Chapter Utah

Well, I finished college.  Easily the biggest step of my life, but at the moment a little bittersweet.  It’s funny how big my aspirations were when I started college.  I always envisioned myself grunting through my 4 years and finishing in a haze of fireworks and job offers.  Reality however has slapped me in the face.  I write to you from my brother’s couch, also known as my room.  I have officially began my contribution to America’s fabulous unemployment rate.  I was unable to procure a wildlife biology job thanks to one; a shitty hiring process and two; crappy job markets across the country (especially government jobs).  So here I am, fighting for a paycheck and hoping my bank account crutch holds me long enough till money starts rolling in.

Myself, and my brothers Ryan (right) and Rory (Middle)

Anyways, backstory.  My family from Alabama, and Florida came up to SD to watch me walk across the stage in the most boring graduation ceremony ever.  My brother came from Utah, and then drove my truck back to Salt Lake City and I followed behind in my car the next day.  I caught a cold on the way out, and suffered for about 7 days with it.  Last week I didn’t get out much with the cold, so my first week in SLC was hell.  I had a job interview at The Front Climbing Club as their Summer Programs Coordinator last Wednesday.  I got a callback for a second interview which I had this morning.

 

This past Friday (May 11) was my birthday.  I was still sick so Ryan bough my dinner and a beer and that was the end of the night.  Saturday we went on a sick hike through the foothills.  Saturday night Ryan threw a Birthday Birthday Birthday Welcome party.  It was mine, his, and his friend Andrew’s birthdays within a week and my welcome party in one all-encompassing bash.  Sunday I felt better so Ryan took me up Little Cottonwood Canyon to show me some crags, which got me super stoked to do some climbing.

 

Today I did a lot of work I had been putting off while sick, and then Ryan and I did a 15-mile bike ride up and down Immigration Canyon.  Tomorrow I’m leaving for the City of Rocks in Idaho to climb for 2 days with a guy Ryan introduced me to.  SO, finally, welcome to Utah :-)

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Growing Up, or something like that

I’ve decided that the older you get, the more binding society becomes.

Birth:  I poop when I want, wherever I want.  That food tasted like shit, I’m gonna puke it onto you shoulder.  You’re not paying attention to me, consequently, I’m going to scream for 3 hours.

Toddler: I want that toy, or I’m going to tell everyone you beat me.  What do you mean I have to use a potty?

Kindergarden:  You mean I have to go to school and use these blocks every day for 12 years? But I can still have crayons at Applebees, that’s a plus.

Elementary School: Division?!?! What does that even mean? I have to raise my hand to go to the bathroom now? Why can’t I wear velcro shoes anymore?

Middle School: There is a letter in my math problem, I think it’s lost. What the hell are chores?

High School: I have to register for the selective service?! Apply for colleges?

College: I have to pay for my own car insurance, auto loans, rent, books, cell phone, groceries annnnnnd I have to mend my own pants and do my own laundry?

It’s like a de-evolution of freedoms.  I want to go poop my pants and have my mom rock me to sleep and my dad to have hair again. But those won’t happen, well, in the manner that I mean them ;-)  As I prepare for my imminent college graduation, I realize a lot of things are going to change, once again.  I just spent two hours searching for health insurance plans, something I’ve obviously taken for granted.  My pop is in the Army, and so we’ve never had to worry about paying for it.  Of course, now that I’m a big boy I have to step out from the government umbrella and take care of myself for once.

However, I’m determined to re-evaluate my freedoms, my choices, and my goals to successfully re-ordinate them in my own way, instead of society’s run-of-the-muck standards. I want to start taking my freedoms back, and permanently remove the boundaries I’ve been living in to date.  I’m not saying that the next time I’m hanging out with you that I might poop on the floor, or ask for crayons at Applebees (OK that could happen) but I want to free myself of the system.  Holy smokes, I sound like a hippy.

I went to college, I’m getting my degree, but here’s where I deviate.  While everyone else goes where the job goes, and lives to work in the same place the rest of their lives, I’m going to go where I want to, find a job and work just enough to live the most fulfilling life I possibly can. Poor, or not. And when I decide that place bores me, I’ll move to another and wear that place out too.  Because to me I’ve got at most 80 more years here, and I don’t want to spend the best ones I’ve got sitting in an office somewhere. Lastly, while everyone else puts hundreds of their dollars a month into a retirement plan, I’m going to spend every dollar I have doing the things I want to now. I can work in an office when I’m 60.

 

Sorry Parents :-/

 

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Feelings of Neglect?

I’ve been getting a substantial number of complaints about my blog neglect.  I say “substantial” in a direct proportion to the number of followers, so that could be anywhere between 4 and 6 people upset and I think substantial is the appropriate word.

I fell off the map as far as writing anything goes, so many things took priority over shouting across cyberspace about my beliefs, thoughts, and endeavors.  Here is an update starting with spring break and ending with Easter break and my near future.

