back.</td></tr>
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Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-1858813539528131112012-10-14T13:22:00.000-07:002012-10-14T13:22:21.614-07:00Summer Wrap Up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I woke up one day last week and thought somebody had broken into my house. I heard a strange rustling noise in the living room and slowly crept downstairs to investigate. I tiptoed through the kitchen as the rustling grew louder. Preparing to fend off some intruder I jumped around the corner into the living room and promptly started laughing at myself. There was no one there. The sound was just a heating vent blowing air into the large fronds of a house plant. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Well," I thought to myself, "Heat's on for the first time. It is officially fall in Seattle."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hard to believe we're already well into October, right? Where did the last few months go? Seems like just yesterday that I was waiting for the sun to wring the spring moisture from this damp corner of the country, my head full of plans and ideas for the summer that lay ahead. That summer's gone now. Most of those plans went uncompleted and few of those ideas came to fruition. But a lot of new plans cropped up, and unexpected opportunities were seized by the horns. All in all it was a pretty rad couple of months. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I thought I'd wrap it all up in one neat package for anyone who's interested. So, here it is. An act in seven parts. The Highlights of Summer 2012. </span></div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part I - Yosemite</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It all started off with a bang when I got the chance to go to Yosemite in June for a little "business" trip. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In May my boss, Fitz, had asked me, "Austin, do you want to go climb El Cap next month?" The "Yes" was out of my mouth before he even finished the question, and soon we were driving south on I-5 with a car full of climbing gear and camera equipment. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For nearly two years Fitz had been documenting the story of climber Craig DeMartino, who lost his right leg in 2003 following a 100-foot ground fall in Colorado. Craig had since come back to climbing - ticking routes up to 5.12d and climbing The Nose in a day along the way - but he still wanted to complete an all-disabled ascent of El Cap. He already tried once in 2011, but he and his partner, Jarem Frye, had to turn back a few pitches up Lurking Fear when Jarem's prosthetic leg fell off. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year he returned to the valley with Jarem, who lost his left leg to bone cancer at age 14, and added a new member to the team, "One Armed" Pete Davis, who was born without an arm. Dubbing themselves the "Gimp Monkeys" the trio set their sights on the mega-classic Zodiac, a steep 18 pitch route on El Cap's east face. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fitz and I were there to film the ascent as part of a new series that we will be releasing this fall called "The Three Types of Fun." Joining us was wall-ninja and cameraman extraordinaire, Mikey Schaefer. Mikey is a legit hardman and expert climber. He's climbed .13+ cracks, spent weeks of his life on El Cap, and put up gnarly first ascents everywhere from Patagonia to Alaska. He's more comfortable 2000ft off the ground than I am walking down the street. Fitz and I simply referred to him as "the secret weapon."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The plan was for Fitz and I to push the rope up the route, fixing a line for Mikey along the way so he could film the Gimp Monkeys as they climbed below us. Even though I'd been to Yosemite twice before, this was my first time climbing El Cap and I was insanely stoked, though I of course tried to act like it was all no big deal. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Gimp Monkeys asleep their last night on El Cap | Mikey Schaefer Photo</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">A couple interesting thing occurred our first night on the wall. Alex Honnold had loaned Mikey his portaledge for the climb, and when we unpacked the ledge to set up camp we found <i>two </i>ledges inside the bag. One was a normal BD double ledge, but the other was a strange mini belay ledge, maybe only 2'x4'. We all had a different reaction to this twist -- Mikey, an ever-constant proponent of the light-is-right school, was not stoked that we were hauling an extra ledge all the way up El Cap. I was confused as to why Alex even owned a ledge, let alone two, seeing as he seems to only spend a few hours climbing even the biggest of big walls. Fitz thought it was pretty funny and told Mikey, who's <i>maybe </i>5'5", that it was his own personal midget ledge for the trip. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Later that night as we lay in the darkness I heard the sky rip open above us, a loud tearing sound that grew louder by the second. <i>Holy shit, </i>I thought.<i> Massive rockfall. We are going to die. </i>"Jumpers!" Mikey exclaimed, as two black shapes flew past our camp. I watched with fascination as a dark parachute blossomed behind each figure and made tight circles down to a beach on the Merced river far below. Awesome.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The camera crew gets a rest in the Gray Circle | Mikey Schaefer Photo</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">For the next three days the Gimp Monkeys made steady, if slow, progress up the route and for the most part everything went down without a hitch. It was pretty inspiring to watch Pete lead A3 with one arm and to see Craig bust out a knee-bar with his prosthetic on the classic "Nipple" pitch. I got to learn the finer points of ledge life, including how to best poop while balancing on a nylon platform perched 1500' off the ground with your friends only a few feet away. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Our last day we woke up three pitches from the top and it was my job to get us there. The first pitch featured some 5.9 liebacks off the belay to reach an 80ft off-width crack that varied from 4-5" wide for its entire length. I think it goes free at 5.10d, but after three days on the wall and with a full aid rack on my shoulders I was not about to free climb this beast. The problem was, we only had a two big cams on our rack -- both old #4 BD Camalots -- so I'd have to leapfrog them both to aid up the crack. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">At the bottom everything was fine, the cams were bomber and I cruised up the C1 crack. But as I got higher the crack slowly widened and the placements became frightening umbrellas. I was <i>very </i>aware that I had no gear for a long ways below those umbrellas. I yelled down to Mikey, asking him why hadn't we brought along a #5? He assured me that BD didn't even make #5 cams when he had first climbed Zodiac -- when he was 17! -- and that I would be just fine. 100 feet above him I wasn't so sure, but I had no choice but to continue. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The process was simple, if terrifying -- place a cam, watch it slide around awkwardly and open too far, get scared, take the cam out, place it again, watch it umbrella outward, pray that the piece I was standing on didn't blow, accept the umbrella, step up gingerly onto the piece, breathe a sigh of relief, watch the cam suddenly shift, shit my pants, pray to a God I don't believe in, step higher onto the piece, slump onto my fifi, take out the lower cam, pray again that the piece I was standing on wouldn't blow, place the next cam, repeat. Over and over. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">At the very top of the wide section I swear it got ever so slightly wider and I really started to sweat. I tried to calmly remind myself that this was just C1 -- or, at least it would be if you had a #5 or two -- but I couldn't ignore the A5 fall potential. I was standing on questionable pieces 80ft above my last pro. If I fell here, or if a piece slipped, I'd take a 200ft whipper. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I made another umbrella'd placement, stepped up, and looked over to see a perfect hand crack in an overlap right next to my face. <i>Ohmyfuckinggodyesyesyes! </i>I sank a bomber #2, made a few more moves out a small roof and shouted down, "Off belay!"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">After that puckerfest it was no problem to link the last two pitches to the top, and I let out a huge holler as I mantled over the lip and onto flat ground above. A few hours later I stumbled exhausted into a dark El Cap meadow. A blanket of bright stars covered the silent valley. I looked up at El Cap, not quite sure whether or not we had really just climbed it. A trio of headlamps shone high on Zodiac -- the Gimp Monkeys settling in for their last night on the wall -- and I yelled up the loudest monkey call I could muster. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The following day I jugged back up the East Ledges to help film the Gimp Monkeys as they topped out the route. Pete led the last pitch in style and gladly accepted one of the cold beers I had hiked up from the valley floor. A few minutes later they all stood on top, Jarem and Craig a little shaky on their prosthetics after not having stood on flat ground for five days. Their overwhelming joy at finishing such a long journey -- for Craig a dream more than two years in the making -- pushed aside all exhaustion. They sat on top laughing like little kids, giddy with excitement, and soon all of us -- me, Fitz, Mikey, and others who had come to help out -- were laughing with them. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craig examines the next pitch while Jarem jugs below | Mikey Schaefer Photo</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Climbing with Craig, Pete, and Jarem was one of the most inspiring things I have ever been a part of. Those guys truly are amazing, and I mean that literally. I am amazed whenever I am with them. I am amazed not because of the things they do -- though big wall climbing without a limb is SUPER impressive -- but because of they attitude with which they approach it. They each have every reason to think, "Oh, I'm disabled, I'm hurt, I can't do that," but they flat out refuse to accept excuses. As Pete told me, "I simply refuse to believe that my disability is a limitation. Having one arm is a pretty minor inconvenience, really, and that's just my perception. Attitude is everything. The right attitude and one arm will beat the wrong attitude and two arms, every time." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">That is something I have carried with me all summer, and I hope I always will. We are all capable of so much more than we ever believe possible, and you can either make excuses for why you can't do this or can't accomplish that, or you can go out and try to do it. Maybe you'll fail. It's possible. But maybe you'll succeed, and at the end of the day I think we'd all rather know that we tried and failed than regret never trying in the first place. Maybe that sounds cliche or cheesy. But I think it's something else -- true.<b> </b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The first of many loads down | Mikey Schaefer Photo</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After the Captain, the Gimp Monkeys and Fitz headed out, but I decided to take the opportunity of being in Yosemite to do a little more climbing. My good friend and underground crusher John Roark was around for awhile and we paired up for a couple of awesome routes. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First up was the ultra-classic Freeblast, the first 10 pitches of the Salathe Wall/Freerider on El Cap. The climb offers hundreds of feet of awesome cracks and cryptic slab, and while I fell a couple times on the crux slabs, John sent in proud onsight fashion. Despite getting slowed down by a Korean team that was aiding the route we thoroughly enjoyed both the climbing and the extra Jolly Ranchers that I had brought along.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Nearing the top of Freeblast, still nowhere near the top of the Captain | John Roark Photo</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After Freeblast we gave ourselves a nice 20hr break before beginning the hike up to our main objective: Half Dome.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Hiking up to the base of Half Dome | John Roark Photo</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ever since my first trip to Yosemite in the spring of 2010 I've wanted to climb the imposing NW Face of this iconic granite monolith. It is rightfully one of the most beautiful rock formations in the world and it is steeped in climbing history. From the valley floor it just seems so improbable that one could free climb up the sheer face, and as I hiked up the "Death Slabs" approach I was extremely excited but also a little nervous. Our plan was to bivy at the base of the route and then climb the entire 2,000ft face in a single day. I was pretty confident in our abilities, but I also knew that this would be one of the biggest technical climbs I had ever set out to accomplish. Sleep did not come easy.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Sunset on Half Dome | John Roark Photo</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our alarm went off at 4:30am, I pounded some oatmeal and coffee at 5:00, and we started climbing at 5:30. The plan was for the leader to free/aid climb as quickly as possible, short-fixing along the way so that the second could jug up the rope with our small daypack. John crushed his first block and I arrived at the top of Pitch 9 a mere three hours after we left the ground. Awesome. John handed me the rack, we switched shoes, and I was off. After a couple botched attempts at the Robbins Traverse I figured out the moves and quickly got into a groove, constantly spurred on by John's encouraging mantra: "You gotta CHARGE bro!"</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The climbing on the route is really pretty stellar and we continued to make good time up through the chimneys, even after a short miscommunication when I tried to link three pitches into one. At one point I found myself cruising up a fantastic, overhanging 5.7 chimney, looking down between my legs at the 1000+ feet of air beneath me, and I couldn't help but shout for the pure joy of it. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was my first time ever short-fixing on a route and it was a damn fun way to climb. Near the end of my first block I found myself jamming up a splitter 5.9 hand crack and looked left to see John swinging into a lower-out and jugging up at warp speed. Here we were, thousands of feet above the valley below, climbing simultaneously up perfect granite, a couple monkeys just having fun. I couldn't help but think, "This is so fucking COOL!"</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Soaring with the birds 4500ft above the valley floor | John Roark Photo</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We stopped for a short lunch break on Big Sandy ledge, only five or six pitches from the top. By now we knew that we were easily going to send in a day, and we were able to soak in the incredible views of Yosemite Valley to the west and the Tuolumne high country to the east. We could even hear tourists a few hundred feet above, looking over the edge and shouting, "Hey! Look, there's CLIMBERS down there!" We both smiled.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">John took the lead again and gave some more proud onsight efforts on the Zig-Zags, coming pretty close to sending. I got to lead the famous "Thank God Ledge" pitch, a memorable experience if there ever is one, and then headed off on the last aid pitch of the route. I was moving perhaps a little too quickly and as I stepped up onto a small offset Alien I heard a loud "PING" and went flying down and right, bouncing along the wall and spinning around to look at the valley 4500ft below as John caught my fall. "YEAH MAN, THAT WAS SICK!" John yelled. I pulled back up, figured out the move, and was soon mantleling the summit blocks until I had nowhere else to go. I fixed the rope for John, stumbled to a safe stance, and shook off my harness. He took off his own harness 12.5 hours after we left the ground. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From the summit I looked west to where I could just make out the shadow of El Capitan down in the valley. I was so incredibly stoked to have climbed the two biggest walls in the Valley in less than a week. We hiked down the Cables route on the backside of Half Dome - seriously more dangerous and scary than ANY of the climbing we had just done - and made it back down to the valley just in time to catch the absolute last shuttle of the night, saving ourselves an extra two mile walk back to Camp 4. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent most of the next day voraciously consuming the leftover food of fattened tourists at the Lodge Cafeteria. My body was pretty beat from Zodiac, Freeblast, and Half Dome, and though I wanted nothing more than to rest for days on end I knew that I had one more big climb to do. My great friend Keith Share had called me earlier in the week, letting me know that he'd be in the valley that weekend and wondering if I'd want to go climb the Steck-Salathe on Saturday. I had gotten off El Cap on Sunday. We had climbed Freeblast on Tuesday. Half Dome on Thursday. Today was Friday. The Steck-Salathe? Tomorrow? </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fuck. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Steck-Salathe, an impressive route that soars up a brooding formation known as The Sentinel, is widely known as one of the most classic, and most burly, routes in Yosemite. Even though it "goes" at a modest-sounding 5.10b, almost every one of its 16 pitches involves strenuous off-width climbing. Now, normally I like myself a little OW, but the thought of putting my body through such a wringer when I was already so wrecked sounded terrible. And yet, I couldn't just say "No" when one of my favorite partners was asking me to go climb one of the most classic routes in Yosemite. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">#yolo. Right?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And so I found myself at the base of the route at 8:00am the next morning. I'll spare the ugly details, but suffice to say that I found out firsthand what it truly means to "bonk" on a climb. After two weeks of throwing my body against Yosemite's grand walls I had nothing left to give. Everything was actually quite enjoyable until the last four pitches, but the famous squeeze chimneys became a horrendous reenactment of my birth, 24 years after the original. I struggled upward, screaming, sliding against the wickedly smooth walls. By the last pitch I had to take on a section that I knew I should be able to climb easily, but just didn't have any gas left to send. I have NEVER been so thoroughly thrashed by a piece of stone. We topped out in the dark, got lost in the descent gully, and finally threw our gear into the trunk of Keith's car 21 hours after the day had begun. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A day later I loaded my gear onto a bus headed out of Yosemite, eased my aching body into a window seat, and took one last long look at El Cap as we motored west toward Merced. As I stared at The Heart bathed in golden light I wished I could have done a few more routes, maybe gone a little bigger. I've felt this way every time I've ever left Yosemite, and probably always will. But I couldn't be too unhappy -- El Cap, Half Dome, and The Sentinel, all in a couple weeks? Not bad for a business trip.</span></div>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part II - Mt. Stuart</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In mid-July a couple good friends from Boston came out to Seattle to do some good ol' fashioned Cascade mountaineerin'. I unfortunately couldn't join them for their first climb, the Ptarmigan Ridge on Mt. Rainier, but I was all-hands-on-deck for their second objective: the complete North Ridge of Mt. Stuart, car to car, in a day.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Despite the fact that I grew up in Seattle and now spend most all of my time either climbing, filming climbing, or editing climbing films, I had actually done very little climbing in Washington before this summer. I didn't learn to climb until I went to college back in Boston and I'd rarely been home for any real length of time in the past five years. And so it was that I still hadn't climbed Mt. Stuart, one of the true gems of the entire Cascade Range. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Man, I had no idea what I was missing!</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We rumbled into Leavenworth on a blistering hot July evening - 95 degrees at 7pm - and took refuge inside a local pizza shop. A couple hours and a few slices later I mentioned to the guys, "Hey, we should probably go get this car shuttle thing set up so we aren't up all night." We wanted to approach the 3000' North Ridge from the north side, but we didn't want to have to circle all the way around the mountain at the end of the day, so our genius plan was to drop off a second car at a trailhead on the backside of Stuart. What we failed to realize is just how far away that trailhead actually was. I thought it was about a 15min drive from Leavenworth. After looking at a map we realized it was more like 50min away. Shit. Zach and Reggie volunteered to go drop off the car while JLo and I packed all the gear. In the end I didn't get to sleep until after midnight, and our 1:45 alarm came way too soon.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had heard a lot of differing reports on what it would be like to climb the North Ridge in a day -- some people told me it was cruiser, others mentioned unplanned bivouacs high on the route. I really didn't know what to expect, I just knew that we needed to move fast. Unfortunately our start was the opposite of fast. JLo and Reggie climbed ahead of Zach and I, and as JLo followed the first pitch he dropped his headlamp down the cliff. Zach and I had scrambled partway up the first pitch already, and Zach had to lower down to get the headlamp. A few minutes later, as I squeezed through the wide crack on pitch one the crack ripped my sunglasses off my neck, sending them skittering down the cliff below. Once again Zach rigged a rudimentary rappel and went down to retrieve my glasses. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Knowing we needed to move a LOT faster, I kicked into high gear and sped up the following two pitches as quick as I could. After the third pitch we began to simul-climb and I raced up the ridge, mantleling blocks and pulling moves like a man possessed. The climbing was extremely enjoyable -- lots of 4th and low 5th with a couple harder moves every now and then -- and we covered ground quickly. By 10:30am we were more than halfway up the route and I knew we would have no trouble climbing it in a day. We continued to simul-climb until we hit the Great Gendarme, a three pitch rock tower high on the route, where we enjoyed fantastic crack climbing in a ridiculous position thousands of feet above the glacier below. Zach and I tagged the summit at 3pm and we were both pretty psyched at how awesome the route had been.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">JLo and Reggie joined us on top some time later, and we all began the long descent down the Cascadian Coulouir. Without axes we engaged in some shenanigans to get past an icy snowfield, and then enjoyed a couple thousand feet of exciting glissades. None of us were quite sure how far we had to hike to the trailhead, and at one point as we slogged up Longs Pass in fading light Zach mentioned that he thought we should maybe just open bivy and continue in the morning. With nothing more than a light down jacket I was adamantly opposed to such an option, and I rallied the troops into a Normandy-like siege of the final snowfield up and over the pass. A few miles later we reached the trailhead just before needing to pull out our headlamps. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still psyched after 18hrs on the move | Jeff Longcor Photo</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After 19hrs on the go we were all incredibly tired, but we still had to drive back to Leavenworth. Ugh. We arrived back at our first car at midnight, 22hrs after our day had begun. We piled out of my van, congratulated each other on such an awesome day in the mountains, and promptly proceeded to Pass. The Fuck. Out. </span><br />
