pope

You'll always be "Ima" to me!

I feel so violated, like Cocoa Nympho is watching me. Oooh, it makes my spine crawl. Creepy.

I suppose this one kind of lands in the "biggest whipper" category. Anyway, a guy I know who works as an architect in Seattle should probably be dead. One day at the office, he scrambled out of a window, onto a wet pitched roof in order to retrieve a floppy disk. As soon as he weighted his feet, he began to slide down toward the gutter, the gutter that prevented water from spilling to the street five stories below! Sliding feet first, he sensed that he was accelerating and that there was no way of preventing his imminent launch. As he slid over the edge, a nail snagged his trousers, perhaps retarding his progress just enough so that his feet met with the fourth-floor balcony's rail, after which he toppled back onto the balcony. In another episode, he climbed the Hollow Flake pitch on the Salathe Wall, and after scaling many feet beyond the last place in the widening crack where he could find protection, he looked down to see his "big bro" and his over-sized Friend both rattle out. Having already puked from the August heat on Free Blast, he was now at the end of his physical abilities and faced with a very demanding situation: retreat was impossible, and the way ahead involved slippery, exhausting, unprotectable climbing. According to my buddy, flopping onto the belay at the top of that pitch induced a cathartic experience, the details of which are too graphic to disclose on this website!

Hey Jens, Is that a #00 TCU in your shorts, or are you just glad to see me?

Now that I'm away from the office, here's a couple of other things which I think distinguish me as an example of mountaineering excellence: I hiked to Camp Muir with a sock stuffed in my shorts. Just trying to be like Lou. I've followed Hemlock on about thirty trips from Squamish to Whistler as he attempted to meat...ooops, I mean meet..young women. In fact on our last such adventure, I can remember feeling conspicuously old as we bounced around these teeny-bopper night clubs. I've bivied high on Shuksan with a busty babe and her wolf. Man, she was hot! The busty babe was cute too. I witnessed three Norwegian girls running naked through the sprinklers at the Lake Wenatchee rest stop. I have heard first-hand the story of how Dwayner nearly drowned in an irrigation ditch near Peshastin, when he decided to go for a dip in the buff.

Dubious distinctions? I've been sun-burned bad enough to puke. I took a class from Fred Beckey. My dad got Chouinard's autograph for me at the airport. I've also got Big Lou's autograph. I've down-soloed Canary, and I watched Todd Skinner "free" City Park. Well, it wasn't all that free. I've also bailed off Liberty Crack at least three times.

When I first became interested in climbing, back in the early 1980's, I attended a slide presentation featuring Big Jim "DeWeeWee" and another local clown. Big Jim, not to be confused with Big Brother Jim (Whitaker), put on a superb show detailing what were obvious accomplishments in Patagonia. The other guest, Larry Nielson, presented the story of how he became the first American to climb Mt. Everest without oxygen, and while his presentation certainly entertained, even then something seemed a little artificial. To be the first to ascend a peak or a major route is without question the epitome of the mountaineering experience. But the first American to climb Everst without oxygen? Unless Americans qualify under some kind of handicap status, why all the fuss? If people can generate commercial success out of such "accomplishments", more power to them, although I suppose in the end guys like Hornbein get overlooked. When thinking about this question, I eventually turn my attention back to the Cascades. I know a guy who claims to hold the speed record for the Tooth (that's not just car-to-car, that's Seattle-to-Seattle....apparently the clock starts when you leave the UW rock). I know a guy who can climb Classic Crack with one hand. I know a guy who fell off the crux of Clean Crack...while trying to solo it, and then jumped right back on for the free-solo ascent. I know a guy who claims to have been blown on more summits than any other climber (how he'd know this I'm not sure). I know a guy who claims to have completed the slowest ascent of the R&D route in Leavenworth. Not that the exploits of these guys should receive the same attention as Jim Nelson and Kit Lewis for their winter ascent of Mt. Slesse. If you've secured a spot in the Cascade Hall of Fame, either through a bold display of mountaineering excellence, or perhaps by pursuing an end so ridiculous that nobody else would dare follow, it might be fun to hear about it. [ 11-18-2001: Message edited by: pope ]

My confession? For a brief moment, I doubted that my Dawgs would beat the Cougs. Silly me.