March 3-11  Spring Break (click on all pictures to see a caption, and to see them bigger)

After a few months of planning, and a year of suspense, myself and local climbers: John Andersen, Logan DeBoer, and Jerra Olson headed south for a week of sport climbing, and bouldering.  We met up with SDSU alumnus Ryan Steenson in Kentucky for a day of climbing in snow at the massively overhanging Miur Valley of Red River Gorge.

We then traveled south to get on my dream problem, White Noise V7 in Laurel Snow natural area near Dayton, TN.

After this we stopped in at the LRC, and met up with Eric Marshall (SHOUTOUT!!!) who graciously showed us around.  What an amazing place, we had some serious discussion about making it our final destination but we had spent so long preparing for Horse Pens 40 that none of us wanted to bail on the mission.  However, I will someday spend an extended period of time at LRC.

From Tennesee we drove to the ever-familiar state of Alabama where we spent the rest of the week at Horse Pens 40, a ridiculously condensed boulderfield of hand destruction.  I had a blast!!! The problems there are like no where else.  I could spend an hour on a V3, then walk 30 feet and get a V5 in two tries.  They have everything there, but the one thing that is a constant, the holds feel like hard grit sandpaper, and your fingers are the wood.

We left a day earlier than expected and headed back to Kentucky for a trad route and some more sport routes before making the long and depressing trek back to South Dakota.

March 30-31

Taylor Lais and I had fully committed ourselves to climbing El Cap this May, and decided the two of us should go do some scary trad lines to keep our partnership strong before the big push.

Easter Weekend

Last year I went to Devil’s Tower for Easter Break and climbed in a rabbit costume and hid eggs on top.  There was no way I was bailing on an Easter Bunny ascent again this year.  I had my sights on the Cathedra Spires of the Black Hills.  I left with John  Andersen and climbed with good buddies Bryce Drefke, Mark Ellefson and newfound friend Elliot.  We did a hard day of sport in Spearfish Canyon, a scary day of trad in The Needles where I lead the Needles Eye 5.10c with a 30 foot runout and scared the poop out of myself.  I spent some quality time on some summits with Bryce and John and then we had a good night at the brewery.

On Easter day we took off into the Cathedral Spires where John, Myself and Bryce did an ascent of Spire 2, a fun, classic, adventurous 5.7.  A 240 foot spire route, two pitches, I put in only 5 pieces. I was of course dressed like a bunny, had an Easter Basket and some eggs with Crabby Patties in them (which I’m certain are made of plastic and tar, but they taste amazing) and I hid the eggs all over the summit.  So if you get a chance, get to Spire 2, you’ll have a treat.

Finally, on monday we concluded with a relaxing day behind Mount Rushmore where I taught Bryce and John a thing or two about multi pitch and how to use some gear and set up top belays.  I finished the weekend soloing an easy 5.7 to a gorgeous summit.

do you see mark?

John and Bryce on a summit

Bryce and I

Easter Bunny Ascent

The Future!

I graduate from SDSU here in less than a month (May 5).  I have a lot of big plans that I hope play out swell.  My first big endeavor as a big boy is to climb El Capitan in Yosemite National Park during the time I spend climbing in the valley (May 8-May 22).  I then will move to Salt Lake City to work at a climbing gym for the summer and continue looking for a good Wildlife related job.  I plan on being a weekend warrior with my brother and getting to know Utah a bit.  I’ve got Burning Man over the summer, a lot of Moab adventures, a lot of climbing and a lot of dirtbagging.  It seems like in a month my real life will start :-)  Until then…..

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The Hunter’s Creed

I wrote this as an assignment for a class.  Thought I would share.  I apologize for the lack of posts lately, not a lot happens on the prairie in winter.  Going to the Red River Gorge, LRC, and Horse Pens 40 starting tomorrow, so look for a good post in a week or so! Take care and enjoy this piece on the argument between hunters and anti-hunters.

 

Since the dawn of mankind, hunting has been a necessity to survival and a vital aspect of all civilizations.  To obtain meat, one had to hunt the wildlife that was so definitive of our cultures.  It wasn’t until the domestication of livestock for food-use that a debate arose between those who hunted, and those who didn’t.  The ever-progressive industrialization and urbanization of our culture steadily diminishes the number of individuals participating in hunting activities, and increases the number of those who are opposed.  In consequence of this debate, we now have organizations such as the NRA, and PETA, which represent each side’s opinions and supposed rights.  For those who take to the woods every year in pursuit of game, the tradition is in danger and needs to be protected.  Contrastingly, those who view hunting as an unnecessary violent act and believe that wildlife is self-managed feel that it’s the animals that are in need of protection.

It is safe to say that hunters are operating in the minority.  According to a study done by Stephen R. Kellert, people who have hunted make up 37 percent of the population.  However, only 17 percent of those reported hunting in the last five years, and only 5.5 percent of those reported to have hunted often.  The question to ask is; why do hunters continue to hunt?  Kellert has narrowed the answer down to three main reasons: meat, sport, and contact with nature (1978).  Some would argue that hunting for meat is no longer a necessity in modern society because we can all drive to Wal-Mart and purchase a package of beef instead of killing a wild animal.  However, hunters will argue that it is their ordained right to pursue their food via wild animal.  Hunting for meat is a tradition that has existed for thousands of years.  In Richard Nelson’s Searching For the Lost Arrow the Koyukon Indians of Alaska demonstrate how hunting can be sustaining, yet carried out respectfully.

