A Day in Boulder Canyon + Eldo's Yellow Spur (5.9+)

(Photo: A climber on Rewritten (5.7) in Eldorado Canyon. Shot from the top of pitch three of The Yellow Spur (5.9+).)



Two years ago I had my first opportunity to climb in Colorado. I did any easy route called The Bomb (5.4) in Eldorado Canyon with my old friend Greg while I was in the state for a family vacation.



While that experience was a lot of fun, I couldn't help but feel it was also a lost opportunity. Surrounded by legendary, challenging climbs, we had done something well below my ability level, in part because Greg was out of climbing shape and in part due to my own insecurities. After this first taste of Eldo I was determined to get more confident and come back to climb some of the storied classics in the canyon. I hoped that I would some day get the chance.



This year another August family vacation provided that chance. We were in Steamboat Springs for a week, and then planned to be close to Denver for several days before returning to NYC. While near Denver I would have a couple of days to go climbing. With thousands upon thousands of climbs nearby, the possibilities seemed endless.



I had a ready partner in my old mentor Vass. Vass had moved back to Boulder from New York last year. During the time when he lived in NYC, Vass had been one of my best partners. He had really taught me a lot. I admired his calm competence with climbing systems and his reliably good footwork. Although he regularly claimed to be out of good climbing form, he would nevertheless sail up anything I could climb and make it look effortless-- putting my clumsy efforts to shame. Vass always encouraged me to move forward. His support made me feel I was capable of doing more; it seemed I was usually at my best when climbing with Vass. I did my first 5.7, 5.8, and 5.9 leads with him. I was psyched to be climbing with him again, especially since our last climbing day hadn't really gone so well.



We met up on a Sunday and decided to spend our first day in Boulder Canyon getting reacquainted and shaking off the rust. Vass and I figured we could do some moderate sport and trad and then on our second day we could go tackle one of the bigger objectives I was looking to climb in Eldorado Canyon. There were so many long classics in Eldo to choose from, climbs like Rewritten (5.7), the Bastille Crack (5.7+) , Ruper (5.8), the Green Spur (5.9), or maybe even the Yellow Spur (5.9+). But first we'd take a day just to get loose and feel good.



I was excited to check out Boulder Canyon. It is a place with a storied history, but I was afraid I wouldn't really care for all the bolted climbs I'd heard about. (I prefer placing gear.) As we drove in, I found the canyon beautiful, but then all of these Front Range canyons are so beautiful. They really have it good in Colorado. Consistent with its history, Boulder Canyon's climbingis varied. You can find recently (over-) bolted sport climbs up slabs right next to sandbagged old traditional climbs that go up cracks.



Vass suggested we start on Tonnere Tower, a formation withmoderate climbing that unaccountably has been overlooked until relatively recently. Vass was thinking we would warm up on bolted stuff, then once we got bored do some trad climbing. Our first climb was Los Pinos (The Pines), a multi-pitch route that rises right out of the river. I led the first two pitches in one and then we rapped off. This climb has good moves and it made for a nice warm-up. I found the situation with the bolts to be rather curious. There are numerous bolts right next to bomber gear cracks the whole way up, but then the finishing roof on pitch two requires that you place your own pro. I don't know what the route developers were thinking. I couldn't quite make sense of the difficulty ratings either. I thought nothing on the 5.9 pitch two was as hard as the opening slab moves on the 5.8 pitch one. But whatever, it was a good time.







(Photo: Vass leading pitch one of Buried Treasure (5.8+).)



We then went around the corner and did two nice single-pitch sport routes, Twilight Time (5.9+ and fun) and Bobby's Back (supposedly 5.10d). Bobby's Back features rather delicate face climbing for a few moves past the second and third bolts. Though neither of us led it perfectly clean I'm pretty sure I could get it now after doing it once.



We finished our time at Tonnere Tower with a two-pitch sport route called Buried Treasure (5.8+), electing to add to it the 5.10a final pitch of Stayin' Alive. These three pitches had good climbing but if there is a move on Stayin' Alive that is harder than 5.8 I'd like you to show it to me! Putting the difficulty rating aside, Stayin' Alive was the nicest pitch we did on the tower, with good starting face moves and a fun easy dihedral.



By now we had done seven pitches and our day was slipping away. I had enjoyed the climbing so far, but I have to say my initial apprehensions were confirmed. I'd rather do trad lines up natural features than bolted lines up faces. That's just the way I am. Vass wasn't surprised. He said he wanted me to see Castle Rock, which is filled with old-school traditional climbs. We drove over there and Vass sent me up a 5.8 called Bailey's Overhang.



