Patagonia: Lessons in Ego and Caring

I. Down

I couldn't believe it.  Climbing conditions were perfect -- there was hardly a cloud in the sky, the 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.  

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.  

Watching the weather, getting psyched for the next morning. Cheyne Lempe photo.

First light beneath the east face of Fitz Roy. Cheyne Lempe photo.

First light on the approach to Fitz Roy

Matt nearing the mixed climbing on the approach to La Silla. Cheyne Lempe photo.

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.  

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.  

Joel starting up the splitter first pitch of the Franco-Argentine.

Half-joking, half-not, Cheyne lets Fitz know his feelings.

Hiking back to town the next day we rested next to the dusty trail and berated ourselves for turning back.  

"We should have just gone for it."

"I can't believe we went all the way up there just to climb one pitch."  

"Everybody else is sending right now."

I looked up at the sunlight floating through the swaying branches of the lenga trees overhead.  Why was I so concerned about what everyone else was doing?  Didn't I come down to Patagonia for myself?  For my own hopes and dreams and desires?  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?

"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."

A silence fell over our conversation as my words sunk in.  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.  

But I should have known escaping my ego couldn't be that easy.  It never has been.

Summer Wrap Up

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.  

"Well," I thought to myself, "Heat's on for the first time.  It is officially fall in Seattle."

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.  

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.  

Part I - Yosemite

It all started off with a bang when I got the chance to go to Yosemite in June for a little "business" trip.  

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.   

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.  

El Capitan

New Video Out

I 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.

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.

In March myself and Matt Van Biene spent some time in Indian Creek climbing and filming with Will Stanhope (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.



As Will mentions in the video, it was a pretty crazy day that he finally sent Down in Albion, because Hayden had just sent the FA of Carbondale Short Bus (5.14-) 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.)

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.

I hope everyone's getting out, living life and loving it.

Hop on the Short Bus

In 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.

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."

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.

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: http://video.patagonia.com/video/carbondale-short-bus

Hayden catching the huge sideways dyno that guards the chains

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! 

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.

Peace.

Origins

I 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.

Ah, the old alma mater, and the city I know so little about on the horizon

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.

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.

Alpine Mentors

In a recent post I mentioned working with Steve House on a video for his new program, Alpine Mentors. 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.

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:

A Summit Post

I 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.

Update -- Big Things Afoot

I realized it's been awhile since I posted about what's going on in my life, and seeing as blogs are ultimately meant to feed your ego by pretending your life is more important and interesting than it really is 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.

The short story is that life is unbelievably awesome right now and I can't believe how lucky I am.

The long story goes a little something like this:

Since early January I have been back in Seattle working as an intern with Fitz Cahall and his company, Duct Tape Then Beer. Fitz is the creator of the highly successful Dirtbag Diaries, as well as a host of other awesome outdoor/adventure media projects including The Season, The Love Letter, Fringe Elements, Tracing the Edge, The Classics, 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.

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 Blake Herrington how my experience has compared to that of Kramer's intern in a legendary Seinfeld episode. 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 series of articles on Outdoor Research's Verticulture website for the recent video series The Classics, 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 :)

The other recent big news in my life has been the unexpected success/popularity of my video, A Desert Life. 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 an interview with Alpinist Magazine 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.

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 Matt Van Biene, 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 Alpine Mentors, an awesome new program created by elite alpinist Steve House, as well as another video for Skyward Mountaineering, 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:



















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.

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.

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.

If you read this far, thank you for reading and for your support. I hope all is well in your world, wherever you are.

Livin life and lovin it,

Austin

Stories

Storytelling 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.

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.

A Desert Life

Alf 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.

For me, there is perhaps nothing more inspiring than to see others truly live 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 is possible, that you can choose the life you live, and that money comes second to experience, not the other way around.

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.

The Measuring Tape

I 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.

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?

How do you measure four months of experience? Can you? I'm still not quite sure, but here are a few ways I might:

15,327 miles
119 days
2500 dollars spent
334 pitches of climbing
1 retreat
22 good friends made
8 COLD nights
6 states
1 flat tire
115 nights in my sleeping bag
18 postcards
1 crazy night in Vegas
2 dead rabbits
1 broken camera lens
2 awesome meals at the Lee Vining Mobil
3 Cormac McCarthy novels
1 run-in with Johnny Law
5 loads of laundry
3 cams, 4 stoppers, and 3 biners found in Yosemite
1 dropped ascender
5 consecutive weeks without a shower
3 weeks without changing any of my clothes
1 night on a wall
2 of the scariest moves I've ever had to make
17 summits (cumbre!!!)
1 desert tower
6 Its-Its
7 cans of Cobra
1 absolutely insane shooting star
97 degree high
4 degree low
2 Milt's milkshakes
2 ropes acquired
1 attempted car break-in (we were doing the attempting)
6 days in Smith Rock State Park
3 days in Pine Creek, CA
26 days in Tuolumne Meadows
27 days in Yosemite Valley
14 days in Moab, UT
32 days in Indian Creek
4 days in Canyonlands National Park
4 days in Joshua Tree National Park
Too many hours behind the wheel
2432 photos
137GB of video
2 European assholes
15+ awesome Euros to remind me to look past stereotypes
1 fantastic bunch of Kiwis
157 miles hiked
1 wild drunken midnight offwidth bouldering session
1 blood red lunar eclipse
3 sketchy Star Drives
5 rolls of tape
Thousands of hand jams
More amazing sunsets than I can remember
1 life affirming experience I'll never forget

West Coastin'

OK, a long time since I've posted, but I've been busy!

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.

Splitters forever

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.

A cold day in the Needles

Ian wondering how we're going to get out

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.

Good Days, Bad Days

This 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.

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.



Yet life is a magical balancing act and the good cannot always come without the bad.

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.

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.

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.

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.

RIP Doggle. I miss you man

Make It Hurt So Good

Since 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:

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.

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.

Desert Days

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

On The Move

Its a wrap on Yosemite for the season. Now I'm in Southern Utah for the next month or so. More to come soon.

Just outside of Moab

Sunset in Arches National Park

Big Wallin

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:

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.

But I have a new favorite saying: "There ain't no shallow end in the send pool."

Michael jugging the first pitch on Leaning Tower

Meadows Life

The 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.

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.

Shifting Seasons

It's always funny how the smallest of moments can bring an ocean of memories flooding back.

I woke early yesterday to get some sunrise photos in Yosemite Valley, but quickly realized that I had gotten up too 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.

The Sentinel looking more like a Nordwand of the Alps behind morning clouds

A Couple from Tuolumne

I've been up in Tuolumne Meadows for the past two weeks and despite a lot of thunder storms the climbing has been amazing.

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.

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.

I'll post more from Tuolumne after I move down to the Valley next week.

Mt. Conness in the morning light

Approaching the North Ridge of Mt. Conness

Sam on the "Diving Board" high above the glacier

Sam rappelling on the North Ridge

Looking East toward Mt. Dana just after sunset