Healing, wide cracks, espresso, and beer…

As I stepped out of the car and gazed at the countless sandstone cracks towering above the green meadow in rounded plateaus. The cracks which came in all sizes, shapes, and lengths beckoned me to climb them, and toyed with me to really delve into my own spiritual healing, to return to who I used to be.

The stars rose that night shining viciously through the dark blanket of the night sky. Constellations lit up the valley floor and the sliver of a moon reluctantly joined. Stoked on seeing many of my friends from Idaho, and slightly buzzed from a long day driving combined with a few too many beers I settled into my sleeping bag, letting the heat encompass me, and starting to slowly drift back into my own head.

A full day of climbing at the original meat wall met me the next day added to the therapy of the Indian Creek experience. Sinestra, a climb I’d been looking at for quite some time was the big lead for me that day. While it is a hand crack, it is long, has three roofs, and a no hands traverse in the middle. With my last piece of protection, a really solid cam, being about three feet below me I started tippy toeing onto the dime sized edge on a dead vertical wall. I searched for handholds only to find none. With my hand in the crack on the right I was still three feet shy of reaching the crack on the left, and this miniscule plank was the only way over. After timidly committing to the traverse, I hooked my toe into the crack on the right got my left foot out as far as possible, and dynoed over to the other crack. My core tightened and the fear of taking a 20 foot swinging fall held me onto the rock. As I came to a stop I let out a huge yell and put another cam in! I pulled over the first roof only to realize, that due to my timidness, I didn’t have nearly enough #3 camalots to top the climb out.

I lowered collecting those that I had placed early thinking about the sharp focus I’d just had climbing. Thinking of this focus or flow makes me think of work, and those of us who are lucky enough to be passionate about what they do. It makes me feel sorry for those who kind of float through life only experiencing quasi flow/ escapism through substance abuse, tv, and shitty food. Life is too short to live in this sort of mediocrity. This is also one of my greatest fears, falling victim to false comfort, and failing to achieve more.

I fought my way through the second roof and onto the third. Sitting at the hanging belay and looking at out the valley really turned a switch in my head and started the healing that the trip continued to provide. I spent the remainder of the day taking special enjoyment in reminiscing about old memories, drinking warm beers, climbing easier cracks, and watching the vivid orange and red sunset behind the black varnished cliff.

That evening while taking pictures and talking with a friend she made a comment that has stuck with me. She said that her biggest fear is watching someone fall out of love with her and having no control over the situation no matter how hard you try. I immediately connected and feel this will be my own crux in recovering from my recent bashed and broken heart. This feeling is so mind numbing that it psychologically screws with one in ways you never see clearly until years later. It rips into one’s inner fabric like a well sharpened knife. It slices morals, hopeless romanticism, motivations, and makes one truly question their own self worth. It changed the way I viewed the world, and changed who I am as a person. As I slowly regain self worth, and my own identity I also need to overcome the fear of losing love. The solitude and openness of the wilderness made me once again realize that it is better to have loved, than to have been too guarded to take this all encompassing leap of emotion. This will be critical in regaining the emotional energy that anyone I’m with in the future will demand and deserve. That night I thought not only about my own emotional health, but also my mind opened up to deeper thoughts about the area I’d spent the last few days in.

Indian Creek, has a long history. The area exudes the feeling of lawlessness, the wild west, and of searching in one’s inner depths. The landscape is rugged, the climbs unforgiving, and the regulations minimal. There is no cell phone reception, and many of the roads are the same ranching roads that have been there for over 100 years. The same roads that were once paths used by the original inhabitants, the Anasazi’s. Their stories are carved into the stone, and have been dated to over 2,000 years ago. It is not hard to imagine the way this land must have looked that long ago, and easy to understand how this beautiful valley with a creek running through it would be such a nice place to live. Some of the petroglyphs are mysterious and even portray the six toed giant that has been drawn by many indigenous peoples all over the world.