I could tell I was going to like this one before I even got started. Bailey's Overhang is good stuff indeed, a natural line following cracks and a corner up to a big roof. I really enjoyed leading this. I felt solid while jamming through the steep opening moves. Then I scared myself a little at the roof when I couldn't get my right foot up where I wanted it. But my back was against the left wall and there was no way I was going to fall out. After stepping down and resetting the move I got through it just fine. Vass made it look easy using holds to the left that had eluded me.







(Photo: Vass pulling through the roof on Bailey's Overhang (5.8).)



We didn't have much time left so we threw a top rope over a route just left of Bailey's called Curving Crack (5.9). I loved this one as well, and felt very good climbing it. It follows another natural line, a crack up a corner that gets steeper as it rises. Some tense laybacking with somewhat slippery hands gets it done. I wished we'd had time for me to lead it, but it was a great finish to the day.



There is a lifetime of climbing in Boulder Canyon. I'd love to go back to see more.



After our day in Boulder Canyon I decided I was climbing pretty well. I proposed we meet up early on our second day (a Monday) and head straight for my most ambitious objective in Eldorado Canyon: the Yellow Spur (5.9+). I wanted to tackle something big, and this six-pitch classic, which some call the best 5.9 in Colorado, seemed to fit the bill. I felt I was ready to lead the crux pitches.







(Photo: View of the Flatirons from the road into Eldorado Canyon.)



When we got to Eldo I was thrilled to find that the lot was almost empty. We humped up the trail to the far end of the Redgarden Wall to find the area deserted. I was very happy not to have to worry about faster parties breathing down our necks, and psyched not to have an audience for the "problematical" 5.9 first pitch.



This pitch was, for me, the crux of the whole route. It goes up a right-facing corner to a roof. There is a piton in the roof, maybe 15-20 feet off the ground, but it doesn't appear that there is any useful pro before the piton. In his recent guidebook Steve Levin warns of the potential for ground fall if you fail to make the clip at this piton. The climbing here is also a little strange and awkward. There is a good handhold on the side wall, but stepping up to the pin puts you off-balance.



Wemay have set a record by placing four (!) pieces of pro before clipping the pin. First Vass placed a piece for me off to the side before I even left the ground, which he then cleaned once I got other gear. I put a blue Alien in the first finger pocket as soon as I was done using the pocket to step up. And then I placed two equalized micro nuts in a thin seam on the side of the juggy hold on the left wall. I thought the nuts were solid, but I worried that the rock quality might be a problem. I feared that if I fell, the force of the fall would rip the good jug right off the left wall. If that happened, I'd not only hit the ground and break both my legs, but I'd also be known forever as the idiot who changed the standard start of the Yellow Spur from a 5.9 to a 5.11 by destroying the crucial hold.



As luck would have it, I didn't fall. I stemmed wide and was able to reach up, blind, to clip the pin. Then I was able to commit to the slopey rail beneath the pin and make the awkward exit from the corner.



Whew! The rest of the pitch was a breeze, traversing left to an easy roof problem. At least, I thought it was easy. Here is the place where I get to be the guy who says "in the Gunks, this roof would never be a 5.9!" Well, I thought the supposed crux 5.9 roof would probably be rated a 5.7 in the Gunks. There are great holds for the hands and feet. I sailed right over it, feeling great. Being a Gunks climber does at times have its advantages.







(Photo: Vass heading into the 5.8 pitch two hanging corner on the Yellow Spur.)



Pitch two was Vass' lead. This pitch is high quality, with a committing step up into a hanging right-facing corner and a few good 5.8 face moves up the corner to a ledge. My lead of pitch three was also fun, with mostly juggy 5.7 climbing up to an interesting 5.8 V-slot.









(Photo: Sorry for the butt shot, but this is me leading into the 5.8 slot on pitch three of the Yellow Spur.)



Pitch four of the Yellow Spur is where the real business begins again. This was Vass' lead, and while he was up there I wasn't thinking much about what he was doing, because I was preoccupied with getting mentally ready for pitch five, the hardest one on the route. But when he reached the belay and I started to come up behind him, I realized that pitch four is not something to treat lightly. It is not the pitch people talk about the most but it is challenging and pretty fantastic. I was jealous that Vass had led it. The pitch climbs easily up a huge dihedral to a roof, where an exposed, rising hand traverse takes you out and up to a pedestal belay stance. It is rated 5.8+, but I think the traverse is mentally harder than that. There are footholds but they get smaller and smaller as the position gets more and more airy. And then after you commit, turn the corner and start to move up to the pedestal, there more moves to be made before you reach the belay stance.







