pope

Say hello to Hemlock and Charlie when you get to Joshua Tree. Have fun. Pope.

quote: Originally posted by Kathy: Dan, I think length is a personal matter, and is dependent on depth of insertion. In your case diameter is highly important, so as to insure the fit is properly snug Hey Dan, you tiger, may we call you Kathy's Clown? I suppose I should read this post more carefully, but you've decided on 48" as your wand length? I assume you're talking about some kind of "remodeling project" (what do they call it, an "add-a-dick-to-me"?). Let me know how it goes. Big Lou ain't gonna be the only one making tri-tracks on the Muir Snow Field!

Right, the "mysterioso" thing wasn't a way of life or anything, and Dwayner, I was never seen wearing a beret or smoking a pipe at Starbuck's with the "zombies" you describe. Let's just say I had a hunch that the pseudo-intellectual hippie climber gals at the college would fall for it, and what do you know? It never bothered me that they didn't want to discuss the novels I was reading, that they limited their reading to visceral crap like D.H. Lawrence. Most of them wanted to go on rock-climbing trips but didn't really like climbing. They just wanted to "make the scene", I suppose. But again, none of this bothered me, 'cause they were hot, and 'cause I'd found a ridiculous way to get their attention, and they could belay. Inspite of what Dwayner will say about it, the "mysterioso" thing was a highly effective for meeting exotic (occasionally hygienically unkempt) split-tail, if a bit humiliating. More effective than the wedding ring trick....but that's a different story.

Yawn. Good morning. My success in climbing is generally limited by steep rock, smooth rock, wet rock and shitty weather. When faced with ground-fall possibilities, I become scared. This is not a limitation, this is common sense. I don't have time to reflect on what sort of character flaw is preventing me from reaching my potential, or whether there is a hole in my soul shaped like the Narrow Arrow, or whatever. I'm a busy man. When I can get out of the house to climb a bit, it's so much fun I don't really give a damn whether my drop-knees and back-steps look as clean as they used to, or whether I'm ever going to be good enough to belay Alex Huber. Who cares. Getting out, feeling the wind, wrestling with a steep crack, appreciating the way the evening sun illuminates the snowy summits, coming home with sunburn and sore muscles...all affirmations that I had an adventure (5.2 or 5.12).

Nothing to add, really. I would just echo the advice from MattP and others who suggest that if it's within your scheduling possibilities, plan to spend a couple of days camped in the 7-10,000 ft elevations before your summit bid. This made an enormous difference for a buddy of mine (not in his sixties but older than me by a decade). After many attempts, he couldn't seem to get more than a thousand feet above camp without getting sick, even though he was extremely fit. Then he acclimatized for a few days at 7,000 feet before one Rainier summit trip and he reported that it felt like hiking Mt. Si (a Seattle-area, low-elevation training hike). [ 12-27-2001: Message edited by: pope ]

Yeah, so much for the "brotherhood of the rope", right? You basically have to hide the stashed gear, or only leave really crappy gear that nobody would want. Pick up a pair of poles at the Goodwill..maybe they're worth a couple of bucks, maybe they don't telescope, but they're fine for snowshoe trips, and if somebody does swipe them, you're only inconvenienced.

Mr. Strickland, I’m not sure selling that axe was the best choice. As Dwayner mentions, knowing about three chords and dropping the names of a few studio musicians who might have helped the latest alternative groovy groove-meistro record his “tight” new CD….this is a proven formula for impressing bimbos around the campfire. It’s not the only formula, however. When I was a swingin’ buck, I went with a “mysterioso” image: beret, tobacco pipe, wool knickers, a couple of thick novels and a physics book designed for popular consumption. Worked like a charm, especially when followed up with a snappy little one-liner, like “Why don’t you put down that 50-cent romance novel and start living your own life, if you know what I mean.” Or, “How can you look so good when you’re starving to death?” Or when all else fails, “Make my enormity your priority.” And Dwayner, who cares if strummin’ a guitar only attracts goofy hippy girls? Think of it this way: if it weren’t for goofy hippy girls, the little affectations wouldn’t fly. Then you’d basically be left with the only other proven formula for plookin' the ladies: money. Mentioning money, hiring Cynthia to stalk me at REI would have been more effective if there weren’t about ten others just like her sniffing around. I’m telling you, buddy, these kind of encounters are commonplace for me, so you can stop throwing your money to the wind. [ 12-27-2001: Message edited by: pope ]