Woof!

How do you get a WSU graduate to leave your porch? Pay for the pizza.

Why did the Cougar cross the road? Two semester credits.

I once climbed Guye Peak's NW Ramp with a Dwayner and another old timer. We had a swell time with wet-snow avalanches cascading over the rope, and I remember an exit pitch consisting of a steep dihedral laced with a ribbon of ice in the back. Felt like 5.10 in crampons, but it had horizontal cracks for pro (LA's) and a tree half-way up. A great pitch. Anyway, our third was roasting up at the belays (unbeknownst to Dwayner), and as we descended a steep gully off the back, we decided to continue belaying. Our third was working down to a belay we'd established when he decided to face out and heel it down. I could see snow balling on his crampons. Suddenly, the shit hit the fan, and from fifty or sixty feet above our belay, he began to fall. I'm not shitting you when I say he had a THC-INDUCED GRIN ON HIS FACE AS HE ZINGED PAST US, ALL THE WHILE GIGGLING "TAKE IN THE SLACK, TAKE IN THE SLACK, DUDE!" His fall was more than 120 feet, but I caught him with a hip belay, short of launching over a major cliff. We had a good laugh and more than a couple of beers that night retelling the story at Wirklich-Wirklich's "Kiss-the-wee-wee" party. HOOK ME UP!

Aidin', I applaude the choice you've made. Remember that your average dope smoker will put a doobie in his mouth as a substitute for what he'd really like to be lippin'. It all starts with the first doob. Next thing you know, you're chuggin' cock. Beware the evils of the devil's weed.

How can I put this delicately....do whatever you want, whenever you want, so long as you're not snoopin' round my piece of the pie.... Ah, screw that. Beer be good. Smokin' pot? In the opinion of this old redneck, smokin' pot makes you kind of ...kind of girly, know what I mean? It all starts with your first doob. Pretty soon you're ridin' the bus, wearing sandals and stinky beatnik oil. Just a matter of time and your protestin' the WTO and eatin' veggie burgers. Next thing you know, you're chuggin' cock. All starts with a doob. NEVER MAKE A HABBIT OUT OF STICKIN' ANYTHING IN YOUR MOUTH ('cept beer and food). ----------------------------------------------- Shove that mug up your ass, Charlie.

I's about 22 or 23 when I made my first trip out to the City of Rocks. My buddy and I stopped in to a joint in Burley called the Sidetrack Saloon. The patrons essentially wore one of two uniforms, either studded leather, or a greasy T-shirt and STIHL chainsaw hat. We occupied a table that seemed isolated from the action; nevertheless, a heavy local woman approached and asked us to play pool. For whatever reason, we declined. She insisted that we put our quarters on the table, and we again declined. Soon, a big, grizzly biker dude with more toes than teeth confronted us by stating, "Pussies don't play." We did our best to shrug it off, but we were both peeing our pants. I naievely glanced in the direction of the crew and every single one of these goons was giving us stink eye. We finished our beer and basically ran for the door.

On a grim November weekend, when the canyons of Leavenworth seem hauntingly empty, as the last oak leaves fall to blanket the town's Uber Strassen, Dwayner, Pope and Big Lou wrestle with steep cracks and impending darkness, on a lonely tower standing guard over the Wenatchee River. What has emboldened us to scale these licheny precipices while lesser climbers (like that "Zee" character) sit waiting for ski season, ice climbing and Easter Egg hunts? I'll tell you...it's the presence of Him. When darkness falls and we're facing the possibility of bivouac, I know we'll be OK cause He's there. When icy winds blow down from the north end of Tumwater canyon, I wrap myself in the blanket of His warmth and security. With Big Lou along for the climb....did I say Big Lou? Hey, I meant Big Blue. BIG BLUE.....yeah, that's the nickname I've given to my big, blue down parka.