(Photo: Vass doing the exposed rising traverse on the 5.8+ pitch four of the Yellow Spur.)



And what a belay stance. We were now standing on a tiny shelf, something like 400 feet off the ground, at the base of the final headwall beneath the pointed summit of the Redgarden Wall's Tower One. Above me was a line of pitons showing the way up a steep face at 5.9+. The atmosphere was electric.







(Photo: Looking down on Vass at the pedestal belay below the crux pitch of the Yellow Spur.)



As I stood there I felt pretty sure I was ready. I could hardly contain my excitement. This was exactly what I'd dreamed of, two years before, when I'd first gotten a taste of Eldorado Canyon. I wanted to work hard, get fitter and better, and feel comfortable going somewhere other than the Gunks and jumping on a world-class 5.9.



I was on the verge of making the dream a reality but I had to forget all that and actually climb the thing.



Vass asked me if I wanted to look at the topo but I knew what I had to do and I just wanted to get going. We had been in the shade all morning but now we had emerged into the bright sunshine and I could feel the heat building. It was now or never and I did not want to hesitate.



The pitch is insanely great. It starts out with good holds leading up a crack. After I backed up a piton with a small cam I had to start the hard stuff, making a committing step over to the right using tiny crimps for the hands and small footholds. Once established on the face, several thin, pumpy moves up a shallow corner got me past more pins to a welcome stance. I let out a huge sigh of relief when it was done. I was elated but still had to do the mentally challenging rising traverse up to the exposed arete. Known as the "Robbins Traverse," this beautiful sequence goes at a reasonable 5.7+ but is completely devoid of gear.







(Photo: Vass working through the crux 5.9+ section of pitch five of the Yellow Spur.)



About two steps into this traverse the sequence is devious. There is a 5.7 way to do it but the crucial hold is hidden. Maybe there is an easier way to find it, but I had to make a committing step up using a fragile flake for an undercling. Feeling around with the other hand, in a very tenuous position, I was fortunate to find the right way to go. Once I found the hold, the pitch was in the bag. I lingered over every move to the arete, enjoying the scenery.









(Photo: Vass partway up the 5.6 final pitch to the top of the Yellow Spur.)




My work was done. The final pitch was Vass' lead. Levin rates it at 5.6 R, and itis easy but run out for the second half. It is a beautiful pitch, which I might liken to the arete pitch of Directissima in the Gunks-- if Directissima were several hundred feet higher. It is a fitting payoff for the route, ending the climb on a high note. Vass had no trouble with it, and seemed to enjoy it all the way to the top.







(Photo: taking in the exposure on the final pitch of the Yellow Spur.)



I also enjoyed climbing the final pitch, but as I got close to the top I got very anxious about the weather. A black cloud had suddenly rolled in as Vass began leading the pitch. Both of us felt the storm was likely to just miss us as it passed overhead but I could see rain in the distance and as I climbed I could hear the rumble of thunder growing closer and closer. The top of a pointed tower was the last place I wanted to be during an electrical storm.



Once I reached the top it fell to me to traverse the pointed "roof" of Tower One to reach the Dirty Deed rappel, which was our quickest route to the ground. This rappel route, which goes down a loose chimney, isn't recommended by Levin but on a weekday I wasn't worried about knocking rocks onto climbers below and I wanted to get down as soon as possible. The roof traverse was somewhat nerve-wracking for me, as I did it accompanied by continuing thunder and a few rain drops. I stayed on belay and placed a few pieces of gear along the traverse. (I can't imagine doing it without at least staying roped up.)







(Photo: Hiking down to the car. Goodbye, Eldo.)



Once I reached the rappel station all was well. The skies cleared and we descended without incident.



Climbing the Yellow Spur was one of the most satisfying climbing experiences I've ever had. The route follows a gorgeous line and features numerous interesting cruxes. It lives up to its billing as a destination climb.



But for me it was more than just a great climb. The Yellow Spur validated what I've been doing. I don't get outside enough. I feel like my progress is slow. But climbing the Yellow Spur provided proof that the progress is there; it is real. The whole climb felt within my limits. There was never a moment that felt out of control. We made the right choices throughout the climb and approached it in as safe and reasonable a manner as possible. I could never have climbed it in this fashion this two years ago, when I first visited Eldorado Canyon.