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<u>Part III - Washington Pass aka "Alpine Casual"</u></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I spent much of July in Seattle editing a couple new films, and as a result my climbing mainly consisted of pulling plastic at the Seattle Bouldering Project or morning trips to the UW wall on my way to work. I did manage to get out to Index a couple of times and even did a little sport climbing (gasp!) at Exit 32, but by the end of the month I needed another adventure in the mountains. I called up the always-psyched Matt Van Biene, recently returned from a three week expedition to Alaska's Ruth Gorge, and asked him if he wanted to head to Washington Pass for the weekend. He was down like a clown and we planned to meet in Mazama on Friday night.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I originally met Matt in Indian Creek last fall and we've since become great friends and partners in both climbing and business. Matt is an awesome photographer/videographer - check out his website <a href="http://www.vanbienephotography.com/">here</a> - and we've teamed up this year on multiple videos everywhere from Ouray, to Indian Creek, to our home state of Washington. He also crushes the stone and knows how to Get It Done in the mountains. Since I had never been up to Washington Pass, he'd be the perfect tour guide.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matt doesn't take himself too seriously</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Over pizza in Winthrop we discussed our plans for the weekend. Matt suggested a linkup of a couple different routes on the North and South Early Winter Spires for Saturday, and I asked how early we should set the alarm. 5:00? 6:00? To me, climbing 15+ pitches in the apine after a couple mile approach usually means getting up before the roosters. Matt started laughing, and I was worried I had seriously underestimated our objectives. Did we need to get up even earlier? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Dude," he said, "this is Washington Pass. Alpine Casual."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Those words seem like they could never co-exist, but thanks to a couple state politicians in the 1960s who decided Washington should build a highway through the North Cascades, they do. Highway 20 carves through some of the most beautiful scenery in the Lower 48, and right below the Liberty Bell group of spires at Washington Pass it makes a tight hairpin turn, providing roadside access to some of the best alpine climbing in the country. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">After an enjoyable 7:30 wakeup and lethargic breakfast at the Mazama store we finally motored up to the Pass around 9:00. We ambled up the approach trail, the trees slowly thinning as we entered an alpine world of rock and snow. The views were spectacular -- a theme for the entire weekend -- and we were quickly racking up under our first route, the Northwest Corners (5.9+) on North Early Winter Spire. Given the multitude of snow-white mountain goats running around the base of the cliff we substituted our typical monkey calls for goats calls, and we let loose with a cacophony of bleating as we scrambled up the spire. We linked the route in four pitches and were surprised to hit the summit only an hour or so after starting. This is a super fun and moderate climb that should be on anyone's to-do list up at the Pass. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unknown climbers near the summit of South Early Winter Spire</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">After a quick rappel down the east side we hiked back over to our second objective, the West Face (5.11a?) of North Early Winter Spire. This fantastic route shares the first two pitches of the Northwest Corners before veering right onto the west face proper. Steep splitter cracks in clean white granite typify this classic line. The crux pitch climbs a striking, thin finger crack that shoots straight up a blank face. These are some of my favorite climbs -- when the line can't be more obvious and there are no alternatives. After a few technical moves down low and some painfully tight tips locks the crack opens up into a pleasant finger crack and we sounded off with more joyful goat bleats as we climbed higher and higher. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">When we got to the summit of North Early Winter for the second time that day we turned around to see paragliders soaring in circles around the peaks. Wow! What an awesomely unexpected sight! For a few minutes our heads filled with fantasies of gliding into remote alpine climbs before we realized it was probably a bad idea. We finished off the first day with a solo lap up the Southeast Arete on South Early Winter Spire, and then sprinted down the trail to the cold beers we had stashed in the creek that morning. Nothing beats the alpine beer stash. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paragliders flying high over Washington Pass</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The next morning we got an equally relaxed start before hiking up to attempt The Hitchiker (5.11) on South Early Winter Spire. This route is a relatively recent addition to the Pass and links corners and face features for 900ft up the steep east face of the spire. I haven't climbed many of Bryan Burdo's routes, but I gotta say, he found a winner with this one. The stone quality is remarkable, every pitch is 5.10 or 5.11, and almost all of them end at comfy belay ledges. Like any climber, I suppose, I'd like to think that I'm halfway decent at scrambling up heaps of stone. Ultimately though, it's definitely not everyday that I onsight multiple pitches of 5.11, so I was pretty stoked when Matt and I reached the summit with a no-falls ascent under our belts. Maybe the route is a little soft for the grade, but it is certainly a fun day in the mountains. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Matt cruising through the first 5.11 traverse on The Hitchhiker</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I have to admit, for the past few years I've always considered Washington a place with fantastic natural beauty but not that much good climbing. Compared to the other amazing places I've had a chance to climb -- Yosemite, Smith Rock, Indian Creek, Rocky Mountain National Park, the High Sierra -- well, it frankly just didn't seem to compare. But when I stood atop The Hitchhiker and looked out upon the veritable sea of peaks that are the North Cascades, at a lifetime's worth of climbing that I have only begun to explore, I finally realized just how much this place has to offer and how stoked I am to explore it. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Matt pulling the last moves of the final 5.11 pitch on The Hitchhiker</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutSGqOPr7GMxHAUuAIWFClNkmj4OApBcdGANrnD8eyG9UCCJTVatL74bbeW9JIkjqoGE8dwc1RriTRpEgbXUEy-5DqU4VBbdN-FCtZtFSlBwA_x0rLb_duusXrvDtuiti57cqcOG39-pB/s1600/DSCN1122-15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutSGqOPr7GMxHAUuAIWFClNkmj4OApBcdGANrnD8eyG9UCCJTVatL74bbeW9JIkjqoGE8dwc1RriTRpEgbXUEy-5DqU4VBbdN-FCtZtFSlBwA_x0rLb_duusXrvDtuiti57cqcOG39-pB/s400/DSCN1122-15.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Matt soaking in the view atop South Early Winter Spire</span></td></tr>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part IV - Oh Canada!</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">August was a pretty crazy month. I spent the first two weeks editing like crazy to finish a new film and send it off to several film festivals. Many, many hours were spent in front of a computer and many, many cups of coffee were consumed. After weeks in the edit cave I didn't just want some time off, I <i>needed </i>it. As luck would have it, my buddy Keith Share had just begun a month's stay up in Squamish, so I packed my bags and made the three hour journey north with the intention to do nothing but climb for an entire week. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8HoeuaEvEif70EC0oZ1irTP-AsFOlTT-VjU8b5xrlftaDY91XX6HOGQFmBc5egm_dK2hyphenhyphenINBslDUs09CwWgGo-16aZP6fRBqNrblr3atX20vptiRH4pTL6g8Vo0SbPE3UZhXVQaZOxzc/s1600/_K1A7717-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8HoeuaEvEif70EC0oZ1irTP-AsFOlTT-VjU8b5xrlftaDY91XX6HOGQFmBc5egm_dK2hyphenhyphenINBslDUs09CwWgGo-16aZP6fRBqNrblr3atX20vptiRH4pTL6g8Vo0SbPE3UZhXVQaZOxzc/s400/_K1A7717-1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Keith learning how to climb horizontal roof off-widths</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">And climb we did. Normally I'd take a rest day on a trip longer than three or four days, but I was so eager to get out and explore Squamish -- a place I had never been before -- that I got in some sort of climbing every one of the seven days I was there. Overhanging sport climbs, short and powerful boulders, long trad routes, we did it all. I didn't accomplish anything groundbreaking on this trip, and got my ass handed to me on some of the boulders, but it was a lot of fun and a good learning experience to climb some styles that I don't normally try. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Some of the highlights for me were High Plains Drifter (5.11c) and the fantastic crack climbs at Nightmare Rock in Murrin Park, including Hypertension (5.11a), Claim Jumper (5.11d) and Sentry Box (5.12a). There is so much rock around Squamish it's kind of hard to believe, and I know I'll be making some more trips up there in the future. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5dLY-dc9Wx1vN0GfkQgBl23o_MHZRrkto9xzpE83amxr_3Q_LvD34d1VNcEhXBPJjF3p-oJBHqM0zWfTNeFW0alZ5bwbTpHNCJTbn5vBAo4bNTt22DnNeCGtMUWEElxrK_JS1jhNkY1yE/s1600/DSCN1148-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5dLY-dc9Wx1vN0GfkQgBl23o_MHZRrkto9xzpE83amxr_3Q_LvD34d1VNcEhXBPJjF3p-oJBHqM0zWfTNeFW0alZ5bwbTpHNCJTbn5vBAo4bNTt22DnNeCGtMUWEElxrK_JS1jhNkY1yE/s400/DSCN1148-9.jpg" width="300" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Keith finishing up the first pitch of High Plains Drifter</span></td></tr>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part V - First Ascent</span></u><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Easily one of the coolest things I did all summer was put up my first first ascent. In August, Fitz invited me to join him and his friend, Dave Burdick, on a mission to clean a new route that Dave had been working on up in Darrington, WA. Dave's the type of guy who makes weekend trips from Seattle to the Bugaboos or the Alaska Range, and has numerous proud FAs in the mountains under his belt, so I knew the line was going to be good.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dave's proposed route was located on the back side of Exfoliation Dome, and the easiest way to approach the route was actually to climb a 1500' 5.9 up the front side and then rap down the back, cleaning as we went. We spent the afternoon installing rap anchors, digging dirt and roots out of cracks, scrubbing lichen and moss from holds, and generally covering ourselves in as much dust and filth as possible. The west side of the Cascades does not give up new lines without a fight. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As we rapped down the face at the end of the day we realized that the route had the potential to be pretty stellar. Splitter cracks, steep dihedrals, and crucial face holds all connected into a quality 6-pitch line that probably wouldn't be harder than 5.11. Sick! Psyche was high, and even a classic Cascades bushwhack back down to the car couldn't dampen our spirits. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A few weeks later I returned to the route with Dave and our friend Zac West. Zac is <u>solid</u> in the mountains, and even though he was battling a stomach bug he was fired up for the FA. Fitz unfortunately couldn't accompany us because he had broken his ankle after a 60' whipper on Mt. Baring the week before. Gnarly.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I won't go into full detail here, because Dave has a <a href="http://cascadeclimbers.com/forum/ubbthreads.php/topics/1081850/TR_Exfoliation_Dome_Snake_Char#Post1081850">good write-up</a> already over at CascadeClimbers, but the long and short of it is that we sent, the route was awesome, and we were psyched. We named the route Snake Charmer to go with the wall's "Witch Doctor" theme. Check out a few photos below, as well as the route topo <a href="http://zacwest.net/topos/SnakeCharmerTopo-Sept2012.pdf">here</a>.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpI1cK5FNTD0VI8st8sEvZdm8UeTamrW0Pd8bWYR0lQmupqPM303Mk3d66wHbo8Tt4k1hfbOx4ObgHnCps8WDO0FmmNAGbGra7-ZP5DEa_2IV2oEEMaWuy2SVlYcgLVRuIzzhGbPAmbV9/s1600/P1060895-19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHpI1cK5FNTD0VI8st8sEvZdm8UeTamrW0Pd8bWYR0lQmupqPM303Mk3d66wHbo8Tt4k1hfbOx4ObgHnCps8WDO0FmmNAGbGra7-ZP5DEa_2IV2oEEMaWuy2SVlYcgLVRuIzzhGbPAmbV9/s400/P1060895-19.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Myself on the first pitch of Snake Charmer | Zac West Photo</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4F0lYVN2bqJGB4IwvVXRhtNecZnJinfL8aDO-L9Zd9xUltaM2z0NoqnGBwlUegJY4dTAivZEZ6PiNVcKlLFWEaJ6mmrpJwFcqOoa0QjrJZ3QQURPTadBlpKTGZTtFDhJn3e_gtTh0QvB/s1600/P1060911-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM4F0lYVN2bqJGB4IwvVXRhtNecZnJinfL8aDO-L9Zd9xUltaM2z0NoqnGBwlUegJY4dTAivZEZ6PiNVcKlLFWEaJ6mmrpJwFcqOoa0QjrJZ3QQURPTadBlpKTGZTtFDhJn3e_gtTh0QvB/s400/P1060911-18.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Zac following awesome liebacks on P3, 5.10</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaI-FcXyv91dBGLWuhG1whJuYPXJJEXBuVMj0U0bu0fZv4Ju9QE1vFz6d5RmJgaU7bikh8cUSxZPyFLMndUneIrJrFnn7FM8eP6Tjb2ZiB-PxfKXgiVlSpwoxpdGABn_-B8tWSLFxbiX5Y/s1600/P1060938-20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaI-FcXyv91dBGLWuhG1whJuYPXJJEXBuVMj0U0bu0fZv4Ju9QE1vFz6d5RmJgaU7bikh8cUSxZPyFLMndUneIrJrFnn7FM8eP6Tjb2ZiB-PxfKXgiVlSpwoxpdGABn_-B8tWSLFxbiX5Y/s400/P1060938-20.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The crux (5.11-) is an awesome leaning seam, steeper than it appears in this photo</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A mere week after the first ascent we learned that a massive rockfall swept the face to the left of our route. Luckily it appears to have avoided the route entirely, though Exfoliation Dome is certainly living up to its name. Since we established this route in early September it has already seen a couple of repeats, and I'm hopeful that it will get the attention it deserves and turn into a moderate multi-pitch classic only a short drive from Seattle.</span><br />
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<u>Part VI - North Cascades</u></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the great joys in my life is the fact that my younger brother, Ian, is also one of my best friends in this world. After a few typical years of mutual loathing and despise as teenagers, we reconciled our differences, first through music and then through our love of the outdoors. We've had the opportunity to go on adventures everywhere from Washington's Olympic and Cascades mountains, to the canyon country of the desert southwest, even all the way down to the rugged peaks of Patagonia. We try to get out for at least one long hike together every year and this summer we planned a trip to the North Cascades.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's not much to say about this trip except that it was a rejuvenating and fantastic week in the mountains. While climbing has consumed much of my time outdoors in recent years, I still love the chance to just hike through these massive valleys and ridges. Often on a long climb I have to focus much of my attention and energy on the route itself, and I don't get the chance to enjoy my position and the scenery as much as I might like. On a long hike, however, you have nothing <i>but </i>time to look around, and on this trip I stopped often to appreciate the impressive and majestic beauty of the mountains.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">A glimpse of the Picket Range</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The view from Copper Ridge</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Ian surveying the land from Copper Ridge</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Looking west from Copper Ridge</span></td></tr>
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<u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part VII - Final Days</span></u></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Since summer decided to stick around well into September I had the chance to get in a couple final adventures after my hike in the North Cascades. Work was slow one week, so Matt Van Biene and I headed out to Index to spend a couple days climbing up at the Upper Town Wall. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">This dark granite cliff looms above the small town of Index, WA, and is one of the least-known stellar climbing areas in the country. That's probably because the climbing season can be pretty short -- in the winter it's raining and you can't climb, in the spring it's still raining and you can't climb, in the summer it's sunny but the Upper Wall is usually still seeping from all the rain that fell in the spring so you can't climb, and in the fall it often starts raining again before you get a chance to climb. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As such, we were not about to let the dry conditions and cooler temps of late September simply pass us by. Our first morning we hiked up and hopped on the Davis-Holland to Lovin' Arms (5.10c), a route touted as perhaps the best multi-pitch 5.10 in the entire state of Washington. Neither of us had climbed it before and we wondered whether it would live up to the hype. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Within the first 10 feet the climbing was really good -- perfect finger locks and hand jams in a small corner -- and as I moved higher I found more great 5.10 climbing up a long corner system that features great jams and liebacking. After I linked the first two pitches Matt took over, pulling past a small roof and into hidden terrain above. He yelled down that the climbing was awesome, and as I followed I saw why -- interesting and techy stemming past small gear, requiring just enough concentration to make the moves thoroughly enjoyable. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">At the top of Pitch 3 we knew there were a couple of different options, but weren't really sure which was best. I saw a line of shiny bolts heading up a face to the right and figured they looked better than the dark, dirty chimney feature that was directly above us. About 40' off the belay I found myself brushing dirt off of increasingly smaller edges and no chalk in sight as I worked up the technical face -- strange, I thought, considering this is supposed to be one of the most traveled routes on the wall. The steepest part of the pitch required delicate footwork and the right sequence, but the building pump in my arms prevented me from executing either. Air rushed past my ears as I peeled off the wall. After a couple more falls and some more brushing I figured out the thin, techy sequence and finished it off to the chains, though not without a little fight to get through unexpectedly reachy moves below the anchor. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Where the hell are we?" asked Matt as he came up to the belay. "Not sure," I said, "but I think we're off-route." We seemed to be smack in the middle of a large face without any obvious ways out. A thin crack sliced up the wall above us, but it looked pretty dirty and untraveled. Neither of us were eager to climb it. Far to the left I saw a bolt, clean rock, and some chalk. "I think that's the line over there." </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Between us and "there" was an incipient horizontal seam that looked like it might go. Who knows if anyone had ever climbed it, but Matt pulled through it in style and got us back onto the upper pitches of Lovin' Arms. Later we would find out that we had accidentally embarked onto a separate route, Senseless Thoughts of Paranoia (5.11c), which is definitely worth doing and should see more traffic than it does. Supposedly the thin crack above the belay is about as hard as the first pitch of Japanese Gardens. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As I followed the last 15-20 feet of the final headwall I noticed a lot of slack in the rope and when I topped out I didn't see Matt anywhere. Confused, I looked around and heard his voice from behind a tree, "Don't look over here, I'm taking a shit." Sure enough, he was, but he had engineered a redirect to keep me on belay even after he took off his harness. Safety first, kids. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">After a couple rappels and a quick snack we walked along the wall to the base of Heaven's Gate (5.11a), another supposed classic that neither of us had climbed. The route is unique in a classic Index sort of way in that the first pitch (.10c) is both the easiest and possibly the hardest on the entire climb. It tackles an overhanging chimney before breaking right into a series of sustained lieback features. Surprisingly physical for .10c, but hey, it's Index.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">After the first pitch the character of the route changes completely, finishing with three pitches of technical face climbing up immaculate edges and juggy overhangs. At one point I yelled to Matt, "Dude, this thing climbs like it was set in a gym. It's amazing!" He laughed and yelled back, "No man, no gym route could even <i>begin</i> to touch this thing!" This isn't a climb that I would do again -- it is a climb that I <i>will </i>do again. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had started to feel some tendonitis flaring up in my elbows so the next morning we chose to warm up on the first two pitches of Beat Box, supposedly both 5.10. It didn't look like anyone had been on the route in awhile, and I was surprised to hear Matt give a couple grunts as he climbed the first pitch. I was even more surprised when I followed the pitch -- some of the moves were pretty thin and hard, and I ended up falling a couple times. It honestly felt more like technical 5.11- than 5.10. Whatever. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I took off on the second pitch, climbing up an awesome expanding flake and past a tricky transition into another flake/crack. Some more amazing big moves and reaches had me shouting down to Matt, "Holy shit that move was so cool!" The pitch finished with a balancey traverse left and some final difficult moves up a steep wall. Really great climbing, but harder than I had expected -- we thought both pitches were just as hard as the 5.11 pitches on Heaven's Gate -- and hard enough that my elbows ached as I belayed Matt up. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I was done face climbing for the day, so Matt suggested an off-width down the way as an alternative. I wasn't completely sure that 5.11 off-width was the same as taking it easy, but at least it was a crack, right? Wrong. The climb started off easy enough, but soon turned into overhanging #5's and #6's. I thrutched up the wide slot, struggling for every inch gained. Matt said this thing was 5.11a? Maybe, but it definitely didn't feel like it. After climbing at Index so much this summer I have no idea what grades even mean anymore. The top was ridiculously physical and I had to take more times than I'd like to admit. Finally I reached the anchor, my arms raw and my elbow in flames. After that I was done -- bummed about my arm but psyched to have enjoyed a couple awesome days outside, in the sun, on the rock, loving life. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The next week I ventured out for a solo run up the West Ridge of Mt. Stuart. A predawn start, beautiful alpine sunrise, magnificent views, empty summit -- hard to beat for a casual day in the hills, and a perfect end to an awesome summer. </span></div>
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Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-91159809553921610992012-07-17T09:34:00.001-07:002012-07-17T09:34:05.947-07:00New Video OutI know I haven't posted up in awhile, but I'm not going to apologize for it because I've been wonderfully busy doing other things that I care more about, like climbing, filming, being out in the mountains, and spending time with good friends. <br />
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I'm psyched to say that the most recent video I finished is now up and live on the interwebs, and though I'm biased I think it's pretty rad. <br />
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In March myself and <a href="http://vanbienephotography.com/">Matt Van Biene</a> spent some time in Indian Creek climbing and filming with <a href="http://www.willstanhope.com/">Will Stanhope</a> (aka Skinny Fat, aka The Great White Hope) as he attempted to headpoint some of the area's hardest, diciest climbs, and also look for some new routes of his own. We captured this search, and his FA of Down in Albion (5.13 R), in the video below. Check it out if you've got a moment.<br />
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As Will mentions in the video, it was a pretty crazy day that he finally sent Down in Albion, because Hayden had <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rkbD73oEu_Q">just sent the FA of Carbondale Short Bus (5.14-)</a> earlier that morning. Beyond the obvious fact that I was psyched to have footage of both sends, it inspired me to see both of these guys really give everything they had to pull it off. It definitely made me think about how I can do a better job in my own climbing of really concentrating, knowing what moves you need to do, and just executing them. Looking at the footage Will and Hayden both almost make the routes seem easy, but I can assure you that these things are HARD (We went back the following day to get some more shots of Will on DIA, and he couldn't pull the crux moves, which certainly says something about how tired he was from his attempts the day before, but also says something about the headspace that he was able to put himself in for the send and just focus and believe he could do it. Mad respect.)<br />
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A shout out to Will, Hayden, Matt Segal, Andrew Burr, Nasa Koski, and Derek Craig for all their help down in the Creek this spring, as well as to all the monkeys who were down there having a good time and crushing. That place is truly one of my favorite on Earth, both because of the magical landscape and beautiful people who spend time there. I can't wait to head back this fall. <br />
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I hope everyone's getting out, living life and loving it.Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-64330140981215423242012-05-11T15:01:00.000-07:002012-05-11T15:01:26.607-07:00Hop on the Short BusIn late March I had the opportunity to go back down to Indian Creek to film a couple of videos for work. Southeast Utah has to be one of my favorite places in the world, so it wasn't hard to say yes to a "business trip" to the desert. The weather was great, the people were better, and I was even able to get in a fair bit of climbing in between days of shooting.<br />