Post the awful and unjust transplantation of the Anasazi, and until the 1970’s with the discovery of the area for rock climbing, and with Earl Wiggin’s ascent of Super Crack/ Luxery Liner, with hexes, the area was used for cattle ranching, and still is today. This collaboration between climbers and the cattle ranch and nature conservancy there is a great example of mutual respect, reciprocity, and good land use…I thought back to my original career ambitions of working in conservation advocacy, and to how my paradigm has shifted now to a much deeper and critical stance of my place in the world.

The next morning we decided to climb some wide cracks, which are my favorite. These climbs, called offwidths, are generally too wide for a fist jam, but to narrow to fit your whole body in. This weird size of climbing requires the most creativity, and outside of the box thinking of any kind of climbing, it also requires a high tolerance for pain. I got to climb with my good friend Earl, and believe that climbing with him is mutually beneficial for both of us. We both tend to sell ourselves short on what we can or can’t lead. I’d hopped on Sinestra the day before, so without hesitation he took the sharp end for the climb Big Guy. This gorgeous crack starts with hands, goes to fingers, and then for over 80 feet stays between 4-7 inches splitting an otherwise blank face of perfect rock.

Getting on lead for an onsight attempt of a climb is a feeling unlike much else. There is a beautiful relationship between risk, reward, and your own skill. Reinhold Messner once said, "Today's climber...carries his courage in his rucksack...Faith in equipment has replaced faith in oneself.” I believe the same is metaphorically true of many afraid to think beyond the system that they grew up in. We must think critically and have true confidence in ourselves, and not always wait for the hierarchal structure to go through the same processes that slow down social change.

You start up into the unknown. You have a skill set that you have developed from each experience before, but it is never enough and there is always unknown. This unknown is present in life, and is a great fear that plagues many people who are trying to do good work. We must step outside of our comfort zones, take the tools that we have gained through experience and research, and head into the unknown. Sometimes you get pretty far above your protection, and this is when the consequences of the unknown become much more severe, but this is also where one gets to truly test their own mental limits, and has the most potential for inner growth. As advocates of just sustainable democratic society we must push ourselves further out of our comfort zones, and away from the commonplace “well this is how we have to do it,” tactics that so many rely on. Fuck the chain of command or the fear of leading into the unknown, trust in yourself, your skill set, get on that lead, or start the revolution, NOW! Stand up for what is right, and push yourself both mentally and physically, humans are not meant to be complacent.

It is easy to get ingrained into an energy sucking system working and dealing with many elements every day to I walk away from feeling negative. Wild places like Indian Creek provide solace, and provoke a deep soul searching that I believe is the best way to heal from these metaphysical society inflicted wounds. Out there it is you, the rock, and your partners. You eat when you are hungry, and sleep when you are tired, and are accountable to nature’s harsh and romantic reality. It is entirely selfish and selfless at the same time. While the healing and solace is vital, this is the balance needed to go back to our calling as humans, more energized and enthused than before. We must seek this equilibrium if we are to ever last in the work of creating just and sustainable communities, but we must never become entirely selfish and just recreate.

Thanksgiving at the Creek Pastures campground was amazing, but also pushed me into some deep thoughts. Over 40 people from all over came together to celebrate a holiday that is actually based off of a colonial tragedy. There was lots of good food and energy, and also lots of lost souls. It seemed that myself and a few others were the ones out of place Of course everyone deserves the time to find themselves, and a place to heal from whatever sufferings they have occurred, there is a point where one must go back into the world and contribute. I’ve often struggled with this yearning to only climb and dirtbag, and the calling to give back to society. I wonder what it is inside of me that won’t allow me to just separate from all of the wrongs of society, instead of becoming emotionally fueled by the suffering of others. The dinner continued with blurs of campfire, stories, flame throwers, beers, whiskey, and finally my sleeping bag.