Thank you, Eldo! I don't know when I will ever get back again, but I can't wait.

Thinking About Cities

Though I've lived in many different places over the course of my life, they have been mostly in Europe. Within the US my travels have been limited to the East Coast, and my trip to Las Vegas for Interbike was the first time I'd ventured west of Pennsylvania. Popular culture is saturated with images of Vegas, and I thought I knew pretty well what to expect: casinos, bright lights, neon signs, drunken merrymaking... If in the right kind of mood, I could see the kitsch appeal. But what I did not expect were unfinished construction projects, miles of empty parking lots, and a funny sense of being in the middle of a Broadway production that had its funding cancelled before the set could be completed. Maybe I wasn't supposed to arrive during the daytime (or be awake during daylight at all while there?), but the Vegas I saw looked not unlike the outer boroughs of former Soviet bloc cities, with their faded concrete high-rises and muddy vacant lots.

Equally fascinating was that Las Vegas seemed to be intentionally "anti-pedestrian" in design. I have no background in city planning, so it's hard to explain exactly what I mean. But with the exception of the smallish main strip - which is indeed walkable and feels like Disneyworld on crack - the city is made of these self-contained complexes accessible either by car or Monorail (they really try to push the Monorail, but it was mostly empty every time I used it).

Even in the city center, the roads are multi-lane and highway-like. Sometimes there are sidewalks, but they are lined with tall guard rails and there are no provisions for crossing the street except maybe every mile or so.The hotel I stayed at was technically around the corner from the convention center where Interbike was held, yet it was recommended I take the Monorail to it. Well, one night I had this crazy idea to walk. I could clearly see the hotel right in front of me - how bad could it be? It took about an hour and a half, because there was no way to walk to it in anything resembling a straight line. I had to walk around stadium-sized empty lots surrounded with chainlink fences, and when I tried to take shortcuts through hotels, I was forced to navigate along winding paths designed to maximise my exposure to slot machines. It was surreal. As for riding a bike, I remember someone posting a ridiculous statistic on twitter, claiming that 100% of Las Vegas residents who cycle report being hit by a car at least once. Having now been there, I no longer find it implausible.

While of course I've known that places like Las Vegas exist, I guess I've done my best to avoid them - choosing to live in areas that are walkable, which for me equates with livable. Being faced with the reality of what a city like this is actually like was jarring. I know that places like Boston comprise only a small fraction of the American urban landscape, while a model similar to Las Vegas is more common. I know it, but I try not to think about it, because the realisation fills me with a dread that I don't know how to overcome.

As I write this, I am waiting to board a plane to yet another city: Vienna. Design-wise, it is pretty much the polar opposite of the Las Vegas. And the public transportation and cycling infrastructure putevenBoston to shame. It is fascinating that such contrasts are possible in the way human beings create living spaces. What motivates the various designs? And what to do when the original motive is no longer relevant, or was a mistake, or turns out to be harmful to the population? Huge questions, I know. But sometimes you have to ask.

Rock Holes

There are holes and cracks all through all of the big rocks found in the Jemez. For years I have been looking in all that I could see into or get to hoping against hope to find a sack of gold or some other treasure hiden there many years before by an outlaw, or Spanish conquestador, or American Native or even an inquestive squirrel that might have picked up a lost arrowhead, or piece of jewelery. So far I have only found a few rotten pine nuts. I really don't expect to find anything but who knows. Several of the rocks we explored on this trimp had lots of small holes, many of which we couldn't get up to where they were.

Component Porn... Film Noir Style

When we talk about "bike porn," all too often the attention is on the obvious stuff: the frames, the lugs, the cranksets, the handlebars. But what about the more subtle components? I know what you're thinking: I must be into some fancy, handmade, outlandish stuff. But I am really a girl of simple tastes at heart. Take, for instance, the little brass bell. Round, shiny and boisterous, I cannot get enough of these perfect little creations. All the world reflects in their polished surface, and they have seen everything your bicycle has seen. Sometimes I will be rolling along, and I catch a glimpse of the sky and trees reflected in my bicycle bell. How delightful to see my surroundings in miniature form, right on my handlebars.

And then there is my excessive affection for the classic Sturmey Archer 3-speed trigger shifter. God, I mean look at it! Something about the shape, the font, and the overall design just says "stare at me, touch me, use me!" That little notch on the trigger so eager forme to shift gears. No other shifter has inspired such emotion within me. Am I being weird?



