Pink Roses

Ski of Dreams

After spending 36 solid hours stuck in our tent at high camp, we were treated to fresh turns all the way back to Paradise.

Riverfront Discovery Area

Explore the vital role of James River and other waterways in 17th-century travel, commerce and cultural exchange at the riverfront discovery area, where seasonal interpretive programs focus on Powhatan Indian, European and African traditions. At discovery stations along a winding pathway, historical interpreters provide information about 17th-century piloting and navigation, boat-building techniques, methods of fishing, and the importance of trade between the Powhatan Indian, English and African cultures that came into contact at Jamestown.Learn about the production of commodities for export and the importance of tobacco as the cash crop led to the economic success of the Virginia colony. Scrape out a tree trunk to make a Powhatan canoe,work at a carpenter’s bench, and examine trade items to learn about the objects considered valuable by each culture.The guys asked if we could go back again tomorrow, so I count the day as a huge success!

Living the life in historic Virginia!

Best Wishes...

The past few days I've been a bit under the weather... until I get back, please check out the posts my fellow genea-bloggers have contributed to the Advent Calendar of Christmas Memories that has been hosted by Thomas MacEntee. I know that it has been a lot of work for you Thomas, but the time you spent putting it all together has been appreciated. Thank you Thomas! I have certainly enjoyed reading all of the articles. Thank you to everyone who participated.



To each and everyone, I wish you the best Christmas ever and may the spirit of the season be with you.

If you are in need of a good laugh (and aren't we all at some point during the holidays?) Janice Brown's video cartoons of GeneaBlogging Elves Running Amok will certainly cheer you up!

Road to Trail: Speed, Skills and Bikes

Among the people I ride with it is popular to mix stretches of dirt roads, paths and trails into what are otherwise fast road rides (well, they call the rides "social pace," but there is a certain level you have to reach in order to be social at that pace!). At first I would only join the rides that promised not to do any off-road whatsoever, but now I am gradually starting to ease into riding stretches of dirt trails.



Doing this in the company of experienced cyclists has given me a different perspective than riding in similar terrain alone. The biggest difference is that they go fast, whereas on my own I used to see cycling off road as something to be done cautiously and slowly. Now I am noticing that going fast can actually make things easier.Riding on rock-strewn dirt and gravel requires more effort and lower gearing than riding on pavement, particularly when going uphill. Ride too slowly, and the bike can get bogged down. But maintain speed, and the momentum "carries" the bike through sections that might otherwise seem difficult or scary. It's counterintuitive for a beginner, because the natural inclination is to slow down if the terrain gets challenging. And this is where riding with a group is helpful: following their pace means quickly learning the "faster is easier" lesson through experience. Of course partof it is also psychological. When I am focused on trying to keep up with the group, I don't really have the opportunity to worry about every single ditch and rock and root formation - my instincts kick in and somehow I end up riding through sections I would have considered too challenging if given a chance to think.



As far as skills, I am finding once again (as I did with roadcycling earlier) that I improve quickly with others and very slowly, if at all, on my own. I've ridden on dirt trails before, but now I feel that all those rides taken together did nothing for me compared to the single stretch of off-road I did as part of a ride last weekend. It wasn't a long section, but it had a bit of everything that terrifies me: ditches, rocks, mud, a bit of climbing and descending, even a tad of residual snow and ice. We rode through it quickly, and afterward I suddenly felt like I "got it," whereas on all of my slow and cautious lone rides previously I wasn't really getting it at all.



It seems to me that a good bike for transitioning from road to trails and back needs to be fast, light, responsive, and ideally to have wide tires. Last year I would probably have started with "wide tires" and listed everything else as optional, but recent experience makes me reconsider. I have found it easier to "push" a faster, lighter bike through dirt, especially uphill, than a slower and heavier one. And I have found it easier to avoid obstacles on a quick-responding bike than on a stable but sluggish one. And while wide tires would make things better still, it seems to me that those other factors are crucial.



My impression is that for a while there was a tendency in the bicycle industry to associate wide tires with more relaxed, heavier and slower touring-style bikes - the reasoning being that if you want wide tires, you probably do not need to go fast. Therefore, it was difficult to find bicycles that both had clearance for tires over 25mm and were sufficiently fast and aggressive. That began to change with the rising popularity of cyclocross, and with people like Jan Heine reviving interest in the classic randonneuring bicycle. Races and other competitive events with both road and dirt sections have become more mainstream over the past several years as well. I am not sure whether in the long run any of this will be relevant to me, but it is an interesting development. More builders and manufacturers are starting to specialise in fast road-to-trail bikes, and locally this type of riding seems to be all the rage. Whether I have what it takes to take part in it remains to be determined.

Cell Phones, Survival, Halo 3 and Parking

Cell phones remain a useful tool for backcountry travelers. Many upper mountain rescues, and a few false alarms, have been phoned in via the devices. And as the NY Times points out, new technology can sometimes let Big Brother (or your parents, spouse, or significant-other) get a fix on your location too... But climbers and backcountry users should not rely on such devices around Mount Rainier, as triangulation and pin-pointing is challenging in remote places, and often there is no cell service.

Not everyone carries a cell phone, or more importantly, other key components of the 10 essentials. Case in point: a 20-something couple took off for Camp Muir during good weather last September. They packed light and enjoyed a night in the public shelter. The plan was to descend to Paradise the next day but the weather intervened and turned for the worse. Complicating the heavy fog and light rain was the fact that the boot track they had followed the day before was gone amidst the sea of hard, dirty ice that we call the Muir Snowfield. The result: the pair ended up lost and hypothermic near the chutes that descend to the Nisqually Glacier...