The next day was a slow morning and we’d decided to do the South Six Shooter. Billed as a 3 pitch 5.7 it seemed like it would be an easy outing. Little did we know the off roading road to the trailhead, and then the 1,000 foot scree field elevation gain on what could barley be called a trail. We ascended through a beautiful capstone layer and could see the full needles district of Canyonlands National Park. Our party of four moved faster than I thought, and my dog lead the way. The climb itself while easy, and ledgy, gave way to an incredible dinner table sized summit with 360 degree views. It is these times spent being truly human with others, sharing vulnerability, views, and experiences, that are some of the riches, most meaningful experiences of my life. This is why I climb. On top of the movement and the exposure, which are big parts also, it is the camaraderie and lifetime bonds of shared experience that inspire me to keep pushing myself further, but also my climbing partners. It is seeing someone else experience the same inner jubilation and renewal, that I find my own balance.

One thing is for certain, I left Moab refreshed, with new vision, motivation, and energy to continue trying to make social change. The big realization and take away for me is to savor the moments with good friends and situations where I leave with positive energy. It is what I gain from this that can give me the strength to deal with the situations where I leave with less. It is from the insight of good friends that I can make sense of the bad, and turn it into good. I’m excited for the next trip and excited to be back at work. Here’s a bunch of photos! Thanks for reading the long and wandering post of my somewhat scattered thoughts.

Tenacious Calculus

Great write up on our Friday night climb from Jason Lowry!

I left NAU campus yesterday tired and angry. Tired from too much work and angry from too little vision in the university. People sat in my final meeting content with their little piece they convinced themselves was making a difference and refused to look outside of their comfort zone. Their willingness to only live within their comfort zone and never look beyond the power structures that be angered me. They let their lives be formed by the forces that press them yet refused to push back.

The longer I'm at NAU the more I realize it's a haven for those tired of fighting; tired of trying to change. Instead they accommodate their perceived feelings of disempowerment and frustration by aligning whatever energy they have with a slightly better status quo. Because they feel it's a 'better reality' they appoint themselves the vanguards of their little section of that which they originally fought and rigor mortis sets in. Any perceived threat or minor change to their bubble of power and influence becomes not only a threat to their bubble, but a direct affront to them personally.

I left this feeling vindicated from the anxiety and fear expressed by them because I chase my dreams. I chase them because I see them sometimes; I chase them because some are always out of sight. I chased them home and in the car as Jake and I sped through Oak Creek Canyon, sometimes chasing shadows and other times chasing light as the sun fell below the towering canyon walls. As we wound through the serpentine curves in the road, scratching Roscoe (our puppy) and listening to punk-rock country, we excitedly talked about our next climb: Tenacious Calculus.

We drove through the mediocre downtown and observed people relishing in mediocre art and spirituality. The other drivers on the road fell shy, way shy, of mediocrity as we narrowly avoided one accident after another. Then we missed the turn. Thank God for round-abouts...

Our waist belts tightened and back packs heavy we hit the trail: hard. We huffed, half running with my lungs burning from a nasty cold, up and up. Then our climb became visible. Marge's Draw leapt from the junipine Sedona forest with streaked red and cream spires. There was the presence of something spiritual; maybe that which inspires so much of the Phonecian 'soft' spirituality that is sold so freely in Sedona's main strip. But we weren't in a soft place. Whatever spirituality we were witnessing, this was different. It was cold, sharp, hard. It left us without breath yet bursting with desire. It pulled and pounded us through rocky gullies and spiny plants (all the more angry from lack of water, too alone due to their very armor). We climbed the gullies. At times it hurt. Our legs were afire with the lactic acid I've become so addicted to. Sometimes it hurt because of the agave and cactus that stung with their spines or the rocks that peeled freely from their precarious places to crush our feet and legs.

We climbed towards the climb; our cautious puppy scrambled with us. He struggled to make it over rocks and forced us to think about someone other than ourselves. Sometimes we push ourselves so hard that other lives fall from our vision. We too suffer from the myopia of greed and self-importance.

When we got to Tenacious Calculus the cool autumnal sun was setting behind Mingus and Thunder mountains. The unforgiving wind hurled rocks from the spires and stole the warmth we'd won from the short but hard approach. The cold turned us inward. We zipped up our jackets and laced our harnesses with the gear that would protect us from falling to the ground from the climb. Jake got on the rope, what climbers call the 'sharp end', and worked, sometimes fighting, others dancing, up the spire.

