Pray For An Incredible Survival

Perhaps you are one of the 240,000 people in the Puget Sound area tonight without power. I've been one of the lucky ones who has only experienced the hidden blessings of "stormageddon" as it's been called, like a day off of work and a four mile x-country ski trip through my neighborhood with my wife. But even if you are less fortunate and without electricity tonight, you're probably sitting down to dinner, maybe reading a book, writing in your journal, or simply enjoying the company of your loved ones. But chances are that you are in your home, warm, safe and secure. Tonight, however, several of our fellow mountaineers are not. As you may have heard, four climbers, have been trapped on Rainier due to the storm. A rescue team of five well prepared and accomplished mountaineers has attempted to retrieve the climbers but have been beaten back by blizzards (zero visibility, 40 mph winds). Tonight as we rest in our homes, perhaps without power, but most likely warm and comfortable, I encourage you to pray for those climbers, who rescuers believe may have hunkered down for the duration of the storm. Take a moment to lift them up in your minds and hearts and to imagine the hardship they must be experiencing, in the harsh conditions on The Mountain separated from their friends and family.
I recently had the pleasure of reading Dee Molenarr's classic  The Challenge of Rainier and have been writing a piece about the book, and more specifically about some of the "incredible survivals" he writes about. Molenaar writes of six historical survivals on Rainier that span from the late 70’s into the early 2000’s. He tells the story of a father and son team, who survived a seven-day storm near Rainier's summit in 1978, of a man that miraculously survived a fall down a two-thousand-foot snowfield in 1976, of two men that survived a plane crash and then survived a night on the summit, unprepared for the well below zero temperatures, and of climbers who survived debilitating falls and then up to three day bivouacs in crevasses. What Molenarr’s retellings make clear is that survivals on The Mountain are possible and that even tragic epics such as is playing out tonight can end in tears of joy instead of sorrow. Let's pray that these climbers' story will make it onto Molenaar's list of incredible survival's for the next edition.
People are capable of amazing things such as climbing Mount Rainier, because of a passion and will that resides deep inside of them, and that same passion, that would have these mountaineers attempting a winter ascent of Rainier, is the same passion that will keep them alive in the worst of conditions. In the coming months, as this story concludes and details are revealed, mountaineers will discuss the wisdom of the choice to be on Rainier this time of year and examine how well prepared the team was for their attempt, in an effort to better understand their mistakes and successes as well as to educate other climbers. However, now is not the time for such discussions. Instead, pray that the rescuers have a safe and successful rescue and that the climbers have an incredible survival. Take a moment to think of them, a moment to celebrate them, and to pray they make it home. You can catch up on the details of this story and stay updated as to any breaks in the story at mynorthwest.com. Thanks for reading and climb on.