Thankfully, Canada came to the rescue in the person of Canadian climber Phill Michael. Phill was also descending from Camp Muir that day. He had separated from his climbing buddies near Moon Rocks and while making his way through the fog, heard distressed voices and wandered in their direction. Good thing too, because he found our lost couple cold, wet, and very confused as to what they should do to survive. What ensued were 2 nights and 3 days of Muir Snowfield camping and survival: camping for Phill, survival for the couple. Why? The couple didn't bring shelter and didn't have the navigation skills to get themselves out of the predicament. Thankfully Phill entered their soggy cold world with the equipment and abilities to pull them through the storm. You can learn more about this incident (and his summit climb) through Phill's podcast EPISODE 4: Mount Rainier (sounds like another edition to the Star Wars series).

And while we're geeking out on tech devices and Star Wars connections, maybe you'll decide to get lost in the video game universe of Halo 3. While there myself, I stumbled upon Mount Rainier! If you're a gamer (of the X-Box 360 persuasion) you may notice some familiar NW landmarks as you pummel, destroy, and generally kick alien butt around the galaxy. May the force be with you.

Of course no amount of "The Force," shield regenerators and futuristic space weapons will help against the ensuing parking lot pressures at Paradise this winter. With the ongoing construction project, there will be a pinch in the overnight parking situation. The current plan calls for a limit of 20 vehicles per night at Paradise. Between Sunday night and Saturday morning of most weeks, this limit won't be too big of a deal. However, on 3 day weekends or when the weather forecast is good, everyone should plan to carpool and STILL risk not getting a spot! This is a hot issue so stay tuned as the information evolves.

Passion and Mediocrity

Prior to my interest in bicycles, I seldom seriously pursued activities that I wasn't good at. Mostly this was because I did not enjoy them. I always hated mathematics, chemistry and physics in school - subjects I was bad at, while I loved literature, history and art - subjects I was good at. Playing most sports was living hell, whereas performing in plays was exhilarating. Once in a while it would happen that I was good at something, but did not enjoy it: chess, tennis, leadership roles, jobs involving sales. But it almost never happened that I enjoyed something I was bad at. Doing something that we cannot do well is discouraging, embarrassing, and literally painful in the case of sports. Even if we like the idea of the activity, it is difficult to enjoy actually performing it, when all it does is highlight our weaknesses and make us experience failure again and again.



As a teenager I fell in love with Chopin, and got it into my head that I had tolearn how to play piano or life was not worth living. So I learned. For a late starter (I began at age 15), I wasn't bad. My teacher said that my ability to communicate emotion was ahead of my technique - which she meant as encouragement, since in her view the emotional part was more difficult. But I was terribly disappointed in myself. The more I practiced, the more aware I became of my technical limitations. I was sloppy, my fingers were not flexible enough, and I could not grasp music theory. For my 2nd year recital my teacher agreed to help me prepare two beautiful pieces that I had no business playing: Chopin's Prelude in E-minor and Tschaikovsky's Autumn. As far as "serious" music, these pieces are not difficult. But still to play them well required experience I did not have. I made no blatant mistakes. But I just didn't have sufficient control over my hands for the more nuanced passages and as I played in the recital I felt this acutely. The parents in the audience were thoroughly impressed by my performance. But after the recital one of the guest instructors approached and shook his finger at me: "Young lady, that was beautiful. But you should not be playing those pieces until your technique improves." And as he spoke, I knew that I did not have it in me: that I would never improve beyond mediocrity and would never be truly good enough for these pieces, no matter how much I slaved over the keyboard. I could use my ability to play "emotionally" to mask poor technique, but I would feel like a fraud. It was painful to be aware of this and my personality was not strong enough to withstand it. I quit piano within a year and took this as a lesson to save my energy for things I could truly excel at. Piano would never be one of them.






And, of course, neither would skating. No matter how much I loved watching the figure skaters on television and wished to be one of them in my younger years, it seemed stupid to waste my time to pursue something where my natural ability was so far below average. Yet now something's changed, and I find myself putting my self-esteem to the test at local skating rinks - shuffling around like an injured duckling as others around me execute graceful spins, jumps, and other displays of skill. The Co-Habitant tried to skate a week ago, and turned out to be a natural. Others too get on the ice for the first time in their lives, and after a half hour they are already gliding easily. Clearly I am a special case of ineptitude when it comes to skating. I am trying to decide how this makes me feel, and oddly it's not too bad. I am not even embarrassed, I just accept it. I also accept that even if I throw myself into learning how to skate with an obsessive passion, the end result of my dedication and hard work will be mediocrity, at best. Maybe I am older now and my ego can take it, because knowing this feels okay: I want to learn how to glide smoothly, how to turn, and how to stop without falling, and maybe if I am lucky, to eventually execute a leg lift like the girl in the picture. Those are my meager aspirations, and somehow they seem worthwhile despite the fact that I will likely have to work 10 times as hard as "normal" people to achieve them.




Watching the figure skaters practice at the Skating Club of Boston reminds me of my first visit to the Velodrome in Vienna. Seeing how unattainable the track cyclists' level of skill was for someone like me did not put me off road and fixed gear cycling. I realised then that I saw value in pursuing cycling as a sport independent of my ability to succeed in it. It was good for my character to have to work hard at something I loved, even if it yielded disappointing results, rather than to accept praise for being "talented" at things I was naturally good at. Talent, after all, is not an achievement - it is simply there.






