Another Year Ends

Trout fishing near Denali, Alaska

Be careful what you wish for, I muse to myself. Having never been to Alaska, it was high upon the list of places to experience. As the third trip there this year began thrutching in its death throes, I had seen enough of Alaska to hold me over for a while. As life is prone to do, sometimes it will have its way with you. A number of unexpected turns had culminated to make for a hard time on many levels. The bitter wind and biting temps seemed amplified by an already rotten disposition. 

Alaskan Grayling

Don't get me wrong... it wasn't all bad. The negative always seems to stand out so much more than the neutral or positive. It seems to be a quality many humans suffer from. But alas, you didnt come here to listen to me bitch and moan. 

Pretty Lady

All three trips to Alaska were for work (though any longterm readers of this blog will know that I manage to wrangle a good time out of most of my jobs). Each trip was to the interior of Alaska, never straying too far from Fairbanks. We were called to work at a number of different times, spanning a few different seasons allowing us to see days of endless sunlight, as well as days filled with snow and darkness. The job kept us busy for 6 days a week, so we had to make the most of our one day off. It was usually filled with fishing or trips to/near Denali. The highlight of the trips to Alaska for me were catching some big silver salmon, as well as one of the most mind blowing displays of the northern lights that your humble narrator has ever bore witness to.

Quick Fading Fall Colors

Silver Salmon

Now gather 'round close everyone... it is time for a quick history lesson. Imagine if you will; You and the 800-900 others of your community are faced with an adversary that will show you no mercy. They will kill all the men, enslave the women and children, and wipe your culture, tradition and heritage off the face of the earth.  You are out gunned. You are out manned. You are the last stronghold in the fight, and this is the last bastion of hope. The only thing standing between you and them is a well placed fortress. It has been a long battle. The end is close enough upon you to be felt like the warmth of a wolfs breath as it stands above you, licking its lips.  This is Masada.

A sculpture of what once was

Broken remains

Masada is a placed built high upon a mountain over looking the Dead Sea and surrounding deserts in Israel, near the border of Jordan. Built under the orders of King Herod, it was an escape of great decadence for Herod and his friends. Sometime after being abandoned by Herod, it was occupied by the last of the Jews fighting the Romans.  The Romans surrounded Masada and slowly built a rampart up to its gates. The Jews in Masada would throw stones and shoot arrows at the Romans building the ramp. The Romans in turn sent enslaved Jews to finish the ramp. Those inside could not bring themselves to kill their brethren and the ramp was completed. Being faced with an awful prospect, the Jews inside Masada decided death at their own hands would be better than the fate that awaited them with the Romans. A mass suicide was committed and all but three died.

The view from Masada. The Dead Sea below and Jordan beyond

Of the many places I have seen upon this earth, none carried the scents of antiquity more so than Israel. Sadly, work dictated the schedule and only one day of free time was forged. It was spent at Masada and floating on the Dead Sea.

I aint too manly for cosmetic care; A fine Dead Sea mud bath

So enough of the boring stories involving work. Let's get down to business. It is time to go climbing. Back to the southwest we go.

Climbing the amazing Big Baby, Indian Creek, UT

That bizarre twang of the south just wasn't suiting for a man of my nature and the sweet song the southwest hums hath called me back. After having tasted the life of a responsible family man (it's a long story), the quick dwindling nature of a wild mans dreams became apparent. Cast back into a place of great freedom, I decided to pursue it passionately. Here is a journal entry from my first proper adventure...

Awake…that familiar buzzing. The usual annoyance of the alarm is diminished by the excitement of what this day holds. The van door slides open. It’s warm, surprisingly warm for Utah this time of year. I look up to the sky and am amazed by the spread of stars. The southwest never disappoints with its night views. Rolling out of the van with a yoga like move, its time to start the water boiling. Coffee and oatmeal ought to provide fuel through most of this day. Quietness is essential so as to not wake camping neighbors.  A few quick gulps and I am ready to go.

            I hike alone by headlight, destination roughly known. The horizon should be light enough soon to help guide, for now just follow this wash. As morning rolls in, the winds pick up. There often seems great struggle where night and day meet as they battle for ownership of the hour.  The wash turns to trail and vertical progress comes quickly. It is a rough slog. With no partner to share the burden of the gear with, ambitious steps slow and breaths get heavy. Around a corner, my match comes into view… The Priest.