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One of the climbs we captured was the first ascent of the long-standing project "Kansas City Special" at the 4X4 wall in Indian Creek. First tried by Nick Martino in 2007, no one had been able to link together the bouldery, low-percentage moves on this dicey thin line. No one, that is, until young-gun, goofball, and all around good guy Hayden Kennedy showed up this spring. Fresh off an epic season down in Patagonia, Hayden was psyched on some single-pitch-in-the-sun action where he could "come down at the end of the day, have a good burrito, a couple beers, and not be suffering on a mountain with some dude spooning with you."<br />
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Hayden worked the line for a couple days with fellow crushers Will Stanhope and Matt Segal, and sent after just a couple of lead burns. He renamed the line "Carbondale Short Bus" in reference to his hometown of Carbondale, CO, his current vehicle/home, and the short nature of the line. It was ridiculous watching Hayden on the climb, because it is so difficult yet he makes it look like 5.12.<br />
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My friend Matt Van Biene and I had a lot of fun filming this and putting it together, so check out the video on Patagonia's website: <a href="http://video.patagonia.com/video/carbondale-short-bus">http://video.patagonia.com/video/carbondale-short-bus </a><br />
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We're currently working on another video featuring some of the footage that we got of Will on a couple of climbs in the Creek as well, including his first ascent of Down in Albion (5.13 R), so stay tuned for that!
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Hope everyone is well and getting out in the hills. The weather's finally on a good kick up here in the NW and I'm off for a few days of climbing up in the mountains.<br />
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Peace.Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-19621670668264687992012-03-05T23:52:00.015-08:002012-03-06T14:44:51.471-08:00OriginsI went to college at a small university just outside of Boston. About five miles from the heart of the city, to be exact. And though I could clearly see the downtown skyline every time I walked across campus, that place might as well have been on another planet. I think I can count on both hands the number of times I ventured into Boston during my five years there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNf5p8NRuByxhZZlVXeCc94rt6MojBm96bbJ6dnG0GRevlPOhU61F-2ntjbEu4Szl_sFOoJWF67SN27D-B4tDOzky2P3MZLgYa5w9JTi-Js8gVszSFKY-c0TOoHQSpOAOSmreREP12dGBF/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.17.09+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNf5p8NRuByxhZZlVXeCc94rt6MojBm96bbJ6dnG0GRevlPOhU61F-2ntjbEu4Szl_sFOoJWF67SN27D-B4tDOzky2P3MZLgYa5w9JTi-Js8gVszSFKY-c0TOoHQSpOAOSmreREP12dGBF/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.17.09+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716899356328684706" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNf5p8NRuByxhZZlVXeCc94rt6MojBm96bbJ6dnG0GRevlPOhU61F-2ntjbEu4Szl_sFOoJWF67SN27D-B4tDOzky2P3MZLgYa5w9JTi-Js8gVszSFKY-c0TOoHQSpOAOSmreREP12dGBF/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.17.09+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNf5p8NRuByxhZZlVXeCc94rt6MojBm96bbJ6dnG0GRevlPOhU61F-2ntjbEu4Szl_sFOoJWF67SN27D-B4tDOzky2P3MZLgYa5w9JTi-Js8gVszSFKY-c0TOoHQSpOAOSmreREP12dGBF/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.17.09+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Ah, the old alma mater, and the city I know so little about on the horizon</span></a></div><br />And while this had a lot to do with the fact that I was the type of kid more likely to be found in the library on party nights rather than out at some bar, it had even more to do with the fact that I find urban cities largely uninspiring. I dream of rock spires and splitter cracks, not skyscrapers and neon lights -- when I had free time in college I wanted to get outside and explore real forests, not the urban jungle.<br /><br />And so it was that the place I came to know as a second hometown was not the metropolitan city five miles away from my dorm-room door, but rather the unlikely community of Lincoln, New Hampshire.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><br />Compared to most other villages and hamlets in north-central New Hampshire, Lincoln is a bustling metropolis, but by any other standard its a pretty small place. A quintessential New England mountain town of 1700 residents with one main road, close proximity to two icy ski resorts, the requisite Dunkin' Donuts, and more outdoor gear/clothing shops than stoplights. Nestled at the foot of the White Mountains, it is a short drive from rugged alpine climbing on Cannon Cliff; the cryptic sport climbing of Rumney, NH; countless trailheads; the best granite in the state at Cathedral Ledge; and the ferocious alpine weather of Mt. Washington.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVqqCKQB4BRu3s3-tVV1lG8YyrnL0KcWge8Ds7ojac3uJd5IxRz8qrHhz51RYJJU8OKepx4L2VubU_rDlNAvwjrRwC2NCZlIjLcQv0aE_3FPWiklhr4_W5T14kazJ6zFdwDsc0vR2GJVM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.14.41+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 264px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVqqCKQB4BRu3s3-tVV1lG8YyrnL0KcWge8Ds7ojac3uJd5IxRz8qrHhz51RYJJU8OKepx4L2VubU_rDlNAvwjrRwC2NCZlIjLcQv0aE_3FPWiklhr4_W5T14kazJ6zFdwDsc0vR2GJVM/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.14.41+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716899346011123298" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVqqCKQB4BRu3s3-tVV1lG8YyrnL0KcWge8Ds7ojac3uJd5IxRz8qrHhz51RYJJU8OKepx4L2VubU_rDlNAvwjrRwC2NCZlIjLcQv0aE_3FPWiklhr4_W5T14kazJ6zFdwDsc0vR2GJVM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.14.41+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyVqqCKQB4BRu3s3-tVV1lG8YyrnL0KcWge8Ds7ojac3uJd5IxRz8qrHhz51RYJJU8OKepx4L2VubU_rDlNAvwjrRwC2NCZlIjLcQv0aE_3FPWiklhr4_W5T14kazJ6zFdwDsc0vR2GJVM/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.14.41+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Lincoln on a lovely summer day</span></a></div><br />I spent many a weekend in and around Lincoln because the Mountain Club at my college owned a lodge -- awesomely known as "The Loj" -- in Woodstock, NH, about five miles away from Lincoln. The Loj and the White Mountains house some of the best memories of my collegiate career -- the first time I climbed outside, my first trad lead, my first multi-pitch, epic night climbing on Mt. Washington, sharing stories with good friends around a wood stove at night -- and the Loj was often my destination as I roared northward on I-93 on Thursday and Friday evenings, the lights of Boston fading in our rear-view mirror while the stars grew brighter overhead with every mile that passed.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveowNWrTaG1UyuZku74AIPxsVHJmkQoqjGlASwqMlRsnuiP35P1zSdAvMg_UizFpwEFsmvTB88L8rx8J8N6xZnhmtECezu2Phu8r9aOEfVgACjW9hrT_HERpwxUW7_SGZhxR712gPU0lz/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.26.27+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveowNWrTaG1UyuZku74AIPxsVHJmkQoqjGlASwqMlRsnuiP35P1zSdAvMg_UizFpwEFsmvTB88L8rx8J8N6xZnhmtECezu2Phu8r9aOEfVgACjW9hrT_HERpwxUW7_SGZhxR712gPU0lz/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.26.27+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716899360416104626" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveowNWrTaG1UyuZku74AIPxsVHJmkQoqjGlASwqMlRsnuiP35P1zSdAvMg_UizFpwEFsmvTB88L8rx8J8N6xZnhmtECezu2Phu8r9aOEfVgACjW9hrT_HERpwxUW7_SGZhxR712gPU0lz/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.26.27+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgveowNWrTaG1UyuZku74AIPxsVHJmkQoqjGlASwqMlRsnuiP35P1zSdAvMg_UizFpwEFsmvTB88L8rx8J8N6xZnhmtECezu2Phu8r9aOEfVgACjW9hrT_HERpwxUW7_SGZhxR712gPU0lz/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.26.27+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Psyched for night climbing on Mt. Washington!</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6AI4QPlx5rpHKu1qo-SB3Q4r0EZG4aJrkChTQ4Qiw0y_j93TgZKPv8Bl8JQq1XG_QhGi3WuAeYnIRqxln68T9JlWw6H8rF45YRa7u15uR9zVxP_57rDDiYWQDP_bS1xD779bp8xvEhsY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.26.48+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6AI4QPlx5rpHKu1qo-SB3Q4r0EZG4aJrkChTQ4Qiw0y_j93TgZKPv8Bl8JQq1XG_QhGi3WuAeYnIRqxln68T9JlWw6H8rF45YRa7u15uR9zVxP_57rDDiYWQDP_bS1xD779bp8xvEhsY/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.26.48+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716899364312013618" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6AI4QPlx5rpHKu1qo-SB3Q4r0EZG4aJrkChTQ4Qiw0y_j93TgZKPv8Bl8JQq1XG_QhGi3WuAeYnIRqxln68T9JlWw6H8rF45YRa7u15uR9zVxP_57rDDiYWQDP_bS1xD779bp8xvEhsY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.26.48+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6AI4QPlx5rpHKu1qo-SB3Q4r0EZG4aJrkChTQ4Qiw0y_j93TgZKPv8Bl8JQq1XG_QhGi3WuAeYnIRqxln68T9JlWw6H8rF45YRa7u15uR9zVxP_57rDDiYWQDP_bS1xD779bp8xvEhsY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.26.48+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Bitter cold winter camping in the Whites</span></a></div><br />And there were a lot of them to be passed; it was 125 miles each way from campus to The Loj. Sometimes my friends and I could talk or listen to music for the whole ride, but often we needed something more to occupy our time. I honestly can't remember if it was me or someone else who brought it along, but on one trip we listened to this podcast called The Dirtbag Diaries. And though I forget which episode we listened to first, I remember being enthralled from the moment that it stopped.<br /><br />It sounds funny now, but in the space of about one car ride I went from not knowing about the Diaries to being totally obsessed with them. I went home and downloaded all the old episodes, listened to them during study breaks, while running, while daydreaming about my own adventures. And always I would bring them in the car on my weekly pilgrimages up to New Hampshire. Regardless of who I was with, I'd plug in my iPod full of Diaries episodes and listen to one, two, even three of them at a time. I told all my friends they had to listen to this podcast. That it would change their life.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFKcIor_MnqyjGsLOHnX1RJ0ZEA2TeNssYN5IpqbpSxmH_NMMjTK0EoYR_bcPzwnQh2wiX1bNTFzllymXUywFJKe62ogrqgJh3VqdEm9GI9nSiV8BtHHBkYmn4mPqH_R_wFplMqxITlvO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.29.36+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFKcIor_MnqyjGsLOHnX1RJ0ZEA2TeNssYN5IpqbpSxmH_NMMjTK0EoYR_bcPzwnQh2wiX1bNTFzllymXUywFJKe62ogrqgJh3VqdEm9GI9nSiV8BtHHBkYmn4mPqH_R_wFplMqxITlvO/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.29.36+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716900744538108498" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFKcIor_MnqyjGsLOHnX1RJ0ZEA2TeNssYN5IpqbpSxmH_NMMjTK0EoYR_bcPzwnQh2wiX1bNTFzllymXUywFJKe62ogrqgJh3VqdEm9GI9nSiV8BtHHBkYmn4mPqH_R_wFplMqxITlvO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.29.36+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieFKcIor_MnqyjGsLOHnX1RJ0ZEA2TeNssYN5IpqbpSxmH_NMMjTK0EoYR_bcPzwnQh2wiX1bNTFzllymXUywFJKe62ogrqgJh3VqdEm9GI9nSiV8BtHHBkYmn4mPqH_R_wFplMqxITlvO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.29.36+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">One of the most fun days I've ever had climbing! Good times on Cannon Cliff</span></a></div><br />I've put some serious thought into why I loved the Diaries so much. It honestly seems kind of strange now, a few years later. I mean, this dude Fitz had kind of a weird name, and kind of a strange voice, and the audio quality on these podcasts wasn't always the best. But there was something about these stories. They had heart. They had emotion. Most of all, they hit home in a part of me that I was just beginning to discover.<br /><br />This was a time in my life when I was starting to realize that as much as I thought I belonged in a career in International Relations, resolving international crises and saving lives, I was at my happiest when I was outdoors as much as possible. I had just learned how to climb and was experiencing for some of the first times the magic of walking up to a huge cliff and working my way up it, of feeling my stomach lurch up into my throat while staring at hundreds of feet of air beneath my feet, of meeting all these other people who were just as psyched on climbing as I was. And not only were these people psyched on climbing, they were psyched on life. They were excited and happy and amped to wake up and get out the door in the morning. They all shared this passion for climbing, but this seemed to be a passion that differed in kind, and not just degree, from the passion that most people have for their hobbies. Compared to the relative unhappiness that consumed most people I knew, this was kind of a shock. I started to realize that this was a community that I wanted to spend more time with; that outdoors adventure was something that I wanted to devote all of my energy to. I wanted to surround myself with people who were truly excited to be alive.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwOmo77CQvjSsJq58kwxStdrNP7muSZwNI3D2llWoCtKKwtUUmysYkJ02yKFe7VZlzQYTnBy_sCKbXwyAX4A2uvgfdKHv0hGIS3Tb0XQhVfGMVfE2XHmTS66mrHxCQug0SMJTr5V_6Lkm/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.42.12+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwOmo77CQvjSsJq58kwxStdrNP7muSZwNI3D2llWoCtKKwtUUmysYkJ02yKFe7VZlzQYTnBy_sCKbXwyAX4A2uvgfdKHv0hGIS3Tb0XQhVfGMVfE2XHmTS66mrHxCQug0SMJTr5V_6Lkm/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.42.12+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716902930917974194" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwOmo77CQvjSsJq58kwxStdrNP7muSZwNI3D2llWoCtKKwtUUmysYkJ02yKFe7VZlzQYTnBy_sCKbXwyAX4A2uvgfdKHv0hGIS3Tb0XQhVfGMVfE2XHmTS66mrHxCQug0SMJTr5V_6Lkm/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.42.12+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkwOmo77CQvjSsJq58kwxStdrNP7muSZwNI3D2llWoCtKKwtUUmysYkJ02yKFe7VZlzQYTnBy_sCKbXwyAX4A2uvgfdKHv0hGIS3Tb0XQhVfGMVfE2XHmTS66mrHxCQug0SMJTr5V_6Lkm/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.42.12+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Climbing allowed me to visit some awesome places</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOaa87TwOuQxiuvu-_bIQZSRfybsfBuVLyKtjwFO6og05jfxgNKraxeKXcXn7fnqQOVQ8gwUB4vE3iBVdRubL0qFiIXwrcc7crdFSU3Yxm976NNBNpIVU5jwwqeAzuiI8eBqqdvpMcigp/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.42.30+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOaa87TwOuQxiuvu-_bIQZSRfybsfBuVLyKtjwFO6og05jfxgNKraxeKXcXn7fnqQOVQ8gwUB4vE3iBVdRubL0qFiIXwrcc7crdFSU3Yxm976NNBNpIVU5jwwqeAzuiI8eBqqdvpMcigp/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.42.30+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716902939435919202" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOaa87TwOuQxiuvu-_bIQZSRfybsfBuVLyKtjwFO6og05jfxgNKraxeKXcXn7fnqQOVQ8gwUB4vE3iBVdRubL0qFiIXwrcc7crdFSU3Yxm976NNBNpIVU5jwwqeAzuiI8eBqqdvpMcigp/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.42.30+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOaa87TwOuQxiuvu-_bIQZSRfybsfBuVLyKtjwFO6og05jfxgNKraxeKXcXn7fnqQOVQ8gwUB4vE3iBVdRubL0qFiIXwrcc7crdFSU3Yxm976NNBNpIVU5jwwqeAzuiI8eBqqdvpMcigp/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.42.30+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">And I went there with amazing friends</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6jcyB4QmxcXlrTfj1XYPrALL7z8LWIL_myjFmkjsba2I_iGCYKsgG5bL5_iW9iYCSD5iS10WnKZge7cyLnu60ml8ZGu41PRSSMNsi9DIkb_gR1p6sJMOAunh2teDi01DedGzHSNz6vNv/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.01.44+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6jcyB4QmxcXlrTfj1XYPrALL7z8LWIL_myjFmkjsba2I_iGCYKsgG5bL5_iW9iYCSD5iS10WnKZge7cyLnu60ml8ZGu41PRSSMNsi9DIkb_gR1p6sJMOAunh2teDi01DedGzHSNz6vNv/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.01.44+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716908704323646834" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6jcyB4QmxcXlrTfj1XYPrALL7z8LWIL_myjFmkjsba2I_iGCYKsgG5bL5_iW9iYCSD5iS10WnKZge7cyLnu60ml8ZGu41PRSSMNsi9DIkb_gR1p6sJMOAunh2teDi01DedGzHSNz6vNv/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.01.44+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6jcyB4QmxcXlrTfj1XYPrALL7z8LWIL_myjFmkjsba2I_iGCYKsgG5bL5_iW9iYCSD5iS10WnKZge7cyLnu60ml8ZGu41PRSSMNsi9DIkb_gR1p6sJMOAunh2teDi01DedGzHSNz6vNv/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.01.44+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">And it was in these places and moments that I found happiness in my life</span></a></div><br />So it was at this time in my life when I was discovering this entire world of adventure and newfound possibility that I started listening to the Diaries. And here were these amazing stories of people who embraced adventure and the outdoors, who were finding meaning and life in something that most people would only consider a hobby or pastime. And it was kind of an eye-opening experience every time I listened to one of these episodes, to realize that there were people all over this country who lived for their time outdoors and eschewed the normal life script, and who were OK with that. I had felt like I needed to do something more "serious" with my life -- go to grad school, save the world, that whole deal -- and the Diaries played a huge role in helping me realize that maybe it was OK to be psyched on adventure, and climbing, and being outdoors.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiSR7USCFiqc0J87Zdpp5ZLMXQDjVdduWZBINt0hFXdZ9P6bAwyj-a-d4DZ5LwPy6Vp2O1YxGQKNtx6Oh3Lzw-BW4BeCX4PN4kzhdz9OKG-4XfJW1Bb9tU_P9kfYxlXyDW2K1eaLQrHmp/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.04.33+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 298px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiSR7USCFiqc0J87Zdpp5ZLMXQDjVdduWZBINt0hFXdZ9P6bAwyj-a-d4DZ5LwPy6Vp2O1YxGQKNtx6Oh3Lzw-BW4BeCX4PN4kzhdz9OKG-4XfJW1Bb9tU_P9kfYxlXyDW2K1eaLQrHmp/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.04.33+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716908707215734626" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiSR7USCFiqc0J87Zdpp5ZLMXQDjVdduWZBINt0hFXdZ9P6bAwyj-a-d4DZ5LwPy6Vp2O1YxGQKNtx6Oh3Lzw-BW4BeCX4PN4kzhdz9OKG-4XfJW1Bb9tU_P9kfYxlXyDW2K1eaLQrHmp/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.04.33+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiSR7USCFiqc0J87Zdpp5ZLMXQDjVdduWZBINt0hFXdZ9P6bAwyj-a-d4DZ5LwPy6Vp2O1YxGQKNtx6Oh3Lzw-BW4BeCX4PN4kzhdz9OKG-4XfJW1Bb9tU_P9kfYxlXyDW2K1eaLQrHmp/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.04.33+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">So happy in the High Sierra</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-P2tiudT4U4hk2qjODDMccwnoiuuZG8-M_SLRJ_elKJI8DfF6-wgZWLtXqWZQP0dAIjq5I3YBc38wwRU7MyjIfr2i1qClh2r2-EjhCx3HcOLi1cjO8UGncd7SU6cJ_JvAmX3AJ0UpHNi/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.10.27+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-P2tiudT4U4hk2qjODDMccwnoiuuZG8-M_SLRJ_elKJI8DfF6-wgZWLtXqWZQP0dAIjq5I3YBc38wwRU7MyjIfr2i1qClh2r2-EjhCx3HcOLi1cjO8UGncd7SU6cJ_JvAmX3AJ0UpHNi/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.10.27+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716910151531746850" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-P2tiudT4U4hk2qjODDMccwnoiuuZG8-M_SLRJ_elKJI8DfF6-wgZWLtXqWZQP0dAIjq5I3YBc38wwRU7MyjIfr2i1qClh2r2-EjhCx3HcOLi1cjO8UGncd7SU6cJ_JvAmX3AJ0UpHNi/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.10.27+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-P2tiudT4U4hk2qjODDMccwnoiuuZG8-M_SLRJ_elKJI8DfF6-wgZWLtXqWZQP0dAIjq5I3YBc38wwRU7MyjIfr2i1qClh2r2-EjhCx3HcOLi1cjO8UGncd7SU6cJ_JvAmX3AJ0UpHNi/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.10.27+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">More Sierra Stoke!</span></a></div><br />And though it would take me a couple more years and a few road trips to finally accept the fact that I was a dirtbag at heart, and to quit my job and spend most of 2011 living out of the back of a beatup minivan in the Rockies, Oregon, Yosemite, and Indian Creek, I knew early-on that one thing I wanted to do no matter what was someday make a story for the Dirtbag Diaries. To give back to this creation that was so important in my own life.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXA_xiTsyarMVkL5jvG9T9tsa-jzlB9fwF81gC72QJ_gnhGvuwoejf9lMNestoYwcJ70X7pqy2XR-RhKKCschrc84bwUwd7oHKjFRecKZ8j4JFlNJWl40UqqAr3aWOG56vIyw9vea7GpBI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.10.11+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXA_xiTsyarMVkL5jvG9T9tsa-jzlB9fwF81gC72QJ_gnhGvuwoejf9lMNestoYwcJ70X7pqy2XR-RhKKCschrc84bwUwd7oHKjFRecKZ8j4JFlNJWl40UqqAr3aWOG56vIyw9vea7GpBI/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.10.11+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716910142909381794" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXA_xiTsyarMVkL5jvG9T9tsa-jzlB9fwF81gC72QJ_gnhGvuwoejf9lMNestoYwcJ70X7pqy2XR-RhKKCschrc84bwUwd7oHKjFRecKZ8j4JFlNJWl40UqqAr3aWOG56vIyw9vea7GpBI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.10.11+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXA_xiTsyarMVkL5jvG9T9tsa-jzlB9fwF81gC72QJ_gnhGvuwoejf9lMNestoYwcJ70X7pqy2XR-RhKKCschrc84bwUwd7oHKjFRecKZ8j4JFlNJWl40UqqAr3aWOG56vIyw9vea7GpBI/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.10.11+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">My home sweet home for most of 2011</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFh8OkldZDO6DYfl_QIaP0FR8sxHb_A0wGizTwvXZhXFjkk3j_oKBUUoR7NKVCm4jU2gremlwUplzIq2OMWQGe-eVld17gM2ipsyZDjh9Iemc2kDsMA2lzr7ukMwWAesD9N3XEteHrmGOz/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.08.33+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFh8OkldZDO6DYfl_QIaP0FR8sxHb_A0wGizTwvXZhXFjkk3j_oKBUUoR7NKVCm4jU2gremlwUplzIq2OMWQGe-eVld17gM2ipsyZDjh9Iemc2kDsMA2lzr7ukMwWAesD9N3XEteHrmGOz/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.08.33+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716910135775156386" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFh8OkldZDO6DYfl_QIaP0FR8sxHb_A0wGizTwvXZhXFjkk3j_oKBUUoR7NKVCm4jU2gremlwUplzIq2OMWQGe-eVld17gM2ipsyZDjh9Iemc2kDsMA2lzr7ukMwWAesD9N3XEteHrmGOz/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.08.33+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFh8OkldZDO6DYfl_QIaP0FR8sxHb_A0wGizTwvXZhXFjkk3j_oKBUUoR7NKVCm4jU2gremlwUplzIq2OMWQGe-eVld17gM2ipsyZDjh9Iemc2kDsMA2lzr7ukMwWAesD9N3XEteHrmGOz/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+2.08.33+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">High above Yosemite last Fall</span></a></div><br />And so it is absolutely unbelievable and so awesome for me to be able to sit here and tell you all that I narrated the most recent episode of the Dirtbag Diaries, "Origins," in which I help celebrate the 5th Anniversary of the show by telling how it came to be. The story is truly one of inspiration, of how Fitz had every reason in the world to give up his dreams of becoming a professional writer, how the Dirtbag Diaries saved him, and how it has become so important to so many people in this community of ours.<br /><br />But I don't want to say too much about it here. Go ahead and listen to the show. If you have dreams that seem like they'll never materialize, this might just change your perspective.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://dirtbagdiaries.com/webpage/origins">http://dirtbagdiaries.com/webpage/origins</a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGsP-6j7xtU5_e95JYihLA3sSZnnTh0BoikdLtgSL9ZUOdBdF4Gq7Pv_aVpl7vDfRtYlBLV-LHD2PEYJe5sRDpFmdABlCfMBjq_RNL-4w7DprE5SEeZnkHLDKt3u-owysjB7iRfPsxihB/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.59.12+PM.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGsP-6j7xtU5_e95JYihLA3sSZnnTh0BoikdLtgSL9ZUOdBdF4Gq7Pv_aVpl7vDfRtYlBLV-LHD2PEYJe5sRDpFmdABlCfMBjq_RNL-4w7DprE5SEeZnkHLDKt3u-owysjB7iRfPsxihB/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-03-06+at+1.59.12+PM.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716907302764036274" /></a>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-84193420962565407332012-03-05T23:24:00.002-08:002012-03-05T23:44:04.797-08:00Alpine MentorsIn a recent post I mentioned working with Steve House on a video for his new program, <a href="http://alpinementors.org">Alpine Mentors</a>. This is non-profit program that aims to pair young aspiring alpinists with some of the world's best alpine climbers, who will act as mentors to prepare participants to succeed on some of the biggest alpine climbs in the world. It's a pretty awesome opportunity if you ask me, and I'm excited to see who will ultimately be chosen to participate in the program. I'm excited to say that we've finished our video, which describes the program and Steve's vision, and it is now live on the web. <br /><br />I spent most of February working on this project - be it flying down to Ouray, CO, to film for two weeks, or editing back here in Seattle - I'm really psyched on how the final video turned out. Check it out below:<div><br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/37886641" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" mozallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-79553258016918126062012-02-26T19:38:00.004-08:002012-02-26T19:47:32.282-08:00A Summit PostI was putting together some panoramas from last fall's road trip and found this one taken from the top of the North Six Shooter in Indian Creek. It's hard to explain how beautiful life is from up there, but maybe this photo will give you an idea. Click the photo to see the big version. Enjoy.