“The necessary killing of animals and harvesting of plants is not considered disrespectful.  The natural order…dictates that humans and other animals must sustain themselves by taking other lives” (Nelson 1993, 213-214).

This is one of the many rules that the Koyukon people live by that allows them to have a naturalistic, utilitarian and moralistic outlook on hunting.  How come modern day society can’t share the same views as our ancestors once did, and the indigenous still do?

The problem is that hunting for meat isn’t the only reason why all hunters take to the field.  Some hunters are driven by the trophy that could potentially decorate the empty spot above their mantle, for the sport of killing.  This may not be the only reason they hunt, they may still enjoy their experience in nature and eat the meat, but their primary reason is sport related.  The sport hunter is the image the public focuses on.  In the Sally Jesse Raphael video we watched, the anti-hunters expressed that humans should work towards being civilized, and they believe that killing an animal for sport is completely uncivilized.  However, categorizing all hunters as sport hunters is simple naiveté.  In combination, some anti-hunters rationalize that the consumption of domesticated meat is more civilized than sport hunting.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines the word “civilize” as “to raise from a primitive state to an advanced and ordered stage of cultural development” (2004).

I agree that hunting is a rather primitive endeavor in the shadow of our technological society.  However, should development and advancement lead to a complete abolishment of the activity? If we continue to mechanize every aspect of our lives, ultimately we’re going to eliminate all elements that connect us with our natural world.  The development and advancement that has taken the place of hunting is the domestication of animals.  In reality, domestication is just as primitive, if not more, than hunting is.  The animals are raised on small portions of land in shoddy, unnatural conditions.  Then, they are fed supplemental unnatural foods to increase weight gain and size.  Finally, they are ushered into slaughterhouses where they are killed, butchered and transported to the supermarket for convenience.  I enjoy eating all kinds of meat, but the reality is, this process is one of the most primitive and cruel ways possible of attaining meat.  With hunting, the animal at least has a chance to survive all while living freely in its natural habitat.   Sport hunting is the killing of animals followed by honoring the act and animal with a long-lived memorial in the form of a mount.  The other “more advanced” option is to raise the animal without any chance of survival because it will simply be killed for food along with millions of others that will never be remembered. Sport hunting comes off as immoral, but the cruelty of domesticated meat is somehow overlooked by most meat-eating anti-hunters.

I am a hunter.  I definitely lean towards the more naturalistic side of hunting, but there are three European mounts on the wall behind me, and about 65 pounds of deer meat in my freezer.  Statistically speaking, I land quite comfortably in the 5.5 percent of our population that hunts on a regular basis.  However, I have my issues with the hunting community as well.  To put it bluntly, the hunting community needs to undergo a major public relations overhaul before we sway the remainder of society into dissent against us.  I’ve lived all over the United States, and have experienced all different views of hunting.  The majority of our society is utterly clueless to all aspects of hunting.  I like to refer to it as the Bambi effect.  Urban and suburbanites grow up under the assumption that we kill Bambi’s dad every time we take to the field.  The average societal outlook on hunting is that we perform a gruesome act with foam at our mouths and a smile on our face while we kill everything without respect to what we pursue (a dramatization of course).  Unfortunately, some members of the hunting community contribute to these notions without realizing it.

The following paragraph is my assertion to the hunting community in hopes to initiate a reform of our tactics and our interaction with the 94.5% of society that either disagrees or remains clueless to our endeavors.

Today is March 1, 2012.  The melting pot we established 200 plus years ago could now be more accurately described as a mosaic.  Attitudes have changed towards us; naturally our attitudes must also change.  The common hunter attitude of “I do what I want and I don’t care what people think of me” is archaic and outdated.  The act of hunting itself isn’t what’s primitive; it’s our attitude towards the rest of society and towards our own selves that is primitive.  There’s a reason Elmer Fudd carried a musket and never killed a damn thing, because society doesn’t want us to kill, and society has no idea who we are or what we do.  You aren’t a die-hard warrior, and you’re not masculine or domineering because you killed a deer with a rifle from 200 yards away.  The very integrity of our tradition is under attack and we need to stop feeding the stereotype.  From this day forward, all hunters should follow this code of ethics:

  1. Upon harvesting an animal, the animal should be field dressed and the entrails should be hidden from view of non-hunting citizens.
  2. The harvested animal should be placed in/on the vehicle in an ethical manner that does not display the mortality to the world.  This means tailgate up and/or the individual should be covered with a tarp.  I know you want to show off your eight pointer to the whole state, but you can narrow it down to your fellow hunters at the Zip Trip.
  3. Perkin’s is not the place to use your theater voice to tell the story of how you’re first shot was low and you created a three-legged deer.  From now on, all hunters will exercise common courtesy and discuss hunting endeavors in the privacy of other hunters, away from public ears.
  4. Hunting shows on television should choose more respectful names than “Bone Collector,” “Headhunters” or “Drop Zone.”
  5. Lastly, the testicles of whatever animal you killed do not belong hanging from any part of your vehicle, or the fencepost next to the road.