Although if you want weird, I will admit that I also have a thing for indicator chains. That's right: those little bits of chain stretching from the hub. Oh how I yearn for glimpses of their jewel-like elegance - unobstructed by the horrendous plastic enclosures in which they are often housed today. Please, manufacturers: Free the indicator chains!



And I must not forget my longing for classic brake levers. I have tried to cope with standard modern ones, but how can I forsake the curves of theseVO classics? The gentle tapering and the ball at the tip... A cold sleek modern lever cannot hope to offer the same tactile experience.



With all of these things now installed on the same bicycle, the overall effect is overwhelming. And it makes me realise that I am more taken with the looks of simple 3-speed components than with anything more complicated. Having a visible indicator chain on a hub is more important to me than the kind of derailleur I use, and my preference for the trigger shifter is by far more passionate than my admiration of bar-ends on roadbikes. Give me a classically outfitted 3-speed, and I will swoon with delight. What is your component porn of choice?

Children's Bicycles, Then and Now

A family member brought over a couple of old bikes to see whether I could sell them.The bikes came from the basement of an old property, and had been sitting there for several decades. They are in good condition, but nothing remarkable: Both are steel Columbia 3-speeds - most likely from the '80s. My plan was to post them on C-List and I had no intention to write about them here... But while snapping the photos, my imagination got the best of me and I started thinking about the bicycles' history.



The smaller of the two has 24" wheels and appears to be a children's bike. The larger one has 26" wheels, but the small frame suggests that it too probably belonged to a young person - maybe the teenage sister of the cream bicycle's pre-teen owner? I can picture them cycling together down a sleepy suburban street, trying to make it home in time for dinner - one on the cream bike, the other on the blue, their delighted squeals rising above the clicking of the hubs...



In addition to its smaller size, there is something about the little cream bicycle in particular that evokes gentle images of childhood and its possibilities - maybe the soft, delicate colour.



When I see children's bicycles today, the colours and graphics tend to be super bright; there are often depictions of cartoon characters and action heros on the frame. And while in some ways that's fun, in other ways I feel that this aesthetic in children's toys can be overpowering. Why can't a child's bike be just a simple little bike? A bike that will let the child's personality shine through and ignite their imagination, rather than feed them the same ready-made stylized imagery they see on television and on cereal boxes?



I wonder how typical it is - if at all - for parents today to pick up vintage children's bikes for their kids and restore them, instead of buying modern ones. Based on what I have seen, not very typical. Limited availability is probably a big reason: I don't actually see many children's vintage bikes around, even in Boston.

And I suspect weight may be a reason as well: The older bicycles are steel. Modern ones are plastic or aluminum, which makes them easier for children to maneuver. But when it comes to the weight factor, I wonder whether lighter is necessarily better.A flimsy bicycle feels like just another toy. A substantial bicycle feels like something important, a right of passage. After all, twenty years ago children were riding steel bikes with no problems.



Speaking of twenty years ago... I was 11 then, and riding something not too different from these bikes - as was my younger sister. That could be why I felt compelled to photograph these in a golden light, and to wonder about their history.

Beautiful Boston Day

Yesterday was an absolutely perfect day in Boston. Co-Habitant rode his newly accessorised Miles.

These were all taken on the Charles River path. So beautiful!

Brooks Flyer saddle in honey, shellacked cork handlebar tape, Crane bell, Continental 27" tires, Pletscher rear rack, and old "deconstructed" handlebar bag. Still needs fenders.

Gosh, I can't believe these shots! After what seemed like weeks of rain, this was a nice break.

How Slow Can You Go?

In cycling, some associate skill and experience with being able to go fast. But going slow - and I mean really slow, like walking pace - can be even more difficult. When I first began riding as an adult, I could not keep my bike upright at super-slow speeds. I remember that the steering was hard to control; I'd end up losing my balance and having to stop. Even a couple of years down the road, it was easier to ride at 20mph than at 2mph. But finally I got the hang of it, and today I am able to ride at walking speed with no trouble at all.




Looking back on this, I would say that slow cycling is one of the most useful bicycling skills I have picked up so far. Here are just some of the practical applications I've noticed over the years:




Wobble-free starting

When I talk to novices about cycling for transportation, a common theme that comes up is the fear of swerving into traffic when starting from a stop at a light. You can see it in the city: When some riders push off from a stop, the front end of their bike will wobble before they gain sufficient momentum to proceed in a straight line. Now, some bikes are easier to balance at slow speeds than others, but with sufficient skill even a twitchy bike can be ridden at walking speed wobble-free, eliminating this anxiety.