I'm battin' 667 this holiday. I asked Santa for Zappa's JOE'S GARAGE, a coupon book to Fox's Topless Club, and a new tolerance for sport climbing. I'll have to talk to Santa about helping me tolerate sport climbing, next year when I'm sittin' on his lap. Also, to the hot little number I saw shopping at REI Sunday (you were up checkin' out the books ...and me), it's not going to do any good to ask Santa for another chance at my phone number next year. I'm a married man, and I don't go in for side dishes (unless you work in a bar and can keep me hydrated for free). Hey, did I hear Dwayner is throwing some kind of New Year's party? Is he really trying to beat Big Lou's hot-tub occupancy record (you know, where Lou admitted that they never could have fit 42 mountain guides in the tub if they had been wearing their swim trunks)? The last time I went tubbin' with Dwayner, he had a sign over his tub that read, "Clothing is strictly optional." Rumor has it that "optional" has been replaced with "verboten".

Now listen here, Mr. Jay-B Hangdogger, or B-Jay Horndogger, or whatever your name is, and Special-Ed, or Special-K, or Frosted-Flake, or whatever your name is. I happen to hold views that parallel Mr. RURP's views when it comes to the groovie groupie thing. "Gee, the really neat thing about some of these superclimbers is how unassuming they are when you meet them. You find out that they're just regular guys, the kind of guys with whom it's fun to drink beer." I've met a number of these guys myself, and I've shared a number of beers with such characters, and they are easy to drink with...who isn't? Drinking beer ain't supposed to be difficult, whether with a big alpine star like Messner, or with some wanna-be chump like that sperm-burpin' RURP. Actually, big-shot climbers needn't be pretentious: they're only impressing a handful of idiots anyway. I used to tutor the son of the UW's most famous quarterback, a folk-hero with enornous appeal. He could have had an enormous ego but didn't. That a "famous" climber seemed down-to-earth shouldn't surpise us...maybe he just knows how insignificant mountaineering is within in the big picture. Finally, those who think RURP and Pope are "avatars" (BTW, this word and "freshy" are lamer than Lame Bone), I offer this old post as proof that we are distinct entities: pope Rope Lead Member # 410 posted 12-12-2001 07:17 PM --------------------------------------------------------------------------------Packin' for Joshua Tree? Now that we know why you're packin', may I ask, WHAT are you packin'? Or, should we ask, "Whom are you packin?" I think I know the answer to this. BTW, how is Ass-master Hemlock these days? When you get to the Tree, don't let that guy eat any day-old burritos, know what I mean? And make him pack a couple of extra pairs of undershorts, just in case.For the auction, I've got a some items I was going to give to RURP for Christmas. For example, a little manual discussing self-rescue, on second thought, would be for RURP doubly useless: you actually have to get up on a wall before you'll need a rescue, right? Not to mention, I'll bet RURP couldn't find his tallywacker with a six-man search party. How's he going to rescue himself? Then I purchased a pair of those stealth spider mits, the ones you use for cheating up fist cracks and such. RURP had lost a pair and I thought I'd surpise him, save him the hassle of replacing them. As soon as I purchased them, RURP called to say that Schlangenschlager had found them .... well, he found him while self-administering an enema one night. [ 12-22-2001: Message edited by: pope ]

Here's some related bumper-sticker philosohy: If crimpers did not exist, it would be necessary for sport climbers to create them. My boss is Big Lou. Big Lou saves.

BTW, is the jogger one of these racing-technology, brazed-aluminum frame jobbies with the graphite "mag" wheels, sealed bearings, cantilever brakes and kevlar rain fly? A bargain at any price!

Haven't been down there in six months, so I wouldn't know. Been pushing a stroller of my own, you know. Anyway, he's been known to disappear, then show up with a new haircut, a painted bike, etc., and a story 'bout being tent-bound with a little "fire cracker" who reminds him of how cool/liberal all the girls were in the 1970's.