<div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYgGcJUchKbGlAbd99BLAW2Tn5hTgkBpNkHVkNY5mk9JSN323c8WfSCfvyDn1-XaGbaEtiV9ugPyuUajfHh-QsSMr9Grhzh5F0TIx-zJ59v6_TdF3yjwrlw7e5aeq89HzRYiF3Reu9s6G/s1600/N6SummitPano_bluescale8mb+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 75px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggYgGcJUchKbGlAbd99BLAW2Tn5hTgkBpNkHVkNY5mk9JSN323c8WfSCfvyDn1-XaGbaEtiV9ugPyuUajfHh-QsSMr9Grhzh5F0TIx-zJ59v6_TdF3yjwrlw7e5aeq89HzRYiF3Reu9s6G/s400/N6SummitPano_bluescale8mb+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713655725595363090" /></a></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-12866188001692996332012-02-18T20:59:00.001-08:002012-02-18T23:00:00.012-08:00Update -- Big Things AfootI realized it's been awhile since I posted about what's going on in my life, and seeing as blogs are ultimately meant to <strike>feed your ego by pretending your life is more important and interesting than it really is </strike> share your life with others, I figured I'd go ahead and let any of you who actually read this know what I've been up to lately.<br /><br />The short story is that life is unbelievably awesome right now and I can't believe how lucky I am.<br /><br />The long story goes a little something like this:<br /><br />Since early January I have been back in Seattle working as an intern with Fitz Cahall and his company, <a href="http://www.ducttapethenbeer.com/">Duct Tape Then Beer</a>. Fitz is the creator of the highly successful <a href="http://dirtbagdiaries.com/">Dirtbag Diaries</a>, as well as a host of other awesome outdoor/adventure media projects including <a href="http://www.theseasontv.com/">The Season</a>, <a href="https://vimeo.com/22356025">The Love Letter</a>, <a href="http://adventure.nationalgeographic.com/adventure/fringe-elements/home/">Fringe Elements</a>, <a href="http://video.patagonia.com/pages/tracing-the-edge">Tracing the Edge</a>, <a href="http://www.outdoorresearch.com/en/video/classics">The Classics</a>, etc. He has also been something of a hero of mine ever since I first started listening to The Dirtbag Diaries a couple of years back, and I still can't believe that I somehow finagled my way into working with him and his amazing wife, Becca. <br /><br />Now, internships usually involve doing a lot of boring and menial tasks for people who consider you less important than their morning coffee, and I was recently asked by climber/writer <a href="http://blakeclimbs.blogspot.com/">Blake Herrington</a> how my experience has compared to that of Kramer's intern in <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=icDXNHF-oEw&feature=related">a legendary Seinfeld episode</a>. If you haven't watched that episode, it is absolutely classic, but fortunately my experience with Fitz has been unequivocally awesome so far. I've had the opportunity to help film for some upcoming video projects, wrote <a href="http://www.outdoorresearchverticulture.com/2012/02/the-classics-alpine-climbing-bugaboos/">a series of articles</a> on Outdoor Research's Verticulture website for the recent video series <a href="http://www.outdoorresearch.com/en/video/classics">The Classics</a>, and am currently editing a video about disabled climber Craig DeMartino for submission to film festivals, as well as writing and producing an upcoming episode of The Dirtbag Diaries. I've learned a ton about everything from filming with DSLR cameras on the side of a cliff, to setting up audio correctly for video interviews, to the inner workings of the Outdoor Industry's media ventures. And I'm even getting paid for some of it :)<br /><br />The other recent big news in my life has been the unexpected success/popularity of my video, <a href="https://vimeo.com/34482694">A Desert Life</a>. This was the first real video/film I had ever made, and I honestly created it to do nothing more than practice my nascent editing skills and share with a couple of friends. I had NO idea that it would receive 40,000+ views on Vimeo, be featured on the websites of the Discovery Channel and Outside Magazine, or generate dozens of emails from random strangers thanking me for making the film. I even had the chance to do <a href="http://www.alpinist.com/tcl/email/12JAN1/HighCamp_main.html">an interview</a> with <a href="http://www.alpinist.com/">Alpinist Magazine</a> about the piece, and have begun the process of submitting it to a number of mountain/adventure film festivals. It's been a thoroughly enjoyable, if somewhat crazy, experience, and has me psyched to make a lot more videos and films going forward.<br /><br />Speaking of new videos, I just returned from an amazing two weeks of filming down in Ouray, Colorado. I was working with my good friend <a href="http://mvbphoto.com/">Matt Van Biene</a>, a photographer and fellow Washingtonian who I had originally met in Indian Creek last fall. Through some of Matt's hard work, we had the opportunity to make a video for <a href="http://www.alpinementors.org/">Alpine Mentors</a>, an awesome new program created by elite alpinist <a href="http://www.stevehouse.net/Site/Home.html">Steve House</a>, as well as another video for <a href="http://www.skywardmountaineering.com/">Skyward Mountaineering</a>, the guide company run by Steve and his friend and fellow badass, Vince Anderson. I have been a huge fan of both of these guys for a while, and the opportunity to work closely with them was a wild experience. Despite their "hardman" personas, they're super nice and friendly people who know how to have a lot of fun out in the mountains. We spent a lot of days hanging on fixed lines while these guys crushed it, and I think we got some pretty sick footage. We also did a ton of filming for another video about ice climbing culture in and around Ouray, which will either come out very soon or at the beginning of next ice season. Here are some stills from some of our footage:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhflquqNPK2tXX7YQUC3wN4pShZ8e42ihXtD6DpTq7_IYHWVwSIixGqfYcStMVI_EYGw06O8-qO1imNmrtv7HpBPAt64YDieFh1L_spDBcGgb_00E0AqX7i1YzAV2F1FryrqdLmZ2u4A-nT/s1600/Vince_Sreenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhflquqNPK2tXX7YQUC3wN4pShZ8e42ihXtD6DpTq7_IYHWVwSIixGqfYcStMVI_EYGw06O8-qO1imNmrtv7HpBPAt64YDieFh1L_spDBcGgb_00E0AqX7i1YzAV2F1FryrqdLmZ2u4A-nT/s400/Vince_Sreenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710727647386979874" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQY-0BdbKQRkewmdVx4E7bztswH72IHShvwSZsvewxRAaog6KUtYciQqp_TVmdd-vOv7ImqvphjxrrpW2tNRPc_TsaNBD8oI-gUhWP9wqFtw8vVBxvZUy1Y4u0kVgLkvnLMh1THH-z0IFB/s1600/KillerPillar_Screenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQY-0BdbKQRkewmdVx4E7bztswH72IHShvwSZsvewxRAaog6KUtYciQqp_TVmdd-vOv7ImqvphjxrrpW2tNRPc_TsaNBD8oI-gUhWP9wqFtw8vVBxvZUy1Y4u0kVgLkvnLMh1THH-z0IFB/s400/KillerPillar_Screenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710727663982133778" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVgxALHYwsoJXFHbjlEBM4i684QJHMmj_jA9Vcty33SevD34Lw9LP0HeLmuN9pSu_8B_VU1quB-eaFsR-G-tCYqo6ngJLXSkoTt_F7ImH-vEKIP87KtI4UY9ABu6m04nTdC8q76jSjurc/s1600/VinceKiller_Screenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVgxALHYwsoJXFHbjlEBM4i684QJHMmj_jA9Vcty33SevD34Lw9LP0HeLmuN9pSu_8B_VU1quB-eaFsR-G-tCYqo6ngJLXSkoTt_F7ImH-vEKIP87KtI4UY9ABu6m04nTdC8q76jSjurc/s400/VinceKiller_Screenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710727674364177090" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBJA2uRkHDNcsx0FfHq8Upwa1qyE3VzH8QTN2q4tTM9ec3bVYKaUiWn_WX9Gx67aJPpF4KrXVFHZ5cAStVFf194TGQtQ8tgfYr821NCzIYzFqha-ErNH1Pk1fGAZUeYiwUpHxyXy8YGu7/s1600/Eyes_Screenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNBJA2uRkHDNcsx0FfHq8Upwa1qyE3VzH8QTN2q4tTM9ec3bVYKaUiWn_WX9Gx67aJPpF4KrXVFHZ5cAStVFf194TGQtQ8tgfYr821NCzIYzFqha-ErNH1Pk1fGAZUeYiwUpHxyXy8YGu7/s400/Eyes_Screenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710727693913070978" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl66fH4F1_5XI_gSv991cFzf1Gotf5_TzcBt17WPwZ_NYvPsN8GWvITW0wxSFJfi8U7qhsrwIubY_NUjxjZwaqOcw6vT1ZLBaL7kWApw24EQaDUsqLvnv7q_TZGecyBeG0MlqKSx7YA7zf/s1600/SteveChoss-Screenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl66fH4F1_5XI_gSv991cFzf1Gotf5_TzcBt17WPwZ_NYvPsN8GWvITW0wxSFJfi8U7qhsrwIubY_NUjxjZwaqOcw6vT1ZLBaL7kWApw24EQaDUsqLvnv7q_TZGecyBeG0MlqKSx7YA7zf/s400/SteveChoss-Screenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710728859342382498" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwhfGyt_a0Dy7sTNO9hDdfZGBSZfmdk1PDg5WgnVQXBnkbk4QTa7xEnNhz3xPp9Og9vRCljIK__w0IvKt9MMKEemxc0WnEEJiBiofRgiGF4_RgAAopgk6lEDu_xyt0Z-bz0h14Uz4PGHW9/s1600/SteveIntv_Screenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwhfGyt_a0Dy7sTNO9hDdfZGBSZfmdk1PDg5WgnVQXBnkbk4QTa7xEnNhz3xPp9Og9vRCljIK__w0IvKt9MMKEemxc0WnEEJiBiofRgiGF4_RgAAopgk6lEDu_xyt0Z-bz0h14Uz4PGHW9/s400/SteveIntv_Screenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710728875544540914" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pFP1bedhHaHnvdz8heDac30LpvRnKnkhUwvWkftA1VnEftaDy0ZNVDpHg1E9fqODD2Kxv1Mi6jwlmUZDzrAkoYB-SRc1QCHbF5-sHhJfXvO0XEHOCFy10hQDlJpAAgnT2JxDGdPmddNr/s1600/Siren_Screenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4pFP1bedhHaHnvdz8heDac30LpvRnKnkhUwvWkftA1VnEftaDy0ZNVDpHg1E9fqODD2Kxv1Mi6jwlmUZDzrAkoYB-SRc1QCHbF5-sHhJfXvO0XEHOCFy10hQDlJpAAgnT2JxDGdPmddNr/s400/Siren_Screenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710728839841885346" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AvykaljjidMqIDwr7XXQh5KYn-fXzq2_vJq9h3boG09EpGpYdh_ZZRhEh7OfmFiPFi4stA6fqGFB6gdR3Qg_R7XNIDJ3JsoSAgkh-k9ec9Nue4dHypEZniMlI3WWd5mIKQXLVIUB1iQE/s1600/Screws_Screenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AvykaljjidMqIDwr7XXQh5KYn-fXzq2_vJq9h3boG09EpGpYdh_ZZRhEh7OfmFiPFi4stA6fqGFB6gdR3Qg_R7XNIDJ3JsoSAgkh-k9ec9Nue4dHypEZniMlI3WWd5mIKQXLVIUB1iQE/s400/Screws_Screenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710728820474397586" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZsSfqRgVITlFSq55OtRnQ8b18zrx8s1CY4CzKvOdVlsNcXkNN_5nbpckA0ipv2dlD-YrCa40sWD3Q0wsuBodu5yD3vXDsV_aOkyHtiyuf-oc85Acwe5hQwZqU1IN6s-o-q3-Uv5eZFnL/s1600/Chocolate_Screenshot.png" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 220px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibZsSfqRgVITlFSq55OtRnQ8b18zrx8s1CY4CzKvOdVlsNcXkNN_5nbpckA0ipv2dlD-YrCa40sWD3Q0wsuBodu5yD3vXDsV_aOkyHtiyuf-oc85Acwe5hQwZqU1IN6s-o-q3-Uv5eZFnL/s400/Chocolate_Screenshot.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5710728806850416786" /></a><br /><br />Right now I'm hard on the edit train here in rainy Seattle, and I'm actually pretty psyched to make these videos come together. It's always fun to go out and shoot the footage, but I really love the editing process and making a vision become a reality. <br /><br />Not only have the past six weeks been unbelievable, but the future is gleaming bright as well. I can't share any specifics right now, but there are a handful of video projects I might get to work on over the next four months that could take me from rural British Columbia, back down to the desert southwest, and back again up to the Cascades here in Washington. <div><br /></div><div>And of course, I've already begun planning what I hope will be another 3-4 month climbing road trip for late summer/fall. After ticking off some classics and maybe even some FAs in the Cascades this summer, I'm hoping to hit the Bugaboos, the Rockies, the High Sierra, Tuolumne/Yosemite, and the incredible sandstone of the Desert Southwest. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you read this far, thank you for reading and for your support. I hope all is well in your world, wherever you are.</div><div><br /></div><div>Livin life and lovin it,</div><div>Austin<br /><br /><br /></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-62419758008391900122012-01-19T12:43:00.000-08:002012-01-20T14:39:58.106-08:00StoriesStorytelling is hard. Sure, we all do it, while we're eating a meal with good friends, nursing drinks in a dim bar, or sitting around a campfire under a blanket of stars. But doing it well? Well, that is an artform - the art of plucking just the right scraps of information and experience from the roiling maelstrom of life and stitching them together into a narrative that flows. We've all heard amazing stories. And we've all suffered through more than a few bad ones. But we love them nonetheless. When told right, stories have an almost magic quality to them. <br /><br />But storytelling can also house hidden dangers. By filtering the information that you include in a story, you inherently simplify the entire experience that you are trying to describe. Inevitably you leave something out. Now, this isn't necessarily a bad thing in and of itself, but the problem is that we almost always leave the same things out, and we keep the same things in. Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that life and the world around us are complex systems of non-linear actions and reactions, we're often stuck trying to explain them using the same few storylines: good vs. evil, the quest, rags to riches, voyage and return, tragedy, comedy, rebirth. Sure there's some variation, but the result is that we keep telling ourselves the same stories over and over again. <br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><br />Tyler Cowen explains all of this extremely well in this TED talk about the dangers of stories: <a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/tyler_cowen_be_suspicious_of_stories.html">http://www.ted.com/talks/tyler_cowen_be_suspicious_of_stories.html</a><br /><br />Now, the rest of this post will make a lot more sense if you watch the video above, but I've been thinking a lot recently about what Cowen speaks about in his talk. This idea that the stories we tell ourselves can limit our conception of the world and what we ultimately experience in life. <br /><br />It started a couple of weeks ago when I was working on <a href="http://vimeo.com/34482694">A Desert Life</a>, trying to create a narrative that would work for that video. Though I was happy with the final product, I was painfully aware of how much the film left out. I didn't like that one might watch the video and think that Alf's life is all sunshines and rainbows, splitters and sun-kissed sage. It seems that he's deeply depressed at times when he's out there by himself in the desert. There are a lot of cold and lonely nights when you spend an entire winter in Indian Creek in a crappy old camper. He thinks a lot about whether he wasted his life by just climbing from place to place instead of establishing a career or a family. All of this goes unseen in the film, and I was unhappy that I couldn't figure out a good way to convey this great conflict going on inside of him. Ultimately I chose to just simplify the narrative. And it worked: 30,000 people from all over the world have watched the film online. <br /><br />And then I read <a href="http://jamesclucas.blogspot.com/2011/11/living-dream.html">this post</a> on James Lucas' blog. I thought it was really good, like most of James' writing, and incredibly timely given my thoughts about the Alf video. James does an incredible and necessary job of revealing a simple truth: life can be ugly and messy, especially when you're living the dream. <br /><br />Shortly after releasing A Desert Life I did a short interview with Alpinist Magazine, in which one of the questions was "Why do you think people are so fascinated with this idea of the dirtbag lifestyle?" I gave a wide range of answers, none of which seemed quite right at the time. Later, I realized that much of it has to do with this incomplete narrative that most of us place on the idea of "the dirtbag." In magazines and stories, and even in my own work, we see only beautiful days without worry or responsibility. You never see the sad, rainy days filled with fears of wasting one's life. A lot of viewers are duped into a deceptive narrative, seeing in the dirtbag lifestyle a possible escape from the humdrum banality of their daily lives. This not only fails to capture the complete reality of dirtbag life, it belittles the wonder and joy of "normal life." <br /><br />But this goes way beyond dirtbags and normal life. It has me thinking about how climbers in general, regardless of their cleanliness, impose narratives on their climbing and its role in their lives. For most climbers I don't think climbing is merely the act of a couple people going out, holding onto the small edges of a rock face, and moving from the ground to the top of the cliff. <br /><br />No, if most climbing stories, discussions at my local gym, and videos online these days are good indicators, climbing in our minds is more often the legend of a lone warrior (the climber) venturing forth into the wilderness (a road cut near their house) to vanquish the fiery dragon of lore (their project) and save the damsel in distress (their increasingly fragile ego). <div><br /></div><div>Or it is Rocky Balboa (the climber) getting beat down in the ring (their project) then training his ass off (going to the climbing gym two nights a week) to eventually come away with the knockout (sending the proj). </div><div><br /></div><div>Or it is an Arctic explorer (the trad/alpine climber) going forth into the unknown (a traderoute) on a voyage of exploration and discovery (bolted belays - all of them) where they suffer incredible hardships (I forgot the topo!!! Noooooo!) but ultimately push through against all odds to return victorious to civilization with newfound insight (Dude, we are sooooo badass!). <br /><br />We see these narratives all the time not necessarily because they're true, but because they work. We love to see inspiring stories of climbers engaged in epic battles or horrendous suffering, barely pulling through or making it out alive. Perhaps the only thing we love more is to imagine that we ourselves are the ones performing unearthly feats, even if all we're really doing is climbing a route at the local crag that a team of eight year-olds just hiked for their warmup. <br /><br />While I would not doubt if Fred Beckey actually <i>has</i> slain great beasts using a piton for a sword and his rope for a whip, are these narratives accurate for the rest of us? Is climbing really a grand voyage of self-discovery? A life-affirming battle against some great force that is trying to beat me down? Maybe. But maybe not. By placing my own experience into one of of these preexisting story lines, how much do I limit my conception of what the climbing experience is for me? How often do these narratives really tell the <i>whole</i> story (<i>hmmm, but don't narratives inherently leave information out? Can they ever tell the </i>whole<i> story?...uh oh...circular...thinking...paralyzing...brain...</i>). <br /><br />My own belief is that it keeps us repeating the same tired, unoriginal storylines that truly limit our appreciation of what climbing is, who we are as climbers, what climbing is for you (<i>hint: probably not what it is for me</i>) and how to understand one's path as a climber (<i>fuck...the narrative of the path, the journey...even I can't get away from these damn metaphors!</i>).<br /><br />And so I'm left wondering how to move forward. How can I, as someone who would like to make a living from telling stories, avoid limiting both myself and my audience? Especially when inspiring stories, and those that we climbers love to see, often leave out so much? So much of the unglamorous hardship? So much of the mess? Should I just get rid of the filter? Include all the details, good and bad? Perhaps, but it's tough though (<i>woah, did you realize that tough and though are spelled almost identically but sound completely different? English is weird. I bet storytelling is easier in other languages</i>).<br /><br />I have my own thoughts on what makes for a good climbing story, but I'll save those for another post. The truth is that we need narrative in our lives. We literally would not be able to make sense of the world around us if we couldn't filter our perceptions of it. We wouldn't be able to tell each other anything if we had to include every detail. Instead of seeing everything we would see nothing. <br /><br />I certainly don't think we should stop telling stories. They are part of who we are as humans, how we think, and how we perceive reality. They make us laugh, inspire us, and give us hope. The challenge is to avoid cliche, one-sided narratives that keep telling the same story over and over again.<br /><br />Normally I'd like to finish a post like this with some sort of grand lesson or moral, some clever quip that encapsulates all of my thoughts above. But I don't have one. I still haven't figured this all out for myself. I haven't ventured forth to vanquish some fiery dragon. I haven't walked away victorious with some crowning new insight to celebrate. <br /><br />I guess that means this wouldn't make for a very good story.</div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-37052434304994321892012-01-02T16:12:00.000-08:002012-01-02T16:45:28.261-08:00A Desert LifeAlf Randell is a self-described "dirtbag" who has spent nearly a decade of his life climbing amongst the soaring sandstone cliffs of Indian Creek, Utah. In November I spent some time climbing with Alf and documented his life in "The Creek," his love of tall splitter cracks, and his decision to shun city life in favor of a small camper in the middle of the Utah desert.<br /><br />For me, there is perhaps nothing more inspiring than to see others truly <i>live</i> their passions - to refuse the normal life-script and to make whatever sacrifices necessary to be able to do what they love as much as possible. They show us that another way <i>is</i> possible, that you <i>can</i> choose the life you live, and that money comes second to experience, not the other way around. <br /><br />This is one of the first "longer" videos that I have made and it was quite the learning process for me. From getting all of the shots out in the field, to spending more hours editing in front of a computer than I want to admit, it was definitely more work than I expected! I had a ton of fun putting this story together and I'm really happy with how it came out. Enjoy.<br /><br /><object width="500" height="283"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=34482694&server=vimeo.com&show_title=0&show_byline=0&show_portrait=0&color=00adef&fullscreen=1&autoplay=0&loop=0"><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=34482694&server=vimeo.com&show_title=0&show_byline=0&show_portrait=0&color=00adef&fullscreen=1&autoplay=0&loop=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="500" height="283"></embed></object>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-23782411984515731192011-12-26T23:35:00.000-08:002011-12-27T12:08:22.732-08:00The Measuring TapeI am slowly emerging from the cookie coma that I've been in for the last four days. Slowly. Like a sloth. But there is daylight ahead and I'm psyched to get back out and start training again. 2012 is gonna be a big year and I want to be ready for it.<br /><br />In the few days that I've been home I've put a lot of thought into my time on the road. What did I gain? What did I lose? What did I learn? What did I teach? Could I have done more? Should I have done less? <br /><br />How do you measure four months of experience? Can you? I'm still not quite sure, but here are a few ways I might:<br /><br />15,327 miles<br />119 days<br />2500 dollars spent<br />334 pitches of climbing<br />1 retreat<br />22 good friends made<br />8 COLD nights<br />6 states<br />1 flat tire<br />115 nights in my sleeping bag<br />18 postcards<br />1 crazy night in Vegas<br />2 dead rabbits<br />1 broken camera lens<br />2 awesome meals at the Lee Vining Mobil<br />3 Cormac McCarthy novels<br />1 run-in with Johnny Law<br />5 loads of laundry<br />3 cams, 4 stoppers, and 3 biners found in Yosemite<br />1 dropped ascender<br />5 consecutive weeks without a shower<br />3 weeks without changing any of my clothes<br />1 night on a wall<br />2 of the scariest moves I've ever had to make<br />17 summits (cumbre!!!)<br />1 desert tower<br />6 Its-Its<br />7 cans of Cobra<br />1 absolutely insane shooting star<br />97 degree high<br />4 degree low<br />2 Milt's milkshakes<br />2 ropes acquired<br />1 attempted car break-in (we were doing the attempting)<br />6 days in Smith Rock State Park<br />3 days in Pine Creek, CA<br />26 days in Tuolumne Meadows<br />27 days in Yosemite Valley<br />14 days in Moab, UT<br />32 days in Indian Creek<br />4 days in Canyonlands National Park<br />4 days in Joshua Tree National Park<br />Too many hours behind the wheel<br />2432 photos<br />137GB of video<br />2 European assholes<br />15+ awesome Euros to remind me to look past stereotypes<br />1 fantastic bunch of Kiwis<br />157 miles hiked<br />1 wild drunken midnight offwidth bouldering session<br />1 blood red lunar eclipse<br />3 sketchy Star Drives<br />5 rolls of tape<br />Thousands of hand jams<br />More amazing sunsets than I can remember<br />1 life affirming experience I'll never forgetAustin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-14347313157989199242011-12-20T07:58:00.000-08:002011-12-20T11:43:53.685-08:00West Coastin'OK, a long time since I've posted, but I've been busy!<br /><br />To wrap up the last month: the good weather in Indian Creek inexplicably continued well into December and I was climbing in a T-Shirt in the sun even on my last day there. I feel like I progressed a lot as a climber during my time in the desert and I remain convinced that Southern Utah is one of my favorite places on Earth.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuvw0fn_zrpLtugNqyxPYN4lU4R3kCTNIDoX2hpGYFJsH4jdydabZNAsJo7jvoSE6deAe7TBRNlqOahtfWQOXMI2UynDNkYJLK6bpX58jh_4ddQxVbvJQ1MIHJvEfjLry2dD0Y10Ktv7l1/s1600/Fin_Sunset_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuvw0fn_zrpLtugNqyxPYN4lU4R3kCTNIDoX2hpGYFJsH4jdydabZNAsJo7jvoSE6deAe7TBRNlqOahtfWQOXMI2UynDNkYJLK6bpX58jh_4ddQxVbvJQ1MIHJvEfjLry2dD0Y10Ktv7l1/s400/Fin_Sunset_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688294228341186690" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuvw0fn_zrpLtugNqyxPYN4lU4R3kCTNIDoX2hpGYFJsH4jdydabZNAsJo7jvoSE6deAe7TBRNlqOahtfWQOXMI2UynDNkYJLK6bpX58jh_4ddQxVbvJQ1MIHJvEfjLry2dD0Y10Ktv7l1/s1600/Fin_Sunset_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuvw0fn_zrpLtugNqyxPYN4lU4R3kCTNIDoX2hpGYFJsH4jdydabZNAsJo7jvoSE6deAe7TBRNlqOahtfWQOXMI2UynDNkYJLK6bpX58jh_4ddQxVbvJQ1MIHJvEfjLry2dD0Y10Ktv7l1/s1600/Fin_Sunset_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Splitters forever</span></a></div><br />That said, a cold front blew in for a few days while my brother was visiting me in the desert, and while everyone else in the Creek bailed for warmer climes we sacked up and went for a 4-day hike in Canyonlands. Despite the cold (it never got above 35) we had an amazing time exploring the twisting slot canyons of the Needles area. I'd be lying if I said that we were totally comfortable the whole time (the cold at night pretty much necessitated that we cuddle up against each other for warmth) but that was kind of the point - sometimes you need to seek out discomfort in order to better enjoy the privileges of your daily life. By the time we finished it was a true pleasure to simply stand indoors.