Navigating traffic

Riding in the city can be all about stop and go traffic. Being able to cycle slowly while maintaining full control of the bike makes this easier to handle, allowing the cyclist to maintain momentum and to travel more efficiently. Particularly useful is what I think of as "hovering." This is a practice that is somewhere between trackstanding and riding at walking pace. It comes in handy when inching your way forward in a line of stopped cars, changing lanes in dense traffic, waiting to turn left at an intersection, or proceeding in ambiguous right of way situations. It is much easier to both show your intent and accelerate from a position of hovering than it is from a stopped position.




Safe MUP sharing

It used to drive me nuts to ride on crowded mixed use paths. Finding it stressful to navigate around hordes of unpredictable pedestrians, I would simply avoid MUPs during peak hours. But the greenways around here are quite scenic and can be relaxing if riding slowly is not an issue. The same "hovering" skill I find useful in road traffic works just as well for meandering amidst joggers and dog walkers.




Riding on dirt and uneven surfaces

Cycling through muddy, rocky and otherwise challenging terrain can reduce a bike's speed considerably. Yet keeping your balance and being able to steer the bike precisely is more important than ever in those conditions. My new-found enjoyment of unpaved riding has much to do with improved slow cycling skills.




Thinking back to how I finally learned all of this, two distinct experiences come to mind. First, riding fixed gear. I remember vividly how the fixed drivetrain made me feel dramatically more in control of the bike at slow speeds. No one was there to instruct me; it was as if the bike itself was teaching me. And after getting my body used to balancing on the fixed bike that way, some of that eventually transferred over to freewheel bikes.




But the real change was a result ofinstructional paceline rides. These rides taught me a number of useful techniques, including how to maintain continuous pedaling and consistent cadence regardless of speed. To ride slowly, we were instructed to switch into a low gear while pedaling and feathering the brakes, instead of coasting. This taught me to maneuver the bike smoothly, to control my speed with precision, and to stay stable even when moving at a crawl. Somehow pedaling made all of this easier and reprogrammed my body to balance with the bike. Almost immediately, I saw major improvements in my everyday bike handling skills.




If fixed gear bikes and paceline rides are not for you, one thing you could try is this: When out riding, pay attention to your pedaling. To slow down, try switching into a low gear while pedaling continuously, instead of coasting while pedaling in a high gear occasionally. To slow down even more, feather the brakes while continuing to pedal. Try to go slower and slower using this technique.Gradually your body will learn to maneuver the bike at slow speeds, whether pedaling or coasting.Learning to ride slowly transformed me as a cyclist; it is a skill I highly recommend picking up.

First Thunderstorm of

Ah, the joys of spring! Even if it is a bit early, I do love the signs of spring. Perhaps the most exciting sign of spring (for me, anyway) is the return of the thunderstorm. Last night we had a whopper of a thunderstorm make its way over Grand Portage. This was a very localized storm, with brief but heavy rainfall and some medium-sized hail. Oh, and an awesome display of lightning! I was up late last night working on editing some photos when I started seeing flashes of light outside my living room window. At first I thought I was seeing things. I thought "That can't be lightning... it's only mid-March!" But, sure enough, as time passed I noticed more and more flashes and soon it was apparent that it was indeed lightning. I grabbed my camera gear and headed out to do some shooting.








I went to a location just a half-mile from my house, one that afforded the best view of the approaching storm and one that would allow me to photograph the storm before any potential moisture hit. After photographing the lightning flashes for about 15 minutes, I noticed something that is not often discernible with an approaching thunderstorm in this area. I could HEAR the rain and hail approaching! Before the storm hit shore the conditions were incredibly calm, not a lick of wind and the lake was smooth as glass. But, out behind the island, the hard rain and hail was hammering the surface of the lake. What I heard was an ever-increasing sound, a haunting WHOOOOOOOOOOOOSH as the lake was pummeled by the rain and hail. Soon the sound was quite loud and when the lightning flashed I could see that at any moment the moisture was going to hit shore. A good time to get back in the truck, I thought! So I packed up my camera and walked back to the truck. No sooner had I taken just a few steps when the rain started to fall. It was only about 100 feet back to the truck and by the time I got there it was pouring. By the time my gear was put away in the back seat and I was sitting in the driver's seat, the sound of hail was all I could hear as it pelted the sheet metal of my truck. I drove around to the other side of the bay to see if I could get a different angle on the storm, and it was barely raining just two miles away! Short but sweet, as they say. The rest of the night we had a crystal-clear sky exploding with stars.