Legends, Lines, and Climbing

So as I alluded to in my last post, Nick and I had really been looking forward to attending an event for one of our climbing idols, Fred Beckey, at The Mountaineers event center. But we were a little more than disappointed as the night played out. At first it was awesome and rather touching to see so many people, ranging from barely walking to barely walking anymore, come to see Fred. For those of you who don't know, Fred Becky is "the" pioneer climber of the Cascades and author of several indispensable guidebooks such as the Cascade Alpine Guide Volumes 1-3, as well as of an inspiring memoir entitled Challenge of the North Cascades. Becky, 89 as of yesterday (Happy Birthday Fred), has lead the way for young cascade climbers such as myself and even at his age continues to climb and remains actively involved in the climbing community. He's always popping up in interviews and articles in Rock and Ice or Climbing and climbers often report having seen him at bar in Seattle or at The Tav in Ellensburg (my personal story). And I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of him with the release of his new book. The book signing and interview, conducted on stage at the center by Fitz Cahall of the podacst The Dirtbag Diaries, was sponsored by Patagonia to promote Becky's newest title Fred Beckey's 100 Favorite North American Climbs. Unfortunately, Cahall seemed to us to be ill-prepared for the interview, which amounted to a mere fifteen minute exchange. He asked maybe five rather poorly pointed questions which left Beckey with little room to answer. To be fair, Fitz, we were told, had just come from his child's birth and so understandably he may have been a bit distracted and or even disinterested in the task at hand. I can't blame him, and I congratulate him and celebrate with him as a follower of the DD's. However, I couldn't help but feel like he and Patagonia had kind of "dropped the rope" at this event. They kept telling us that they were going to keep the interview short and wrap it up quickly because lets face it "you're all here for Beckey." And that was true. But our understanding of what that statement meant couldn't have been more different. For Nick and I, I can speak for him only because we discussed this at length over beers at the Fiddler's Inn after leaving the event, "here for Beckey" really meant we wanted to hear him talk about climbing, which we only got a taste of during the interview. Apparently, to Patagonia, our coming to an event "for Beckey" meant we felt like standing in a line with roughly three hundred other people, waiting to have our book signed, with the hope of maybe exchanging pleasantries with the author. Well Nick and I, like I imagine most alpine climbers, don't do well in lines or crowded rooms. We didn't stick around long, who am I kidding, we left as soon as the line formed. I detest lines, in fact there has never been a line in which I have felt, either during or after the fact, was worth my time to be standing in. Don't get me wrong, I'm not assuming that I should be taken to the front of said line because I'M SO SPECIAL but only that I know that somewhere the same service is being offered or a superior opportunity is being missed because I'm following a slow moving or stagnant crowd instead of breaking my own trail. On top of that, I'm a bit claustrophobic, and Nick for his own phobic reasons needed know convincing, so we chased the cold night air out the door and found a quiet bar to drink and grub. This is not to suggest that we didn't enjoy being in the presence of someone that we so admire and that in many ways has accompanied us via his guidebooks on many of our adventures, but only that I understand and have come to appreciate the difference between the legend and the man. To Nick and I, and others I'm sure, Beckey is literally and metaphorically a rock star, he's the Jimmy Page of rock climbing. But I wouldn't stand in line to get Page's autograph either. This event made me realize that I don't idolize Fred Beckey, but rather Beckey's career and contributions to the discipline that has come to define my lifestyle. A career, that through his books and his influence on climbing has become ingrained into my cultural identity. I feel much the same way about Led Zeppelin for example. I love their music but probably wouldn't go so far as to cross an even moderately busy street in order to shake Robert Plant's hand. And if I saw a line forming, I might actually run the other way, gasping for fresh air. I don't regret forgoing getting my copy of Challenge of the North Cascades signed, or missing the opportunity to bs with a legend as he scribbled out one of three hundred "personal" notes, but I do feel a great opportunity was missed to introduce a younger generation to a climber whose career is grand in both size and scope, and inspirational to anyone who enjoys the freedom of climbing.

And so I've decided to dedicate a number of posts to Beckey that will hopefully illustrate how much he has effected my climbing career and explain how his books; directions, illustrations, photos, and route descriptions can directly influence, positively and negatively, a climbing team's adventures. I will post several journal entries and pics from my own adventures that involve Beckey routes. But that will start next week along with an excerpt from my uncle Ted's climbing notes, which Ted, who was recording some of my earliest climbing experiences back in '97, was kind enough to share with me via email. Thanks Ted! It really brought back a lot of fond memories.
But for now, enjoy another poem. This one, cleverly entitled I want the flesh of my knuckles to rip off and rot, I wrote at the end of last winter while I was still at university and was dying to get out and climb. I'm feeling much the same way this winter, it still rings true. And you'll be happy to know that I did leave some flesh rotting on Dragontail this summer. Stay tuned and climb on.

I want the flesh of my knuckles to rip off and rot

on the towers of Dragontail, Prusik Peak, and Argonaut.

To suck glacier-water off of frozen waterfalls,

scream “rock,” fuck fear, swallow scared, watch it fall.

To bleed from gashed arms, scraped knees, and cracked hands,

feel the stinging in cuts when sweat seeps in.