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7EHp8MSJ0EtgW3GAtk_Im2eMFNLucehFL8rNQbgVlnSfvZ1VCz5I1_ERAGMORyx-iJCLJrjKvcK6t8DY3_5sh_0oIqTUITKh-hqHzn2Kvw63b5JNlZzezAZgGEYVaSXAxijvsqJJTSwk/s1600/Needles_Snow_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7EHp8MSJ0EtgW3GAtk_Im2eMFNLucehFL8rNQbgVlnSfvZ1VCz5I1_ERAGMORyx-iJCLJrjKvcK6t8DY3_5sh_0oIqTUITKh-hqHzn2Kvw63b5JNlZzezAZgGEYVaSXAxijvsqJJTSwk/s400/Needles_Snow_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688294218747212786" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7EHp8MSJ0EtgW3GAtk_Im2eMFNLucehFL8rNQbgVlnSfvZ1VCz5I1_ERAGMORyx-iJCLJrjKvcK6t8DY3_5sh_0oIqTUITKh-hqHzn2Kvw63b5JNlZzezAZgGEYVaSXAxijvsqJJTSwk/s1600/Needles_Snow_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn7EHp8MSJ0EtgW3GAtk_Im2eMFNLucehFL8rNQbgVlnSfvZ1VCz5I1_ERAGMORyx-iJCLJrjKvcK6t8DY3_5sh_0oIqTUITKh-hqHzn2Kvw63b5JNlZzezAZgGEYVaSXAxijvsqJJTSwk/s1600/Needles_Snow_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">A cold day in the Needles</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictX1h-zRYkw5xcyycun6L81-aZ98ust2QGrXJY1Xq4UMQihH46mqmR2340EaAEUh8ieXa-SvOixlLZvH0kNHNWj2Hu71UR6Wwl2u-Cxsy0gVWx-LR1n4gNO24CIiCybFDj23jS4De9DQ7/s1600/Ian_Slot_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictX1h-zRYkw5xcyycun6L81-aZ98ust2QGrXJY1Xq4UMQihH46mqmR2340EaAEUh8ieXa-SvOixlLZvH0kNHNWj2Hu71UR6Wwl2u-Cxsy0gVWx-LR1n4gNO24CIiCybFDj23jS4De9DQ7/s400/Ian_Slot_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688293580753064994" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictX1h-zRYkw5xcyycun6L81-aZ98ust2QGrXJY1Xq4UMQihH46mqmR2340EaAEUh8ieXa-SvOixlLZvH0kNHNWj2Hu71UR6Wwl2u-Cxsy0gVWx-LR1n4gNO24CIiCybFDj23jS4De9DQ7/s1600/Ian_Slot_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictX1h-zRYkw5xcyycun6L81-aZ98ust2QGrXJY1Xq4UMQihH46mqmR2340EaAEUh8ieXa-SvOixlLZvH0kNHNWj2Hu71UR6Wwl2u-Cxsy0gVWx-LR1n4gNO24CIiCybFDj23jS4De9DQ7/s1600/Ian_Slot_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Ian wondering how we're going to get out</span></a></div><br />I spent a few more days in the Creek after my brother left, but my body kept telling me that it was time to leave. I couldn't seem to recover after climbing and my psyche was getting lower each day. So I packed up and made the long drive to join some friends in Joshua Tree National Park in Southern California.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br /><br />The place is literally a climbing paradise. There might not be massive walls or huge routes, but there is rock everywhere! Awesome boulder problems sit right next to the campsites and you can solo for hours without walking more than a couple hundred yards from camp. Plus the landscape looks like it came straight out of a Dr. Seuss book: blocky boulders of all shapes and sizes stand piled in perilous stacks above sandy valleys covered with sage, creosote, cacti, yucca, and of course, the iconic Joshua Tree. Thrusting up through the desert sands these trees stand by the thousands in this part of the country, their shaggy brown trunks leading up to balls of lime green spines that spread like tentacles in every direction. Knowing that I was nearing the end of my road trip I focused simply on having fun while I was in Joshua Tree, and my friends and I ran around the desert climbing like little kids in a playground. Each night brought big campfires, raucous sing-a-longs, and delicious meals, and we even hit the hot springs for a day of rest and relaxation. It was a tough place to say goodbye to.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8cSh9Wm_R9it_VIwFx8UtOmEwSwcQvaUH6Ymjae8WOhgsKsQOVkR1WMYzYj2YrsxJGEIsPV5Sv3ZhxsXn8DZfzq2CXwbhnQkggC5xHleUzaQriG9YRKBm9SsmgDx1y8vbxT5wAgjHovM/s1600/Derek_Bobs_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 295px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8cSh9Wm_R9it_VIwFx8UtOmEwSwcQvaUH6Ymjae8WOhgsKsQOVkR1WMYzYj2YrsxJGEIsPV5Sv3ZhxsXn8DZfzq2CXwbhnQkggC5xHleUzaQriG9YRKBm9SsmgDx1y8vbxT5wAgjHovM/s400/Derek_Bobs_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688293569301539186" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8cSh9Wm_R9it_VIwFx8UtOmEwSwcQvaUH6Ymjae8WOhgsKsQOVkR1WMYzYj2YrsxJGEIsPV5Sv3ZhxsXn8DZfzq2CXwbhnQkggC5xHleUzaQriG9YRKBm9SsmgDx1y8vbxT5wAgjHovM/s1600/Derek_Bobs_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8cSh9Wm_R9it_VIwFx8UtOmEwSwcQvaUH6Ymjae8WOhgsKsQOVkR1WMYzYj2YrsxJGEIsPV5Sv3ZhxsXn8DZfzq2CXwbhnQkggC5xHleUzaQriG9YRKBm9SsmgDx1y8vbxT5wAgjHovM/s1600/Derek_Bobs_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Derek searching for jams on Big Bob's Big Wedge (V5)</span></a></div><br />Leaving the Mojave behind I reluctantly began the long drive up the West Coast back to Seattle. My first stop was in San Jose to hang out and climb with my good friends Keith and Luke. Despite the fact that I hadn't done any sport climbing in four months (or perhaps because of it???) they dragged me out for a weekend of climbing at the Jailhouse, a crazy steep wall of orange and grey basalt in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. I thought the name of the crag was appropriate as my climbing was on lockdown the entire weekend. The easiest climb at the Jailhouse is 5.11d, so I spent the weekend relearning how to crimp, side-pull and knee-bar on the "warm-ups."<br /><br />Still, I had a blast and it was amazing to be climbing shirtless in mid-December in a beautiful location. I was also fortunate enough to witness my buddy Keith send his first 5.14 - sick!!! It's official ladies and gentlemen, Keith Share is a Silent Crusher. The man can barely walk on flat ground without tripping over his own shoes, but get him in the vertical world and he dispatches hard lines like a coke fiend set loose in a Colombian drug mill.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAqtj6HcA8UPmgq6vxoLyyV5HZWYhschCgVJUgM01Ugl0HzHx8ssxhTXhFKY6AJPbdRAz_suOob_HNDi25PcP871anRkaCHM2PQtSG49F_ijhgI2yPISgRnyhg7kFZiBsW8FzSD8HVYnC/s1600/Keith_Juice_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAqtj6HcA8UPmgq6vxoLyyV5HZWYhschCgVJUgM01Ugl0HzHx8ssxhTXhFKY6AJPbdRAz_suOob_HNDi25PcP871anRkaCHM2PQtSG49F_ijhgI2yPISgRnyhg7kFZiBsW8FzSD8HVYnC/s400/Keith_Juice_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688293567958026786" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAqtj6HcA8UPmgq6vxoLyyV5HZWYhschCgVJUgM01Ugl0HzHx8ssxhTXhFKY6AJPbdRAz_suOob_HNDi25PcP871anRkaCHM2PQtSG49F_ijhgI2yPISgRnyhg7kFZiBsW8FzSD8HVYnC/s1600/Keith_Juice_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAqtj6HcA8UPmgq6vxoLyyV5HZWYhschCgVJUgM01Ugl0HzHx8ssxhTXhFKY6AJPbdRAz_suOob_HNDi25PcP871anRkaCHM2PQtSG49F_ijhgI2yPISgRnyhg7kFZiBsW8FzSD8HVYnC/s1600/Keith_Juice_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Keith pulling hard on Juice (5.14a)</span></a></div><br />Now I'm in San Francisco for a day before finishing up my road trip with a few days of solo hiking in Central Oregon. I can't believe this trip is almost over. What has become a way of life is going to have to change and I'm not sure how the transition is going to be. I have a lot to process, tons of photos to edit, and over 100GB of raw video files to filter through. Oh, and a lot of Christmas cookies to eat.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWe8nIMP7yO5geeakNyt0pzGvx44rso7532urESUEUoPJJBUVbLcDYfJqojDGeuMxxQDiClEwBUsh8p6mp2-OFTX-l2ibmZbB043jfPVxDdqk0qAj9ZOrmYUyNFo3ZQzkSX-8sX9hl4f0Y/s1600/Francisco_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWe8nIMP7yO5geeakNyt0pzGvx44rso7532urESUEUoPJJBUVbLcDYfJqojDGeuMxxQDiClEwBUsh8p6mp2-OFTX-l2ibmZbB043jfPVxDdqk0qAj9ZOrmYUyNFo3ZQzkSX-8sX9hl4f0Y/s400/Francisco_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688293558636565794" /></a><br /><br />Happy holidays everyone.Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-13151935931098636892011-11-19T15:21:00.000-08:002011-11-19T19:27:36.908-08:00Good Days, Bad DaysThis morning I woke up excited. Peering out of my sleeping bag and through the rear window of my van I saw the North Sixshooter lit by a golden beam of sunrise, rearing out of the dark desert toward ashen clouds above. Two days ago I stood on its summit, laughing incredulously at the beauty of a magnificent sunset seen from atop an island in the sky. I was glad I hadn't planned to go up there today. The growing storm clouds hinted at foul weather to come. <div><br />No, I was excited because today is a rest day. A well-earned one at that. The last two weeks have been full of fantastic climbing in Indian Creek, truly one of my favorite places to climb. I swear I'll never tire of driving past these sandstone cliffs at sunset, watching the stone turn from orange to maroon to chocolate while the blue sky above burns away in a fiery explosion of reds, pinks and golds. I've climbed some hard cracks, gotten spanked on some easy ones, and loved nearly every minute of it. These have been good, good days.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZb6WE7VkHgNZF2Sjy7pLfBq9y2_YX3OB7x2yIiA1p5rOSPD00ltI4r_HPbbLkb1ZtftEm6qbHm2S4-54jhL-R_oTH-EsXsphCe3vFVXh9YaTORfdvlyQkxYpqkW8iyT_6yhbSbbtCgd2m/s1600/Indian+Creek+Sunset+%2528blog%2529+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZb6WE7VkHgNZF2Sjy7pLfBq9y2_YX3OB7x2yIiA1p5rOSPD00ltI4r_HPbbLkb1ZtftEm6qbHm2S4-54jhL-R_oTH-EsXsphCe3vFVXh9YaTORfdvlyQkxYpqkW8iyT_6yhbSbbtCgd2m/s400/Indian+Creek+Sunset+%2528blog%2529+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676913221991307858" /></a><br /><br />Yet life is a magical balancing act and the good cannot always come without the bad. </div><div><br /></div><div>I logged into my email this afternoon in Moab and learned that a good friend of mine from college died earlier this week. He and I were both in a street-percussion group and we spent many hours banging on trashcans, slapping plastic tubes together, and laughing hysterically at our own terrible jokes. I was pretty crushed to hear the news and still can't quite believe it. I feel terrible not only for his loss but also for his family and others who knew him even better than I did. He was only 25 years old.<br /><br />What makes me feel even worse is that this was the first time I had thought about him in a long time. I've often wondered how he was doing or where he was, but I never took the initiative to look him up and give him a call or send him a letter. Hell, I never thought that I would get an email telling me he was dead. And that's the terrible thing about it. I wish that it could have happened some other way, but my friend's death reminds me of how important it is to let your friends know how much you cherish them each and every time you see them. You never know when you might not have another chance to do so.<br /><br />Walking around Moab after reading that email I called up a couple of friends that I hadn't spoken to in awhile. They were surprised to hear from me, but glad nonetheless. We didn't speak for long, but I made sure to let each of them know that I care about them no matter how long we go between phone calls. If you want a surefire way to put a smile on someone's face, go call a friend you haven't seen in awhile or send them a letter. They'll love it.<br /><br />The relationships that we have with others are truly some of the most important things we will ever have in this world. If you're reading this, even if it's been awhile since you and I have spoken, know that I care about you and wish you the best. If you want to talk, always feel free to give me a call (206-683-1672). I'd love to hear from you. If you send me your address I'll send you a postcard from wherever I am. I promise.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUjh0onOsDzyLDhhMZ2Mvn1YWlVDKG4YqmcvR5wA-d4bYXxocHuUH8KCQYG-Kr_-NqC6uil6_wfzdxK_8hF-SJbm3L-CGY8_aD_lMqPt3ImI1b6n5esope_uGLKYwNLlWaC7aLo4fEMDq/s1600/n1708615_32074091_250.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUjh0onOsDzyLDhhMZ2Mvn1YWlVDKG4YqmcvR5wA-d4bYXxocHuUH8KCQYG-Kr_-NqC6uil6_wfzdxK_8hF-SJbm3L-CGY8_aD_lMqPt3ImI1b6n5esope_uGLKYwNLlWaC7aLo4fEMDq/s400/n1708615_32074091_250.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676913222054521298" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUjh0onOsDzyLDhhMZ2Mvn1YWlVDKG4YqmcvR5wA-d4bYXxocHuUH8KCQYG-Kr_-NqC6uil6_wfzdxK_8hF-SJbm3L-CGY8_aD_lMqPt3ImI1b6n5esope_uGLKYwNLlWaC7aLo4fEMDq/s1600/n1708615_32074091_250.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheUjh0onOsDzyLDhhMZ2Mvn1YWlVDKG4YqmcvR5wA-d4bYXxocHuUH8KCQYG-Kr_-NqC6uil6_wfzdxK_8hF-SJbm3L-CGY8_aD_lMqPt3ImI1b6n5esope_uGLKYwNLlWaC7aLo4fEMDq/s1600/n1708615_32074091_250.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}">RIP Doggle. I miss you man</a></div><br /><br /><br /></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-58002601616487174732011-11-06T10:08:00.000-08:002011-11-06T10:28:19.079-08:00Make It Hurt So GoodSince I'm headed down to Indian Creek for a few weeks I thought I'd post the following little piece that I wrote in March after returning from my first trip to the Creek:<br /><br />I blink against the sharp glare of Jeff’s headlamp as he squeezes into our small tent. His movement kicks up the thick layer of red dust that covers everything inside our meager abode and permeates life here in the desert. A cloud the color of dull copper obscures the air and I hold my breath for a second to ward off the fine powder before quickly realizing the futility and letting it settle dryly into my throat and lungs. <br /><br />Crawling into his sleeping bag, Jeff sits up to stare wearily at his hands. Countless handjams in the splitter sandstone of Indian Creek have left the backs of his palms spotted with large scrapes and gouges - “gobies” as they are endearingly called by climbers. While most Creek veterans might sport a small scrape here or a layer of skin gone there, Jeff’s hands feature wounds the size of small countries. His wrist looks like its been gnawed at by one of the dogs that roam the campground around us, the torn pink flesh and dark red blood gleaming in the beam of my own headlamp. He grimaces silently, slowly curling his fingers into a fist.<br /><br /><a name='more'></a><br />My gaze shifts down to my own hands and all I can do is laugh. I wish they were only as bad as his. A long red wound runs along the back of my right thumb, oozing a thick, clear liquid I’ve never seen before. Two similar gashes mark the back of my left palm, their pus more yellow in color, a sure sign of infection. The front and back of each wrist tell the same story. Adjusting my sleeve for a closer look, a sharp pain in my forearm alerts me to the presence of a large scrape that I haven’t even seen yet. I don’t even attempt to count the numerous smaller cuts and gouges that pepper all ten of my swollen fingers. <br /><br />Peering down, what used to be my ankles might now pass for ground beef. The tendons and ligaments in my legs feel like they’re twisted in some sort of cruel torture position. I’m pretty sure the knots in my back would be visible from space if only I weren’t too sore to lift my shirt above my head. <br /><br />I cast a furtive glance around the tent for the crowbar that Jeff must be beating me with as I sleep. I can’t be this sore from the climbing alone. I see nothing, but as I peer through the dusty light I also catch Jeff’s gaze. We stare at each other for a long moment, our eyes conveying the mutual exhaustion we both feel. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, our dry and cracked lips break into small grins. <br /><br />“Dude, I’m completely wrecked,” he lets out with a small groan.<br /><br />“Yeah,” I reply, my grin growing into a wide smile. “This is awesome.”Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-9786426108402725422011-11-06T09:04:00.000-08:002011-11-06T10:23:30.897-08:00Desert DaysI just finished a ten-day Wilderness First Responder (WFR) course here in Moab, UT and I am glad to say that I passed with flying colors. I actually feel prepared to deal with most any emergency I might face in the backcountry and I can't believe I went so long without getting WFR certified. If you spend a lot of time in a wilderness setting and haven't taken a WFR course you should drop everything and sign up for the next available class. Trust me. Not only will you gain the knowledge to keep you and your partners safe, but you'll feel confident to help anyone in need in the wilderness. Plus most people who take these courses are awesome and I just made a whole new string of great friends stretching from Alaska to Arizona.<br /><br />One quick funny story from the class: Near the end of the course we conducted a night-time emergency scenario in the desert outside Moab. I was a mock patient in the exercise and was supposed to be suffering from an open fracture of my right tibia and fibula (lower leg). The instructors outfitted me with some fake blood and an actual piece of bone attached to my shin, and told me that I was to take a fall when they gave the signal.<br /><br />When it came time to fall I looked around me, saw a promising rock slope leading into a sandy wash, and tumbled down it with a howl of pain. I rolled and rolled and just when I was starting to worry that the slope was much larger than expected I came to a sudden stop. I screamed louder, releasing a stream of expletives as I realized that the sandy wash I had rolled into was in fact a large stand of cacti. I quickly rolled out of the cactus that I was lying on and looked down to see at least 30-40 long thorns sticking out of my left side. Before I could remove any of them my rescue party showed up on the scene and I had to pretend that the pain in my "broken" leg hurt more than the scores of cactus barbs in my body. Awesome. We all knew that we had to keep the scenario as realistic as possible, so even when they asked about the thorns I kept screaming about my leg. In the end it took about 45 minutes before I could take them out and I'm pretty sure that there's still a few lurking in the coat I wore that night.<br /><br />Anyways, now that the class is over I am headed down to Indian Creek, the crack climbing mecca of the world. I'll be down there until the end of November trying to learn the dark arts of finger stacks, ring locks, fist jams and off-widths. It's gonna be an ass-kickin good time.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWSpBd5mH8liwtq3aSU13Ud_iV1QZMGXxGRNTSRYS4lKJcpB5Gd0F23Zw7g6ESd4cMwVptSOn64VjbhbJHI34Qa7QzzzO2Hp5ZABMVgDQYPcft0LjhRydnIoMGDujRWPTuV5pn1qBskQH/s1600/IndianCreek-JayBeyer-261.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 262px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSWSpBd5mH8liwtq3aSU13Ud_iV1QZMGXxGRNTSRYS4lKJcpB5Gd0F23Zw7g6ESd4cMwVptSOn64VjbhbJHI34Qa7QzzzO2Hp5ZABMVgDQYPcft0LjhRydnIoMGDujRWPTuV5pn1qBskQH/s400/IndianCreek-JayBeyer-261.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671948975158173138" /></a>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-34762771168482219202011-10-29T22:43:00.000-07:002011-10-29T23:11:22.099-07:00On The MoveIts a wrap on Yosemite for the season. Now I'm in Southern Utah for the next month or so. More to come soon.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0rW9gFQ3WP_mnYQ8N2r-jTNLsPUzsp5u5C5ibJTRY9Jr5uVTFkiBul-UYP8XuQH5Iiz1BPashJ_t0Wvr7B7cb5wBJZsBTcNxe646lptSqu_PhjTynNG1OVWxkdbOZRdOimf3__iooREr/s1600/Potash_River_Draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0rW9gFQ3WP_mnYQ8N2r-jTNLsPUzsp5u5C5ibJTRY9Jr5uVTFkiBul-UYP8XuQH5Iiz1BPashJ_t0Wvr7B7cb5wBJZsBTcNxe646lptSqu_PhjTynNG1OVWxkdbOZRdOimf3__iooREr/s400/Potash_River_Draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669159287654332594" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil0rW9gFQ3WP_mnYQ8N2r-jTNLsPUzsp5u5C5ibJTRY9Jr5uVTFkiBul-UYP8XuQH5Iiz1BPashJ_t0Wvr7B7cb5wBJZsBTcNxe646lptSqu_PhjTynNG1OVWxkdbOZRdOimf3__iooREr/s1600/Potash_River_Draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Just outside of Moab</span></a></div><div><br /><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCG1iSzWT533hlpZReLcLI8bqREFRuYAuI5dslYFi8iXLHx9UVCPs3ccFq9wvrcvP9sMB6xlXTvAlF4xxcnhF1QjN3lqH51m8tCplCSKpuXe4vZOKCK43DQDzW7Rmba6D-A5u2wwrar5ou/s400/LaSals_Draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669163389598346546" /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCG1iSzWT533hlpZReLcLI8bqREFRuYAuI5dslYFi8iXLHx9UVCPs3ccFq9wvrcvP9sMB6xlXTvAlF4xxcnhF1QjN3lqH51m8tCplCSKpuXe4vZOKCK43DQDzW7Rmba6D-A5u2wwrar5ou/s1600/LaSals_Draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Sunset in Arches National Park</span></a></div></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-45168892325911365462011-10-17T16:04:00.000-07:002011-10-17T17:30:14.678-07:00Big Wallin<div>One of my goals for this season in Yosemite is to learn how to aid and climb big walls. I love free climbing, but knowing how to aid efficiently is an important skill that I've wanted to learn for awhile. Plus, it lets you climb things like this:</div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOio3nO1Da-H35lpgzZLZjFSdqtgNoIt8kg8MMeW_mhG0YL8nlKVPhjFYBvziHf1DNWiAgld_8jNwfX4SrvkLj6GxXv11XhMBCztIp40NMWqBTGejygxOt7bSqMAmXiByqKYTDbrzhG457/s1600/ElCap_BW+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOio3nO1Da-H35lpgzZLZjFSdqtgNoIt8kg8MMeW_mhG0YL8nlKVPhjFYBvziHf1DNWiAgld_8jNwfX4SrvkLj6GxXv11XhMBCztIp40NMWqBTGejygxOt7bSqMAmXiByqKYTDbrzhG457/s400/ElCap_BW+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664607725446935554" /></a><br /></div><div>Last week my friend Michael, who has a lot of aid experience, arrived in the valley. We had discussed climbing some walls while he's here, so I thought it would be a good idea to find a place to practice aiding, jugging, hauling, etc. Maybe we'd go to a small crag to do some shorter climbs first.<br /><div><br /></div><div>But I have a new favorite saying: "There ain't no shallow end in the send pool."