Suffocating at Elevation

Going from 500 feet to 5000 feet is brutal on one's respiratory system. I felt like I could run a marathon from all of the harsh bushwhacking I did in Kentucky, but now that I find myself located at ten time the sea level as the Red River Gorge, I can't breathe. Hiking up to the Flatirons my first day here wasn't too bad, but climbing a long 5.4 pitch had me winded at about 100 feet off the deck.

Did I mention that I'm in Boulder, Colorado now? Probably not. But anyways, here I am in another public library, wondering when I'll start getting paychecks from the job that I don't have yet. Yeah, I need one.

About the Flatirons: When I arrived in Boulder late Sunday evening I met up with Eric Chastang. He insisted that we go free-solo an 800 ft route named Freeway (5.4). No ropes, no gear, just me and the void. I was a little apprehensive to say "yes." It sounded like a great way to pitch off a cliff to my death, but hey, at least if I died it'd be an interesting way to go. I'd be lying if the thought didn't keep me up at night for an hour or two.  The next day we went out and climbed it. At about 100 feet up I said to myself: "if I fall, I'll probably die. So, since it's safer to climb up, than down-climb, onward!" Did I mention I had to jump off a "diving board" from one cliff to another to get to the top? It was pretty bad-ass.

Freeway is located on the second fin from the right: the Second Flatiron, the least steep cliff

This is a commonly free-soloed route. Eric, in trying to convince me to do it, told me that he went from his car, up the cliff, and back to his car in 39 minutes. Sounds like he ran up the thing, huh? I need a few more days of acclimation to even think of doing trying to beat that time. I could barely catch my breath on the approach!

Anyways . . . mom, if you're reading this, you'll probably have a few more grey hairs to dye. Sorry.

If Only Atlas Had a Shop Crane

My brother has shared this band with me, and this song/video is easily embedded in my head.Watch it, then play it on repeat while you read this blog.

There is no skin on my hands; I have two holes on the finger tips of my left hand; two sprained ankles, which I tweak almost on a daily basis; two possible pulley injuries in each ring finger; tendon issues in my left forearm and both elbows. This is what a month of bouldering does. By now I'm ready to rope up again. I've done a few v5s again this season, but failed in my attempt to go beyond that. I've been in a climbing plateau for a year now. Let get out of it, shall we?

With a sting of nice weather bound for Kentucky, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to head that way soon. It has been a warm winter in the Southeast, and a poor season for bouldering. Too bad, but I'm still psyched on it, just not the fact that I deck so much and inevitably fuck up my ankle in the process.

Anyways. It's strange hearing people discuss climbing ethics, and better yet, talk about the supposed ethics that they themselves uphold. Because it seems that no one has a firm grasp on what should be considered ethical. All I've been able to conclude is that ethics in climbing are less about the climbing and more about the land that it takes to get to the climbing and the impact on the rock. Shit, there's already an ethic that pretty much blankets everything from chopping down trees below routes, placing bolts in the wall, and what-have-you: "Leave not trace."

Curious.

Forklifts for Sissyphus

It's raining again in North Carolina. The Bald is one of those places, however, that dries off in a matter of hours. The rock around here doesn't seep like they do back in Kentucky. Regardless, I'm indoors at the library, feeding my creative needs through this ill-kept blog.

The strange thing about this library is that people like to sit right next to me, instead of one computer space down. If this were a men's restroom, they'd be breaking all sorts of unspoken rules. Use the next urinal over, creeper.

In any case, as my general mediocre opinion of the climbing subsides and I'm once again psyched about the Gneiss climbing here, I have to take a rest day. Every day the problems here seem to throw a new twist into the general nature of bouldering that I once held in my mind. Delicate, and sometimes thuggish, problems are keen on punting me onto my ass. And it's unfortunate that sometimes the landings have arranged themselves in such a way that my tailbone lands squarely on a knife-blade edge of a bolder, and I limp away like I just had an inexperienced med-student roughly check my colon for cancer. Regardless, I'm really starting to enjoy the flat sloping blocks that sometimes appear on problems, but still have a respectable loathing for the horse-pens style slopers that grind the skin of your hands to mere dust.

Tomorrow I may be heading up to the Grandmother Boulders and Blowing Rock. But then it's scheduled to rain for two days. Sweet. Maybe an indoor gym session?

I've just finished reading Catch-22, and I'm beginning to think that may the phrase shouldn't be used by politicians, news pundits, or other public figures you can find by flipping on the television. I'm not sure why I think this, and if I were still in college, I would love to pawn off a paper on the matter as a senior thesis. But, alas, my days in the ivory tower are gone, confiscated by the immigration police known as real life experience and adventure.

Whatever the fuck that means.

1.21 Giggawatts

For a second time I've fucked up a foot while bouldering in Rumbling Bald, NC. I think of how it happened often, but it's really of no concern. It may have been my spotters fault, but it may have happened regardless. Maybe had he not thrown a crash pad beneath me as I fell (thus catching my foot, twisting it, and causing me to land awkwardly) I would have landed poorly and fucked it up worse. No ones fault, just an accident.

Rumbling Bald

Either way I'm out of commission for a bit. I can't turn my foot pinky-toe-down. But I can move it in other directions. I'll try climbing again in a few days, but if it doesn't go well I'll have to figure out what to do. In other news, I did find an old how-to rockclimb book authored by  Royal Robbins. In the final section of the book Robbins discusses ethics. Yes, climbing ethics! Fascinating, huh? Along with that book, I also found John Long' and  Jim Bridwell's autobiographies. Rad.

If there are peaks and valleys in one's climbing career, mine feels like it has been in a valley for a very long time, and I'm not sure how to get out of it aside from living under a hang/campus board 24/7. Maybe I should try that. I've been subject to dwindling motivation through the humid summer, one strange hand injury, a very badly sprained foot, and now another sprain. Every injury separated by a meek month of climbing. Not enough time to progress, just enough to realize I've plateaued a long time ago.

Bouldering is interesting enough and it's definitely forcing some thinking on my climbing style. Especially when I can muscle through a handful of V5s, but then get shot down on V2s left and right because I cannot finesse my way through the delicate moves.

Sport climbing is losing its flavor. I can't help but feel as though I'm in competition mode when I go to the crags to clip bolts. Or maybe its just because I'm around other people in general, not the actual sport. Maybe I should just do some trad climbing for a bit . . . but I need to climb with other people for that as well.

So, here I am, sitting in the Lake Lure Public Library, contemplating my next move. More bouldering, for sure, but what then? I need a job eventually, right? And though that I love the Red, I'm determined to never spend another summer there. 

Life.