My pursuit of cycling over the past 3 years - starting from a place where I didn't know how to turn other than using the handlebars and needed to have both feet flat on the ground while in the saddle - has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. This may seem ludicrous to those who know me in person in light of my other "achievements" and life experiences. Nevertheless, my passion for this activity that I am at best mediocre at, has taught me more about myself than I probably wanted to know. It broke down some of my defenses that kept me from understanding my true goals in life and it has made me more comfortable with myself overall.




It is hard to say whether, generally speaking, there is value in pursuing things we are bad at. Sure, we can make the argument that facing one's limitations and attempting to work through them - whether successfully or not - builds character. But we can also make the argument that it is more worthwhile to pursue the things we are good at, in the hopes of achieving true excellence - which could benefit not only ourselves, but in some cases society as a whole. In the end it is about the individual's life journey. During mine I found that passion and mediocrity can co-exist.

Jetty Park

Today is the first day of the rally but we arrived a day early, so we had a bit of time to explore before the official start of the rally. We explored the pier and the beach and both were really nice.



There were so many dead fish floating in the water, which felt very sad to us. It was similar to seeing so many trees on the ground after the hurricanes.







There were still plenty of people out, despite the cold weather and dead fish.





Beautiful, isn't it?



Living the life in beautiful Florida!

Speed on Skis

So a couple of our rangers ran into some guys going for a speed record on the summit last week, they were able to get a brief conversation and snap a photo of them before they took off downhill. According to their clocks they made it from Paradise to the summit and back to Paradise in 4 hours and 19 minutes...which if you aren't familiar with that route means they went really really fast! Check out their full story here. There have been a number of speed ascents over the years but as far as we know Nick and Eric were the first to do it with skis.



It's looking like we are at the start of a spell of nice weather. Lots of fresh snow on the mountain should make for some great climbing and skiing conditions, especially if you hit it early before the sun turns everything to mid-day glop. Visit our route conditions page for recent conditions reports and thanks to Dmitry Shapovalov for a great report of their recent climb of Success Cleaver.

Rawhide

Newspaper photo of Clint Eastwood, who played Rowdy Yates and Eric Fleming, who played the trailboss, Gil Favor.

Death Record of Eliza Wise Hoffman

When I visited Wabash last Thursday I stopped at the Health Department to get a copy of the Death Record of Eliza Wise Hoffman. When the clerk was looking at Eliza's record she made the comment that the handwriting was atrocious. I asked to look at the record myself but my request was refused. As was my request for an actual copy of the record itself. Instead what she said she'd do is get another clerk to look at it the next day and then mail the certificate to me. So, figuring that was the best offer I'd get, I paid the $5.00 and gave them my address. The certificate arrived in the mail on Saturday.

Unless there is a specific reason that you need a certified copy, you should request a "genealogy copy" of death records in Indiana, whether requesting them from the county or the state. Also inquire as to the cost if ordering from a county, each one seems to charge a different fee. The charge for ordering from the state is $8.00 and it must be paid in advance. They call it a "record search" so you pay whether or not they find the requested record. Information on ordering death records (and birth records) can be found at the Indiana State Department of Health website.

=+==+==+==+==+=
Genealogy Copy of Death Certificate of Eliza Jane Huffman.
=+==+==+==+==+=
Certificate of Death Registration
Wabash County Health Department
Decedent's Name: ELIZA JANE HUFFMAN
Date of Death: November 2, 1920
Place of Death: PAW PAW TOWNSHIP City: WABASH
Age: 78 YEARS Marital Status: WIDOWED Gender: FEMALE
Cause of Death: CANCER STOMACH
Certified By: G. P. KIDD MD
Cemetery: IOOF PAW PAW TOWSNHIP ROANN IN Disposition Date: 11/04/1920
Funeral Home: SCHULER-ROANN
File Date: 11/30/1920 Book: 1918-25 Page/Line: 41 #512 Issued On: 02/15/..
Signed by (Health Officer)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Not all information is available for all years.
Birth Date: 05/11/1842 May 11, 1842 Birth City: [blank] Birth State: OHIO
Occupation: HOUSEWIFE Industry: DOMESTIC SSN: [blank] Race: WHITE
Address: City: ROANN State: INDIANA
Spouse: ARTHUR HUFFMAN
Father's Name: PATR ? WISE Father's BirthPlace: PENNSYLVANIA
Mother's Name: CHRISTINA Maiden: GARNE Mother's BirthPlace: UNKNOWN
Informant's Name: EFFIE WASTHREY ? Inform. Address: ROANN, IN Relationship: UNKNOWN
=+==+==+==+==+==+==+==+=
Eliza's Spouse was Anthony Huffman, not Arthur. Her Father's first name was Peter. The informant was probably her daughter, Effie Wertenberger.

The new piece of information from this record is the maiden name of Eliza's mother, GARNE. Although I don't know how helpful that will be! An initial search for that surname at www.ancestry.com turned up absolutely no useful information. Without having actually looked at the death record I don't know if GARNE is what was in the record or if it was perhaps, a best guess by the clerk.

The Emptiness of Those Lives...

Over the weekend I read The Riderby TimKrabbé.



This is not a review of the book, but I will summarise it as a stream of consciousness account of what goes through a middle aged cyclist's mind as he takes part in an amateur bicycle race in southern France in 1978.I did not know very much about The Rider before reading it, which is probably why I was caught off guard by its apparently famous opening:



"Hot and overcast. I take my gear out of the car and put my bike together. Tourists and locals are watching from sidewalk cafes. Non-racers. The emptiness of those lives shocks me."



After reading these lines, I shut the book and put it away. Needing something to do, I immediately busied myself with making tea. Was I annoyed? offended? angry? and by whom or what - the writer himself or by the feeling he managed to communicate so successfully?



