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