pope

Being from the South, you, like Dru, are invited to keep your Ronald McDonald suggestions private.

There is something oxymoronic about juxtaposing these words.

I never heard him boast about it.

2100? You're presumptively assuming he'll have passed-on by then! Good point!

Aren't you from Canada? SIT DOWN!

How many people go climb the Hozo, ya Bozo? You just don't get it. To preserve his memory, climbers in the year 2100 shouldn't have to look at some point on the map. There needs to be a mountain, a popular and spectacular peak, that many people climb and countless people hike near or drive past, a summit that is the featured focal point of a highway viewpoint.....something that is likely to make the legend live on, even in the minds of the most casual and novice Cascade recreationalists.

No it wouldn't. "Beckey's Horn" will remind generations of alpine pilgrims about his diversity of passions.

First, I won't call him "Fred" 'cause Mr. Beckey and I are not on a first-name basis. My only association with the man, outside of the occasional encounter in the hills, is that I was a student in his Cascade history class at Green River College, where I sat in the front row and where, at least once, I caught him looking at my girlfriend. Although Mr. Beckey has climbed in every corner of this great continent, and even internationally, I can think of no other man who has so profoundly impacted the history of NW mountaineering. And not only is he THE authority on Cascade climbing and exploration, Mr. Beckey provides for thousands of Seattle-area aspiring alpine climbers an example of passion, energy and respect for one of N. America's great mountain ranges. Having said this, I think it would be appropriate to name a Cascade mountain after Mr. Beckey. This mountain should have been first climbed by him, or at least feature one of his classic routes. Furthermore, I don't think the peak needs to feature his biggest, hardest or most remote climb (because we might have to look at Alaska). Instead, it would be more appropriate to select a mountain which is likely to remind generations of climbers (both expert and casual) of Mr. Beckey's contributions. That is why I think Mike Layton's suggestion is excellent. I propose the name "Beckey's Horn" to replace "Liberty Bell".

"If I died tomorrow...." Here's a guy who saw it coming: Galois

If you are going to spin a yarn, make it plausible.

Didn't that happen in the parking lot?

Young Colin has come a long way since he and I bailed on the Tooth one winter (it was my idea).

Man performing headstand on top of rock formation.

That's a romantic way to look at it. But if you could interview some of these acestors to whom you refer, you might find that they weren't looking for adventures. Life was pretty difficult, just putting food on the table and keeping the family warm and dry. The average family on the Oregon trail, the average tramp riding a train during the Depression...most of these people were just looking for an easier life. Even today, talk to somebody who makes a living logging or farming in rural America (the way it used to be done) and you'll find that most of them don't have any longing for adventure, they don't go looking for hardship. If I died tomorrow, if I died any time in the next 35 years, I'd feel I left work undone, I'd feel like I let people down who were counting on me for support, friendship, guidance, wisdom. I'd also feel cheated. I don't know what's on the other side, but I know things are pretty damn good right here, right now.

Certainly. Generally, the older the climb, the more honest the grade. Climbs done in Leavenworth before sport climbing arrived compare well with the grades in Yosemite and Joshua Tree. If you're climbing 5.9 or 5.10 at Castle and Midnight, you'll be able to climb similar grades in the Valley. The biggest difference is that with sticky rubber, careful footwork will make Leavenworth climbs much easier. In the the valley, it's so slick from glaciation and generations of climbing traffic, it seems much less secure. If you climb in the Valley in August or early September, the heat doubles the difficult of some climbs. For the record, Index is soft compared to traditional California climbing. Period.

Yeah, but the tail-gatin' sure is fun. I think the NFL will soon disappear from the networks and be replaced by a new and improved sort of football, the LFL(Lingerie Footy League):