I review the scene in my mind's eye. So here are the racers, getting ready. And here are some spectators who came to support them. I imagine that one is a school teacher, another an emergency room doctor, another a firefighter, another a war veteran, and so on and so forth. And then I replay it: "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."



In the course of my own life, I've been fortunate enough to live and work in the midst of various "important" people - researchers dedicated to finding treatments for diseases, rescue workers in war-torn countries, politicians who have the power to effect change with a single signature, and fine artists whose work is exhibited in the worlds' greatest museums. Not once have I heard any of them refer to others' lives as empty. If anything, they often question their own choices and complain that their work is not as fulfilling in reality as they had imagined it would be. I've also known serious athletes, who, while passionate about their sport, were not consumed by it to the exclusion of all else. But I do know roadcyclists whose thoughts reflect that famous sentence in The Rider. In fact I've met quite a few.




Amateur bicycle racers and racing aspirants have a reputation for arrogance, for "taking themselves too seriously" and truly believing that cycling is the most important and fulfilling thing in the world. For some time now this has fascinated me. Is it posturing? Are those drawn to roadcyling seeking to construct a life narrative of hardship and heroism in the absence of true hardship in their lives (poverty, illness, war, rape, ethnic persecution)? or, in some cases to distract from that hardship? Or is it the other way around - that something about cycling (what? a chemical it releases?) has such a powerful effect on the body and mind that it eclipses all else and turns perfectly sane people into crazed Ahabs on two wheels?




My curiosity about this is mingled with fear, and ultimately that is probably what made me put downThe Riderafter the opening passage. Sometimes, when I spend too much time on my roadbike I can feel myself lose perspective in a way I've never lost it before. Not in terms of arrogance per se - for someone with my abilities there is nothing to be arrogant about. But, I don't know, it's as if I can sense the existence of another dimension that I am not sure I want to cross into. Some cyclists I know, they are already there and they are "different." The narrator of The Rider(which I've since read to completion) is certainly there, and he describes that state in devastating detail.

Gunks Routes: Proctoscope (5.9+), Feast of Fools (5.10b) & No Glow (5.9)

(Photo: Below the roof on the first pitch of Feast of Fools (5.10b).)



What a difference two weeks can make.



During Labor Day weekend I felt a little rusty and out of shape, trudging up climbs in a sticky summer stupor.



But this past Sunday was like another world. The weather was absolutely perfect and I felt almost like myself again.



I drove up early from NYC and picked Gail up at her house in Gardiner. We didn't have much of a plan. In the time since Labor Day I'd made it to the gym a few times. I felt okay, certainly better than when I got back from summer vacation, but I couldn't say I was back to climbing my best. Nevertheless the night before we met up I suggested to Gail that I might be game to check out one of the Gunks 5.10's on my list, like Feast of Fools (5.10b) or even 10,000 Restless Virgins (5.10d).



It's easy to be brave in an email.



When I got to Gail's house the temperatures were still in the 40's (!) but by the time we got to the cliff and hiked up the Stairmaster it had warmed up. I was comfortable all day in just a tee shirt with no jacket. On the carriage road we could see lots of people streaming into the Trapps, but when we got to the Arrow wall we found ourselves surprisingly alone.



What a fine situation to be in: we had glorious clear weather and some of the best moderate climbs in existence right in front of us, all of them empty. We decided to warm up with a few of routes on this wall. Gail led the first pitch of Arrow (this first pitch is 5.6) and then I led our next three pitches, knocking off the upper pitches of Arrow (5.8), Annie Oh! (5.8) and Three Doves (5.8+).



The combination of cool temperatures and the white, marble-like rock of the Arrow wall was magical. Chalk was almost unnecessary.



Arrow is always a pleasure, and the bolts make it a totally mellow experience.



I was curious about Annie Oh! because I hadn't been on the climb since the scary loose block in the middle of the pitch fell out last November. I can't say its absence has changed the climb much. As I climbed the pitch I wasn't even sure where the block had fallen out from. One somewhat scary feature remains on the pitch, a flake/overlap that seems to be attached but which rings quite hollow. There is an old fixed Alien underneath it. You need to place pro underneath and climb atop this feature to do the route; if it ever comes off it could be ugly. Despite this one concern I love the second pitch of Annie Oh!; it has so many great moves on it, all the way to the very last one up a seemingly blank notch.



The top pitch of Three Doves is also fantastic. It is a step up in difficulty from Annie Oh! and it too has a strong hold on my affections. I love the delicate face moves to the roof and then the traverse right is exciting. I thought about moving left instead of right to finish through the 5.9+ ceiling of Hawkeye, just for a change, but it was only my second time on Three Doves and I was enjoying it so much I decided to carry on and finish it the regular way.



By the time we descended from Three Doves the wall had become very crowded. It seemed that every route suddenly had a party on it. (There was a leader on Annie Oh! climbing in bare feet!) We decided to return to the ground to see if Feast of Fools was available. I tried not to get my hopes up. I'd been looking to hop on Feast of Fools all year but because it has a bolted anchor atop its first pitch it always seems to have a huge group of top ropers hogging it. I assumed today would be no different, but who knew, I thought, we might get lucky.



It turned out no one was climbing Feast of Fools but there was a man at its base belaying his partner up the first pitch of Proctoscope (5.9+), around the corner. He said he was planning to lead Feast in a minute when his partner finished Proctoscope, but that if I wanted it now I could have it. His politeness overwhelmed me, so much so that I felt guilty about taking advantage.



