Uncle_Tricky

Thanks again scott and larry for sharing an adventurous line up a unique feature--a good contribution to known options up at wapass. My attempt to draw the approximate gato negro line was an exercise in late night incoherent scribbling, so pay it no attention. I do remember the individual pitches (and also the descent) though. Hopefully people are enjoying rapping off the orange cordelette I hitched to a chockstone in the obvious descent gully after watching senor peru puzzle through downclimbing that section. I look forward to getting up there and checking out the new versions of p. 2 and 3. New copies of the gato topo are pinned to the NCMG bulletin board next to the Mazama store.

Also, for anything on the N or S spires this time of year, park at the hairpin and stairmaster up the nice soft snow in spire gully to the notch S. of SEWS and then descend a few hundred feet as necessary to the SW rib or whatever instead of trudging up the longer blue lake trail side. If youre climbing the sw rib, stash your boots/pack, at the base of the S arete so they are right there waiting for you. A little more than an hour up and a 15 minute ass slide or glissade back to the car. Route is snow free. When spire gully melts out and theres no snow to walk up or slide down, then its easier to approach on the trail from the blue lake side. And if you really need the big gear for the bearhug pitch, then bring the hibatchi as senor peru recommends. Place the hibatchi in the wide crack, sling it, have your second clean it, and then roast some weenies on the massive flat granite terrace above. If desperate, you can also place 6"-8" brats horizontally in the cracks of the bear hug pitch--though given their flexible properties you may want to clip them with load limiting screamers. Just remember to bring some fire. ps. if you want to spice up the climb, take the 5.10 finger crack to the base of the "nervous 5.6" pitch, then traverse left and do the boving double roofs pitch (5.10) which will deposit you at the top of the bear hug pitch. Fun x 2.

Endless Fence: Lost in fog during open water crossing, Spider Island group, BC Coast: Static Point Hound: Do not pick up hitchhikers... Chile and Adon, Mexico locals:

Inferno on SEWS.

My first experience being roped was when our dad took us rapelling as kids. It was a blast. Though my brother and I climbed fences, trees, houses, etc., you only relied on yourself and climbed as far as you could without freaking out and/or falling. Between intuitive common sense and the scientific method, we understood that every fall was a ground fall. So easing over the edge of a cliff for the first time and trusting this crazy-ass mess of knots called a "swami belt" and a mysterious "brake bar" contraption made out of a bunch of carabiners was truly exciting. But yeah, its still amusingly comical when people view rapelling as an end in itself. It's like having spent an incredible powder day sliding all alone at a great resort. Afterwards some hillbilly comes up to you at the pub and say "holy crap that was a great day!!!" And you say Yah yah. And you ask them if they skiied or snowboarded that day. "No, I just rode the lift up and back down. What a blast! That's so much fun! Man, the exposure on that chairlift was amazing! That chair rally hauls ass! The ride down the chair is nerve wracking. I haven't had so much excitement since the last time me and my sister wrestled our hog down and solved his constipation problem!" You go dude. And get off of that ewe.

Looks like you got all the gear but no rope foo! Hope you at least got fahr on that thar rack. Forecast for Whopass is unseasoned fertilizer this week. Might as well wander somewheres newish.

The last week has been really volatile over here--lots of thunder, lightning, cumulonimbuswildfirefighterovertimus clouds, high winds, intense rain, sizable hail, snow not too far up the hills, etc. Several of those days the westside radio stations have said it's nice and calm and sunny over in seattle.