Once we begin to elevate ethical hunting practices, we can begin to create a more positive image for hunters.  Hunting has always been a privilege, a tradition, and a severance from society that allows me to enjoy the natural world in a different way than most.  To describe the serenity I feel from hunting would be completely impossible, and I feel blessed, as most hunters do, that I can find such exhilaration in nature.  E.O Wilson describes our elation as biophilia, or the “innately emotional affiliation of human beings to other organisms” (1993).  This one statement is the single most important argument for hunters.  It is our duty to protect and preserve our emotional connection with the animals we pursue.

Our biggest threat is society, and therefore our interaction with society is of utmost importance.  Hunters and anti-hunters will forever have contrasting attitudes; learning to live amongst one another requires simple compromise.  Anti-hunters argue that we don’t need to hunt for meat, and that we are uncivilized.  They think we all hunt for sport and that we are cruel and barbaric.  The message we need to convey is that of Leopold’s land ethic in that we aren’t hunting to dominate, we are hunting to be a part of.  “We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect” (Leopold 1966).

References

Kellert, S.R.  1978.  Attitudes and characteristics of hunters and anti-hunters. Transactions of the North American Wildlife and Natural Resources Conference 43:412-423.

Leopold, A.  1966.  A sand county almanac with essays on conservation from Round River.  Ballantine Books.  NewYork, NY.

Nelson, R.  1993.  Searching for the lost arrow: physical and spiritual ecology in the hunter’s world.  Pages 201-228 in S.R. Kellert and E.O. Wilson, eds.  The biophilia hypothesis.  Island Press.  Washington, D.C.

Sally Jesse-Raphael.  No date.  Video of television program watched in class.

Wilson, E.O.  1993.  Biophilia and the conservation ethic.  Pages 31-41 in S.R. Kellert and E.O. Wilson, eds.  The biophilia hypothesis.  Island Press.  Washington, D.C.

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Biophilia and what it means to the survival of the human race

“Go Green,” “Recycle Reuse,” “If it’s yellow, let it mellow.”  These are just a few slogans among the gamut of “save the earth” pleas strategically splattered everywhere we look.  A trend of the last few decades, people of all ages are jumping on the go green bandwagon in hopes that its polluted wheels lead them to greener grass.

The real issue is; how many people wear environmentalism on their sleeves in public, but change shirts when no one is watching?  It’s similar to attending an AA meeting then going home and getting hammered.  Being Earth conscious in public is on one page, while living Earth conscious is a whole different book, or website if you will.

No one can truly understand what it means to save the earth until they have experienced just what it is they desire to save.  Nature.  Am I correct?  Is the goal not necessarily to “Save the Earth” but rather to conserve the nature which surrounds us?  ”Nature,” what does this mean to “going green?” To most, enjoying the outdoors is walking your dog on a graciously paved sidewalk and bitching about the uneven cracks.  Or going for a jog in your shorts that look like panties with your ipod on so loud you couldn’t hear a train whistle.  Maybe you even go out and throw some frisbees at chains in the freshly mowed park while cars whizz by just beyond the Arbor day trees the elementary school planted .  You get my point, the majority, not all of you, but the majority of American citizens so egotistically perched upon their ambling wagon of “conservation” really have no clue what it is they are doing there.

Why is it that we so adamantly wish to save our natural world?  What is it that drives us to stare up at the clouds, or the stars?  What is that feeling of awe we get when we gaze at Ansel Adams’ photos?  What drives us to dream of waterfront property with a gorgeous view?  Why does your mom get so pissed when you trample her flowers in the front yard?

Ansel Adams, the Grand Tetons

The answer is a simple concept, which has only been accepted as theory.  That theory, is Biophilia. E.O. Wilson, the man who has diligently researched and defended the theory of biophilia, defines the word as “…the innately emotional affiliation of human beings to other living organisms” (Wilson 1984).

Let’s think about this for a second.  Innately? We’re programmed, instinctively, to affiliate ourselves emotionally with the natural world around us?  I mean, it only makes about as much sense as 2+2=4.  It’s clearly an evident fact.  Why else do we like waterfront views? Why else do we think flowers are pretty? Why else do we love seeing a deer in our backyards?  Why else do so many people flock to see Yellowstone, or Yosemite?  Because our human instinct is to associate with nature, to love nature, to be in nature.

For thousands and thousands and thousands of years, the human population lived completely immersed in nature.  Living on the edge of water was a necessity for survival.  Not only did it provide hydrating sustenance, but also it narrowed enemies attacks to one direction.  Water was a symbol of safety.