Sport climbing in the Olympic Games? Ain't gonna happen. Generally you won't find motor sports in the Games, and how are these guys going to sink bolts without a power drill? How are you going to have sport climbing without bolts? Ain't gonna happen.

Yo, Chucky! Did you break it off with your white-trash, single-mother girlfriend? Are you going to send her the hundred bucks so she can finish her GED and get a 19th tatoo on her proletarian ass? You should probably keep that thing....I know a guy, who hangs out at the UW rock, who keeps a 12-pack of coldies in a "kid caboose" at all times! He can pretend to be cooing the baby when in actuality, he's sluggin' down his 8th Schmidt-pop. And when the babes come over to goo-goo-gah-gah over the infant, they're not disappointed when he trades a beer for their phone numbers!

The Shadow...the shadow of what, Big Lou's unit? I heard it's so big it's got three moons. It's so big it's got a first floor and a lobby. Big Lou's tool is so big, it splits the jet stream. It's so big, it spans three time zones. It's so big, it bends light. Big Lou's tool is so big, Lou's Spire is the tallest point on whatever continent he's visiting.

Yes, a marvelous cliff with splendid traditions. Climbing is only part of the attraction. I remember my first trip as though it were yesterday. My buddy an I hopped a bus and got dumped at Index in the middle of a cloud burst. After our first night camped at the gun club, we spent the next four nights camped on top of a big flat rock out in the quarried blocks. We witnessed Todd Skinner's "free" ascent of City Park. With no pro on his rack and the rope clipped to his highest pieces, he top-roped up to the crux, nailed it, then got spooked and traversed onto Godzilla. Faced with that tough mantle, he whimpered for beta from Jeff Smoot, then scampered up for the "first free ascent" of City Park (impressive TR nevertheless). That Beth Wald has got the biggest mouth! Anyways, boys, liked the pig thing, as did everybody I know with a sense of humor.

Mr. McPot, Yes, I care, and by the greetings with which you've opened your post, I get the impression you care what I think about your activities. Now, I don't know you, but based on vast experience with characters who seem to share your values, I offer the following observations. I think you're in high school, that's what I think. It's not your marijuana affinity that gives me this impression, it is your fascination therewith. Think about it, you love that little buzz, but even more you like the self-satisfaction you get from thinking that you're part of some kind of counter culture, the marijuana culture. For you, marijuana is much more than a little thing you do to relax; no, smoking a "J" is something you do to be clever, an activity with which you hope others associate your character. Hey, fellows, check me out! I smoke! Really, guys, I smoke! Cool, huh? I've met high school kids who wish to be noticed for their usage. Smoking pot is their scene, and they make an effort to get others to join in. Most of these guys, when you get to know them, have nothing going on except this party scene, and you have to ask whether the drug itself is so fascinating, or is it just the bohemian hipness of it all? In the event that I'm wrong, in the event that you've long since graduated from high school (but are still operating at that maturity level), I hope to be the guy to give you a wake-up call. What the hell are you doing? You're a mountain climber, and that's saying something. You're not a clueless little shit who needs to hide behind a doobie before he can feel like a cool guy. When you smoke, you're not part of a counter culture, you're not on the cusp of some cultural revolution. You're just a chump who's doing what a large number of diretionless people are doing: you're spending a lot of money, you're breaking the law, you're screwing with your health, and you're feeling good about it. WAKE UP! Sounds like ridicule, but these are roughly the things that I had to realize before I quit my eight-year nicotine problem. Can 'o Kodiak a day, at about 3-1/2 bucks a can, for eight years. Do the math. Dont' forget what that money could have been, had I put it in an annuity. And what did I get out of all of it? I succeeded only in significantly elevating my risk for oral cancer. What I thought was kind of cool eventually became an embarassing vice, and it took 24 hours to coach myself out of it. Don't take this the wrong way. If it's a slap in the face, it's intended to help. If you think I'm full of shit, I'm sorry I wasted our time.