</div></div><div><br /></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YP7NPQUGNVi_G_d9EPPpCiOLOnzyuOAJh2dFOrym3Vkv80jXKoEDzt5vIhUWBp5QQ9sdN-gDL-4MV5eFMlmMxLd9ovKZJsAMxt2CNZJ7zphBtjFBBM4MQj5OxxZL34QdGTRrDJADjmEo/s1600/Goodhue_LT_draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YP7NPQUGNVi_G_d9EPPpCiOLOnzyuOAJh2dFOrym3Vkv80jXKoEDzt5vIhUWBp5QQ9sdN-gDL-4MV5eFMlmMxLd9ovKZJsAMxt2CNZJ7zphBtjFBBM4MQj5OxxZL34QdGTRrDJADjmEo/s400/Goodhue_LT_draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664620387501488898" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YP7NPQUGNVi_G_d9EPPpCiOLOnzyuOAJh2dFOrym3Vkv80jXKoEDzt5vIhUWBp5QQ9sdN-gDL-4MV5eFMlmMxLd9ovKZJsAMxt2CNZJ7zphBtjFBBM4MQj5OxxZL34QdGTRrDJADjmEo/s1600/Goodhue_LT_draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_YP7NPQUGNVi_G_d9EPPpCiOLOnzyuOAJh2dFOrym3Vkv80jXKoEDzt5vIhUWBp5QQ9sdN-gDL-4MV5eFMlmMxLd9ovKZJsAMxt2CNZJ7zphBtjFBBM4MQj5OxxZL34QdGTRrDJADjmEo/s1600/Goodhue_LT_draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Michael jugging the first pitch on Leaning Tower</span></a></div><a name='more'></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmu7dpmyAN7M9vg-Dx3aqMNw5QkCjObZ-jurukD0fymWjnwnBgeXcUFOHshj4TnGF4jSTvDbbSzg0Zqo6Rl7e0Ng3GSS9UGg9esLKxyQHMK5YxcHGOgSyPBlTwNCWGlX4QYyt_uOoTvhAO/s1600/Shadow_LT_draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmu7dpmyAN7M9vg-Dx3aqMNw5QkCjObZ-jurukD0fymWjnwnBgeXcUFOHshj4TnGF4jSTvDbbSzg0Zqo6Rl7e0Ng3GSS9UGg9esLKxyQHMK5YxcHGOgSyPBlTwNCWGlX4QYyt_uOoTvhAO/s400/Shadow_LT_draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664620380125928034" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmu7dpmyAN7M9vg-Dx3aqMNw5QkCjObZ-jurukD0fymWjnwnBgeXcUFOHshj4TnGF4jSTvDbbSzg0Zqo6Rl7e0Ng3GSS9UGg9esLKxyQHMK5YxcHGOgSyPBlTwNCWGlX4QYyt_uOoTvhAO/s1600/Shadow_LT_draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmu7dpmyAN7M9vg-Dx3aqMNw5QkCjObZ-jurukD0fymWjnwnBgeXcUFOHshj4TnGF4jSTvDbbSzg0Zqo6Rl7e0Ng3GSS9UGg9esLKxyQHMK5YxcHGOgSyPBlTwNCWGlX4QYyt_uOoTvhAO/s1600/Shadow_LT_draft+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">High on the route</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOscHKLk-VuVUVJ0CfuixRw8NSrMtpDUmB3TVA8jQkGnXLbFnlqUqKnS1OIWJ29Ycx0WYDxtkwH8JoWmkv283SQ-7J4B0gWiSA21MfKUdqsTLT5jKxBC4TXkOSVxVGXV71IPIkCbUnMTak/s1600/LT_Sunset+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOscHKLk-VuVUVJ0CfuixRw8NSrMtpDUmB3TVA8jQkGnXLbFnlqUqKnS1OIWJ29Ycx0WYDxtkwH8JoWmkv283SQ-7J4B0gWiSA21MfKUdqsTLT5jKxBC4TXkOSVxVGXV71IPIkCbUnMTak/s400/LT_Sunset+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664620371193785394" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOscHKLk-VuVUVJ0CfuixRw8NSrMtpDUmB3TVA8jQkGnXLbFnlqUqKnS1OIWJ29Ycx0WYDxtkwH8JoWmkv283SQ-7J4B0gWiSA21MfKUdqsTLT5jKxBC4TXkOSVxVGXV71IPIkCbUnMTak/s1600/LT_Sunset+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOscHKLk-VuVUVJ0CfuixRw8NSrMtpDUmB3TVA8jQkGnXLbFnlqUqKnS1OIWJ29Ycx0WYDxtkwH8JoWmkv283SQ-7J4B0gWiSA21MfKUdqsTLT5jKxBC4TXkOSVxVGXV71IPIkCbUnMTak/s1600/LT_Sunset+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Jugging at sunset</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q87Hwj50wncHaZrW5J8YPQ6D4QCBy_y95NbtnaFtaR7tpDrXiFJrIEGcud9A-TWkyg5l8VefwKHON-4wR0MdBFK3HYbwPMcNarQmCXSC4Tq2EauCk_5K5tXf-BiVtxSLCgHH5cKQEhkD/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Free+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q87Hwj50wncHaZrW5J8YPQ6D4QCBy_y95NbtnaFtaR7tpDrXiFJrIEGcud9A-TWkyg5l8VefwKHON-4wR0MdBFK3HYbwPMcNarQmCXSC4Tq2EauCk_5K5tXf-BiVtxSLCgHH5cKQEhkD/s400/Goodhue_LT_Free+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664617885123183170" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q87Hwj50wncHaZrW5J8YPQ6D4QCBy_y95NbtnaFtaR7tpDrXiFJrIEGcud9A-TWkyg5l8VefwKHON-4wR0MdBFK3HYbwPMcNarQmCXSC4Tq2EauCk_5K5tXf-BiVtxSLCgHH5cKQEhkD/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Free+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4q87Hwj50wncHaZrW5J8YPQ6D4QCBy_y95NbtnaFtaR7tpDrXiFJrIEGcud9A-TWkyg5l8VefwKHON-4wR0MdBFK3HYbwPMcNarQmCXSC4Tq2EauCk_5K5tXf-BiVtxSLCgHH5cKQEhkD/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Free+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}">Stoked to be on the wall</a></span></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPX9KeFQYdydmYTLpwsRr5Qy9yRXOISm9-1ckoUxCVQt6RPNF9tU7GmLJyyjOGFUx1CZmAg7S9Z-c9Kxj4mpCySch0noASG3MKByn6qi80Q8JBef5YVnoENOSlkhdPKnP8am8gtdIS7xHD/s1600/LT_Bivy+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPX9KeFQYdydmYTLpwsRr5Qy9yRXOISm9-1ckoUxCVQt6RPNF9tU7GmLJyyjOGFUx1CZmAg7S9Z-c9Kxj4mpCySch0noASG3MKByn6qi80Q8JBef5YVnoENOSlkhdPKnP8am8gtdIS7xHD/s400/LT_Bivy+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664617878493030610" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPX9KeFQYdydmYTLpwsRr5Qy9yRXOISm9-1ckoUxCVQt6RPNF9tU7GmLJyyjOGFUx1CZmAg7S9Z-c9Kxj4mpCySch0noASG3MKByn6qi80Q8JBef5YVnoENOSlkhdPKnP8am8gtdIS7xHD/s1600/LT_Bivy+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPX9KeFQYdydmYTLpwsRr5Qy9yRXOISm9-1ckoUxCVQt6RPNF9tU7GmLJyyjOGFUx1CZmAg7S9Z-c9Kxj4mpCySch0noASG3MKByn6qi80Q8JBef5YVnoENOSlkhdPKnP8am8gtdIS7xHD/s1600/LT_Bivy+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Wake up and smell the exposure</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgOg4iJWLyVI5Rgd8eCDJmEPlxpcdOYxKlaqBrxoMx6z6Tf5-dDyU0NzhZxBNUI6zOKQZI5-0VYwGnTRCVu7Qt6XKaar7wNZHmXiwojI2vToMH-XpQt-b23_Q0udjaqeGLM707K_eP2T_/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Ahwannee+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgOg4iJWLyVI5Rgd8eCDJmEPlxpcdOYxKlaqBrxoMx6z6Tf5-dDyU0NzhZxBNUI6zOKQZI5-0VYwGnTRCVu7Qt6XKaar7wNZHmXiwojI2vToMH-XpQt-b23_Q0udjaqeGLM707K_eP2T_/s400/Goodhue_LT_Ahwannee+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664617867591596338" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgOg4iJWLyVI5Rgd8eCDJmEPlxpcdOYxKlaqBrxoMx6z6Tf5-dDyU0NzhZxBNUI6zOKQZI5-0VYwGnTRCVu7Qt6XKaar7wNZHmXiwojI2vToMH-XpQt-b23_Q0udjaqeGLM707K_eP2T_/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Ahwannee+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgOg4iJWLyVI5Rgd8eCDJmEPlxpcdOYxKlaqBrxoMx6z6Tf5-dDyU0NzhZxBNUI6zOKQZI5-0VYwGnTRCVu7Qt6XKaar7wNZHmXiwojI2vToMH-XpQt-b23_Q0udjaqeGLM707K_eP2T_/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Ahwannee+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Hanging out on the bivy ledge</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuAy5BW7d2WXYdOxlXXvAGQVlru6s8Shd-5tQxgGojALEenyoFfsGXUtgCAixCGaBM4roqmIQ4JaMULatirfryjcNcOmn_LE6BeETGJqmVAE7ds26rCE_WGURHQPegpV-rsqWFLTvWpn5/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Lead+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuAy5BW7d2WXYdOxlXXvAGQVlru6s8Shd-5tQxgGojALEenyoFfsGXUtgCAixCGaBM4roqmIQ4JaMULatirfryjcNcOmn_LE6BeETGJqmVAE7ds26rCE_WGURHQPegpV-rsqWFLTvWpn5/s400/Goodhue_LT_Lead+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664615250062383714" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuAy5BW7d2WXYdOxlXXvAGQVlru6s8Shd-5tQxgGojALEenyoFfsGXUtgCAixCGaBM4roqmIQ4JaMULatirfryjcNcOmn_LE6BeETGJqmVAE7ds26rCE_WGURHQPegpV-rsqWFLTvWpn5/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Lead+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDuAy5BW7d2WXYdOxlXXvAGQVlru6s8Shd-5tQxgGojALEenyoFfsGXUtgCAixCGaBM4roqmIQ4JaMULatirfryjcNcOmn_LE6BeETGJqmVAE7ds26rCE_WGURHQPegpV-rsqWFLTvWpn5/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Lead+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Michael leading the fifth pitch</span></a></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmlh_29HNdtdU7vDB3IxT7ZN5AST7acQz-dad0PmeCWXTQ5CQ_8xtezvrxJM8QTex0ti4SLamYQy0GdOmQSrxsyfVuNtl11FV9ubCD17Kt2cH0tJ1dJHGMHXvC_vcmwrSdCm2xQ5XTaRG/s1600/LT_Bail+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmlh_29HNdtdU7vDB3IxT7ZN5AST7acQz-dad0PmeCWXTQ5CQ_8xtezvrxJM8QTex0ti4SLamYQy0GdOmQSrxsyfVuNtl11FV9ubCD17Kt2cH0tJ1dJHGMHXvC_vcmwrSdCm2xQ5XTaRG/s400/LT_Bail+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664615246373023138" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmlh_29HNdtdU7vDB3IxT7ZN5AST7acQz-dad0PmeCWXTQ5CQ_8xtezvrxJM8QTex0ti4SLamYQy0GdOmQSrxsyfVuNtl11FV9ubCD17Kt2cH0tJ1dJHGMHXvC_vcmwrSdCm2xQ5XTaRG/s1600/LT_Bail+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmlh_29HNdtdU7vDB3IxT7ZN5AST7acQz-dad0PmeCWXTQ5CQ_8xtezvrxJM8QTex0ti4SLamYQy0GdOmQSrxsyfVuNtl11FV9ubCD17Kt2cH0tJ1dJHGMHXvC_vcmwrSdCm2xQ5XTaRG/s1600/LT_Bail+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Looking down from the sixth belay</span></a></div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjidTgkmqHNNQkfrHC-3byQ2mAqEw-zsIrv680Qdfh1wyM3hvDAOdKcxjvE6KsCQTuUr0NjQrCj9cPOci8xVxxBMXFA71M4NyBQhT7CqqIRylZ-NWvJpmVZwL-7UDQ5dbLhHY3JNfgFO_mD/s400/Goodhue_LT_Bail+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664615236956081218" /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjidTgkmqHNNQkfrHC-3byQ2mAqEw-zsIrv680Qdfh1wyM3hvDAOdKcxjvE6KsCQTuUr0NjQrCj9cPOci8xVxxBMXFA71M4NyBQhT7CqqIRylZ-NWvJpmVZwL-7UDQ5dbLhHY3JNfgFO_mD/s1600/Goodhue_LT_Bail+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Checking out the exposure</span></a></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-27159025283556392672011-10-08T16:12:00.000-07:002011-10-08T16:21:05.381-07:00Meadows LifeThe past few days here in Yosemite Valley brought constant rain, bitter cold, and little chance of climbing. Climbers took refuge in the Cafeteria and Curry Village library, fueling themselves on endless "free" coffee, tortilla chips, wireless internet, and Cobra. <div><br /></div><div>I took the rest days as an opportunity to compile some of the footage that I shot over the three weeks in September that I spent living and climbing in Tuolumne Meadows. I'm still working on a more complete video with narration and better editing, but I hope you enjoy the brief video below. The two other climbers are Sam Radcliffe and James Gray, a couple of British climbers that I've been hanging out with here. As you'll see in the video, the guys are a riot. Go to Vimeo for the HD.</div><br /><br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/30246064?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="400" height="225" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-18220059998724939092011-10-08T14:17:00.000-07:002011-10-10T21:35:56.603-07:00Shifting SeasonsIt's always funny how the smallest of moments can bring an ocean of memories flooding back.<div><br /></div><div>I woke early yesterday to get some sunrise photos in Yosemite Valley, but quickly realized that I had gotten up <i>too</i> early. Peering upward through the grainy darkness I scanned the walls for potential shots and realized that I would have to wait awhile before the light was bright enough. High above me dawn's rays spread sapphire life into the sky, but down on the valley floor it was cold. Really cold. </div><div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKyozbmtuSptO3WJSnbiJpqAol7naLqPGFispLFE1uUXS-mPH_A1mMtH72qxFdWshy11z6TqVF8kHKTpHZaqRixJIx7l4lJNAhjD0tw0FW_m8eG5gQaZ23-6fOELxXq3vXY46qPOWccsC/s400/Sentinel_morning_fog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662067125926371810" /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlKyozbmtuSptO3WJSnbiJpqAol7naLqPGFispLFE1uUXS-mPH_A1mMtH72qxFdWshy11z6TqVF8kHKTpHZaqRixJIx7l4lJNAhjD0tw0FW_m8eG5gQaZ23-6fOELxXq3vXY46qPOWccsC/s1600/Sentinel_morning_fog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">The Sentinel looking more like a Nordwand of the Alps behind morning clouds</span></a></div></div><div><br /><a name='more'></a></div><div>I threw on my big puffy and stamped around the meadow to stay warm. Icy blades of grass crunched softly under my feet. Cold feet. Soon the soaring granite walls began to brighten, the surrounding forest bled from black to blue, and the gentle <i>click click click</i> of my shutter fell in step with the shuffling dance of my feet. After a few minutes I couldn't feel my fingers and shoved my hands deep into the jacket's down pockets. </div><div><br /></div><div>Orange light swept the very tops of the valley walls, illuminating gray faces and emerald trees shrouded in snow by a recent storm. Not cliffs but massive icebergs, summits poking up into the light, most of their mass still hidden in an ocean of shade. A unseen bird began its morning opera. Evergreens on the walls above silently shed their icy burden. </div><div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ26w4wgTmQsFcpu4zfDaA16GuUko0ZMYA5bnx4Sry_UTzHTbilEPy7BftDOlADlDWpjWtHQZ2MfTDdkR3Ob4TyGLR0oTeiBxaJimE-FQcvJDWLbH-4oPOqz57i3yP9Dkvavxc9AXvj9gN/s400/Valley_rim_snow+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662062216464470306" /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ26w4wgTmQsFcpu4zfDaA16GuUko0ZMYA5bnx4Sry_UTzHTbilEPy7BftDOlADlDWpjWtHQZ2MfTDdkR3Ob4TyGLR0oTeiBxaJimE-FQcvJDWLbH-4oPOqz57i3yP9Dkvavxc9AXvj9gN/s1600/Valley_rim_snow+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Dawn light striking the valley rim</span></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>I looked up at this twice-fallen snow, breathed in the sharp morning chill, and shivered in my down jacket. And then it happened. Suddenly it was no longer October in Yosemite, but February in New Hampshire. Single-digit highs, dazzling white hills, golden light slanting through forests of bare birch, air so crisp it could break in half. Fighting up frozen waterfalls, trudging through deep snow, praying for the sun to bring warmth to a shivering belay stance. </div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know why, but that moment in the meadow brought to life the last five winters that I spent in the Northeast. Long-forgotten and uneventful days spent ice climbing suddenly exploded with color in my mind. I could smell the smoky creosote of the train trestles at Frankenstein Cliff, could grab the lone yellow leaf that had somehow escaped autumn's winds and was only now fluttering down to the snow in front of me. Memories of the first time I ever climbed outside, of pre-dawn starts in Huntington Ravine, of sitting around a wood stove with good friends, warming frozen limbs with food and laughter. I smiled.</div><div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiWfcidM_vV62HNc6DL7NQkSXTmdEWbkO8lnhr1wakDfXrjTBz53vfh6H0toOcptArSznTGtGKcV0V1uMXskkW5gZb0H3asUpv1yh4kybJ_Ka_7efXcHak9nPGkNKqnzEU2XHCwexg-MV/s400/Yosemite_falls_sunrise+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662060923638556546" /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiWfcidM_vV62HNc6DL7NQkSXTmdEWbkO8lnhr1wakDfXrjTBz53vfh6H0toOcptArSznTGtGKcV0V1uMXskkW5gZb0H3asUpv1yh4kybJ_Ka_7efXcHak9nPGkNKqnzEU2XHCwexg-MV/s1600/Yosemite_falls_sunrise+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Upper Yosemite Falls at sunrise</span></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>Today the snow is gone, the sun is shining bright, and tomorrow the temps might even hit 80. "Rocktober" is once again in full swing in the climbing capital of the world. </div><div><br /></div><div>But yesterday was an early reminder that winter is coming. That soon we'll be chasing the sun and the rock will be too cold, wet, and icy to climb. For a lot of climbers it will mark the seasonal shift indoors. A time to train and get strong for next season's goals, a time to wait for Spring to pry the Earth from Winter's icy grip. This will be my first winter back in the Northwest since I started climbing so I'm sure I'll spend more than my fair share of time pinching plastic while the rain blankets Seattle. </div><div><br /></div><div>Yet my experience in the meadow was also a reminder of how psyched I am to once again feel the cold in my fingers as I lace up my crampons, to taste the bitter chill of the wind as I stare up at walls of frozen ice and rock, and to breathe deep the refreshing air of the mountains in winter.</div><div><br /></div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMBouPmyw3mPjnZ8MrOrzLIEoqld7hyphenhyphenYm0nDWZYLZoX1f5xHboF1dIL1rh8vfKsaINDrMMsALkvK9nogq7LHgse2RBy9o70UXg3G8Igwtt3fTrRp87fnNKazWCsGHQ82dcbpHDv52mwI5/s400/Yosemite_falls_sunrise%2528BW%2529+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662058829221277682" /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRMBouPmyw3mPjnZ8MrOrzLIEoqld7hyphenhyphenYm0nDWZYLZoX1f5xHboF1dIL1rh8vfKsaINDrMMsALkvK9nogq7LHgse2RBy9o70UXg3G8Igwtt3fTrRp87fnNKazWCsGHQ82dcbpHDv52mwI5/s1600/Yosemite_falls_sunrise%2528BW%2529+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Upper Yosemite Falls in the early morning light</span></a></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-7489448941444905782011-09-23T10:37:00.000-07:002011-09-23T11:21:46.635-07:00A Couple from TuolumneI've been up in Tuolumne Meadows for the past two weeks and despite a lot of thunder storms the climbing has been amazing. <div><br /></div><div>During a rare long day of good weather this week I headed out to climb both the North and West Ridges of Mt. Conness with a couple of British climbers that I've been hanging out with here in the Meadows. </div><div><br /></div><div>The climbs were easy but amazing - thousands and thousands of feet of 3rd, 4th, and 5th class soloing. Just to be able to move fluidly for so long was spectacular, and nothing will put your heart in your throat like hand-traversing a knife-edge ridge and peering over the lip at a 1200ft drop on the other side. Wild! After a big post-climb meal at the Mobil we were treated to one of the most beautiful sunsets I've seen in Tuolumne. Enjoy some photos from the day below. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll post more from Tuolumne after I move down to the Valley next week.</div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdk7BbWMq5bpRrq4XdqMtQ_PbShcuQgIM7HRuxzNYN8wGnIrTQwhY8Zsl2ZzZRcuAmmZXoD51inrj3aC4movVjB-8d5ufUn5NpqlQ4mjxDp4P6da8fXotXOWTgMs9f1Jp7_k7Py18xgZRp/s1600/Conness_color_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdk7BbWMq5bpRrq4XdqMtQ_PbShcuQgIM7HRuxzNYN8wGnIrTQwhY8Zsl2ZzZRcuAmmZXoD51inrj3aC4movVjB-8d5ufUn5NpqlQ4mjxDp4P6da8fXotXOWTgMs9f1Jp7_k7Py18xgZRp/s400/Conness_color_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655617071724873890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdk7BbWMq5bpRrq4XdqMtQ_PbShcuQgIM7HRuxzNYN8wGnIrTQwhY8Zsl2ZzZRcuAmmZXoD51inrj3aC4movVjB-8d5ufUn5NpqlQ4mjxDp4P6da8fXotXOWTgMs9f1Jp7_k7Py18xgZRp/s1600/Conness_color_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdk7BbWMq5bpRrq4XdqMtQ_PbShcuQgIM7HRuxzNYN8wGnIrTQwhY8Zsl2ZzZRcuAmmZXoD51inrj3aC4movVjB-8d5ufUn5NpqlQ4mjxDp4P6da8fXotXOWTgMs9f1Jp7_k7Py18xgZRp/s1600/Conness_color_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Mt. Conness in the morning light</span></a></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Cua6sturYXXkymz9YWEPZHSoE1dAEUoCFUCQs8z1x5jFcVIxi7wHgMFTx0pgx4kTnoBMh1mZqI0IsDfpf59cY4Jo3Qg8RLzyr8LZM01zLRNqbfHpcFAEgv9VuFQ98xqIkGs5cFOSSGMU/s1600/Conness_Approach_BW_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Cua6sturYXXkymz9YWEPZHSoE1dAEUoCFUCQs8z1x5jFcVIxi7wHgMFTx0pgx4kTnoBMh1mZqI0IsDfpf59cY4Jo3Qg8RLzyr8LZM01zLRNqbfHpcFAEgv9VuFQ98xqIkGs5cFOSSGMU/s400/Conness_Approach_BW_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655617082971562162" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Cua6sturYXXkymz9YWEPZHSoE1dAEUoCFUCQs8z1x5jFcVIxi7wHgMFTx0pgx4kTnoBMh1mZqI0IsDfpf59cY4Jo3Qg8RLzyr8LZM01zLRNqbfHpcFAEgv9VuFQ98xqIkGs5cFOSSGMU/s1600/Conness_Approach_BW_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6Cua6sturYXXkymz9YWEPZHSoE1dAEUoCFUCQs8z1x5jFcVIxi7wHgMFTx0pgx4kTnoBMh1mZqI0IsDfpf59cY4Jo3Qg8RLzyr8LZM01zLRNqbfHpcFAEgv9VuFQ98xqIkGs5cFOSSGMU/s1600/Conness_Approach_BW_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Approaching the North Ridge of Mt. Conness</span></a></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vOQorcDyBBSCaK-2DxooFDufy2oJ7Iw_byrjA5KitAuYABGCVYax2oJS9eNFe6MIlAWZucnwuEXM5pnJBPOi68gBF_GLLcPDndGLukEVZWNJlnCbe6f7CE7-wvg2pXeuHGxWCzrGoreQ/s1600/Sam_Diving_BW_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vOQorcDyBBSCaK-2DxooFDufy2oJ7Iw_byrjA5KitAuYABGCVYax2oJS9eNFe6MIlAWZucnwuEXM5pnJBPOi68gBF_GLLcPDndGLukEVZWNJlnCbe6f7CE7-wvg2pXeuHGxWCzrGoreQ/s400/Sam_Diving_BW_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655617086541945250" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vOQorcDyBBSCaK-2DxooFDufy2oJ7Iw_byrjA5KitAuYABGCVYax2oJS9eNFe6MIlAWZucnwuEXM5pnJBPOi68gBF_GLLcPDndGLukEVZWNJlnCbe6f7CE7-wvg2pXeuHGxWCzrGoreQ/s1600/Sam_Diving_BW_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0vOQorcDyBBSCaK-2DxooFDufy2oJ7Iw_byrjA5KitAuYABGCVYax2oJS9eNFe6MIlAWZucnwuEXM5pnJBPOi68gBF_GLLcPDndGLukEVZWNJlnCbe6f7CE7-wvg2pXeuHGxWCzrGoreQ/s1600/Sam_Diving_BW_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Sam on the "Diving Board" high above the glacier</span></a></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Bf0-pdyw4vjYwtJ76L_R2EBM8IbhJopi6U5nQp_PPe6M-D-KUd10bePMwsPBo-ED0rjIn3m3hJC-b8bPwuSn9sJDtCLS3wVcngF2ZeI2xK-Of_cZBLPfByEVoJeC2pnaRaCke12_2-J6/s1600/ASC_0814-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Bf0-pdyw4vjYwtJ76L_R2EBM8IbhJopi6U5nQp_PPe6M-D-KUd10bePMwsPBo-ED0rjIn3m3hJC-b8bPwuSn9sJDtCLS3wVcngF2ZeI2xK-Of_cZBLPfByEVoJeC2pnaRaCke12_2-J6/s400/ASC_0814-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655619487276047682" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Bf0-pdyw4vjYwtJ76L_R2EBM8IbhJopi6U5nQp_PPe6M-D-KUd10bePMwsPBo-ED0rjIn3m3hJC-b8bPwuSn9sJDtCLS3wVcngF2ZeI2xK-Of_cZBLPfByEVoJeC2pnaRaCke12_2-J6/s1600/ASC_0814-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Bf0-pdyw4vjYwtJ76L_R2EBM8IbhJopi6U5nQp_PPe6M-D-KUd10bePMwsPBo-ED0rjIn3m3hJC-b8bPwuSn9sJDtCLS3wVcngF2ZeI2xK-Of_cZBLPfByEVoJeC2pnaRaCke12_2-J6/s1600/ASC_0814-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Sam rappelling on the North Ridge</span></a></div><div><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66eQBsEJAJrLrM4IqeLX_JW7VAiA4ToZ7bPc9A0zANmIbg8FIDmKx1gumnExTlWkUaJkKsdArx3JESk6jUkF-PHP2bv3FluyYz_kfTC5TleoAd-h2kpFfwREhq092ifXDZrR4tgIVfsZN/s400/Meadows_Sunset_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655619481782418370" /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg66eQBsEJAJrLrM4IqeLX_JW7VAiA4ToZ7bPc9A0zANmIbg8FIDmKx1gumnExTlWkUaJkKsdArx3JESk6jUkF-PHP2bv3FluyYz_kfTC5TleoAd-h2kpFfwREhq092ifXDZrR4tgIVfsZN/s1600/Meadows_Sunset_blog+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Looking East toward Mt. Dana just after sunse</span>t</a></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-8400854284187136032011-09-23T10:14:00.000-07:002011-09-23T10:25:52.919-07:00The E Scale<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">We all love epics. Shivering bivies, horrific bushwhacks, days without food or water, terrible injuries suffered high on remote peaks, near-death experiences. Let's face it, they're awesome.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Okay, maybe they're not awesome while they're happening, but we relish talking about them later over a cold beer or listening to some unbelievable story told around a glowing campfire. Epics remind us that we are capable of far more than we believe possible, that we possess some hidden inner strength. They reveal something rarely seen in daily life: the immense tenacity of the human spirit and will to live. And on the rare chance that we find ourselves in the midst of an epic, we are given an opportunity to find this spirit within us and see what we're made of.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Ultimately we are all human. We compare ourselves to others. And as not only humans but also climbers/bikers/kayakers/surfers/skiers, we are obsessed with grades and ratings and need to know how we stack up against everyone else - Is this route harder than that one? Is she a better skier than I am? Am I more badass than he is? <i>Was my epic more epic than your epic?</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i></i><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Enter the E Scale. <a name='more'></a></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">I first heard of the E Scale one afternoon outside the Meadows Grill in Tuolumne. Alexis and I had spent the day climbing classic runout routes and as we calmed our nerves over an Its-It and a beer he told me about his Half Dome epic. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">He had just finished the Regular Northwest Face with a partner who hardly warranted the term, and as the sun began to set he shouldered a 70lb haulbag for the descent. He took a step, his toes skittered on the polished granite and he fell 30 feet onto a ledge. The impact shattered both legs below the knee, leaving him unable to move. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">"The pain was beyond extreme," he told me, "You have no idea."</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">He was thousands of feet above the valley floor and any potential rescue, and it was dark by the time his partner got down to him. There was no way he was going to be able to hike down. He would have to spend the night on the summit. Because the forecast called for bad weather the next morning it took until late the following evening for a rescue helicopter to arrive. Even when he got to a hospital he had to wait two days for the swelling to go down before he could have surgery.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">"Yeah, that was about E7," he said, finishing the story.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">"The route?" I asked, confused.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">"No man. The epic. You know, the E Scale."</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">"Epicness" might sound too abstract to rate, but it's more straightforward than it seems. Inherent in the idea of an epic is that a serious unexpected challenge forces you into a multi-day effort to not merely finish your route, hike, or trip, but to fight to survive. To push beyond the limits you've imagined, and often beyond anything you have ever done before. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Did you spend an unplanned or unprepared night out in the open? That's an epic. Two nights? Even more epic. Bad weather? No food? No water? That's a couple notches higher on the E Scale. Were you by yourself? Did you get hurt? Did you get yourself out of the situation? Awesome. You're movin' on up.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Epics are rarely black or white, they exist on a continuum. Hence the need for a scale. So, after much scientific debate, fueled by countless cups of coffee and bottles of beer outside the Tuolumne Meadows Grill, I bring you the highly subjective E Scale.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="text-decoration: underline"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">The E Scale</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E1: An unplanned bivy. To even get on the E Scale you have to spend an entire unexpected night out - e.g. you spend the night on top of a route or out in the woods without sleeping gear. This low on the scale though, you probably have warm clothing and some extra food and water to make the night bearable.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"> </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E2: An unplanned bivy without sufficient clothing. Same as an E1, but the fact that you only have a cotton T-shirt and Prana shorts means that you're gonna have a cold night. There might be an awkward moment in the morning as you and your partner untangle limbs and mumble something about "…umm, this never happened, okay?"</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E3: More than one unexpected night out, and/or inclement weather without sufficient clothing, food, or water - e.g. you go out for a light-and-fast alpine push, but the face is bigger than you thought and you spend the night shivering and convincing yourself that your partner has the bigger half of your 2X3ft bivy ledge. The next day you top out the route, but the thunderstorms soak through your "waterproof" rainshell and you lose the descent trail, forcing another cold, wet night huddled uncomfortably close to your partner. You emerge on the road the next morning slightly hypothermic, covered in scratches from the bushwhacking, and ravenously hungry. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E4: This is where things start to get a little more serious. More than two unexpected/unprepared nights out, no food and little water after the first day, inclement weather, and insufficient gear and clothing for the environment - e.g. your dream hiking trip in Alaska took a wrong turn when you lost your backpack during a river crossing 50 miles from the nearest town, and your buddy's pack was ravaged by a bear that night. Without a map or food, and with minimal warm/waterproof clothing, you head back in the direction you thought you came but inadvertently go over the wrong pass into a neighboring valley. It's another day before you realize you're lost. Then the rain begins. Four long days after it began you stagger soaked, exhausted, and starving through the door of a hunting lodge where the owner lets you know that you're 60 miles west of your intended destination. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">The Injury Divide: In all but the most extreme cases, an E4 is the highest grade you can attain without an injury. This doesn't mean that you automatically get an E5 if you cut your pinky on a bush, but rather that no matter how bad things get, if you weren't hurt it probably wasn't <i>that </i>epic. A minor injury might not push you past an E2 if the rest of the situation wasn't that bad, but an injury can bump you from an E2 to an E3, or an E3 to an E4, all else being equal.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E5: At least an E1 situation, coupled with a severe injury - e.g. you take a bad fall near the top of a long alpine route and break your arm in three places. One of the fractures is compound. You put together a makeshift sling and painfully jug out the last few pitches, but now it's late at night and you can't find your way down in the dark. You wait until morning huddled underneath a boulder in the descent gully. After a long day of painful hiking you make it out to the trailhead and drive to the hospital.