Climb: Tumtum Peak, Mt. Rainier National Park, 4678ft.-North Ridge Date of Climb: 9/2/2006 Trip Report: Anyone who has been up to Paradise or higher reaches above on the south side of Mt. Rainier (a.k.a. “Raindawg”), and has taken the trouble to gaze west, will have no doubt admired a tall, striking conical peak off in the distance. It looks kind of like Mt. Fuji, except not as big and it’s green, but apart from that, it looks kind of like Mt. Fuji, you might say. The peak is known as “Tumtum”, an onomonopedic word in Chinook jargon for the beating of one’s heart; the effect it probably had on the native population when they admired its beautiful yet intimidating flanks. “Tumtum” is rarely climbed, but on Saturday, 2 September in the year 2000 and 6, me and my buddy Dwayner set out to scale this mighty mountain via its menacing north ridge. The starting point was the Kautz Creek parking area just a few miles within the Park boundary. (A cute and cheerful rangerette at the Park Entrance examined Dwayner’s annual Raindawg admissions pass and nodded her approval. “No, thank you”, we would soon reply…”we don’t need the complimentary maps….we know the roads like it’s our own neighborhood and we’re here to climb something that isn’t on your tourist-oriented brochure: Tumtum Peak.” “You guys aren’t….no you couldn’t be……Dwayner ‘n pope?”, she asked with a teasing blush. “That’s entirely too correct!”, I replied. She quickly wrote down a phone number on a small slip of paper and asked us to call her in Ashford on our way home. “Enough of the jibba-jabba!”, yelled Dwayner, “we’s gots a peak to climb!” Dwayner grabbed the phone number, wadded it up and threw it in the back seat, where it landed in a pile of dozens of others. “Focus, now, pope…focus!” he admonished as we left the entrance booth. A glimpse in the rear view mirror revealed our little rangerette leaning out her window and giving a tiny little wave as we sped away for bigger things to climb. I could read her lips: “please, please be careful, my men”. As I sorted through my gear at Kautz Creek, Dwayner put “Funkytown” in the CD Player and proceeded to do The Robot in the parking lot. It only took a few moments before I, too, was seduced by this infectious music and joined him for a heartily recommended warm-up. (Note to Jens: warm-ups such as The Robot might assist in reducing climbing injuries.) Gotta make a move to a Town that's right for me Town to keep me movin' Keep me groovin' with some energy Well, I talk about it Talk about it Talk about it Talk about it Talk about, Talk about Talk about movin Gotta move on Gotta move on Gotta move on Won't you take me to Funkytown! In each of our lives, we have our own “Funkytown”. Funkytown, in this particular case, would be no other than Tumtum Peak! Armed with a map, compass and GPS, we headed up the Kautz Creek trail full of anticipation as the giant west face of our target loomed to our left. Crossing the creek involved a trek across a log bridge over rushing brown waters to the trail that continued up along Tumtum itself. Having plotted GPS coordinates based on a topo map, it would be necessary to hike to around the 3200 ft. level and then begin a lateral, ascending cross-country trek to find a broad notch that would takes us to the summit slopes. Being new to the GPS, it was interesting to find that it proved utterly useless in the thick, tall old growth forest, although for whatever reason, the altimeter on the devise seemed to function. “Old growth forest”, we yelled enthusiastically, “right on! Woo-hoo!” as we gave each other several rounds of high-fives. A couple of female hikers on the trail approached us to ask us if everything was O.K. “Old growth forest!”, we yelled again and as if by instinct, they knew exactly what to do. Several more rounds of high-fives ensued and then they parted company; they: heading up the trail to Indian Henry’s Hunting Ground, and we: heading off the trail to find the north ridge of Tumtum. As the hikers left, I noticed that they had dropped what appeared to be a gum wrapper. Indeed it was, but this was no ordinary gum wrapper….it was a gum wrapper with a phone number! “Put it with the rest and let’s keep moving!” demanded Dwayner, as I shoved it in my bulging back pocket. The upward traverse to the southwest was quite steep and eventually we reached a kind of ridge top but not the saddle the map showed. The GPS continued to provide us elevations so we kept hiking up this ridge until we reached and even broader saddle. This was it: the staging point for the higher reaches. With thickly wooded slopes, it was difficult to see the giant summit pyramid through the trees, so we worked on the assumption that continuing uphill would eventually bring us to the top. It did, but not without the necessity of noting oddly-shaped trees and mossy rock formations for navigational landmarks. We would need them because, you see, it is one thing to climb UP Tumtum Peak, and it is quite another to descend its generally homogenous slopes to find oneself back on the trail, epic-free. No doubt there are piles of bones to be found along the slopes of Tumtum, the remains of thousands of years of summit aspirants, some who may have actually survived the trip to the top, only to become perilously lost on the descent. Dwayner and I discussed this on one of our brief water breaks. “Hats off to those mighty pioneers!” we agreed as we removed our hats and engaged in a brief. Solemn moment of silence in their memory. Yes, there are many ghosts on Tumtum Peak, and that beating heart you hear tum-tumming in your ears might not be from exertion, but may instead be wandering spirits warning one to take heed, lest one join their company. The final slopes of Tumtum are steep, slick with pine needles and fallen debris and relentless. Gradually, we spied a glimmer of light that seemed to taper off…”Ahoy!”, I loudly declared, “the summit must be near!” The once broad slope now tapered to a point and a cliff appeared to the east. Soon the sides dropped off on all sides. We turned on the GPS and with a clear sky above, the expensive gadget finally worked and confirmed for us what we already knew…we had reached the summit! Tears welled up in each of our eyes. Dwayner will never admit it, but he turned away and put on his sunglasses. Overcome with emotion, his only response to me was “Change your Pampers, you big baby!” I would have at least appreciated a big alpine hug but I understood his position: save that cryin’ strength for the descent, and should we become lost, those tears might have been better spent on water rationing. We dangled our feet over the edge of a cliff and I whipped out some sardines in mustard sauce and some kippered herring. Dwayner had a can of those li’l Vienna sausages. They never taste good at sea level, but here, several thousand feet above the floor and with fresh air floating everywhere, canned fish and processed meat taste like hor d’oeuvres straight from the kitchen of Mr. Wolfgang Puck himself! Wolfgang Puck: "Taste this!" By the way, there is something very special about the summit of Tumtum Peak. I will not share this with you. Those who have been there will know. The knowledge of this phenomenon will remain a secret and will separate those who have climbed the peak from the many wannabe’s, faux-contenders and poseurs. This is something you will have to discover on your own. I must admit that I did not believe Dwayner when he first told me about this; something he had heard from a friend. Who could image such an experience! The descent involved steady footwork and our trekking poles prevented many a long tumble. The landmarks observed on the way up guided us to the saddle, but from there it was all by compass. Dwayner says he knows a guy who claimed to have climbed Tumtum in the winter. Its long steep slopes would be quite arduous on snowshoes but the descent would be greatly simplified by being able to follow one’s own tracks in the snow back to the trail. The compass along with the altimeter did the job and we reached the trail not far from where we had left it earlier that day. Dwayner and I sat on a log and had more snacks. We didn’t need to say a thing. We just sat there with wide grins across our faces that could only mean one thing: we had climbed Tumtum Peak! The hike back to the cars was uneventful and we headed out of the Park to Ashford to celebrate with some cold ones at the giant Whittaker climbing complex. A buxom bar-maid ran up to our car. “Are you the guys who just climbed Tumtum?”she asked with excitement in her voice. “Everyone is talking about it!” They must have been tipped off by the rangerette. Dwayner stared at his feet but I would not feign such modesty. “Why yes, miss, that would be us”, I said with my thumbs placed through my front belt loops. She squealed at the news. “Come to the bar!”, she insisted, pulling both of us by the arms. “Big Lou says ‘water those boys down with what they’re having”, she informed us, and we did. The beer selection wasn’t bad and as we relaxed with our drinks, van after van arrived to unload their cargo of RMI-guided summit climbers. Many appeared haggard and worn-out but nonetheless straggled over to our table to congratulate us. A small child came up to us and asked for our autographs. Now while Dwayner might be used to this, I am not. “Would you like it in print or cursive?”, I asked the young man. Dwayner snatched the paper and pen out of my hand. He quickly scrawled the words, “I am a Jack-Donkey” and handed it to the boy. “Now go find your parents!” he ordered as the kid ran away. I could go on and on about the events of the rest of that triumphant day: the doughnuts, the spicy chicken wings, the girl who sat on an inverted barstool and spun….but it would only pale in comparison to our big mountain adventure. As we approached Tacoma, Dwayner and I summarized the whole experience by agreeing that the world can really be simply divided into two kinds of people: those who have climbed Tumtum Peak, and those who wish they had climbed Tumtum Peak. Indeed it is a rare and humble privilege to belong to the few in the former category. Gear Notes: Camelbacks Trekking Poles Map and Compass Useless GPS Canned Fish Li’l Vienna Sausages Nerves of Steel Great Will to Succeed Approach Notes: Look at a topo map. Trail and then cross-country.