Immediately, my focus was jarred from my internal struggles to Jake whose life I was responsible for. He placed two cams into a tinny crack, one that was made by a loose block stuck in the rock. The first moves were hard. He started with small holds and large reaches over an agave that would only have broken his fall with its spines briefly before sending him, with me, down the rocky and spiny gully.

We had heard about this climb multiple times from some people at the local gym. They talked about it as one of the best single pitches in Sedona. They boasted its superior rock quality; its movement. They rated it four stars online and gave perfect descriptions of the approach and rack. The climb wasn't what they'd hyped up at all.

After the hard moves off the deck the crux shuts you down. It was a splitter crack that was too narrow to put your hands in and too wide to lock your fingers into it. After pulling through the crux Jake climbed hoping for some reprieve with a good rest or stance, but never found it. Each move he made, the rock crumbled beneath his feet and around his hands. Small pebbles and rocks cascaded from the climb onto me belaying at the base. Roscoe ran around, king of the mound, fighting bushes and patrolling our little ledge. Jake fought, hard, up and up until he reached the top. He clipped in and I took him off belay. I got my shoes on and tethered Roscoe to a dead juniper that twisted its way from a sandstone ledge to overlook the spectacular valley and rock formations below. Jake commented that it was hard; way harder than he'd anticipated.

I tied into the other end of the rope and Jake called, “You're on. Climb on and enjoy it...” I took out the gear from the placements in the loose block and did the first couple of moves. They went but weren't easy. As I left the deck Roscoe lost his cool. He started barking and attacking anything that would suffer his fierce little teeth and puppy barks and yips. As he tore out with rage I pulled on the gear unable to climb the rock, through the crux. As I moved up I almost pulled off a huge block onto me. When the block shifted towards my chest when I pulled on it, I almost freaked out. But I was off the deck and had to make it to the top. I changed my grip and called to Jake about the dangerous choss block that threatened to take me out with it.

The crack was unrelenting and awkward. The moves never got easier—only more bizarre. The cold wind drowned out all other sounds and created a feeling of solitude and adventure. As I moved up the spire I felt like I was in the mountains. Falling rocks, cold wind, and weird climbing gave the sensation of being on a remote mountain. Even with the town of Sedona in plain view, the sense that we were somewhere remote was overwhelming. Because we were. I was somewhere remote, removed form the people and institutions I'd left three hours before. Instead of dwelling on the frustrations of working with people that claim to care but perpetuate that which they declare hate for, my energy was focused on the next move. My focus was on my cold hands and the small rocks that fell from above.

Instead of climbing, I fought up the rock. It wasn't graceful or pretty, but I've never laid claim to being either. The moves got more insecure and desperate. The rock got flakier and nastier. And I got to the top.

The sun lit the sky on fire. Pastel purples, pinks, and reds streaked the skies and silhouetted the dramatic Sedona landscape. The wind screamed at us and Roscoe barked loud; he'd long lost his cool. Down in Oak Creek Canyon and Sedona the leaves were still turning. Fall was still alive and well. Yellows and reds painted the valley floor and embraced the creek as it wove through the red rock formations. It was a surreal moment. The temperature was dropping and the wind didn't subside so we rapped off the top immediately. The ropes flew sideways with the winds and lost themselves in the cats claw and mesquite.

The rappel was hard with the ropes tangled below. Bit by bit I lowered down and observed the interesting climb that we'd just done. I saw the block that I almost pulled on top of myself still perched precariously where I left it. And Roscoe was excited that I was nearing the ground.

I got untied from the rope, the ground solid beneath my feet. I moved way back from the crumbling tower with Roscoe and waited for Jake to get to the bottom. We pulled the rope, packed the packs, and booked it down, again helping Roscoe over the sections his puppy body and mind were unable to scramble alone. The fire in the sky illuminated the paths and gullies just enough to help us avoid cacti and yuccas. We ran back to the car and drove back to Flag through the dark and windy canyon. We came back to what we'd left a little more tired and maybe a little more ready to work hard again.