Winters were long and harsh.  Many people didn’t make it through the winter cold, but for those who did, flowers were the symbol that winter was over.  A tiny plant, that so beautifully sprouts the sign of life and signals your survival of yet another winter.

Deer, elk, moose, etc. were always signs of food.  Our ancestors worshipped and respected them as suppliers of food, and life.

White-Tailed Deer Fawn

Beautiful vistas were shared among all human populations.  They were part of our habitat and part of our lives which we so diligently carried out until about a thousand years ago.

Then humans began to mechanize and to populate large villages instead of small bands of hunter/gatherers.  Soon our population spread and in the last few hundred years our planet’s landscape has changed dramatically.  With such a rapid change of lifestyle, evolutionarily speaking, there wasn’t anywhere near enough time to lose our relationship with the nature that has defined our lives for so many thousands of years.

What's more attractive to you, this picture of a city? Or the picture of the Tetons before this or the Beach at the end? If you choose the city, is it because of the gorgeous orange sunset in the background, or because you truly like the buildings more?

So even today, we have yet to evolve away from our INNATE affinity for biotic life.  The problem is, no one is venturing out to experience their genetic response to nature.  No one is willing to accept that biophilia is a real thing and that as we continue to destroy the natural world, our brain is going to start to depress, to feel emotion towards our loss of nature.

I’m not asking you to hop on the bandwagon.  I’m asking you to get off the damn bandwagon, it’s only going in circles.  The only way to convince yourself that our earth is worth saving is to get off the road, out of your Toyota, and walk into the forest.  Climb to the top of a mountain.  Go to where the beaches aren’t littered with condo’s, condoms, and condiments.  When you do, focus on the whole feeling you get inside.  Feel the happiness that surges in you when you immerse yourself in nature.  I can’t convince you with my low traffic blog the importance of recognizing biophilia.  But I know that once you experience biophilia, you’ll realize that nature is worth preserving.  Not just for your sake, but for the sake of all of those generations that have come before us, and for those who will inevitably come after us.  For the sake of our species.

Richard Lee and Irven DeVore once prosaically stated that “…interplanetary archaeologists of the future will classify our planet as one in which a very long and stable period of small-scale hunting and gathering was followed by an apparently instantaneous efflorescence of technology and society leading rapidly to extinction.”  Are we not already on our way?

Secluded Beach

References

Wilson, E.O. Biophilia. 1984 Pg. 1

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Train Hard, Climb Hard

Training.  I’ve always been really skeptical of training for climbing.  Back in my days of soccer, it was training to be competitive that in the end drove me away. I guess I like to think that once I start training, rather than just climbing, it won’t be as fun to me anymore.  Lately though, I’ve been training a ridiculous amount.  I have a Collegiate Climbing Series coming up where my SDSU climbing team and I will be competing in multiple competitions throughout the midwest.  The funny thing is, I’m not training for any of those competitions.  I’m training for this!

Last year for our 9 days of Spring Break, some fellow SD climbers and I ventured down to Hueco Tanks for a shred fest.  We successfully shredded not only some of the most renowned problems of the world, but also our hands and bodies.  We left there and vowed to go to Horse Pens the next year. It’s finally the next year.

Here’s my training program for the past three weeks.

Days 1,2,3,4 Week 1

Circuit: 5 rounds

Traverse 35-40 feet

10 pull ups on rings

6 move campus up and down

10 push ups

Day 1 Week 2

Circuit: 5 rounds

Climb 5.6 to 13 feet, then downclimb, three different routes. (39 feet up, 39 feet down)

10 Pull ups on bar

6 move campus

10 push ups

Day 2 Week 2

Circuit: 5 rounds

Traverse length of wall, then back (70 feet)

10 pull ups on ring

30 second hang on 1″ crimps

15 second hang on 1/2″ crimps

6 move campus

20 push ups

Day 3 Week 2

Circuit: 5 rounds

Traverse 90 feet

10 pull ups on rings

30 second hang on 1″ crimps

30 second hang at 90 degrees on rings

20 push ups

Day 4 Week 2

Circuit: 15 rounds

Climb 5.6 to 13 feet, and downclimb; 2 routes (26 feet up 26 feet down)

5 ring pull-ups on 5th pull up hold at 90 degrees for 15 seconds

10 push ups

Day 1 Week 3

Circuit: 5 rounds

Traverse 45 feet

30 second hang on rings

5 pull ups on holds, left hand good ledge, right hand crimp

5 pull ups on holds, left hand on crimp, right hand good ledge

30 second hang on 1″ crimps

20 push ups

Days 2, 3, 4 Week 3

Work on projects

Before each circuit we would climb 5 or 6, 5.10 or higher routes.

I’ll be slappin slopers hard when I get to Horse Pens.

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New Lines and Good Times

Winter is here! Maybe. Temps were -4 on my bike ride to class this morning.  Fortunately, Tuesday I got a chance to get out and boulder in what I think were the best conditions I’ve ever experienced at Blue Mounds State Park, MN.  Jon Marek has been heading up a reform of the Blue Mounds bouldering scene over the last year or so.  The crag has gone rather unnoticed as far as I know and it’s awesome that Jon is working so hard to make it better.