We should all grow some balls. That's what we should do. Any number of things make climbing easier than it used to be; climbers respond by climbing more difficult routes. Make the gear lighter, man can go higher and faster. Make the protection better, now we find gear placements where previously they did not exist. I'm not against any of these developments, and I don't care if somebody chooses to employ them when another guy doesn't. We can all find the adventure we're looking for without interfering with the next guy's adventure....until we leave a mess. The bigger the mess, the more permanent the mess, the more it interferes. Bottom line. Get some class, get some dignity, get a wilderness ethic. Try to leave it the way you find it. Try to minimize the number of exceptions to this idea you're willing to make.

Packin' for Joshua Tree? Now that we know why you're packin', may I ask, WHAT are you packin'? Or, should we ask, "Whom are you packin?" I think I know the answer to this. BTW, how is Ass-master Hemlock these days? When you get to the Tree, don't let that guy eat any day-old burritos, know what I mean? And make him pack a couple of extra pairs of undershorts, just in case. For the auction, I've got a some items I was going to give to RURP for Christmas. For example, a little manual discussing self-rescue, on second thought, would be for RURP doubly useless: you actually have to get up on a wall before you'll need a rescue, right? Not to mention, I'll bet RURP couldn't find his tallywacker with a six-man search party. How's he going to rescue himself? Then I purchased a pair of those stealth spider mits, the ones you use for cheating up fist cracks and such. RURP had lost a pair and I thought I'd surpise him, save him the hassle of replacing them. As soon as I purchased them, RURP called to say that Schlangenschlager had found them .... well, he found him while self-administering an enema one night.

Look, we're just trying to raise a little money here. Rurp, Schlanger: if you two want to carry on with this character assasination shit, folks might as well know the motivation. Look, Rurp and that ficking Euro used to be big-wall buddies, and a damn competent pair they were. They raced up the classics in emaculate style, banged out a handful of despos, then set to work on an open project in the Kichatnas....well, that's when the shit hit the fan. One night, Rurp thought he'd be cute and cut out the dorschel fin that seperated the two of them in the portaledge. Schlangenesser, no stranger to sweaty man love, had prefered the fabric between them, as it reminded him of the abundant glory holes one finds in the washrooms back home. Anyway, the ensuing tensions that mounted around these happenings eventually drove the wedge that split this legendary partnership...although you'd swear by the amount of attention they give each other that they'd like to 'biner into the same rope once again!

Check the NW section of the special collections at the UW graduate library. There's a guide to UW campus buildering, written satirically to poke fun at the tone of traditional guide books.

I used to really enjoy it, and I even did a few easy solos this summer. In my present situation, it seems a little selfish to be risking everything in the name of personal gratification while my family sits home waiting. I'm finding a lot of satisfaction with a rope, although it's definitely not as breezy and care-free as soloing.

Yes, very impressive! A round o' BJ's for Dru!

Here's a little story I tell the punks in my class when I give a little mountaineering slide show. They seem to think it's really cute: Back in the days of the brown-bag-turd-disposal system, I was sitting on Sickle Ledge with a buddy one morning. We were sort of waiting in line to really get going on the Nose. Ahead of us, a party of three foreigners were modeling perfect team work, having divided the labor for every big-wall task into components that seemed preassigned. They weren't fast..in fact, we were sitting on the ledge waiting to see whether they were going to retreat after they spent the night standing in aiders in the stove legs. We had watched them the previous day and noticed that they weren't throwing off any little brown lunch sacks. Well, that morning when I woke on sickle ledge, I was startled to see what appeared to be a basketball-size rock coming at me...no wait, it was tumbling far too slowly to be a rock..suddenly, I realized that these guys had been shitting in the same large, brown paper grocery sack, and that they had launched it our way just in time for breakfast! Anyway, it missed. I just thought that was an example of taking team-work too far!

I was once soloing at Castle Rock when an esteemed Leavenworth-area climber, a guy I really respect, yelled at me for soloing above where he and his partner were climbing, suggesting that if I were to fall off, I'd wipe them out too. I was a little irritated, but he was right. I think it's smart too choose a vacant climb when you solo, although on a long route, you sometimes can't tell from the base whether or not the route is empty. [ 12-08-2001: Message edited by: pope ]