Castles in the Sand

I'd looked at it the first time I heard of climbing in Sedona. Two roof cracks...good rock...exquisite exposure...Looked great, but I've never been strong enough to even think about actually climbing it.

Following a very slow morning Jason and I rolled out of town around noon, we'd casually decided to get on Castles in the Sand a 5.11+ located in the Church Spires area of Sedona. I'd only done one climb in this area, Streaker Spire, and it was total choss. I tried to call friends the night before who'd done the route to get some beta, but to no avail. So after quickly tossing a rack together with emphasis on small hands and fists I was know actually hiking up to the base of the route. I guess mentally I figured that since the route was rap bolted that I'd struggle my way up the first pitch, then we'd decide to bail with the ominous roof above teasing my desire.

After a strangely quick approach with a surprisingly short section of Sedona 4th class scrambling we arrived at a perfect 5 by 5 foot ledge at the base of the climb. Upon touching the rock I was shocked at the quality and gazed up at the amazing changing corners first pitch and the huge roof guarding the rest of the route. The first pitch went well and I only hung once. While waiting for Jason to climb at the hanging belay I thought of excuses of a way to get out of leading this roof. Half of me stoked out of my mind to lead it, and the other half worried about the shit show that could possibly ensue. Without and excuse to bail I took the gear from Jason, and set off.

To my extreme surprise I easily pulled through the perfect hands roof, around the lip, and to a pretty good rest clean. I thought the pitch would be over after this, but another 80 feet of offwidth, fingers, and thin hands were left to the anchors. As I started moving up, the rope failed to follow me. Unfortunately blowing my onsight I set two pieces and lowerd back to the roof to remove the piece the rope was stuck behind. I then surprised myself be climbing the rest of the pitch clean. The exposure at the roof with the scenery against a dark grey sky, fresh air, and the calm of being in an area alone have since stayed imprinted in my mind. By the time we got to the top of the second belay we both decided it would be good to save the third roof for another time where we could redpoint the whole route. This will happen soon, and I'm stoked.

Breaking the 5.11 barrier in Sedona has opened the world of routes, and I feel so excited and lucky to live so close. Sedona will always be a place close to my heart, and central to my current psyche. We didn't take a camera because we had no idea of what to expect, but here is a famous photo of the roof out of an old Patagonia ad!

I believe the photo credit is John Burcham...

Short thoughts drinking espresso on a Wednesday evening.

One of the most vital elements of life is love. Love for self, love for children, love for the world, and most importantly reciprocal love from another. Reciprocal love from a partner, a best friend and a lover is beautifully and inherently inseparable from happiness and mental health. I believe that we are fools if we do not chase after the strongest and most amazing emotion, quite possibly the driving force of all on earth.

First day of training

I want to climb bigger harder routes. I want to go fast. These two simple statements have led me to think about training. I've been looking at a lot of different training plans, and one sticks out from the rest. Mountain Athlete, based out of Jackson, WY trains many guides and climbers who climb hard and big routes fast. Today was the first day of training, and I'm going to try to keep updates on this blog of what is going on. Here was the workout from today.

Row 1/2 miles to warm up

5 rounds of Barbell Complex's

Run 1/2 mile at fast pace

Climbing 4 rounds of 4x4's on bouldering wall.

It wasn't too bad today but I am definitely. Going to feel it tomorrow. I haven't been in a weight room for quite a long time and it must have been funny watching two dudes fumble around the equipment trying to figure out which to use and how much weight. I'd forgotten how limiting the traditional gym setup is, and have renewed respect for crossfit, gym jones, mountain athlete, and other facilities that think outside of the box in regards to functional training.

We are going to start by doing workouts twice a week with climbing 4 days a week and cardio every day.

My plan:

Rainbow Wall Original Route this spring

Lots of hard desert towers in moab area this fall

Winter training ascents of Mt. Humphries

BIG routes in the Cascades and Tetons this summer

I am entirely STOKED to be remotivated in achieving bigger and more meaningful goals in climbing!

Gratitude

I’ve been thinking a lot about gratitude lately, and I have a lot of it. My first few weeks of this new school year have been awesome! For the first time in longer than I can remember I am just happy to be where I’m at. I have so many people to thank in helping shape me and in leading me on this path.