Logan trends right into the crux of Nike V3

For most people, Blue Mounds is a top rope destination, and for some it’s a hairy, but short trad destination.  Bouldering never really had a niche at Blue Mounds except for the infamous Quarry Boulder and it’s classic lines.  Jon however has graciously started to compile a bouldering guidebook which he is even more graciously giving away for free.  The guidebook has 24 pages and a staggering 80+ problems in it now.  Yeah, 80 problems at Blue Mounds, who knew?!

Anyways, Jon invited me down to try some projects that as far as he knows hadn’t seen an ascent yet.  So my buddy Logan DeBoer and I loaded up our three giant pads and one baby pad and headed down to join Jon.  The weather was phenomenal.  The sky was devoid of any sign of white, the temps leveled out in the mid 50′s and there was barely a breeze .  On the glassy quartzite of Blue Mounds, friction is everything and when the temps are in the 50′s it’s never better.

Logan eyes the three finger crimp he has to dyno to

Jon introduced us to a few warm up routes, which had never been sent because of the very sketchy landings, with six pads we didn’t struggle to stuff the holes and even out the treachery.  We then moved on to a project that had yet to be sent.  After some hard work we finally had the beta down and dubbed the problem TheRapist (or therapist however you wanna read it ya perv), V5 and moved on.

We then moved to a project known as the Prow.  Jon had spent some time trundling boulders and clearing the landing so this one wasn’t quite as sketchy as the others.  The crux of the route was a strenuous off-balanced throw to a small sloping crimp.  The route topped out 15 feet off the deck.  We worked that one for a while and dubbed it a V5 as well.  To finish up our day we moved up to what Jon was calling the Sunset wall.  The problems had excruciating landings that we draped all of our pads over to make them a little scary instead of  a lot scary.  We called both V2′s and left Blue Mounds after 5 new problems had entered the guidebook.

Jon snagging the crimp

Bouldering in January, in Minnesota, oh yeah!

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A Fishing Trip, Where Fishing Wasn’t Important

A fishing trip in Alabama couldn’t start off any other way.  Three grown men clutching the “oh shit” handles of a Lincoln Town Car while screaming commands like “Look straight ahead!” “Both hands on the steering wheel!” “BRAKE!” at the 13-year old boy driving.  To add to our terror, it’s Christmas Eve and traffic has Enterprise, AL more congested than a Jewish man during allergy season.  Remind me again why we decided it was okay for him to drive in town?

My two brothers and our grandparents. (Left to Right) Rory, Grandpa, Ryan, Me, Grandma

The four of us made it to our rural lake house in a cold sweat, but in one piece nonetheless.  My two brothers, Ryan (24) and Rory (13), myself and our grandpa (176?) were on our annual Christmas fishing trip.  Back in the days of old when Rory wasn’t the tallest 13-year old ever and Ryan and I still hated each other, we fished at the lake house every chance we got.  However, as of late, it seems “every chance we get” has turned to “every Christmas break.

Our lake house is a stereotypical, dirty south vacation sensation.  A doublewide trailer on a raised pad of red dirt facing out over a log, snake, and beaver infested man-made creation of a lake.  Lake Sean to be exact.  I don’t know who Sean is but he sure has filled our cooler many a time with a plethora of hoagie-sized largemouth.

No one has spent more than a few minutes in that house since I filled it with hundreds of drunken college students a few years past.  Mice have moved into the paradise and look like they are living healthy, prosperous lives.  Good for them. The unfinished front deck is littered with old rusty tools from past days of motivation.  The beds remain unused except as luxury mouse bathrooms.  The washroom sees the most action, full of fishing rods and tackle boxes; it’s the only place we venture into on days like this.

The four of us pile into the old three seater “John Boat” and push back into familiar waters, pun intended.  The lake’s surface is still with the absence of any breeze.  The air is crisp and the water cold, perfect.  I pull fish after fish from the chilly water with a cheesy grin aimed at Ryan who only catches two the whole time.  My grandpa never once casts a line.  He mans the stringer as fish continuously get tossed to his end of the boat.  The stringer soon becomes crowded with mediocre largemouth and the daylight disappears.  My grandpa never complains about the lack of fishing, he just smiles as he observes the fact that moments like this are rare.

The three of us with our really blurry stringer full of fish. (Grandpa took the crappy pic haha)

Ryan and I are adventuresome to say the least.  Unable to spend much time in one place we find ourselves constantly yearning for the next big thing.  The next big thing, it just so happens, never lands anywhere close to Enterprise, AL.  Once or twice a year we make it back and only on Christmas do we make it back together.  The three of us youngins together is something my family takes great pride in.

We dropped off 27 fish at Mr. Jimmy’s trailer park residence that night.  An old, poor friend of my grandpa’s, he’s always happy to take our free food in fish form.  We don’t fish for keeps; we fish for memories that coincidentally last a hell of a lot longer.