The Priest (left spire, right skyline), leading the procession high above Castle Valley

             Instantly awe and excitement fill me. I am firing on all cylinders. The wind is blowing hard enough to push and the distant clouds leave me uneasy about the outcome of the day. Up here is no place to be caught in a storm. A helicopter buzzes low nearby. Assuming it was a tour group catching a sunrise view of Castleton Tower, I wave. They double back and land on a teetering ridge. A crew of Search and Rescue get out and load up a cache of gear (from a rescue the previous night?). It is hard to believe such a spectacle in these winds.  I watch them load up and take off and nearly nose dive down the slope… back to the business at hand.

Castleton tower sunrise and a peculiar bird

            After another 20 minutes of hiking, the base of the route is reached. It is spectacular. Time to get to work. Ambition screeches to a halt with a realization… that wind was colder than noticed and dexterity has vacated extremities. There may as well be 2x4’s sticking out of these shirtsleeves. I laugh as I try and open my bag and put on jackets. I can grasp my gear now as well as I could grasp my advanced molecular biology courses during my time at Harvard. But the joke soon grows tiresome. Frustration increases. For a moment I wish my thumbs had ears so they could hear the profanities being spewed forth upon them. I laugh at this thought. Excitement seems to be turning to lunacy.  Push through. Move forward.

Looking up Excommunication on The Priest

            Ahead of me lies over 300’ of extremely difficult, exposed climbing that I intend to cheat (aid) my way through. I clip bolts, pull on cams and use other aiding black magic (hooks) to make vertical progress.  I’m halfway up the route when another group comes around the corner. There is no other climbing near here so I assume they must be strong climbers to come after such a route. “You come to get excommunicated?” I shout down in my best Kentucky backwoods accent. “No. We are looking for Castleton Tower.” I snicker. It is no easy task to walk right past one of the biggest, most famous freestanding towers in the country. Shouting down a few directions to get them to their route I also inquire if they have heard an updated weather report, as the last one I heard sounded bleak for the afternoon. “Nope.” they reply. “They must be from Boulder,” I think to myself. I laugh out loud at my joke and The Priest smiles in agreement.

Elevated state of mind

            The wind has been lulled into a state of tranquility for a while but seems to have woken up in a foul mood and is getting worse higher on the tower. Ropes blow sideways, slings tangle, snot and tears are ripped from my face and all moisture is stripped from my lips. Despite all this the summit is reached and as soon as it is, there is nothing more desired than to get back down. I dare not even untie to sign the register on account of the winds. A summit is no place to linger and those clouds are getting darker as they get closer. My celebration will have to take place back on the ground.

The means by which this route was climbed is as safe as if I had a partner (so stop worrying mom). That being said, if something were to go wrong, the big disadvantage would be dealing with it alone i.e. stuck ropes. But with a bit of luck and a bit of skill, each rappel goes smoothly and it isn’t too long til good ol’ mother earth is back beneath my feet. I raise my arms in victory and let out a silent cheer.

One of things I have most appreciated about climbing alone (in whatever context it is done) is that it is so personal. There is no team to encourage you when scared. There are no fans to cheer at the triumphs. Each challenge is faced alone and in that, success (and sometimes failure) is attributed to you and you alone. Elation carries me back down the trail. I am so totally present in the moment. I keep sitting down to soak it all in. The only thing urging me forward is the pending storm.

I get down to the parking lot and a curious spectator asks if I am a climber. I nod and point out the tower I have just been up and down. “Why in the world would you wanna do that?” she asked. “Well, there was nothing good on tv.” I smile and get into my van. A raindrop hits my windshield and two thoughts simultaneously hit me… man I am good/man I am lucky.

The adventure doesn't stop there. Next up... Zion.

Zion in rare form

For those who are not savvy with climbing... it is possible to climb alone using safe practices, ropes, and gear. It is much more complicated and time consuming, but possible. Soloing a wall in Zion was a very personal objective that was to be an anthem heralding in a new chapter in my life. The mission: Space Shot.