Gail suggested I might like Proctoscope. (She'd been on it before.) I'd been curious about it, but it was not on my immediate tick list. I thought I had read that it was hard to protect. But when I looked up I could see that the man we were speaking with had several placements through the steep crux face. He had sewn it up. It looked quite safe. The climb would shortly be available. His partner appeared poised to finish up pretty soon.



I decided to give Proctoscope a try.



The first pitch is technical and challenging. The early going is easy, up a six-inch off-width that you can't protect without a Big Bro or some really big cams. But there are jugs in the off-width, so it really isn't a big deal. Once you get your first gear in, maybe twenty feet up, the pitch is very well protected from that point on. After the off-width you step left to a similarly easy chimney which leads to the business of the pitch, the steep orange face beneath a ceiling.



I really liked the steep orange face, and I did a good job on it.... until I didn't.



As of this writing there are two fixed pieces on the face, a piton right at the start, and later a fixed wire up near the ceiling, at the crux move. I clipped the piton and made the first thin, easy-does-it move upward. Then I plugged a cam in an obvious side-pull hold, being careful not to make the hold impossible to use. So far, so good. Gently stepping up again, I was already level with the fixed wire. It appeared I was one move away from a good hold, a jug up and left. If I could get up to that hold I might be done with the hard stuff. I'd just have to do a few easy moves up and left, skirting the ceiling and reaching the bolted anchor.



Only one thing stood between me and the onsight. The handholds were terrible. These are the "small, rounded holds" mentioned in Dick Williams' guidebook description for Proctoscope. I had a great foothold but I was barely holding on to a shallow crimp with my right hand. My left hand was on a sloper I considered basically useless. I was sure I'd fall if I released my right hand, so I carefully reached down with my left hand, got a draw and clipped the fixed nut. Then, feeling very tense and still gripping like mad with the right hand, I slowly clipped the rope to the draw.



Whew! Now I needed to move. I saw no good footholds, but I thought maybe I could step on this one indentation. I started to step up to grab the good shelf, but my toe slipped and whoosh, just like that, I was off. I had taken a fall on the fixed nut.



One move away from the jug. I was angry that I'd blown it. In my anger I rushed right back up there, got out of sequence and immediately fell again.



I recharged and tried to be more patient. And the third time it worked out. I didn't over-grip with the right hand, and I searched around to find a slightly better hold for the left. Once I found one I was able to bump up to the jug, and the difficulties were over.



This is a high quality pitch. I regret screwing it up. The fixed wire really helps. Placing your own gear there at the crux would increase the difficulty. It would be very tempting to just run it out to the next move.



We were planning on doing the 5.8 pitch two of Proctoscope so I stayed at the bolts and brought Gail up. When I arrived the man we'd met earlier had finished with pitch one of Feast of Fools and had his rope up on the chains for the other people in his party. And while I was standing there another pair, two young women, rapped in from a tree on the GT ledge. They were hoping to set up their rope to top rope Feast after the other party finished. When Gail arrived we had four people and three ropes on this one anchor. it was kind of a mess, but it was just another Sunday in the Gunks.



We waited while the other pair at the anchor sorted out their plans and then I led pitch two. I liked it. It is worth doing at least once. It features a fun roof problem, directly above the belay. The roof is well-protected and there is another nice move to get established above the roof. After that it has easy and not very interesting climbing going left to avoid the larger ceiling and head up to the GT Ledge.



We took a quick look at the third pitch of Proctoscope, which diagonals up the huge arching corner just left of the upper pitch of Nurse's Aid. This 5.8 pitch trends left until it reaches the top of cliff right next to Arrow. It is not recommended by the guidebook. It looked not-so-awful to us, but Gail's husband Mitch came out to meet us as we finished pitch two-- he has just begun climbing again after a lengthy battle with a wrist injury-- so we rapped down from the Arrow bolts to meet him. The Arrow wall was still packed with people, which worked out to our benefit. Janette Pazer of the famous Family Climbing group was there with some friends. They had the first pitch of Annie Oh! set up and they kindly allowed Mitch and Gail to take a run up their rope.



While Mitch and Gail were over on Annie Oh!, I staked out the base of Feast of Fools. The young women with whom we'd shared the bolted belay station were almost done with the route. By the time they cleared out, Mitch was free for me. I was all set to go. Mitch belayed me for my onsight attempt on Feast of Fools.









(Photo: Confronting the starting moves on Feast of Fools (5.10b).)




I'd been excited about this pitch for a long time. It looks intimidating, with a big roof providing the first crux and a second crux at a small overhang and steep corner above. I'd made a point of never top-roping it, hoping to "save" it for the onsight. And now the time at last had come. But as I started up I found the first few moves to be surprisingly mysterious. The sun was soon to go behind the cliff, but at this moment it was beating down on me. I felt hot, for the first time all day. I was nervous. I wondered, "do I really want to do this?"




The answer: I did, in the worst way.




After a minute I settled down and made a move up, then soon found myself beneath the first roof, which is really a big pancake flake stuck in the cliff. I had thought this wouldn't be so bad, since you don't really pull the roof but rather go around it, escaping to the right.




But the holds underneath are tiny crimps and it felt very committing to reach out to the big flake. I placed an Alien in the corner and cowered there for a bit. Then I made a reach to the right (see the photo at the top of this post), because I thought I needed to move over there before grabbing the flake. And it was strenuous to hang out there. The holds were tiny. Placing another piece there would be difficult.




I retreated back to the corner, and asked Mitch if I was going the right way. Did I need to go out there to the right?




"I think you do," he replied. "And I think when you go for it and just grab the big flake it will all make sense and you'll feel fine."




But it didn't seem like it would feel fine. It felt awkward and scary. I moved out again, placing another Alien. Then I retreated again.