Multicolor Rose

A fluorescent rose in my garden.

Photo Desperation

since it isn't good photo weather outside I decided to try some still life of some nice looking veggies I had. Of course there was a black cat to help.

Mount Catherine ..

Scott had the day off and wanted to ski before Thanksgiving. I wanted to burn the calories that I was about to consume, so I happily obliged. The plan if there was good snow was to go yo-yo somewhere and have fun in the powder. However, it looks like we have hit the El Nino segment of our dark months with higher temps. This meant rain at the passes the day previous and a 10000' freezing level on the day of our trip.

Skinning up the slopes of Hyak

So we headed for Mount Catherine with the hopes of a summit. Chad joined us at the Mercer Island Park and Ride and we were on our way. The weather was clear and we saw a beautiful sunrise before arriving at Snoqualmie Pass to low clouds and fog. Instead of taking the Sno Park and forest road in as it seemed tedious. We opted for the skin up Hyak and over the other side. We followed forest roads (Nordic ski trails) down the other side a bit before leaving on a bearing across the North Face. After endless traversing through trees, we got to an open area which we confirmed with the map was the east end of the summit ridge. There were cliffs and no obvious way up, so we traversed more and more which reminded Scott and I about the Ski Patrol Race we had done back in February.

Heading into the trees

We occasionally crossed open slopes and contemplated trying to gain the ridge to the summit but we were having little luck. Our difficulties were exacerbated by the constant fog which made seeing ahead not easy and gave us little incentive to try and head up only to be confronted by cliffs. So we maintained a fairly level traverse and then we started seeing flatter terrain. We finally made it near Windy Pass and eventually saw a sign with an arrow pointing in that direction. There was a weather monitoring station there too, and some blue diamond trail markers. We stopped for lunch. (It was around 1pm.) The sun just barely came out briefly enough for us to see our shadows. Then we deskinned for a short ski down to another road. At this point we had forsaken our summit attempt and were content with a circumnavigation.

A more open area

Unfortunately due to the poor sloppy snow conditions and the ungroomed state of the road, going downhill on the road took almost as much effort as going uphill. We worked hard to make our way out and after it seemed like there would be no more downhill, I gave up on the skinless skis and stopped to put my skins back on as it seemed they would offer me better propulsion. They did, but Scott and Chad were out of site, and I did not catch up with them until the final downhill to the parking lot in the Hyak ski area. (Which was in more disappointing slop.)

Boulder field

Overall, I was happy to get out. The weather wasn't great, but that wasn't really a big deal. We knew going into it that the snow wasn't going to be so good for skiing, but it was more about the journey. Even though the road out was tiring and tedious, it was still better than being on snowshoes. Plus I think this is the first time I have circumnavigated a peak. Cool.

The road out

Gunks Routes: P-38 (5.10b)

(Photo: Past the low crux overhang and into the awkward corner of P-38 (5.10b).)


Gail and I recently got out for a little weekday fun in the Gunks.



We saw little reason to stray too far from the Uberfall. There were lots of people around, to be sure, but nothing approaching the weekend crowds.



The spring weather was delightful and my only big goal for the day was to hit at least one 5.10 from my list. After spending a few pleasant hours in the Frog's Head area we decided it was time. We headed over to P-38 (5.10b). Gail had followed it before but it was years ago. I had never tried it so it was to be an onsight attempt for me.



Sitting as it does within spitting distance of the outhouse known as the "Über Pooper," P-38 is for most climbers a familiar sight. The slanting crack that defines the climb is obvious from the road below.



I wanted to do it because of that crack. I expected it would provide good gear. About the climbing, I guess I knew very little. I thought, not unreasonably, that I was in for a crack climb. But it turned out that there isn't any crack climbing on P-38, which is cool because I'm no good at that anyway!



I was hoping that maybe, just this once, I'd onsight one of these 5.10's. I have not had much luck with getting them clean. Over and over again I've had to work the cruxes a bit, or on some occasions I've even had to back off.



The first hard move on P-38 comes right off the deck, as you attempt to surmount a little overhang that is just over your head as you stand below the climb. There is pro here, and I actually placed two pieces as I stepped up and down, several times, working out the opening move. Eventually, after several reconnaissance missions, checking the gear and making plans, I executed my little sequence and made it up over the little roof.