Discussions exploring the question of why no NW legends post at CC.com seem to point to the abundance of spray on the site. In fact, one NW fixture (hardly a legend, but the author of an obscure guide book) recently snuck onto this site, posted information/opinions, then reminded us that by doing so he had jeopardized his credibility with the wider spectrum of NW climbers. If this is really keeping NW legends away, then this is one poster who is incredibly disappointed. I can't imagine a NW "legend" who takes himself so seriously that he'd resist the temptation to join in and contribute to the hilarious shit that gets heaved around CC.com. And to those who think "serious" discourse would attract a higher caliber of climber, do you really think a seasoned veteran needs to turn to a website for hot tips? Can you imagine Big Lou posting a question about appropriate ways to load a pack? Do you think Fred Beckey is going to post the contents of his secret black book? Again, if you consider yourself a NW legend, and if you've been sneaking around this site without contributing to the spray in an attempt to maintain your dignity, let's just say your asshole's so tight you could sit on a lump of coal and make a diamond. In my opinion, there are only two NW legends: Big Lou and Fred Beckey. Now, eventually, one of these guys is going to contribute. Won't you feel silly for having been too hip to post to CC.com when one of those guys comes to play. [ 11-10-2001: Message edited by: pope ]

Looks like Chris Sharma's got a little problem with the devil's weed. I sincerely doubt he inhaled or anything..probably just has traces of THC from keeping his greenbacks in a hemp wallet.

Jens, I was giving a slide show to the kids today and...what du fuh? I'd forgotten those cheetah-skin stretch pants I used to wear! I knew that with such bright lycra I'd get spotted by a rescue chopper in the murkiest fog.

Just noticed that Mike Adam has one of the lowest CC.com membership numbers I've yet seen. Ever hear a bunch of old timers comparing REI membership numbers to see who's got the smallest? I'm sure mine is absurdly large....my REI membership number, I mean. Larger than 1.3 million. Maybe we should all stand around the camp fire and reveal what it is we've been dying to show everybody! Smallest guy wins.

Hey Jens, I missed that one! See, now that's some good shit! The Brass Plum's got Peter Pan lycra? I know a guy (posts here regularly using a handle that rhymes with "stainer") who has a closet fetish for Scandinavian boys in green leotards!

I'm not sure you guys understand the Confessional. Cappin' confesses to excessive spraying, then Dru responds by saying that he posted a serious note to Cocoa Nympho when he should have replied with more spray. Beck admits to stuffing his animal (with what, Beck?).... I don't want to sound unsympathetic, but these "confessions" are absurd. Confessional was created for seriosly pathological CC.com posters, the kind of guys lacking the dignity and character necessary to avoid the direction in which "climbing culture" seems to be heading. I'm here to help the type of climber who's been convinced that bolts aren't unattractive, that climbs need to be made safe and accessible. Confessional is an attempt to reach the climber who's chalk bag, quick draws and stretch pants all match, who can't pass by a bolt without pausing to yell "Take!", who'd rather top-rope with a bunch of girls than hike up to a grimy wall, the base of which has never seen the shadow of a "sketch pad".

Are you a "sport climber"? I think you've answered your own question. Listen, buddy, a man of such weak character never should have moved to Boulder. People there are confused. The boys have pony tails, the girls don't shave their pits. You've surrounded yourself with sheep, fools who chase bolts and big numbers (numbers which used to describe free climbs, rather than the practice of hanging from bolts whilst miming sequences). Clipping bolts, wearing lycra, employing "sport-speak" when you post...my hunch is that you've had these tendencies for years; now that you're surrounded with similarly immoral characters, you've got nobody to pick you up when you fall. I wish I could help you, but like a recovering alcoholic who stops by the tav to visit old buddies, you've set yourself up for failure by moving to Boulder. If you've preserved anything that remotely resembles dignity, you'll take my advice and depart from that iniquitous Gomorrah.

Dru, thanks for the fascinating history behind the Split Pillar's Left Side ("I'm the Grand Wazoo. Fu@k you if you don't like my hat!"). Also, mentioning Midnight Rock, isn't the most difficult move on ROTC about 5.10c/d? And does anyody know if Supercrack has received a second ascent?

Heard a rumor that Beckey insisted that the rack be carried outside the pack. When babes approached, Beckey would order that the rack be "jangled", thus increasing the chances of interrogation. I've found it to be more efficient to just buy them drinks.