Space shot takes a small crack paralleling the giant right arching roof

The route could easily be done in a day with two strong climbers, but I wanted an experience more than to accomplish it as quickly as possible. I wanted to sleep on a wall. So I picked the most exposed and overhanging aspect of the wall to spend the night on.

Reaping the rewards

I would love to be able to regale you with the full story and all of the wildness that came along with it, but it is simply too much to write about and far too personal to ever be able to explain.

Not a bad sight to wake up to

Overhanging handcrack with 800' of air below

Nature is a better artist than you are

So there it is in a nutshell folks. Seems like it is always such a big ordeal to put one of these together but then upon rereading it, seems so short.

2015 has been a year of great ups and downs. I wont be too sad to see it go. I've got some wild plans in the works for the coming year, so stay tuned. Hope your holidays were filled with food, booze and family and may your coming year be filled with more wild times than dull.

Truly, madly, deeply,

Boots McGoots

If it ain't Dutch, it ain't much

     There has been great struggle with writing this particular blog for the last few months. Having started it numerous times only to come back later and laugh at attempts at sounding deep or poetic, the realization came that a new angle must be taken. Instead of droning on about "first I went here, and then I went there, followed by.... etc", the executive decision has been made to reflect upon these places traveled and delve deeper into the most outstanding memories from the experience. May these words and antics be to your enjoyment! 

Fleeting warmth in the German winter

Germany: Its the night before half the crew will be flying out. This is cause for celebration (though those Boston boys dont need much of an excuse). After a month of virtually no sun, lots of rain and some snow, return flights in hand boost everyones morale. It is a short walk to the tavern. The schnitzle is greasy and delicious. The beer flows freely, and god damn its good. Shots of jeagermeister and "good friends" (shots of schnapps) set the tone for the rest of the evening. 

Fast forward about 6 beers. We are getting rowdy. We stagger to another bar and before ya know it we have two big flights of beers before us. "Oh jesus...." The 6 of us begin an arm wrestling competition. It doesn't take long for us to get noticed and it doesn't take long before we are being challenged by the locals. Most go down easy to the champion amongst our group. We hoot and holler, "America! America!" But the unlikely 17 year old, German baby Huey steps up and crushes all of our pride. The next morning is rough. I dont know what hurts worse... my head or my elbows. Wont be doing that again. 

Downtown Amsterdam

Amsterdam: A last minute change of plans affords us enough free time to justify a quick trip to Amsterdam. Four of us pile into the car and we're hauling ass (its the autobahn after all). We make it at about 11pm and our night is only just beginning. We walk for miles and miles and miles. Not surprisingly, the night is fueled by drinking (damn those Boston boys!) as we try and experience all that Amsterdam has to offer in a very short amount of time. Its 6 am before we make it back to the hotel room, which was truly a sight to behold. We were too cheap to get a bigger room, so two are sleeping on the mattress and two are sleeping on the box springs. Four big boys in a very very (I mean VERY) small room after a night of drinking.... the odor escaping our room was enough to knock the buzzards off a shit wagon.

Cathedral in Amsterdam

We wake surprisingly early in decent condition and realize that we need to make the most of the day. We wrestle with the idea of going to a museum or something cultured so we dont feel like complete slobs. But after a few bloody marys... well I think you know where this is going.

Overlooking remote parts around Sedona

Sedona, Arizona: Im sitting on a ledge about 300 feet up. Colin is working his way up the next section of the route. He sounds scared. Upon following up the route behind him, I understand why. The amount of loose rock was scary enough to climb on, let alone having to worry about dropping any on his partner (me). The rest of the climbing is amazing. Its a beautiful warm day; theres a soft breeze. We're 600 feet off the ground climbing. To look down would offer a view with a lot of air beneath you. Such exposure makes even easy climbing seem a bit tougher and courage slightly harder to muster. The reputation of the sandstone in the area does little to add to my confidence as I grab holds that seem to flex under my weight. A fall from here wouldn't hurt, but it sure would be scary. We make it to the top, safe and unscathed. We celebrate our victory silently; in awe of the beauty that surrounds us. The warmth of the sun penetrates and relaxes my soul. Im so alive in this moment.