This note is to all of the friends, professors, mentors, climbing/biking/skiing partners, and students whom I’ve taught. I’m ecstatic in the fact that many of the people fall into most or all of the category’s mentioned.

Thank you to those who’ve mentored, taught, and guided me in this journey. It is you’re outside the box thinking, compassion, and patience that have inspired me to be like you, and make change in this world. You’ve invited me to your houses, listened to me, critiqued me, celebrated with me, and for me and many others helped us find a path.

Thank you to my friends who’ve stayed with me through light and dark times. Who’ve listened to me when I’ve needed them the most, and who’ve provided me my foundation. It’s impossible to know what the purpose of life is, but I am sure that relationships with others, is a large part of it. This note goes out to the adventures, the hazy nights, the dancing, the support, the eating of massive amounts of good food, and to the journey that we’ve all shared together.

Climbing is a huge part of my life, and I believe it to be the perfect metaphor for everything I have already said. To my climbing partners I thank you for good belays, exposure, endurance, getting lost with me, the whoop after finishing a great pitch, bomber hand jams, whippers, spring break/thanksgiving trips, cold nights, bright stars, lots of coffee and beer, and to progression in our own minds!

Mt. Wilson!!!!

My eyes struggle to focus in the early morning light. The sun has not yet risen, but we’ve been hiking along an old road for thirty minutes. As the sun gets closer to the horizon, colors of orange, red, and yellow, fight their way into view. The objective looms overhead; a 3,000 foot monolith of sandstone. It still all seems surreal, and the hours of dreaming of this route now blend into reality. The robust smell of the desert in early morning overwhelms that of the pollution of nearby Las Vegas. For once, we are alone here, no other climbers, no hikers, and no tourists. As I walk, my legs start to wake up, and I think about what it would have been like to be here before the city. We gain rhythm as the sun starts to rise and eventually come to what we assume is the white rot gully, a passage way that will lead us to the base of the cliff.

The gully is steep and covered with loose rock. It was certainly not what I expected, but I carefully make my way up stemming my feet, grabbing with my hands, and doubting with my mind. At the top of the gully we recognize the start of the route to the left of the one we will be climbing, and the excitement of being close gives us energy. After scrambling through, under, over, and around small oak trees and various other shrubbery we finally reach a line of bolts arching up onto a 1,500 face of rock. This is the start of our route. We are in a narrow gully with hundreds of feet of sandstone on either side. Ferny vegetation fills this narrow and ominous corridor, with our climb taking a drastic vertical path toward s the sky.

We quickly drink water, unpack the ropes, rack the gear, lace shoes, tie into the rope, and before I know it I’m on belay. The first pitch proves to be less than inspiring, and there is loose and sandy rock. My plan was to link the first two, but by the time I get to the top of pitch one I decide to stop and bring Jason up to keep a closer eye on me for the crux pitch.

This pitch looks steep, much more than I had imagined. It appears to be dark black patina, contrasting to the red rock sitting behind it. The moves look straight forward, but hard. I chalk my hands, and head up into the meat of the pitch. Usually a climb of this grade doesn’t fell this hard, but gravity is pulling on my oversized pack and my still groggy morning arms. I get up to the crux, try to make the moves and all of a sudden I’m falling. Both Jason and I are shocked that I’m falling, and abruptly I come to a quick halt. I quickly assess the damage and am excited that the only damage is a few bloody fingers. The moves consist of a few small crimps, with small feet, and a dynamic throw to an awesome finger jam. Everything feels different a couple hundred feet up and a body length above a bolt. A couple more tries sends me quickly above the crux and to the anchors. I’m upset that this pitch took so long and that the climb seems to be more serious than I’d imagined.