Funnier than this? I can't think of many things funnier...maybe this? Or perhaps this?

You do have to be careful around here. Folks used to have a good time ridiculing a truly deserving group (consult the photo below if you can't remember). Most of that fun was discouraged in a heavy-handed way, by a bunch of weeeenies who felt somebody stepping on their little toes. Really, if you clip bolts, especially if you are responsible for establishing sport climbs, look in the mirror for a real laugh. You have no business making fun of "Nordic walking". These guys are just out to get a little fitness, maybe try something new. My dad was able to do some hiking when he thought his knees were shot, thanks to ski poles. Call it Nordic walking, assisted hiking...whatever you want. It's not nearly as lame as what happened to rock climbing in the last couple of decades. Sport climbers pretend to be doing something bad assed (real rock climbing), which is why they think they're in a position to make fun of Nordic walkers. Nordic walkers are just out walking, not pretending to be anything. Sport climbers leave a mess in the mountains. Nordic walkers leave only footprints. Sport climbers bitch about their injuries. Nordic walkers always come home invigorated. Sport climbers occasionally get chopped and leave their families grieving. Nordic walkers add years to their lives. Sport climbers think their activities are not subject Wilderness Area laws. I’ve yet to meet a Nordic walker who would knowingly jaywalk.

John Denver at the Puyallup Fair. Now there's a show you'll never again have the chance to see. And who could forget when Big Bowel and the Movements rocked the Toilet Bowl?

Just had another experience with the "Yah Tommy" video and I's comes up with another theorem about why all that jibber-jabba be going on. Seems to me, that Mr. Tommy's vocal spouse ain't the star of the show, so she's injecting herself verbally to gets herself a piece of THE ACTION. Yes sir! Don't believe me? Go ahead...ask The Thingfish!

Ladies... Are you thinking about getting married? You should know that there are three things that every man wants when he comes home from work: 1) a clean house 2) a warm meal 3) a piece of this If you can't provide these things, hubby ain't gonna be happy and neither will you.

I remember maybe one pin and one bolt supplementing good protection with challenging climbing. Sounds like somebody can't let a good climb be. I agree with your comment that even with a nod from the first ascensionist, adding bolts to a well-protected popular climb is out of line, in general (not to imply I know anything about the identitiy of the clowns responsible for this stunt, or whom they did or didn't consult first). Time to organize one of those Index work parties. I'm available.

That might be his secret...every move he manages to make puts more distance between him and that noise. I recall Todd Skinner's "ascent" of City Park. There was somebody in his party making an equivalent cacophany.