Then I finally went for it and it turned out Mitch was right. As soon as I reached out and grabbed the pancake flake everything was fine. Moving right was easy, and then I was over the roof in no time. Crux number one was done with.




The second crux of Feast of Fools is famous for being protected by two old pins. As I stood at the rest stance beneath the pins I could see that it appeared one of them had been replaced. It looked brand new. I was thrilled.




But when I tried to move up and clip the pins I found it very difficult. The stance there is very steep and the holds are poor.









(Photo: At the second crux on Feast of Fools, at the pins.)




The first time I went up to the pins, I couldn't find the draws on my harness. So I climbed back down and moved my stuff around. The second time I went up, it was all I could do to hang a draw on the pin. I was afraid I'd fall if I tried to attach the draw to the rope. So I retreated to the stance again. After resting a bit more I went back up and clipped the rope. Then I retreated once again, and repeated the whole process with the second pin. I climbed up and down at least four or five times.




I am grateful that Mitch and Gail are patient people. I really made this pitch into a lengthy process. But I didn't want to blow it. I was determined.




It was finally time to fire through the moves.




When I went for it I found out I had already done the hardest bit, four or five times. Hanging on at the pins is the crux! I had the moves to the pins all worked out now, and once I reached up above the pins, there were no problems. The holds improved and in just a few moves the pitch was over. It hadn't been all that pretty but I had my onsight of Feast of Fools. It felt good.




It is a really good pitch, with two nice cruxes. It seems to me the hardest parts are not the cruxes themselves, but rather placing protection for the cruxes. And at both cruxes you can hang in there, get the gear you need, and then take a step back to rest before moving on. In this way Feast of Fools is easier than Proctoscope. There was no way I was down-climbing to rest after clipping the fixed wire at the crux on Proctoscope. I had to keep climbing or take a fall.









(Photo: Gail making it look easy while following pitch one of Feast of Fools, at the pancake flake.)




It would have been nice to do pitch two of Feast of Fools-- it is supposed to be a really good 5.10a pitch-- but we'll have to come back for that. Mitch was heading out, and the anchor above pitch one was still in heavy use from multiple parties. We didn't really want to be stuck there in a traffic jam again.




Instead we went to do No Glow (5.9). Gail wanted a nice casual lead and the first pitch is 5.4. I was happy to do the second pitch, as it is a pretty mellow 5.9 that I've led before.









(Photo: Gail in the unprotected early going of No Glow.)




I enjoyed No Glow, as usual, but just below the top I got scared when I placed my hand on a feature, not realizing it was actually a detached block. This block is just two moves from the top, a little bit to the right as you come up. It is about three feet wide, and is Texas-shaped. When I barely touched this block it shifted. I really thought it might come off. It scared the crap out of me.









(Photo: Yes, that is the block. Photo stolen from Gunks.com.)




I was also a little bit more unnerved than usual by the sickle-shaped flake/block that sits above and to the right of the crux move. Everybody yards on this block to get over the crux. But it is just sitting on a tiny shelf. When we rapped down No Glow last Sunday I took a closer look at this sickle-shaped flake/block and I realized for the first time that only its left edge is sitting on the shelf. The right side is actually quite a bit wider than the shelf on which it sits and it's just hanging there in space.




I don't want to overreact. There are many loose blocks all over the place, and these particular features on No Glow have existed there for many years. No one has died yet. But twice this year in Yosemite climbers have died after loose blocks were pulled off of popular trade routes. Just because it hasn't happened yet doesn't mean we should ignore obvious risks. I think these two features on No Glow are ticking time bombs. I'm done with that route.




If you climb it, please don't touch that block near the top. (It is easily avoided.) I think just a little shove would send it right down the cliff.




Anyway, nothing bad happened so it didn't put too much of a damper on our wonderful day. I left the Gunks feeling thrilled to have gotten a 5.10 onsight for once. It was a great start to autumn. I hope this fall will be a real sending season.

Blue Skies and Sunshine!

Tuesday morning (August 17th) I left Sue and Fred at the campground in Seward under cloudy, overcast skies and drizzling rain. They will be going to Haines, about 900 miles away, with a short visit to Juneau and Skagway before heading back through Canada to the Lower 48.

We had hoped to pay a visit to Exit Glacier but, due to all of the rain, the road to the glacier was closed on the day we arrived in Seward. It is one of the few glaciers in Alaska that is accessible by road and you can walk a short trail from the parking area up to the face of the glacier. That is, you can if the road is open! On Sunday (the 15th) they were evacuating everyone from the area.

I spent most of Tuesday at the Library getting blog posts written and scheduled and reading a few other blogs. I did take several walks around Seward in between the downpours. It was rather nice walking in a drizzling rain but a chill would set in and I'd head back to the Library! I also stopped in at Kenai Fjords Visitor Center to see if the road to Exit Glacier was open, it wasn't. That night I stayed at the Forest View Campground again. About 8 o'clock I noticed that patches of blue were peeking through the clouds.

Wednesday morning I awoke to sunshine and blue skies!! The road to Exit Glacier was only a few miles from the campground so I drove on out. There are several pullouts where you get a nice view of the glacier.

Exit Glacier. So close, yet so far away.

Two miles from the glacier the road was barricaded and a Ranger was directing traffic to the nearby trail parking lot. She said that there had been a tremendous amount of rain the past month over the glacier. It had gotten over 12 inches of rain on each of two different days! The glacier deposits silt in the river and as water comes down it carves new channels to get through that silt.

A new channel had been made and it was undercutting the road. Water was still flowing over the road so they could not determine the extent of the damage yet.