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E6: An E2 situation, coupled with a severe injury. Alexis thought his experience was an E7, but in reality it was probably a good example of a solid E6. Though he had warm enough clothing for the night, the extreme severity of his injuries and the fact that it took a day and a half until rescue could come make his epic an E6.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E7: More than one unprepared bivy with bad weather, a serious injury, and little food or water - e.g. you were hiking on an island off the coast of Scotland and decided to cook dinner in your tent vestibule because the weather was so bad. When you primed the stove the tent caught on fire, melting nylon onto your skin and burning you severely. Most of your gear and food was burnt in the fire and you are a two day hike from the lone town on the island. You spend the night under an overhanging rock trying to stay warm in the constant drizzle. In the morning your burns hurt so badly you can barely move, but you force yourself up and eat your last two bars as you begin to hike back towards town. Without a map you move much slower than the day before, and the rain makes it impossible to see more than a few hundred yards. At dusk the town is still nowhere to be seen and the burns are getting worse. There's nowhere to take shelter and you're worried you won't survive the night if you stop, so you continue to walk through the darkness for hours. In the morning, barely moving from the wet and cold, you see the town and stumble zombie-like through the streets. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E8: More than two nights out in bad weather with a bad injury, no food, and little water. The injury likely leaves some lasting damage - e.g. you head out into the mountains for the day to solo a couple of ice climbs that you have done before. After the climbs you decide to head into a neighboring canyon to check out potential new routes. The canyon is full of great looking ice and you can't resist the opportunity to get on some of the flows. Everything is going splendid until you pop an ice tool 50ft up one of the routes. You fall and catch a crampon in the ice, flipping yourself into an awkward position as you slam into the snow-covered slabs at the base of the route. The fall knocks you unconscious, and when you come to you discover that you've broken an arm, as well as quite a few ribs. You begin to hike out, but you're still disoriented from the fall and the looming darkness is worrying. You pull out your headlamp, but find that it was broken in the fall. Stumbling around in the darkness until you realize that you simply need to stay put until morning. You emerge from your self-dug snow cave at dawn to find a raging blizzard swirling through the canyon. Visibility is less than three feet and your tracks are covered. There's no way you can go anywhere in this weather. The storm continues unabated for two more days while you fight to stay warm in your snow cave. Finally the weather clears and you begin to crawl back to your car. The rescuers find you six hours later and get you to a hospital. Unfortunately you lose one foot and three of your fingers to frostbite, but at least you're alive.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E9: The most epic experience you can imagine. Only worse. Think Joe Simpson and Aron Ralston (mandatory self-amputation of a major limb automatically takes you into E9 territory). If you've lived through an E9 you're truly lucky to be alive. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">E10: You die. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Of course, with any such list there need to be a couple of caveats. It's best to think of the E Scale as a guide, rather than a hard-set rating system, because there are so many possible permutations of epic situations and the lines between each grade are hazy at best. For example, it could be possible to achieve an E4 with less than two unplanned bivies if you were by yourself during the whole experience and got yourself out of the situation. In the same way, you might spend more than two nights out but only get an E2 because you were in a large group, had some extra food and water, and were rescued by outside help. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">Additionally, some might argue that an epic can be had without having to spend a night out unprepared. What if you suffered a bad injury in the morning and hiked back through stormy weather to arrive at your car just before the sun set? Is that not an epic? For some it is, but I believe there is a difference between a terrible experience and an epic. An unplanned bivy is that difference. To find yourself far away from help as the sun dips below the horizon changes your mentality completely. Knowing that you have to pass the shadow hours of night without the right equipment turns even the most benign situations into a dark experience. There's no denying that breaking an arm or a leg 20 miles from the road in a heavy snow storm isn't a shitty situation, but if you were able to get back to civilization/help in the same day then that's all it is. A shitty situation, not an epic. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;">So the next time you're trudging through the rain in a cotton shirt with miles of slide alder bushwhack to go until you hit the road you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that at least you aren't having an epic. </span></p><div><br /></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-75438346184254396842011-09-05T17:32:00.000-07:002011-09-07T13:46:42.685-07:00The Luck of the Draw<span class="Apple-style-span">Jeff and Eric's eyes grew wide with shock and their heads shook with disbelief as I told them the story. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">"Holy shit. That's insane!" </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">"Dude, I've never even <span style="font-style:italic;">heard</span> of anything like that!" </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">My head shook with theirs, for I could hardly believe it myself.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMuc9Hq2VaB516D6UBhsW0ZZw6zPE9BTxPz1odTV1HnFAYTj-BtGcp-Jd9uXj6CKZklB3Sjmw_duPpJvMzkmqa91FiApB_CTk-Hny-ZpVNC3SysEEeD1MfSpFoZSq-kjRDP8wLriExTaQY/s1600/SmithPanorama-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 87px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMuc9Hq2VaB516D6UBhsW0ZZw6zPE9BTxPz1odTV1HnFAYTj-BtGcp-Jd9uXj6CKZklB3Sjmw_duPpJvMzkmqa91FiApB_CTk-Hny-ZpVNC3SysEEeD1MfSpFoZSq-kjRDP8wLriExTaQY/s400/SmithPanorama-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649429342247807298" /></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMuc9Hq2VaB516D6UBhsW0ZZw6zPE9BTxPz1odTV1HnFAYTj-BtGcp-Jd9uXj6CKZklB3Sjmw_duPpJvMzkmqa91FiApB_CTk-Hny-ZpVNC3SysEEeD1MfSpFoZSq-kjRDP8wLriExTaQY/s1600/SmithPanorama-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMuc9Hq2VaB516D6UBhsW0ZZw6zPE9BTxPz1odTV1HnFAYTj-BtGcp-Jd9uXj6CKZklB3Sjmw_duPpJvMzkmqa91FiApB_CTk-Hny-ZpVNC3SysEEeD1MfSpFoZSq-kjRDP8wLriExTaQY/s1600/SmithPanorama-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}">Smith Rock State Park</a><a name='more'></a></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Joel cuts a striking figure when you first meet him. Not in a dashing, chivalrous way, but rather more like a crazed and stoned lunatic. Almost always shirtless in the Central Oregon heat, his face, chest, and arms have the burnt-tan look of a man who just survived a trek across the Sahara without sunscreen. The sunbleached locks of matted hair flowing down from his head make him look even darker. You might mark him as a California surfer - what with his somewhat goofy smile, super relaxed persona, and penchant for the magic herb - but surfers don't usually walk around covered in dirt with a climbing rope over their shoulder. I can't recall ever seeing him wearing pants, only the same tattered shorts and pair of flip-flops as he ambles around camp. </span></div><div><br /></div><div>Someone once told me that Joel's been living at the Smith Rock Bivouac Camp since 2006, but I'm not quite sure that's true. Regardless, he's spent an enormous amount of time living in the Bivy and climbing at Smith. Almost everyone I know who has been there in the past few years has met him at some point. And whenever I mention his name they inevitably break into a smile, whether it's because they like him or think he's utterly insane. Personally, I like him and always have a good time when he's around.<div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />Despite the beliefs of some, Joel actually knows what he's doing out on the rock. I learned this firsthand when I met him at the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gL0QC19DyPs">Monkey Face Swing</a> during a trip to Smith last summer </span>(the video's not mine, but features Joel). He had rigged the entire setup himself, and myself and half a dozen others took the massive swing that day without falling to our deaths. When I asked him later about the setup he described in detail all of the mechanics and logistics that went into making sure that the swing was safe, if a bit scary.</div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35tR5F6nWRWuzcDyh_v5H-c4mNCB-3HLvQ7GSJW5830yEnHJc17hjJRjVf-IVS-yQXt9lD6t_MUphc1Df_l5TpeQE7ZIJXgi7gFg4qKnWl3MlWMwQU9nwb-Z-pCrW_Hvukm0xlItUuVYN/s1600/Monkey+Face.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35tR5F6nWRWuzcDyh_v5H-c4mNCB-3HLvQ7GSJW5830yEnHJc17hjJRjVf-IVS-yQXt9lD6t_MUphc1Df_l5TpeQE7ZIJXgi7gFg4qKnWl3MlWMwQU9nwb-Z-pCrW_Hvukm0xlItUuVYN/s400/Monkey+Face.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649424919975031570" /></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35tR5F6nWRWuzcDyh_v5H-c4mNCB-3HLvQ7GSJW5830yEnHJc17hjJRjVf-IVS-yQXt9lD6t_MUphc1Df_l5TpeQE7ZIJXgi7gFg4qKnWl3MlWMwQU9nwb-Z-pCrW_Hvukm0xlItUuVYN/s1600/Monkey+Face.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35tR5F6nWRWuzcDyh_v5H-c4mNCB-3HLvQ7GSJW5830yEnHJc17hjJRjVf-IVS-yQXt9lD6t_MUphc1Df_l5TpeQE7ZIJXgi7gFg4qKnWl3MlWMwQU9nwb-Z-pCrW_Hvukm0xlItUuVYN/s1600/Monkey+Face.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}">The Monkey Face Pillar. Photo not mine.</a></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Last week I returned to Smith Rock for a few days of climbing, and I was psyched to see that Joel was once again in residence at the Bivy. Excited to do the Monkey Swing again, I asked Joel if it was up.<br /><br />"No man. But we got something new, something no one's done before. It's called the Rodeo Swing."<br /><br />The Rodeo Swing is a massive loop of one-inch webbing that hangs in a large U from the</span></div><div> highline stretching between the 350ft Monkey Face Pillar and the adjacent cliff. To ride it, you traverse out to the middle of the highline, rappel on a fixed rope down to the bottom of the U, and either sit or stand on the webbing as your friends pull you into a pendulum swing with an attached line. It's <span class="Apple-style-span">essentially a grown-up version of the swing sets we all played on as children. Well, maybe if your parents let you play on huge webbing swings strung hundreds of feet off the ground.</span></div><div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgu2gxaRfvpo5QVcZ7Fnchkjj_GbW5ZRIk6hfhYuxJzF_xjFCQsRLEj1B3peCujb_4P9VUakldM8rv__Vy4JuPslQUSY8Ih5LnemqD9bkIcl5HiA3NV15LLoliz1dQuLaRXhAo3Z8oX855/s1600/IMG_6456.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgu2gxaRfvpo5QVcZ7Fnchkjj_GbW5ZRIk6hfhYuxJzF_xjFCQsRLEj1B3peCujb_4P9VUakldM8rv__Vy4JuPslQUSY8Ih5LnemqD9bkIcl5HiA3NV15LLoliz1dQuLaRXhAo3Z8oX855/s400/IMG_6456.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649424924726082994" /></a></span><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgu2gxaRfvpo5QVcZ7Fnchkjj_GbW5ZRIk6hfhYuxJzF_xjFCQsRLEj1B3peCujb_4P9VUakldM8rv__Vy4JuPslQUSY8Ih5LnemqD9bkIcl5HiA3NV15LLoliz1dQuLaRXhAo3Z8oX855/s1600/IMG_6456.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">The Rodeo Swing hanging between the Monkey and the adjacent cliff. Eric Trautman photo.</span></a></div><div> <div><br /></div><div>Hearing Joel's description I was excited to try it, and made plans to go up to the Monkey Face the following day with him and Jesse, another local and Bivy resident who had set up the Rodeo Swing. </div><div><br /></div><div>I ended up climbing with my friends Eric, Becca, and Jeff the next day and wasn't able to join Joel and Jesse, but they still made the trek up to the Monkey. Joel went first. He clipped a quickdraw between his belay loop and the high line and began to pull himself upside-down across the gaping chasm. Chatting with Jesse as he went, he quickly neared the rappel line and twisted his body to get a better look at its position. As he did so, the single quickdraw attaching him to the highline shifted. With a SNAP! the gate flicked open and Joel began to fall.</div><div><br /></div><div>"When I saw him start to fall," Jesse told me later, "I was sure that he was going to die."</div><div><br /></div><div>There he was, hundreds of feet off the ground, in a free-fall. If he was lucky, he might just hit the ledge 40 feet below the highline and escape with some badly broken bones. It was much more likely, however, that he would miss the ledge, slam into the rocky notch after a 60+ foot free-fall, and tumble hundreds of feet down either the East or West Face of the Monkey. If he went down the West Face he'd certainly die. If he rolled off the East Face he might live, but would probably be so banged up that he'd wish he were dead. </div><div><br /></div><div>Instead of thinking about all of this Joel reacted instinctively. He reached his arms out in front of him, grasping for the rappel line that hung next to his falling body. </div><div><br /></div><div>Somehow, miraculously, he grabbed the rope with both hands. Gripping it with everything he had he brought himself to a sliding stop just a few feet above the Rodeo Swing. He quickly lowered himself down to the line, straddling one leg on each side of the webbing. The whole thing took about five seconds. </div><div><br /></div><div>As Jesse frantically yelled down to him to clip into the Rodeo line, Joel responded with the strange calmness and clarity that often overcomes those who have just survived a near-fatal experience. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Chill out man. I've got it. Just <i>give</i> me a minute."</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Joel sat on the swing for a few seconds, still not clipped in, holding onto the rappel line for balance as he looked down at the void beneath him. Benefitting from the experience of hundreds of solos and countless meetings with high exposure, Joel cooly let go of the rappel line and carefully balanced on the thin webbing while using both hands to clip himself in. Safe, at last. </div><div><br /></div><div>Now all he had to do was jug 30 feet back up to the cliff. But his lifesaving catch had absolutely obliterated his hands. The friction of the sliding rope ripped the skin off most of his fingers, and where it hadn't come off completely it rose in huge milky blisters and hung in loose tatters. By the way he winced as he told me the story later that night I could tell how painful those 30 feet had been.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPP_3jiPe9ThO8_flsmBh1UApTXbTP4vo4xXzvy37ghdmKcLJV1sY8nak3-UHaYC-NO12ulJhNimfw7mRxkh01UTIZzdh4K6hBLDylFux8WpCi7rxV7G97Fb5teHCfsyn-K-bRcqpHmMO/s1600/JoelHands.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPP_3jiPe9ThO8_flsmBh1UApTXbTP4vo4xXzvy37ghdmKcLJV1sY8nak3-UHaYC-NO12ulJhNimfw7mRxkh01UTIZzdh4K6hBLDylFux8WpCi7rxV7G97Fb5teHCfsyn-K-bRcqpHmMO/s400/JoelHands.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649443320401345986" />Joel's hands the morning after his fall. They looked much better than they did the day before.</a><br /></div><div>"By the time I got back up to the cliff my hands were on <i>fire</i>! That shit sucked BIG TIME. Jesse handed me a cold beer and I grabbed it between both hands and took off running back to the Bivy. I'm pretty sure that I set a land-speed record on that one."</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"></div></div></div><div><br /></div><div>After hearing the story I sat incredulous. The draw twisting open, the certain-death free fall, the epic rope-grab - it all seemed too much. Could someone really be <i>that </i>unlucky and lucky at the same time? I asked Joel how he thought he had pulled it off, whether it was plain luck or something else.</div><div><br /></div><div>"The thing is, man, you take your average person and put them in that situation and they're done. Dead. Gone. But not me. I'm a different breed. The Monkey's not trying to kill me, I've climbed the thing 275 times without a rope." </div><div><br /></div><div>He must have seen that I was surprised by his answer, and continued.</div><div><br /></div><div>"But at the same time, what are the chances? I mean, that the draw opened in the first place, that I was able to grab the fucking rope, and that I stopped myself on the Rodeo line?"</div><div><br /></div><div>I didn't push the issue further, but asked Joel if he was going to try the Rodeo Swing again.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yeah man. You wanna know the first thing I'm gonna do when my hands are healed? Rodeo Swing."</div><div><br /></div><div>When I saw Joel early the next morning he was getting ready for Jesse to drive him back down to the farm he works on in Bend. I asked how his hands were. He told me that he was trying not to look at them. I sipped my coffee while he drank a Busch Light, the cold aluminum clutched tightly between his shredded fingers. We joked about his fall and how epic and insane the whole thing was. I told him it would make for a good story.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Yeah," he replied, "But no one's gonna believe you when you tell them what happened."</div></div>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-33573836250462955062011-08-27T10:00:00.001-07:002011-08-27T11:54:00.297-07:00Last Night in SeattleIt was my last night in Seattle before leaving on a three month road trip to Oregon, California, and Utah, and I had just picked up my new Nikon D7000 camera. So I decided to make a quick video. Check it out below. Nothing super professional - I literally put it together in 15min - but I thought it came out kind of cool. Go to Vimeo for the HD. Enjoy.
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<br /><iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/28237067?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" width="550" height="412.5" frameborder="0"></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/28237067">Last Night in Seattle</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/austinsiadak">Austin Siadak</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-63789218313341079052011-08-24T22:22:00.001-07:002011-08-24T23:48:47.773-07:00Arizona : BorderlandsIn May of this year I spent two weeks in Southern Arizona working on a photojournalism project about immigration along the Arizona-Mexico border. This was my first experience working on such a project, and it was an amazing opportunity from which I learned more than I probably even realize.
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<br />Southern Arizona is literally FULL of fascinating stories waiting to be told. The borderlands have an extremely unique and chaotic history that continues to shape events today. There are so many complex, overlapping themes and angles that one could spend decades down there and still find new, captivating narratives to tell. Drugs, immigration, corruption, politics, land rights, national security, poverty, wealth, Indian reservations, nationality, English, Spanish, Spanglish, death, life - they all shape daily life along the border. And it all happens in a breathtakingly beautiful environment, where the soft glow of orange sunlight filtering through undulating hills of sage and stands of saguaro cacti can almost make you forget that the desert is also a harsh, unforgiving killer.
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<br />I have to give a truly huge thanks to Sherman Teichman and Heather Barry of the Institute for Global Leadership at Tufts University, and to Gary Knight of the Program for Narrative and Documentary Practice for making this trip a reality and giving me the opportunity to work on this project. And also, of course, to Sam James and Adam Levy - mis hermanos por siempre - for support along the way.
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<br />Below are the photos and essay that I put together following the trip. Enjoy.
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<br /><div style="text-align: center;">BORDER SECURITY</div>
<br />The desert of Southern Arizona is a place of harsh juxtapositions. Blistering white-hot days fade into bitterly cold black nights. Jagged mountains erupt out of flat sands. Brilliant blue and red flowers burst from drab browns and mauves. And in recent years a tall steel wall and wide, new dirt road have cut through previously undeveloped desert plains.
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<br />The United States government began to construct walls along urban areas of the U.S.-Mexico border in the 1990s to deter illegal immigration. Prior to this, much of the border line was nothing more than wire fencing and cement monuments, and relatively few immigrants crossed illegally. But following the collapse of the Mexican economy in the mid-1990s, the promise of increasing one’s income ten-fold by merely ducking under a few strands of barbed wire was a strong incentive for hundreds of thousands of Mexicans to make the journey north.
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<br />Made from surplus steel “landing mats” left over from the Vietnam War, the walls first came to Arizona in 1994 and were installed in urban areas such as Nogales and Douglas. For the Customs and Border Patrol (CBP), the federal agency charged with monitoring the country’s borders, the idea was that new barriers and security in border towns and cities would force migrants and smugglers into the unforgiving, uninhabited desert stretches where CBP agents could better track them down.
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<br />After the terrorist attacks of September 11th, 2001, the issue of border security took on a sense of added urgency. Between 2000 and 2010 security measures exploded as the federal government more than doubled both the annual budget of the CBP and the number of agents who monitor the border. The border walls were extended into the desert for miles past their previous stopping points, and jagged steel “Normandy” barriers were erected to prevent vehicles from crossing the into the U.S. Surveillance towers equipped with high-resolution cameras and thermal imaging equipment sprouted up across the desert, CBP checkpoints appeared on major northbound arteries, mobile floodlights and deep trenches emerged just inside the border fence, seismic sensors were placed in the ground along popular immigrant and smuggling paths, and over 500 National Guard troops were deployed to Arizona to support the CBP. Last year the CBP spent over $3 billion policing the country’s borders and more than 17,500 agents patrolled the Southwest border. In some areas CBP agents outnumber residents, their white and green SUVs ubiquitous along the country roads and highways. Today, new construction continues to push the reinforced steel wall further and further into the desert hills.
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<br />And yet, despite the billions of dollars spent to expand the border fence, deploy thousands of new CBP agents to the Southwest border, and utilize sophisticated technologies and aerial surveillance, it is still hard to say whether the CBP is succeeding in preventing persons, goods, and drugs from entering the country illegally. It is true that larger fences and increased security in urban areas have greatly diminished the number of migrants crossing in cities and towns: overall apprehensions in Arizona dropped from over 720,000 in 2000 to less than 220,000 in 2010. But even CBP officials acknowledge that most migrants and smugglers simply walk to the end of the walls and cross where the only protection are vehicle barriers and barbed wire fence.
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<br />Despite fewer apprehensions no one knows the more important figure: how many people illegally cross the border and don’t get caught? And is the huge decrease in apprehensions due more to heightened security measures or other factors such as the collapse of the U.S. economy that has left far fewer jobs for new migrants?
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<br />Even as federal border security efforts grow, so has discontent with the government’s efforts. Over the last decade Arizona has seen the rise of numerous civilian vigilante groups who feel the government has failed to adequately protect the border. Using their own resources, they monitor the border through video and aerial surveillance, as well as foot patrols in the desert. Some wish to see the wall extended along the entire Southwest border.
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<br />Ultimately, however, not even the most radical vigilantes believe that the U.S. can reduce the number of illegal immigrants or pounds of drugs smuggled to zero. This stance begs the question: How many would be acceptable? Few citizens, politicians, and activists can agree on such a number. Yet almost everyone acknowledges that the current system is far too porous and needs improvement. Some speak of solving the problem by reducing the incentives to cross the border in the first place. But that will always be difficult when an immigrant can earn in American many times that which they make back home.