The rain pelting welts into my soft naked skin

beating me into a man less weak, less fragile, less thin,

into a man more raw, more silt, salt and earth,

mud and blood, tears and shit, a ball of clay out of dirt.

Marriage, Memories, and Climbing

Theres nothing like a wedding to make you reflect on your own marriage. On Saturday, Jeannie and I drove up to Bellingham to celebrate with two of our best friends, Andy and Kelsey, who took the nuptial leap on Christmas Eve in Hawaii. And so we had love,weddings, engagements and commitment already on our minds when I started reading Forget Me Not, a memoir by Jennifer Low-Anker, out loud as Jeannie drove the familiar stretch of freeway through the pouring rain. The first couple of chapters of the book describe Jennifer's early love affair with legendary climber Alex Lowe who she would later marry. The parallels between their story and ours weren't at first that apparent. Their family lives were, not surprisingly,  extremely different from ours, their passions and insecurities, of a different flavor, and the challenges they faced as a couple, monumentally dissimilar to those we face. And granted I am not, nor will I ever be a legendary climber. However, just like in the early days of our relationship, Jennifer and Alex's lives revolved around one another, traveling, and climbing. Low-Anker's allusions to steamy nights shared with Alex car camping at a crag, and to blessed moments of bliss on the open road, or to the joy of reading books by headlamps in a tent, were like images out of the scrap book of our lives together.
When I first met Jeannie in Keystone, Colorado on January 1st of 2006 (we just celebrated an anniversary) our lives revolved around snowboarding and the freedom that can be found in the mountains, but soon even that took a back seat to one another. By the time the snow season started winding down in May we were ready to run away together and to climb. I remember one of our first dates was a trek through the snow just to get to my favorite bouldering spot just off of Swan Mountain Road on the way to Breckenridge. We hiked up to the rock in our snowboarding boots through snow that was knee-deep in spots and switched into our climbing shoes. We didn't touch the ground until we were ready to make the hike back to the truck as to keep our feet dry, which made for a really long traverse. It was glorious.
Later that month we would leave on a weeklong road trip up to Washington to drop in on my folks. We stopped in Moab on the way where we climbed for a couple of days, took in the Arches, and slept in the back of my pickup under the stars. We also camped and climbed at Smith Rocks for a few days, all the while building what I still believe is the foundation of our relationship. On that trip we established an absolute trust and faith in one another. The relationship that was developing between us on the road and rock as our roles of climber and belayer, driver and passenger, leader and follower constantly changed, resulted in a partnership that would carry over into every decision we would make together.
As I continued reading Forget Me Not, with some difficulty as it is an extremely honest and emotional telling, I kept drawing these kinds of connections between their story and ours and I was actually surprised at how much climbing has built, continued to effect, and in someways sustained our relationship.  For example, the day I asked Jeannie to marry me I was actually supposed to be climbing Mount Baker with Andy, but the avalanche danger that day was ridiculously high and the guys at AAI in Bellingham told us to pick another weekend if we could. We decided it wasn't worth the risk. But the whole ordeal got me thinking about the dangers inherent in my pursuit of high places and all the things that I might regret not having done namely asking the love of life to be my wife. And so I planned an impromptu trip to Leavenworth, packed the eep with climbing and camping gear and waited for Jeannie to get off work. The weekend was perfect. Jeannie and I found a nice campground off Icicle Road, ate some grub and hit the sac early. We got up early the next morning and made breakfast, a scramble, and then headed out to Tumwater Canyon and Castle Rock. The three pitch trad route Canary 5.8 was an easy but fun route with great views of the canyon, decent exposure midway up the climb, and with plenty of room on the summit to get down on one knee. I couldn't have picked a more gorgeous day, and I suppose I hadn't. The day seemed to have picked us. I remember what I said to her when she finally reached me at the top, as I pulled out the ring and watched the tears form in her eyes, but really it's none of your business. The important thing is that she said YES at the top of a climb that we accomplished together, a climb on which we had to have absolute trust in one another in order to climb. This is why climbing is so much more than a sport, it's not about reaching the top, winning or losing, or even doing the climb faster or in a more stylish manner than someone else, climbing is all about the climb itself, about the challanges shared between two people joined together by both choice and necessity in pursuit of a common goal that is ultimately, not the summit, but the well being of their partner. Climbing makes me a better husband and my love for and commitment to my wife makes me a better climber. I don't claim to have any answers and as a newlywed myself, I have little advice to give a young couple like Andy and Kelsey. However, what I believe is that marriage, like climbing, isn't about reaching the summit, but about taking care of the life on the other end of the rope and, most importantly, enjoying the climb..