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Bear of a Bear

I’ve been a little behind on my posts here, mainly just because I haven’t done anything.  I’m back home in south Alabama visiting my family for Christmas.  Next week I head to Utah for some winter ascents in the Wasatch Range.  Until then, here’s another story of a close call I had two years ago, September 2009.

I was a sophomore in college, you know, that time of your college career when you think you’re the coolest thing since flavored condoms.  Those are cool right? OK, now that I’ve gotten my dry humored introductory joke out of the way, I’ll get to the almost dying part.

My dad, aka the Colonel, has spent his entire fatherhood telling me that school comes before everything else in life, and that my education was my job until college graduation.  However, things change when he needs a hunting partner.  September was the start of the archery elk hunting season in Colorado, and my dad had offered to buy my $550 bull tag if I came along.  My dad’s friend and my brother were in attendance as well.

My dad and I hiking to where the rim is.

As the week went on it was apparent that my name was synonymous with bear encounters.  In the nine days we were there we had eight bear encounters, six which involved me and one where I feared for my life, and the cleanliness of my underwear.

A black bear I encountered at one of the wallows early in the week.

My dad and I had been sitting over a wallow (mudhole) for the last three hours of inactivity.  We had promised to meet up with the others on the other side of the “rim” at 1 pm for lunch, so we began to make our way to the oakbrush.  The oakbrush of Colorado has got to be one of the most frightening places to be in bear country.  The brush stands between 12 and 16 feet tall.  The foliage usually grows at the upper parts of the branches where it can gather the most sunlight.  A small network of trails weaves its way through the understory of the brush.  At the best, you can see about 15 feet in front of you and movement is hindered by low branches and tight spaces.

My dad and I had found a more prominent trail around the rim about 20 feet below the ridge.  The two of us were nonchalant in our trek as we moseyed along.  Suddenly something caught my dad’s eye on the trail ahead of us.  He put his hand on my chest to stop me, “There’s an elk bedded down on the trail up there.”

We peeked out from the brush along the trail again but it definitely wasn’t an elk.  A large black bear had taken up nap time in the middle of our only trail around the ridge.  We watched as it came to and looked around, its eyes landing on us but then moving on in oblivion.  We whispered nervously about a plan to continue on around the bear.  The only other trail we could use was hundreds of feet below us and would delay us half an hour of walking.

This is the actual bear, snapped just moments before she charged us.

My dad decided on scaring the bear off of the trail so we could continue on, against my whiney wishes.  I nocked an arrow, and clipped my release in to ready myself for the fight of my life with a nod to my dad.

“YOU GET OUTTA HERE BEAR!!!!” shouted my dad.

The bear didn’t waste any time NOT getting outta here.  It wheeled around and charged down the trail in our direction.  My life didn’t flash in front of my eyes, my mind didn’t reel, I didn’t even have time to comprehend the situation let alone draw my bow back.  Every muscle in my body quivered in fear, my voice strained as I tried to sound masculine to the bear’s ears. “GET OUTTA HERE!” I continued to shout with my dad.  Every instinct that passed the synapses in my brain screamed to run.

The bear came to a halt 15 feet in front of us.  A chill ran up my spine as the bear slammed the ground with its paws.  The vibration from the blows reverberated through the soil and up my legs.  The bear huffed loudly and clacked its teeth in warning.  The sound reminded me of clapping two rocks together.  It shook its head violently back and forth, continuing to beat the ground and clack its teeth.  The sound of my dad’s bellows for it to leave could barely be heard over the sound of my heartbeat.

Finally, the bear folded and moved downhill off of the trail.  My dad and I sank in relief.  We hugged out our fear and turned to move down the trail.  Just as we started to move again a furry blur caught my eye in a tree above where the bear had just laid minutes before.

“CUB!” my dad shouted.

“GET BACK, GET BACK!” he yelled as we retreated back down the trail.

We could hear something crashing through the brush below us as the mom came running to her cub’s rescue.  My dad and I knew we had just walked into a death trap.  We didn’t waste anytime heading straight downhill, arrows nocked, knife sheaths unlatched.  I glanced over my shoulder to see an empty trail, but we descended the entire slope as fast as we could before we paused for a breath.

“I think I need to check my underwear.” I said with a chuckle as I collapsed into an aftermath of adrenaline at the bottom.  My dad and I laughed about it then.

That night the four of us sat in silence around the fire as we contemplated how lucky we had been.  The game warden came by our camp later that night and we described the bear to him.  He said he knew the bear to be the biggest in the area, over 500lbs.

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Stories of Past that Make the Present

With finals week curb stomping my outdoor enthusiasm and condemning me to my homemade corner desk, I have nothing to entertain the masses (all 11 of you).  I was avoiding staring at professor’s slides earlier by reminiscing on times in my life where I feared I would die (I don’t know if I’m just unlucky, or dumb, but it’s happened a few times more than a few times). When I was in high school, I lived in a small town in southern Alabama.  Outdoor endeavors were few and far between, and usually consisted of a truck in mud or a gun in hand.  Although I love hunting, I needed more activities to consume my life than just walking through the woods looking for deer that weren’t there.