I could have walked the two miles to the parking lot and then another half mile to the face of the glacier. However, I would have had to ford the water streaming over the road and there was no guarantee that I'd actually be able to get to its face. I was happy that I had at least been able to view it, albeit from a distance, and decided to continue on my journey.

Later that afternoon I stopped at Bird Creek Campground in Chugach State Park along Turnagain Arm about 25 miles south of Anchorage. It is nice, for a primitive campground (pit toilets and no water). There were quite a few fishermen getting their lines wet at Bird Creek, which flows into Turnagain Arm.

The Alaska Railroad runs between the highway and Turnagain Arm.
The sunset Wednesday night was incredible. Clouds had moved in and the sun was having a great time in lighting them up!

To the Southeast.
And the Southwest.
And the West.
Fantastic!

Bike Fit, How Does It Work?

Preparing my roadbike for the first skinny tire ride of Spring, I realised it's now been over a year since I've had it. And, looking at the somewhat unsightly spacer poking out above the stem I realised something else: My road position hasn't changed over that time. That bit of steerer was left uncut in case the handlebars turned out to be too low for comfort, which did not happen. The spacer below the stem has remained in place as well. Considering that prior to a year ago my position was in constant flux, it's nice to finally feel settled in.



Alas, this has not given me any great insights into the topic of bike fit.I have seen huge variations in the positions of people I ride with, each of them apparently suiting the rider just fine.I have also been exposed to a number of fit philosophies - each yielding a different conclusion about the size and setup of the bike I ought to be riding.Seasoned cyclists often advise new riders to "have an expert fitting." But depending on which philosophy the fitter subscribes to, results will vary.



Since my bike is a Seven and Seven Cycles are known for their fit methodology, I am occasionally asked to describe the fit process I went through. While I don't think my experience was typical, this seems like a good occasion to share it, so here goes:



When I first tried a Seven demo bike two summers ago, they set it up to match the position of my own bicycle. At the time, I was riding a bike with a long top tube, short stem, handlebars slightly above saddle height, and saddle pushed back to slacken an already relaxed seat tube even further. Setting up the demo bike to match mine was contrary to what I had expected going into the test ride. But Seven's Rob Vandermark suggested I start from a point of familiarity. Set up in this manner, the Seven felt good, and with the fit already familiar I could focus on its ride quality and speed. But this was a long term demo, and when I began taking part in fast group rides that summer I found myself squirming around: bending my elbows dramatically and scooting forward in the saddle. When I communicated this to Rob, he suggested some small changes, including moving the saddle forward and lowering the bars. When this adjustment was made, it felt like a step in the right direction. Eventually I was riding the bike with a straight seatpost and the handlebars placed as low as the frame would allow. It still wasn't quite right, as the frame was simply too large. But it felt better than my previous position.



Later that Fall, I built up a small vintage racing frame with modern components, based on the ideas of fit I picked up from the summer's experience. This bike had a short top tube and long stem, and handlebars just below saddle height. Though I sensedit could still use some tweaking, overallI wasnowvery pleased with my position. When I decided to buy a Seven for the coming spring, I came in with this bike and was measured again, as well as observed and asked questions while I rode on a trainer. The kind of things that were examined and discussed were: my cadence, where I keep my hands on the bars, how much time I spend out of the saddle, my back and shoulder position, the position of my feet on the pedals,and lots of other little things that I no doubt missed. Moreover, this was also the time I became involved with the Ride Studio Cafe cycling club (a Seven Cycles dealer) - taking part in their group rides and loitering in the shop. So my formal fit experience was no doubt supplemented by their getting to know me and my riding style.There is talk of a famous 50 page questionnaire that Seven customers fill out, but I have never seen such a document; I assume it was filled out on my behalf during and after the fitting session. I did sign off on a build form in the end, and hoped for the best.



When I got the new bike, it fit differently than anything I had ridden previously, but I was left with no doubt it was the "right" fit for me. There was a sense of everything falling into place. My hands knew where the hoods were and plopped right down; my legs felt integrated with the cranks and pedals. I didn't question any aspect of the positioning. Any other roadbike I've ridden since, I try to adjust to the same specs. Depending on a bike's size and geometry, it doesn't always work - but the closer I can get it, the better it feels to ride.



And by better, I don't mean abstract notions of "position X will make me faster/ more comfortable than position Y." Neither do I have a template in mind of what constitutes proper road fit or of what looks correct. Rather, I mean physically better - proven through personal experience to feel both more comfortable, more efficient and less fatiguing. I notice, for instance, that contrary to one popular narrative, my back hurtslesswith the handlebars set a bit lower. And contrary to another, my legs feel better with the saddle at a steeper, rather than a slacker angle over the bottom bracket. I don't presume that the same holds true for every rider and for every style of riding, but I can't ignore evidence of what works for me.No doubt in the future, my position on the bike will continue to evolve. At what point and in which direction I don't know yet. But for now it might be safe to cut down the extra bit of steerer - affectionately referred to as the "sternum puncher" by some of my riding friends.



Funny thing: I know about half a dozen female roadcyclists who are almost identical to me in size and who all do similar types of riding. When we try each other's bikes, hilarity ensues: The fit is all wrong. Yet we each find our own positions comfortable. And all of us have had expert fittings.



As these things go, I sometimes get bike fit advice from strangers when I am out and about. It is split pretty much evenly between (a)"Your setup is way too aggressive," (b)"Your setup is not aggressive enough," and (c)"That bike is set up just right!" I have a feeling that no matter what my bike looked like, this distribution would remain about the same.

Braunston circular

Led by Mel. With Norma, Maureen, Gordon, Barry, Barrie, Terry, Ian, Carol and me. Fine weather, but some overgrown fields and in places muddy conditions underfoot. Just under 6 miles.