Plaza in Curacao

Curacao (Dutch island in the Caribbean): It's sometime after 5 in the morning. I have been working by headlamp all through the night sealing panels. Beneath me is a giant fiberglass dome (picture a giant white soccer ball) which is used to protect the airports radar from weather. The constant barking of stray dogs is easing with the horizon getting lighter.

Downtown Curacao

I climb my ropes to the top of the dome. I want to get a good seat for sunrise. All around me is the Caribbean. The most perfectly mood-fitting song flows into my ears from my headphones. I am becoming incredibly sentimental. A warm breeze wraps around me. The hair on the back of my neck stands up as I sit silently on top the dome. I watch the waves roll in and lap carelessly on the shore and the city begins to bustle on the other end of the island; both unaware and indifferent to my experience. I feel so small, and yet oh so big.

Sunrise on the dome

Zion National Park, UT: Change is in the air. The days are growing hot in my winter nesting grounds (Phoenix). The closet on the balcony has been a fine home for the last few months, but life calls me forth. This is the last hoorah for the season. Colin and I want it to go out with a bang. Subtle hints of an ending era inspire us to go big. We've picked out a route to prove that our efforts over the last few months have taken us to a new level in climbing. We are halfway up the route. Im in a wide crack (known as a chimney) with my feet against one wall and my back against the other. There is nowhere to place any gear to protect a fall. I try to ignore the mountains giant gullet begging for a misstep so that it may gobble me up. I shut out thoughts of obliging the beast; I keep worming my way up. The next belay ledge is reached and Colin joins me soon after. We soak up the warm spring sun, surrounded by +1000ft vertical sandstone walls made up of every color in the rainbow.

Zion

I give the gear to Colin and he takes off. He climbs past an overhanging roof, looking like a hero to the tourist far below unloading off the park bus, and I can no longer see him. After climbing together so much and for so long, we communicate without words. He's taking longer than usual.... somethings wrong. I shout up to him but words flutter further down canyon, carried by the stiff breeze on this exposed ledge. Too much longer and this may be serious. To great relief the rope starts pulling up and forward progress is being made. Upon climbing up to where he is, he informed me as to what the delay was... he had pulled on what appeared to be solid rock but proved to be a mini fridge size block with an itchy trigger finger and the thought to catch flight and take him with. Thank the good lord the rock stayed put cause if it wouldn't have killed him, it probably would have the guys climbing far below us.

Red River Gorge, KY: I'm in a canoe by myself on this river. I have been on this river for quite a while and it has been a pretty wild adventure for the last good bit. The white knuckled, cant-pry-the-smile-off-my-face moments are matched in value by the serene, pensive calm waters.

Brian on The Underling

Bug

There have been a lot of interesting characters met on this trip. Some were but brief encounters with people standing on shore, shouting a quick dialogue before moving on. Others have been fellow paddlers doing their best navigate the river too. Many had advice, some had wisdom. As is par for the course.... I'd figure out my own way.

Box turtle

Rainbow Trout

There is a fork in the river ahead and with no map or guide a quick decision must be made. To stay on the same river or plow through rough waters leading to a new branch? I grip the paddle tight and give it everything Ive got. My will and my skill are put to the test through some rapids by the likes of which I have never seen.  I make it through to calmer waters where the river opens up. I round a corner and see someone on the bank of this new river. "Where does this go?" I shout. They shrug. Truly another cut from the same cloth. "Wanna paddle together?" I ask. With a smile as a reply, their kayaks back in the water. Further down the river we go.

So there! After many many months, this blog has come to an end. Thank god. But I have a request for all those who are reading this... in exchange for all the stories I have shared with you over the years, tell me of an adventure you have had lately. Seriously. For a long time now I have spewed forth tales of travels and rocks climbed.  I suspect most of you will close this window and write my request off, but I am hoping that at least some will oblige me. Big or small, wild or tame. Embellish. Lie! I dont care. Tell me of that 100 pound trout you almost reeled in. Tell me of a close call or the last time your heart was in your throat. Tell me about the last time you felt so alive or lost in the moment or when the hair stood up on the back of your neck. I need to hear of your wild times so I dont just shout into the void and hear my own echo. 

And for those of you who feel as though you might not have a story worth sharing... make one. Go get lost. Go get scared. Go have fun. 

Always,

Danjerous