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<br />It seems inevitable that new walls will continue to be built along the border, though it is doubtful that fencing its entire stretch would stop illegal immigration and smuggling completely – already tunnels have appeared under the walls in places such as Tijuana and Nogales. Without a doubt, however, many more billions of dollars will be spent trying to stop immigrants who earn only a few dollars a day from stepping across a line in the sand. Yet another juxtaposition in the vast desert of Southern Arizona.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BxgHLXSOvWxFlTMQvu1mdxDM_pUn74z90KdDfSZvsJ669l8uNLrCrFR1WyNEXF6znThQCOvSAzRAVKkJ-cw3c1s_zmJG30Hxa05IYcG7Z3EwB7Ogy7Tu4v2L8MsdXTcXm6gUK02vx9D7/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BxgHLXSOvWxFlTMQvu1mdxDM_pUn74z90KdDfSZvsJ669l8uNLrCrFR1WyNEXF6znThQCOvSAzRAVKkJ-cw3c1s_zmJG30Hxa05IYcG7Z3EwB7Ogy7Tu4v2L8MsdXTcXm6gUK02vx9D7/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_01.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661797214629122" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-BxgHLXSOvWxFlTMQvu1mdxDM_pUn74z90KdDfSZvsJ669l8uNLrCrFR1WyNEXF6znThQCOvSAzRAVKkJ-cw3c1s_zmJG30Hxa05IYcG7Z3EwB7Ogy7Tu4v2L8MsdXTcXm6gUK02vx9D7/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_01.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">The border fence snakes its way through the twin cities of Nogales, Arizona and Nogales, Sonora, splitting them in two. Locals commonly refer to the towns as “ambos Nogales,” or “both Nogales,” in recognition of their closely linked heritage. Before the 1990s there was little fencing or security to prevent residents from crossing on either side, which they did frequently.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiexWaqXigs8Pga5nSctY9zT8HNrpI7dlS0WCdSFgrze1Qov9ANq5T7Hdx9XVoY8RL8oXYyImXCqap7ugk8heR81AOa0AErN1Ia8Zp3kCV4K2Nm_YNsxJlD_0UrSnz1iYhRe8sptZAhazyv/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_02.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiexWaqXigs8Pga5nSctY9zT8HNrpI7dlS0WCdSFgrze1Qov9ANq5T7Hdx9XVoY8RL8oXYyImXCqap7ugk8heR81AOa0AErN1Ia8Zp3kCV4K2Nm_YNsxJlD_0UrSnz1iYhRe8sptZAhazyv/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_02.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661787681770722" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">A young Mexican girl stares through the fence in Nogales. In 1994 the Customs and Border Patrol (CBP) began to erect the wall in Nogales during Operation Safeguard, part of a concerted effort throughout the Southwest to increase security in urban zones and staunch the flow of illegal entrants and smuggled goods. Today the wall stands twelve to twenty feet tall along the entire length of the cities and extends into the desert for miles to the east and west.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-w4TKEb5UbntjUVR1CEEkqWLfIblEPX6NM9nwT-rCJHdpO8mNJFS5Hr3A9zMVH5TI0kXuVNAqu9p3yATW1yDsqz_xSiUwgap9xlSWieLsxONLwu3hGKhXufLbeNIpr3Xe70EVVJ9MYEn_/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_03.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-w4TKEb5UbntjUVR1CEEkqWLfIblEPX6NM9nwT-rCJHdpO8mNJFS5Hr3A9zMVH5TI0kXuVNAqu9p3yATW1yDsqz_xSiUwgap9xlSWieLsxONLwu3hGKhXufLbeNIpr3Xe70EVVJ9MYEn_/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_03.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661786396588306" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">In Nogales and other urban areas where the border fence was first built, it was constructed from a patchwork of surplus military “landing mat” material left over from the Vietnam War. In the past year the government has begun to replace the landing mats with linked steel columns that are harder to climb over.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiSoa7yv0MDFg18ETFiYb-XTsxpngxgyRdkKE8-4ENvQvQxTO0AHoCoH6iKaehJhPccwh2rKKGt020GI3RsdNTGnSLnOT248ttFR_iY1WecHCZs-t1qGqCUfdQfr8t4IlsrtBSh4giQrQ1/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_04.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiSoa7yv0MDFg18ETFiYb-XTsxpngxgyRdkKE8-4ENvQvQxTO0AHoCoH6iKaehJhPccwh2rKKGt020GI3RsdNTGnSLnOT248ttFR_iY1WecHCZs-t1qGqCUfdQfr8t4IlsrtBSh4giQrQ1/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_04.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661778297840018" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">A CBP agent in Nogales stands guard in his vehicle where new fencing is being installed. In urban zones many patrol vehicles are outfitted with heavy wire mesh to protect agents from a constant barrage of rocks thrown from the other side of the wall</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJP7MeLNaB4mdrLiexWoJWLh1AGzQM8caNgB9WK8Ys74jlok3X8BdmBwj1X5vTso6KTJVh65I81Wyp2R5OBXd-4twQ6tcPHwuSPukzU2IeA_ubr4wOSzrQXQbQF0I9qiJTzfsj-YYv4zdJ/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_05.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJP7MeLNaB4mdrLiexWoJWLh1AGzQM8caNgB9WK8Ys74jlok3X8BdmBwj1X5vTso6KTJVh65I81Wyp2R5OBXd-4twQ6tcPHwuSPukzU2IeA_ubr4wOSzrQXQbQF0I9qiJTzfsj-YYv4zdJ/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_05.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661449801916626" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Piles of new columnar fencing wait to be erected in Nogales near the commercial port of entry. In addition to expanding the border wall, the U.S. government more than doubled the number of CBP agents along the Southwest border over the past decade to 17,535 in 2010.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfBGLL1cWNF4MgcqjlcajZ4VDDv7rLfL4Ton2SaubMt3dDGqHSa2iYF7XsQ4xlNtrt0bARz6Sb1i7LkcXPS9XOXBFMdbQeYzxgzDnXLcB9KERyOJ4UuvLezWXFGQ4OUUSaAqivxkI4fH0/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_06.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVfBGLL1cWNF4MgcqjlcajZ4VDDv7rLfL4Ton2SaubMt3dDGqHSa2iYF7XsQ4xlNtrt0bARz6Sb1i7LkcXPS9XOXBFMdbQeYzxgzDnXLcB9KERyOJ4UuvLezWXFGQ4OUUSaAqivxkI4fH0/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_06.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661442185731202" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">A CBP vehicle in Nogales waits near the wall at dusk. One of the agency’s key strategies is to heavily fence and monitor urban areas, pushing immigration and smuggling into rural desert stretches where agents retain a tactical advantage against illegal entrants and smugglers. </span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaiaBvtNptakr6lcOE5JVFB1TjXEfN-iVV5G-_TkrrsQo061cmZ8l-FmXCyq7b2d2tgGF67_wkQ0IvqOyRozZzkltn1nrg_YW1zyShBKwNgnDeJQsZVgpOlwWJhuxajDwhMm3xos9WH6C3/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_07.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaiaBvtNptakr6lcOE5JVFB1TjXEfN-iVV5G-_TkrrsQo061cmZ8l-FmXCyq7b2d2tgGF67_wkQ0IvqOyRozZzkltn1nrg_YW1zyShBKwNgnDeJQsZVgpOlwWJhuxajDwhMm3xos9WH6C3/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_07.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661437073486130" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">At night in Nogales, spotlights flood the fence while CBP agents monitor the wall from their vehicles. The CBP splits its Arizona operations into two “sectors” – Yuma, in the west, and Tucson, in the east. The Nogales CBP station is the largest in the Tucson sector, which itself is the most active sector in the country. In fiscal year 2010, CBP agents in the Tucson sector alone apprehended 212,202 illegal entrants, though this is down from a high of over 600,000 apprehensions in 2000.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbG2RzK_ENLR9orAH510EPSEfS_wjwv4s_b-WtstichN82VvAuVGQ3TDyz48Lrm0mDtsCAYgVoQPhoRpgbYzRHMHO0GqxkUDfA8Gk9LdIP9yVAy-YZhjLUprPuNQ9DheKrleEde7BKalD/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_08.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYbG2RzK_ENLR9orAH510EPSEfS_wjwv4s_b-WtstichN82VvAuVGQ3TDyz48Lrm0mDtsCAYgVoQPhoRpgbYzRHMHO0GqxkUDfA8Gk9LdIP9yVAy-YZhjLUprPuNQ9DheKrleEde7BKalD/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_08.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661434675590962" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Supporters of the border fence credit new construction and the deployment of thousands of new CBP agents and advanced security technology for the decrease in apprehensions. Seventy miles east of Nogales, in Douglas, Arizona, the security presence consists of a double-layer fence, twenty foot deep trench, floodlights, surveillance towers, and CBP agents in vehicles every few hundred yards. </span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlQ4q65K4N34Xx__OlNWkicqH16uDJgVTrUnnIFyQ-whOFeLsGELcSEg841CcLdioLQ9phnKFUWjaXxTrS4gP1Ld9-FlpT_JbV0NwAe5Gtnte-tbYQUvZaIMOqhq8bJZy79cPiJSByo1e/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_09.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlQ4q65K4N34Xx__OlNWkicqH16uDJgVTrUnnIFyQ-whOFeLsGELcSEg841CcLdioLQ9phnKFUWjaXxTrS4gP1Ld9-FlpT_JbV0NwAe5Gtnte-tbYQUvZaIMOqhq8bJZy79cPiJSByo1e/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_09.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661433199212450" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">As night falls near Douglas, Arizona, floodlights illuminate the border fence. Despite increased security and surveillance, migrants still illegally cross the fence here almost every night. </span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wi9W3pH0FH6e0-1nxcvBr9xEhpLis1uJy5D0ZJHrm5CbYz6Cnl4ev4WrPqPMYihl2yK06CdEYu3rgixx-HmjlLjs_cYyO-iw_bNdNvuH0c2F2yetP34tP0SEcdYDMHYXonOXRGHOGfic/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8wi9W3pH0FH6e0-1nxcvBr9xEhpLis1uJy5D0ZJHrm5CbYz6Cnl4ev4WrPqPMYihl2yK06CdEYu3rgixx-HmjlLjs_cYyO-iw_bNdNvuH0c2F2yetP34tP0SEcdYDMHYXonOXRGHOGfic/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_10.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661049167889906" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">In urban areas the CBP employs portable spotlights at night to improve detection of those trying to cross over the fence. While most illegal crossings happen during the dark hours between dusk and dawn, migrants enter the U.S. at all hours of the day.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AZ_0f_RUQ4Mh7F1Baq_j6jw-zZJeJULzBNIZjqJ23BsYPe4YJmd9JeqY6FKDRy3i2hyphenhyphenNEjXZfxV1Nt_GhgS4HdrD69he-jlzfW5dgvL-IMoucFAwGgpsZ0liUQOAjUdjFT7Z-iDcZArQ/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6AZ_0f_RUQ4Mh7F1Baq_j6jw-zZJeJULzBNIZjqJ23BsYPe4YJmd9JeqY6FKDRy3i2hyphenhyphenNEjXZfxV1Nt_GhgS4HdrD69he-jlzfW5dgvL-IMoucFAwGgpsZ0liUQOAjUdjFT7Z-iDcZArQ/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_11.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661046721693522" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Further away from urban centers, security becomes less dense and the border is harder to patrol. As such, the more remote sections of the border have become more popular for illegal entry in the past decade. Here, in the desert to the west of Douglas, the headlights from a lone CBP vehicle illuminate the border fence. </span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-uc97w3pJtiQe5XC4luCz7hmbjl_ynHq1VX1bbcLjO6btlj-HVuEf3vG-0WTHSiZeAmfS-Dd9HTTxHuO5aT9d-jTnzI6JCKuqPVYqxw5495bjam5H7cE6R_7ZaiJ5KSEkeuRxdlkHyTt/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC-uc97w3pJtiQe5XC4luCz7hmbjl_ynHq1VX1bbcLjO6btlj-HVuEf3vG-0WTHSiZeAmfS-Dd9HTTxHuO5aT9d-jTnzI6JCKuqPVYqxw5495bjam5H7cE6R_7ZaiJ5KSEkeuRxdlkHyTt/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_12.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661043038942242" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">One of the numerous CBP checkpoints placed on nearly every northbound highway along the border in Arizona. Some checkpoints are located up to 50 miles away from the border in an effort to detect drugs, illicit material, and illegal immigrants that have slipped past other security measures.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN6n5AMjwfqLPHEvti7hDUlVNM8tf_Kf8A6mbhyjaHlAk6TvwpnCm0cKYc-aPE5LZFCOpxbU-BJvwEn08QX3wTrWEtkNleHiICAT7h9WYQbSTWqaSDVD-3fKQjtK5d79ZYo33TqNPZQwt/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_13.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfN6n5AMjwfqLPHEvti7hDUlVNM8tf_Kf8A6mbhyjaHlAk6TvwpnCm0cKYc-aPE5LZFCOpxbU-BJvwEn08QX3wTrWEtkNleHiICAT7h9WYQbSTWqaSDVD-3fKQjtK5d79ZYo33TqNPZQwt/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_13.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661033171810514" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">A surveillance tower looms over the border fence to the east of Douglas. The CBP has created an interconnected network of towers along sections of the border, utilizing video and heat-imaging cameras to detect illegal entry. In some areas, the towers are connected to mobile ground sensors placed in the desert, allowing agents to zoom in with high-definition cameras when a sensor is tripped.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPZ1VQYZPieyR_W_rbH7v1h4TEYaK0tT9OAU2exUTcKywe8wshtX51GLBROU_x9yCu3l8PvW19Bw9XjvccB51bR6x16-E00XSjUDUSe2gRys8OfTBmK-k3Kmxnb3qncpQOYR4RgXwjqX8/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_14.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOPZ1VQYZPieyR_W_rbH7v1h4TEYaK0tT9OAU2exUTcKywe8wshtX51GLBROU_x9yCu3l8PvW19Bw9XjvccB51bR6x16-E00XSjUDUSe2gRys8OfTBmK-k3Kmxnb3qncpQOYR4RgXwjqX8/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644681424353325922" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;"> A mobile patrol station looms over the landscape near Douglas, giving agents a higher view of the surrounding desert. The dark glass prevents spotters that work for immigration and drug cartels from telling which way the agents are looking. </span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0kuoUhRn7O3lJDz2ITR_YofF1Mf_LHu7qKcyEp3o3mYOlFTKEeNQ9aUtoXiS2h2RNykitoFi_aiz2MdG0932oCkYODPqWYK6Ohm9inVciNpJ2CH3viHZQ7zLvCLbsosDTecwLyhDN7gb/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_15.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb0kuoUhRn7O3lJDz2ITR_YofF1Mf_LHu7qKcyEp3o3mYOlFTKEeNQ9aUtoXiS2h2RNykitoFi_aiz2MdG0932oCkYODPqWYK6Ohm9inVciNpJ2CH3viHZQ7zLvCLbsosDTecwLyhDN7gb/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_15.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644661030523960514" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">In the hills east of Douglas, columnar and landing mat fencing give way to steel vehicle barriers. While the barriers do little to prevent the illegal entry of persons, they are far cheaper than taller fencing and have been successful in stopping cars and trucks full of illegal immigrants and illicit goods from speeding across the border. </span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4WPd5_V-WUb4he1Db0oSNKEnQQ58PLUt7lu-HnWBRhg5MxVIC12_U7QSn5zBX2GqE-cuMaSVrUj_XH4GRuMI01KKo5Q7d3xFhoy4Py84WqBWbRsmBUgF95HtozY1HYUD2IkbreDvNnbzD/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_16.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4WPd5_V-WUb4he1Db0oSNKEnQQ58PLUt7lu-HnWBRhg5MxVIC12_U7QSn5zBX2GqE-cuMaSVrUj_XH4GRuMI01KKo5Q7d3xFhoy4Py84WqBWbRsmBUgF95HtozY1HYUD2IkbreDvNnbzD/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_16.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660666735075122" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Harsh landscapes dictate the security presence along many parts of the border. In the mountainous terrain west of Sasabe, Arizona, the wall transitions from robust steel columns to simple barbed wire. Despite the hostile environment, this area of the Tucson sector sees some of the highest rates of illegal entry and drug smuggling in the entire country due to the relative ease of crossing the fence.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0R4X7pO7U61tEQTgQyLt47xpFi07N5goQn-KyYs-70AZ3TaYhyfeDto_zRJfAil7ydD6-GHkrGJpAhyqCMKYghzLiOmBrhyphenhyphenkgH17osfGfLS_baMd7Qf3N9Y5KE9z58IIpd7D-dyb8s35/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_17.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0R4X7pO7U61tEQTgQyLt47xpFi07N5goQn-KyYs-70AZ3TaYhyfeDto_zRJfAil7ydD6-GHkrGJpAhyqCMKYghzLiOmBrhyphenhyphenkgH17osfGfLS_baMd7Qf3N9Y5KE9z58IIpd7D-dyb8s35/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_17.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660663420375938" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">In some parts of Arizona, patrolling the border is not solely a government effort. Here Glenn Spencer of Hereford, Arizona describes how one of his employees pulled a gun on a truck that had illegally crossed the border and nearly ran him over. Spencer is the founder of American Border Patrol, a civilian NGO that uses advanced imaging and ground sensor technology to monitor the border. Like a number of Arizona residents, Spencer feels that the government has failed to secure the border against economic and security threats from the south.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJh2FeecVeocLnfu34dteaORMCYJKxgso_HvMKznfIRYytAUJ093Q70G_zszu5dtCkwURaj73MAGo3dP2Gstbndy4G7mjPRaTM-0BmPGBIOkmxLTR36JD4aDEXAXlbvS-4wIBD8SDRJyBm/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_18.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJh2FeecVeocLnfu34dteaORMCYJKxgso_HvMKznfIRYytAUJ093Q70G_zszu5dtCkwURaj73MAGo3dP2Gstbndy4G7mjPRaTM-0BmPGBIOkmxLTR36JD4aDEXAXlbvS-4wIBD8SDRJyBm/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_18.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660652847239154" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Glenn Spencer and Mike King of American Border Patrol demonstrate aerial surveillance technology used to locate trails made by illegal immigrants and drug smugglers. Spencer routinely flies along the border in a small airplane to document sections that the organization considers to be poorly protected and insecure. Spencer and King want to see the government to build a double-layer fence topped with concertina wire along the entire 1,969 miles of the border.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAHxkINzLVXh6pQV038OvquqhCqQ-G4BPMjekPOOvJmGzHA5-XIP4TTJE5nh1e6HIgzyhluSMC_u3ZN0rHZd7o-cR68J-AugHeGUqwn206xDxrszytfibt1HdKHRk3Fk1HRK2YkrzDiTm/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_19.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAHxkINzLVXh6pQV038OvquqhCqQ-G4BPMjekPOOvJmGzHA5-XIP4TTJE5nh1e6HIgzyhluSMC_u3ZN0rHZd7o-cR68J-AugHeGUqwn206xDxrszytfibt1HdKHRk3Fk1HRK2YkrzDiTm/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_19.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660652164513458" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Other residents worry about the costs, both economic and environmental, of extending the border wall. In many locations, including here in Naco, Arizona, the fence is perforated to allow water to pass through during periods of heavy rain and flooding. Critics claim, however, that the wall impedes natural water flow and the migratory patterns of many animals, harming the natural ecosystem.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jSH9WioW4QQMMVXTdSxl8aaRP_FMM5cg54UJR6wNYkusgX6LB-5M7mOT3IY41Tq-g_WIvMO2dSwIhxICTTcfbwthPhY3Q7up1Zf7ZnaJRE_6TsmGTqp4B0Ju3pj56OtlfiA5hsldP4MP/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_20.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2jSH9WioW4QQMMVXTdSxl8aaRP_FMM5cg54UJR6wNYkusgX6LB-5M7mOT3IY41Tq-g_WIvMO2dSwIhxICTTcfbwthPhY3Q7up1Zf7ZnaJRE_6TsmGTqp4B0Ju3pj56OtlfiA5hsldP4MP/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_20.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660646152179378" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">CBP agent Jim Stout looks toward the Baboquivari Peak to the north of Sasabe, where numerous migrant and smuggling trails cut through the desert. Stout believes the wall is successful and should be expanded, but thinks the issue often distracts from other important aspects of border securitization. “The truth is, you could hold hands across the border and people would still get in,” says Stout. “The real question is how you reduce the incentives to cross in the first place.”</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2C9O-AuBXDZ8qXf53PhHIuPBcAWdY9JRrXKWWdaTJoeRBgt5M-ls2aQMPf3N71Orup0B4IM9sjYrzKvWVXBPcnY6PqrgXOUPiVXtNeYpz56bBx2B36L-W6CSaOIstHYy_3eyfwofewZ5G/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_21.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2C9O-AuBXDZ8qXf53PhHIuPBcAWdY9JRrXKWWdaTJoeRBgt5M-ls2aQMPf3N71Orup0B4IM9sjYrzKvWVXBPcnY6PqrgXOUPiVXtNeYpz56bBx2B36L-W6CSaOIstHYy_3eyfwofewZ5G/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_21.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660161708495746" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">West of Sasabe, the border fence comes to an abrupt end. While some envision the fence as a wall across the entire desert border, in reality it is a series of walls interspersed by long stretches of vehicle barriers and barbed wire.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioN9MspbgymYI6TnYPUx0BvkWp6nWpPHDjh4PtbXuZ-2f_EpRPCnVDwmSn6ndHO4J5xJr4GD4lgSOD8a3aF2Dyg6dJuBCOkoRyf23LPLdDcF2uG26kV_CN3-rigWAlY0h7dmLCy31YBNKY/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_22.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioN9MspbgymYI6TnYPUx0BvkWp6nWpPHDjh4PtbXuZ-2f_EpRPCnVDwmSn6ndHO4J5xJr4GD4lgSOD8a3aF2Dyg6dJuBCOkoRyf23LPLdDcF2uG26kV_CN3-rigWAlY0h7dmLCy31YBNKY/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_22.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660153679301122" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">In August of 2010 over 1,200 National Guard troops were deployed to the Southwest border– 500 to Arizona alone –to buttress security efforts in key locations. Here sandbags ring an Arizona National Guard bunker along the border in Nogales. Some residents felt the move an unnecessary militarization of the border, while others viewed it as both necessary and too long in coming. </span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3_I73X79-DNZ5KuyBnUdOTb0KFYXKK20W_kDE8ixt3DqgesGqYkBnepUFKVI0nAVcyjQPgAfINpnYnoLy1DxVuyAmrtrWwlXpzQz_qQ3BjQjJKklGwvD_1WbarST0rpWAPyPDkH-K6CD/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_23.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV3_I73X79-DNZ5KuyBnUdOTb0KFYXKK20W_kDE8ixt3DqgesGqYkBnepUFKVI0nAVcyjQPgAfINpnYnoLy1DxVuyAmrtrWwlXpzQz_qQ3BjQjJKklGwvD_1WbarST0rpWAPyPDkH-K6CD/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_23.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660147264544562" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">National Guard troops man an outpost in the hills east of Douglas.</span></a><p></p>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqtswCMOmbeed3vTX4GnsMd5cDXo3aiUXbBLYJ9T8x4XWYTvz9wv7BQEoVPohU8-lb0PyBavNyZNa6zpEEeVj5rIG5mjz4E3DeQ1wRJj7E9RLTn1pldDCESjZQtyno33Jqf_uQNyyYBc6/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_24.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqtswCMOmbeed3vTX4GnsMd5cDXo3aiUXbBLYJ9T8x4XWYTvz9wv7BQEoVPohU8-lb0PyBavNyZNa6zpEEeVj5rIG5mjz4E3DeQ1wRJj7E9RLTn1pldDCESjZQtyno33Jqf_uQNyyYBc6/s400/siadak_AZ_2011_24.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644660144660358834" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "></span></a><p></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqtswCMOmbeed3vTX4GnsMd5cDXo3aiUXbBLYJ9T8x4XWYTvz9wv7BQEoVPohU8-lb0PyBavNyZNa6zpEEeVj5rIG5mjz4E3DeQ1wRJj7E9RLTn1pldDCESjZQtyno33Jqf_uQNyyYBc6/s1600/siadak_AZ_2011_24.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:85%;">Vehicle barriers in the mountainous desert east of Douglas.</span></a>
<br />Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1417234974701351524.post-75699385009272689362011-08-24T14:46:00.000-07:002011-08-24T18:51:59.712-07:00Roadtrip SelectsI spent a month earlier this summer driving and climbing my way from Boston to Seattle. I had a chance to meet up with a bunch of friends in some amazing places, and climbed some of my favorite routes yet. Below are some of my favorite photos from the trip. Unfortunately, most are from the second half of the trip, as my point and shoot was broken during the first half. Enjoy.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8MGuy0916fQulUVoR7caYleROfUQXh2KNdo46R7cvxgSVqiKzb1jIJwD4mqoK8azRqsSUV5Yh52NudN6ZwtLy1Zw7yad5jaTrr6INn2JP6idaHOuEsSJXr3AOiSAPQdmm6QlTXI5Tbsp/s1600/Lumpy+Bouldering+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644604070962441154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8MGuy0916fQulUVoR7caYleROfUQXh2KNdo46R7cvxgSVqiKzb1jIJwD4mqoK8azRqsSUV5Yh52NudN6ZwtLy1Zw7yad5jaTrr6INn2JP6idaHOuEsSJXr3AOiSAPQdmm6QlTXI5Tbsp/s400/Lumpy+Bouldering+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmHZ7x0-ewGvaiIPQ_TlSjQ7OfgCIjrUCXUbaiSKlwgQ6i9IieWV1DU6DMvVIsVBXxfF3aOxSygpUqyHMLw58d3qvJjZ6Ty-gjB5b8Wt_tUNcfS72u6eb8P4CctzAYxGxejx7689Kwrg9/s1600/Henry+Portrait+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 253px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644604064957087218" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjmHZ7x0-ewGvaiIPQ_TlSjQ7OfgCIjrUCXUbaiSKlwgQ6i9IieWV1DU6DMvVIsVBXxfF3aOxSygpUqyHMLw58d3qvJjZ6Ty-gjB5b8Wt_tUNcfS72u6eb8P4CctzAYxGxejx7689Kwrg9/s400/Henry+Portrait+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0ccQmmUipIYrQ6_F5l6SM4GyqdUTxnt8K_TsFGPfKzKsEf4UnhgX6Ej6Hxk4s8X8K4RrCdGgLXqx38sDwKchimUPqWblSg16hVgbKTWJn02X3S0NgZxO9nShqVqUnBmXWUIko_8VL26m/s1600/Jimmy+Portrait+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644604055334406706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0ccQmmUipIYrQ6_F5l6SM4GyqdUTxnt8K_TsFGPfKzKsEf4UnhgX6Ej6Hxk4s8X8K4RrCdGgLXqx38sDwKchimUPqWblSg16hVgbKTWJn02X3S0NgZxO9nShqVqUnBmXWUIko_8VL26m/s400/Jimmy+Portrait+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9sEkaMOmVhKfwKl8B9nMR7Iz9gxUUXbWlO67r-I6LG7MkjaauRMURcf1xEfYdf7Czf9JF4vPAvMQYgentlY-u2fx5YeO38PB-UwN4MM2Ha7qhfoLIINzW4f9a-LgLZWi54NGt8cvhJEov/s1600/JLo+BS+Portrait+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644604050263524546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9sEkaMOmVhKfwKl8B9nMR7Iz9gxUUXbWlO67r-I6LG7MkjaauRMURcf1xEfYdf7Czf9JF4vPAvMQYgentlY-u2fx5YeO38PB-UwN4MM2Ha7qhfoLIINzW4f9a-LgLZWi54NGt8cvhJEov/s400/JLo+BS+Portrait+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh55cI-MJnoQ1D7gGut4y2n9GYyVftO35McxlY87jE2p8NEMr1ibHHMQS8ksot5C8G0YplZ5uDOAZ0qegFUrLLTN4EHHOsiTEzJYJXA6qRFtc2HW1MhrNsq_ouMer1c5wz4Eo466dtVWm/s1600/Upper+Boyscout+BW+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644603476909846242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWh55cI-MJnoQ1D7gGut4y2n9GYyVftO35McxlY87jE2p8NEMr1ibHHMQS8ksot5C8G0YplZ5uDOAZ0qegFUrLLTN4EHHOsiTEzJYJXA6qRFtc2HW1MhrNsq_ouMer1c5wz4Eo466dtVWm/s400/Upper+Boyscout+BW+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONG37anOkRYD2jcoiL2N9oAVKiaxqI59PDHnmwr2W3rgMd6eAAAoVopGRVw_-1q3DQLlsWZfDBgVoD2s1aZa3MR4AUrhGTQLDRMQg65CkFXejBmJi_H9W2RFcxZ9lEeKPyUDNb5sBJpJe/s1600/JLo+Upper+Boyscout+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644603465688245954" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgONG37anOkRYD2jcoiL2N9oAVKiaxqI59PDHnmwr2W3rgMd6eAAAoVopGRVw_-1q3DQLlsWZfDBgVoD2s1aZa3MR4AUrhGTQLDRMQg65CkFXejBmJi_H9W2RFcxZ9lEeKPyUDNb5sBJpJe/s400/JLo+Upper+Boyscout+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMuDYABJQPL2GHn2RG3noJRJaj11FWnq-qFcLiJIt29Co-yEXBYJ__o-p_KMw6LinZv95CDqBQWPomuMAlu5qoVuEA7bWBroqv0JETJPZPRjvcdFgEaqE87GXhKds7I29XyKSKmKRq4EN/s1600/Moon+BW+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644603439387098386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfMuDYABJQPL2GHn2RG3noJRJaj11FWnq-qFcLiJIt29Co-yEXBYJ__o-p_KMw6LinZv95CDqBQWPomuMAlu5qoVuEA7bWBroqv0JETJPZPRjvcdFgEaqE87GXhKds7I29XyKSKmKRq4EN/s400/Moon+BW+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpCk4M6E3HwjNUiiTCSsPPcDapIHcVQInxGKg0UNotkYR8N3jTNEvHlnpyHja5TYTMR9WjNFrJcwGRhtQN1o-3sRqHpMUtfaECOAd2UPnLWYpfNQLxmN6mQYVj7L62Tu5CPMgOgcAF5nT-/s1600/Whitney+Massif+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644603425263718354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpCk4M6E3HwjNUiiTCSsPPcDapIHcVQInxGKg0UNotkYR8N3jTNEvHlnpyHja5TYTMR9WjNFrJcwGRhtQN1o-3sRqHpMUtfaECOAd2UPnLWYpfNQLxmN6mQYVj7L62Tu5CPMgOgcAF5nT-/s400/Whitney+Massif+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYjgtH8rOlfPFKaJy-0DmcVs3b4JG65uJtRs-IyMN_MA4l_v31YYaT7ZqJ5-OGm-pdwC3aIn_GGcfuvhVw7d5wQm31QdmrIbc65YBIGMMqBbDrJ49jf4g6JsetpYQJtVYEhBXlBo-j7RB/s1600/JLo+Russell+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5644602597047285506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYjgtH8rOlfPFKaJy-0DmcVs3b4JG65uJtRs-IyMN_MA4l_v31YYaT7ZqJ5-OGm-pdwC3aIn_GGcfuvhVw7d5wQm31QdmrIbc65YBIGMMqBbDrJ49jf4g6JsetpYQJtVYEhBXlBo-j7RB/s400/JLo+Russell+%25281+of+1%2529.jpg" /></a>
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<br />Austin Siadakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12320656644013404196noreply@blogger.com0