The footpath sign is just by the churchyard gate

We started from Braunston church, which we should have looked at a little more closely. - Confession time - we visited Braunston next day, took some better pics, and went for lunch in The Old Plough. A baguette with filling, salad with dressing and coleslaw for £6.25.

Though the interior is interesting, the most intriguing feature of All Saints is outside. Go around the side of the west tower and there you will find an roughly carved statue, about 3 feet high, depicting a grinning figure. The reverse of the figure is flat, and it was used for many years to form a step, so the carving was only discovered when the step was taken up.

No one knows how old the carving is, or what it is supposed to represent, but it is almost certainly pre-Christian. It may be a symbol of an ancient fertility cult, or some form of Celtic Earth Mother. Whatever it is supposed to represent, it is a quite extraordinary bit of primitive sculpture, and deserves more recognition.

More discussion on this stone carvingand more info about the church and carving.

According to the info board she is supposed to ward off evil spirits.

We walked through the churchyard to take the footpath going west. After a couple of fields the path crosses the young river Gwash, and turns south-west. It followed field edges climbing gradually , with clear way markers until we came to a field of long grass where we followed our noses and the map, diagonally upwards to the opposite corner. In fact we veered slightly to our left, but rejoined our route after going through a gate at the top of the field.

Checking grid reference and map

We followed a wide bridleway east along the top of the ridge, until we reached a junction where we turned right. We walked downhill to and through a strip of muddy woodland. At the edge of this we turned left uphill along what looked like a wet and muddy track, but in fact it was reasonable for walking. The path met another track and we turned right and downhill for a short distance, before turning left again, following a bridleway to a junction of ways, where we stopped for a break, just after the three-mile point.




We continued walking straight on ( east) as far as Leigh Lodge. There we turned left (north-east) and followed the route of the Macmillan and Leighfield Ways, up a metalled road, for about a mile. When we reached the minor road to Braunston we turned left (north-west).




The original plan was to take a bridleway on our right, and follow the river Gwash to Braunston via the sewage works and the bridge pictured below. As it promised to be a mud-bath, we took the road instead.

Braunston

All Saints church, Braunston

Drawing of All Saints church by Harry Hamill

The walk touches/overlaps with these two previous walks - this onefrom Nov 28 , and this one from July 21 .

Angie, Angela

The beach closest to the house is a small and rocky one that
all but disappears at high tide. But I know a spot - behind all the rocks,
in a little hollowed out nook in the side of the cliff - where I can sit on the
wet dark sand, hidden, reading. Well I
call it reading. Only half the time I am lying face down, my cheek pressed into
the open pages of the book.




Once in a while a noise prompts me to look up. Few people come here, most preferring the main beach down the road. But
now I hear the unmistakable sounds of flip-flops.




There are three of them, making their way along rocks
half-submerged in water. The man is athletic and agile, with a deep tan and
spiky brown hair. Close behind is an equally lean and tanned woman, blond ponytail
swinging as she hops from rock to rock. The couple moves with the lightness of teenagers, and only when I catch a glimpse of their faces do
I see they must be in their early 50s. They could be professional athletes. Runners
maybe.




As I contemplate this, they pause, waiting for the person some
distance behind to catch up. It is an elderly female form: soft, hunched-over
body, sagging chest, thinning hair, unsteady mincing gait. The mother or aunt of one of
them, I decide, and go back to my book.




Then I hear the blond woman’s voice and look up again. “Come
on honey,” she says - in the sort of firm but gentle tone used to encourage children. “Come on honey, give mommy your hand.”




I see now that she is a girl of around 14, though it is difficult to tell for sure. She stands awkwardly on the uneven rock, her shoulders hunched forward stiffly, hands at her sides, fingers fanned out, slack mouth
emitting a low pitched moan.




I feel a jolt to my system that I am instantly ashamed of. But it is the unexpectedness, the contrast of it. The couple'seffortless movements and theirbeautiful, youthful bodies, each stretching out a perfectly formed hand toward their child.






“Angie! Angela” says the man now, trying to get her to
look at him rather than down at the water. There is a big gap between the rock
she stands on and the next one, and she is terrified to cross. Her moans grow louder. “Angie! Angela.” The man’s tone is even, patient but not
exaggeratedly so, almost matter of fact.




When she still does not respond, both the man and woman step down into
the water and, in what has the look of a practiced maneuver, pick her up by the upper arms and swiftly move her to the next rock. She is large, and at once so limp and so stiff, it is as if they move a life-sized ragdoll. And then they go on with their trek.




Soon they are gone from my field of vision, but I continue
to think of them. Their light, graceful limbs and her heavy, awkward ones, the sun lighting up her sparse wisps of hair.




In my younger years, I could dwell on such a scene indefinitely,
crying over it without really knowing
why. But now I am better at willing myself to forget, at
removing thoughts and images from my mind, almost surgically. Eventually I go back to my book - reading it, then lying face down on it again.




It is not until three days later that I see her. A girl in
a halter dress, riding her bike along the tiny main street.Her left foot is missing a sandal.And she is coasting, round shoulders relaxed, head tilted back, short sandy hair ruffled by the breeze. She is squinting into the sun and
smiling so broadly, I cannot help but grin back reflexively.



In that moment I
recognise her. I look around for the tanned athletic couple, half
expecting them to be following on bikes or watching from the sidewalk. I don't see them. But the girl is unmistakably her. The face, the body, the hair, the
way her clothing does not sit quite right.It is all there and it is all
perfect, in the utter abandon of her posture and smile.