The next few pitches while easy are still quite run out. At times I find myself 40 feet above my last piece of protection, and this is where I really start to get inside my own head. It is in my own headspace that I try to push out the constant thoughts of a recently failed relationship, and can start to regain myself worth. All I feel is the breeze in the air, my hands grasping the patina’ed sanstone, and the focus to get to the next piece. The exposure of clinging to these small holds 1,000 feet off the ground is the perfect escape for me. While climbing I strangely start thinking about my own struggle, and success with staying away from alcohol as an escape during this heartbreak. With each clip I can feel Jason’s relief, as well as my own. My pace speeds up as the rock quality gets better and before I know it we are at a nice ledge taking a brief break. My big sur bar is better than I could have imagined and the extra hiking water weight now seems worth it.

I quickly re rack and head up into the next pitch. The guidebooks call this pitch the S-crack and it is supposedly the trad crux of the route. It looks like an arching crack system the winds its way upward to yet another hanging belay. It is at this point that we look outward and see clouds.At first I push the thought out of my head, as the weather forcast only called for a ten percent chance of rain. As quickly as possible I start the next pitch as to get out of the miserable hanging belay that is cramming both Jason and I into a small corner. I lead up once again run out, thinking, clipping, and then becoming run out again. With a big whoop I turn the lip and practically belly flop onto a huge ledge! I set up the belay bring Jason up, and hear him commenting on the huge clouds that I had pushed out my mind during the lead. It is a quick decision, and we both push our ego’s aside, and decide to retreat.

This is hard, as we’ve been planning this for over a year, and the summit is the goal. But safety, and living to climb another day, are more important. We rig the first rappel backing up the old nasty rodent chewed slings with Jason’s cord, and I set off into the abyss. It was only on the car ride home that Jason told me how badly the bolts on this rappel flexed as we descended. I can only imagine his reaction to knowing that he too had to rappel these sketchy bolts next. Without a whimper he descended, the first of our seven double rope rappels.

About one rappel down the rain starts to lightly sprinkle. Then it gets harder. The thunder rolls in, and then the wind. Now we are tasked with throwing our ropes into an abyss the captures them and shoots them horizontal. While on rappel I literally have to grab the ropes out of the air above me and pull them out of the wind to proceed down. Jason and I both stay super calm during this ordeal cracking jokes as the wind rushes in with 50 mph gusts, and the rain swirls around. We make sure to double and triple check everything on our way down, and before I know it my feet are on the ground.

This is only half the battle as now we have to reverse the two hour scramble that brought us here in the first place. We wind our way through, under, and over shrubs, trees, and brush once again, this time a little bit lighter, and lot more tired. Finally we break out of the gully and find two rappels that surpass the sketchy sections of the hike up. Soon we are back on the trail, and then finally back to the car. I am constantly overwhelmed turning around and looking up at what we were on. In the morning light my eyes were unable to properly distinguish the height, but now the 3,000 feet of this wall stands above us in all of its glory. I’m happy to be down safe, and happy with our good judgment to bail.

The climb was much needed to regain my motivation and re-ignite an inner drive to train, and to constantly better myself. It is often easy in life to get stagnant, but we must keep moving forward. Even little steps get one closer to whatever destination they are destined for. It is in the acknowledgement of this that we can begin to control our own destinies, and regain our power making our societies better.

As always being that exposed brings a feeling of vulnerability, and recognition of just how tiny we are in this world. It made me think a lot about where my life is headed, and while I have no answers, at least I am once again making decisions for myself.

I will be back soon, stronger, faster, and more experienced. Mt. Wilson will go down, and I will take the same steps forward in all aspects of my life.

Here are some pictures!

On the hike out (photo by Jason Lowry)

Rappeling the descent

Storm clouds coming in quick!

Happy to finally be at a non hanging belay

Mt. Wilson

Mt. Wilson and Oak Creek Canyon from the road

Its been way to long...

It's been way to long since I've posted and that's because I've been even more busy than normal. Starting my job as a professor this semester has been amazing and overwhelming. I love teaching! I've also been training for a couple of big goals in climbing both at red rocks. In a few weeks I'll get on Resolution Arete, and then a few weeks after that make a go at the original route on Rainbow Wall. Both have been lifelong dreams, and I finally feel in good enough shape to take them on. I'll try to bring a camera on both of these routes!