Last night Nick and I went to a Fred Becky event at The Mountaineers event center. How was it? Stay tuned and find out later this week on Legends, Lines and Climbing For now, enjoy some pictures I dug up. Climb on.

 After the proposal on Castle Rock

At Smith Rocks

Jeannie topping out at Smith

Jeannie driving the o'l YOTA on our first ever road trip

Loving Smith

Some of that bliss on the road 

Shadows and Crags

For my first entry I thought it would be appropriate to start with a moment of realization in my life and it just so happens that I have a poem for just such a moment. I wrote Climbing With Shadow this last summer while struggling with a mental block that developed after I took a rediculously silly but scary fall off a wicked fun flake in Leavenworth. The route, The Javelin 5.10-, was well within my abilities and was a blast until I started fumbling around with a #3 that I didn't even need to place and got pumped. My foot slipped as I went to make the clip and whoosh. Lets just say, I'm glad I was wearing the helmet that I don't usually pack. I was suprisingly wacked-out after the incident. Though I shook it off and climbed two or three more pitches that day (probably while in a mild state of shock), when I got home I found myself dreading the call from Nick, who no doubt would be wanting to meet for beers at the Tav to plan our next outing. Something in me didn't want to climb. Part of me just wanted to stay home and enjoy my false feelings of safety and my misplaced sense of security. But thankfully, I have the best kind of partner. Not only did he catch me when I fell, without hesitation or the ball-breaking haste of the novice, but he also made sure that I got back out to climb asap and encouraged that part of me, which lives to climb, to dominate the other. And I was back on the rock, on the Serpentine Arete of Dragontail Peak, maybe six pitches in, when I realized that since the fall I had been carrying something new with me, an unwelcome passenger. Writing the piece was therapeutic to say the least. I'm still climbing. 

Climbing With Shadow

By Loren Bayles

I climb calmly, confidently, dragging shadow;

dead-weight, drenched in dread, anxious, insecure.

From the foot of the crag, onto the route, pitch

after pitch, to the summit through the crux,

stuffed in a haul-bag at the end of a seventy-meter

line, tied with a girth hitch and a locking carabineer,

shadow weighs me down.

He is weak, wanting to summit without sweat,

feel pride without pain, enjoy the confidence

of accomplishment without commitment,

and reckless, shaking and cursing, heedless of the peril.

Hauled where he’d rather not go, toward thin mountain air

he’d rather not breathe, onto exposed arêtes that steal his breath

accentuating his panic, up tight chimneys that compress

his horror, over overhangs that compound his fear.

Refusing to drink in the danger, or inhale the adventure

thick and potent in every sight, smell and sound, his eyes

stay clinched tight by the same adrenalin that has mine wide,

mind keen, spirit in-tune, embracing the awesome

alone

at the anchor, pulling in slack.

Shadow is heavy. The ascent is long.

My pocketknife is light and sharp.

***
I'll be posting more of my climbing/ mountaineering geared poems on this blog and hope to write more in the future. Jeannie and I are planning on making it to Mount Erie this Sunday to climb if the rock isn't too wet and so should have something to write about next week. If we get dumped on, I'm sure I can think of something else. Stay tuned and climb on.

A mountaineer is always free- Tim O'Brien