Success! Maybe I was on my way to victory.



I was surprised by the next few moves. I thought the climb would be sustained and awkward. And it is sort of awkward, but after the opening moves it is really pretty easy up to the crux. There are jugs outside the crack and you can actually wedge your leg into the crack as you move up, providing opportunities to place gear, rest and shake out.



Soon enough I arrived at the crux sequence. You'll know it when you arrive there. There is a delicate step left to a little dish for your toe, and then a couple of thin moves up to a tantalizing ledge, so close but yet so far.



I placed what I thought was a bomber purple Camalot and then made the step left. As I tried to move up I thought about placing more gear but the climbing was pumpy and insecure. I just wanted to move-- the rest stance was in sight-- and so I did, without dealing with any more placements. I moved up once, feeling like I was barely in balance, just holding on. I thought that if I could make one additional move, a high-step to a polished pebble, I would be through the crux.



I was just a move away, but as I tried to get my toe on the pebble I lost the grip and took a fall. It happened suddenly and caught me a little bit off guard. I meant to yell "falling!" But instead in the moment said "take!"



Of course it happened so fast that Gail couldn't take; she just caught me as I took what turned out to be a pretty good whipper. The Camalot held just fine and the fall was totally clean. It is steep there and the gear is a little to the right so there isn't much risk of the rope catching your leg. It is about the best fall you could hope for.



Still I was a little taken aback by how far I fell and as I went back up, onsight already blown, I decided to place more gear before trying the crux again. I ended up getting a higher cam from the rest stance and then, after moving left again, I placed a great red Alien from the delicate position after you step up into the crux sequence. I ended up hanging a couple of times as I placed the additional gear and then, as I got set to try the final crux move again, I took a couple more falls as I rushed it trying to get back to the crux move and then failed at the crux when I tried to repeat the same sequence I used the first time.



Hanging there, I told myself to focus. I had come closer to success on my first try than I had on my subsequent fumbling efforts. I needed to execute my beta to get to the final move, and then try something new. I visualized exactly what I planned to do and then tried to be precise and patient.



And this time it went like butter. I danced up to the final move. Then I switched feet and stepped through up to the polished pebble, and it flowed. It actually felt easy, and I found myself at the rest stance, wishing I'd thought to try the move this way the first time. I came so close to the onsight! One little pebble away from victory.



I seem to find myself saying this every time, but now that I've worked it out I think I can go back and get the redpoint. I remember the whole sequence and I think so long as I'm careful I can climb it without a problem. The only question is whether I will be able to do it while placing the extra gear mid-crux. This gear isn't strictly necessary but I'd like to have it. If I decide to place it the crux will be a little bit harder.



Once the crux is over, P-38 eases off considerably. There is an easy traverse left and then a few 5.8 moves over a bulge to the finish. Some describe this section of the pitch as run out, but I did not find it to be so. I placed a couple of Tricams along the traverse and a nut in a flake right below the sloper holds that take you over the final bulge.



Once up on the finishing ledge, I was surprised to find the traditional belay tree long gone. There is no tree, just a rotting stump, which is obviously not a suitable anchor. I arranged a belay with gear placed between the huge boulders on the ledge, but you could also go to the top and belay from a living tree. The walk-off down the Uberfall is very close if you choose to go all the way to the top. If you belay on the ledge as I did you can use the Radcliffe descent which is right there behind the climb. This was my first time down Radcliffe and it is a little more exposed at a couple of spots than the Uberfall descent.



P-38 is a really good little climb. I will go back to send it. It has two stiff cruxes, one at the opening move and then a harder, more technical crux above. It has some unusual moves for the Gunks, good gear, and it could hardly be more accessible. I am bummed out that I didn't figure it out the first time, but I shall return!

Cycling and Flying

As mentioned earlier, I am leaving for Europe again and will return at the end of the month. My schedule will be very hectic this time, so there will be less posting. I want to thank everybody for reading, for the friendly messages, and for the helpful advice. If you've sent me an email and I have not yet replied, I will get to it as soon as time permits.

For now, here are some more gratuitous shots from our velo-travels. Appropriately, on our last trip we watched the airplanes land on Castle Island in South Boston.

If you click to enlarge this picture, you can see the cluster of tiny white lights in the distance - the airplanes waiting their turn.

And there one goes - landing right over the water.

People say that cycling feels like flying. Well, maybe if you are the airplane, but certainly not if you are sitting in one. I would rather cycle than fly any day.

See you soon!