Not actually me, this is a kayaker in the Teva Mountain Games 2 years past, don't have any pics of me kayaking, but what's a story without pics?

I saved up money from my part time tree surgeon job and bought a super cheap 9.5 foot kayak that looked ridiculous on my ’93 Jetta.  I spent my free-time paddling different stretches of the Choctawhatchee and Pea rivers in the surrounding area.  I saw 5 foot gar, giant snakes, logs that looked like alligators, tons of cool birds and got my fix for adventure.  Eventually, as most things do with me, it became unfulfilling.  One 9 mile stretch of the Pea river had about 7 rapids spaced out between long, boring still sections.  However, in early January to late February, the wet season, the river would rise 5 feet at the least and would rage through its constricting banks.

On my first journey down during flood time, I had one of those times where death wasn’t as far away as I wanted.

My kayak had a gigantic opening (remember, it’s cheap).  It was not very responsive and sat really low in the water.  I had a nylon spray skirt, which was barely good enough to keep a light drizzle out, a dry bag which I had strategically packed with the necessary survival gear, and a PFD which normally stayed strapped on by a bungee to the back, but I decided to wear it today.

I rounded the corner to the best rapid of the whole stretch, a class II normally, but today a IV as the flood crashed through the tiny chute like I’d never seen it before.  My adrenaline surged as I back paddled above the chute for a moment to compose a game plan.  I pointed my bow into the center of the chute as it sucked me into the whitewash.  I could feel my eyes bulge as the first 5 foot wave lurched me upwards crashing water down around me.  I crested the wave with a joyous yelp and my bow slammed down into the next wave throwing water over my head.  I could feel the water filling my kayak but kept pressing hard on my left backpaddle, turning my nose hard left with the curve of the chute.  I was spit out into the eddy at the base of the rapid and I screamed in elation, pure excitement escaped my mouth.  I laughed in the face of the rapid, shaking all over from the adrenaline surging through my veins.

Of course, it wasn’t enough.

Whitewater kayaker in Vail

There are no other rapids as big as this one for the rest of the stretch, and I wanted at this one again.  There was really no way to portage around the rapid to get back up to the topside, so I devised a plan to paddle back to the top.  With the water being so high, there was an area to the left of the main chute where the water was moving slower through the constriction, it would be a stretch but I felt that if I really dug in hard I could make it back up.

My shoulders burned as I swung the paddle back and forth like a dragonfly’s wings.  I dug in hard with every dip but my endurance, or lack thereof, won in the end and I couldn’t muster the strength to keep digging.  To my right was a rock so I had to dig in with a hard left backpaddle to spin left back into the chute, but I had to get turned fast enough to not hit the first break sideways.  It wouldn’t be a good story if I had banked hard enough.

I smacked the first wave break completely sideways and had no chance, the kayak flipped with ease and I could feel the freezing cold water suck me downwards out of the kayak.  I kicked hard against rocks as I bounced around under the water trying to get to the surface.  Even with the PFD, surfacing seemed to be taking forever, finally I emerged in the whitewash and frantically searched for my capsized vessel.  I spotted the blue underbelly just ahead of me, it was sitting dangerously low in the water and sinking fast.  By the time I got to my kayak, it was nearly half full of water, but all of it’s contents were still inside.  I had to form an L-shape with my body and cradle the kayak in the upright position to keep it from rolling and sinking.

I drifted downstream frantically searching for a spit to swim to.  I crashed into the next rapid, struggling hard to keep the kayak upright, inevitably failing as I got sucked under once again.  This time, I smacked a rock hard and stuck to it.  The force of the water pounding at my back pinned me against the rock  and I couldn’t get my feet up to push off.  My arms strained as hard as my lungs while I tried to push against the force of the river.  It’s weird the thoughts you think of when you think of death.  I remember thinking of my mom and how pissed she was going to be if I was late for dinner.

Finally I found a knob on the top of the rock and dragged my weight upwards until the river was able to push me over the rock and my PFD lurched me back to the surface and I did the signature loud gasp for air right at the last second.  This time, I couldn’t see my kayak anywhere.  I floated downstream still not able to reach the edge when I spotted the kayak pinned sideways against a log, barely above the surface.  My emergency kit was still inside when I managed to kick the kayak around the log.  I cradled her once again and we began floating downstream.  We were spit out into a still section where I was able to limp the kayak to the shore.

I was beat up, bleeding from my knees, scrapes on my hands and some bruised thighs.  It was about 40 degrees out and the water was freezing.  The wet clothes on my body lowered my body temperature quickly as I huddled over some petroleum soaked cotton balls, desperately trying to start a fire.  Once I got a fire going I ripped the soaked clothing from my shivering body and stood butt naked on the bank of the Pea river, holding my clothes over the fire with a tree branch.  Laughing seemed like the only thing that allowed me to make sense of the whole experience.  I was an idiot, and my mom WAS pissed that I was late for dinner, until I told her my story.

Oh the naivete of youth and inexperience.

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