The OPC, yeah you know me. Who's down with the (O)lympic (P)eninsula ©rew? Got a late start and wasn't on the Edmonds-Kingston ferry till 11 o'clock. I've always enjoyed riding the ferries. Its a chauffeured trip where you can do whatever you want--get out in the fresh air and watch the organized chaos of the wake or sit inside and check out the people. If you make an effort, you can corner one of the couch style seats and let the vibration and humming of the engine lull you into a short nap. You get to turn over responsibility for your travel and become a willing captive for an hour or so. Unlike a bus or a plane, though, there is none of the stale air and claustrophobia. Generally on a ferry you can be as alone as you want or you can relate to people without being stuck in a situation where either is compelled. When we were young, our dad the captain told us the fire axes attached to the walls around the ferry were for fighting off huge sea serpents. Though rare, he said the sea serpents would occasionally wrap their coils around the whole ferry and try to drag it under. The axes were for chopping off the tentacles. For a long time, I believed this and repeated it as gospel to my friends, who also became believers in the serpents of Puget Sound. At some point I realized that there weren't such things as huge sea serpents and I was disappointed. Any less use for axes seemed mundane by comparison. One by one the mythical mysteries of childhood are revealed to us and magic leaves the world. True in one way, but at the same time there is no shortage of the mysterious, wondrous and awe-inspiring in the world here and now. Its just that we lose the sight to see it, our imaginations repressed by the scientific method, a culture of cool calculated contempt for that which falls outside the bounds of our understanding. We are resigned to not knowing and lack the child-like audacity to make it up. But what the fuck am I talking about the ferries for? The engine slowed and I returned from my reverie to the lower deck. The unloading began--always a good spectator sport. First, the bicyclists are freed and they sprint for safety like spooked deer. Having given the poor peddlers a sporting lead, the deckhands let loose the snarling pack of hawgs, ninjas, phantoms and other rice-burning crotch rockets, which blast up the ramp in hot pursuit of the terrified cyclists. Lastly, the four-wheeled superpredators of the pavement rumble off the ferry: the Ford Super Duties, Peterbilts, Komfort Kampers, etc. Each piloted by a twitching, traffic-twisted, caffeine-crazed commuter. And thus carnage commences! Blacktop Darwinism in action! I hurtle westward into the foggy forest and smell the smell of wet wood burning from the few unseen shacks tucked back in the dark caves beneath the trees. The further westward you go, the more you get a sort of creepy feeling unique to the Olympic peninsula. Remote, wild, shrouded in rain and fog, the Olympic Peninsula is haunted. Its more than just the edge of a continent--it’s the edge of reality, a border of sanity. I pass through a portal of dark towering trees and oppressive gray sky and I entered a world tweaked in some fundamental way. The sound of a forest: respiration. Rural poverty, the drip of water, angry loggers, alcoholism, guns, stumps, the ghosts of Indians dead, the smell of wood smoke, rot and rain. A while ago I met a girl in Forks who collected mushrooms and moss in the forests of the Olympic peninsula. She would spend days at a time wandering alone in remote areas of the peninsula forests. She says there were many times that she could feel somebody watching her. She said there were many people who lived way out in the woods, even whole families who would live for months at a time without contact with the outside. You occasionally spot the "tree people" as they were called walking along a deserted road. If you turned around, they are gone, vanished into the darkness of the trees. Don't believe in Sasquatches? Evidently you haven't been to the Hang Up Tavern in Forks, WA on a Saturday night. I witnessed a charming act of kindness at that particular establishment: After beating a uniformed military officer silly, a huge hairy cranked-out logger was kind enough to put the guys missing teeth into his front pocket of his bloodstained dress whites so that when consciousness found him, he would find his teeth. Thus the stage was set for our climb that weekend. A climb which turned out to be every bit of a vicious, knockdown, dragout street brawl like the one we witnessed in Forks. More coming later...

I posted a long ass trip report HERE

Climb: Lexington Tower-East Face Date of Climb: 5/1/2004 Trip Report: After a teetotaling night at the Spring Ski In where no beer, Jack Daniels or smoke was consumed by anyone, Chuck, Jeff and I awoke early, bright eyed and bushy tailed. Ok, that's a lie. Anyway, despite Mattp's warnings that the East Face of Lexington would be nothing more than a "gaping oozing slimy pusshole" at this time of year, we decided to go check it out for ourselves. The approach was easy, with only minor postholing--until we reached the steep approach gully. Lexington East face: None of us had climbed the route before, so we weren't sure exactly where to get onto the rock. We ended up climbing too far up the gulley in steep, deep, unconsolidated snow and shaped little snow ledges for ourselves with our axes. Looking at the Becky book now, (we didn't have his topo) its clear we climbed too far up the gulley and got on the rock at the place he describes as an "alternate start--avoid." It quickly became clear to us why. It was too steep and awkward to change into our rock shoes, and there was no place in the gulley to build a decent anchor. Jeff soloed up onto the rock and established a beley. Chuck saddled up and took the first lead over wet loose rock and snow in his approach boots. Jeff followed while I remained in the snow gulley, tied off to a single cam stuck in rotten rock. As Jeff was following, a loud rumbling began and the first big avy of the day ripped down the gulley. When the roar ended, chuck (who was still leading) yelled down "Hey Tricky, are you still down there?!" Fortunately I was--cowering in a little rock cove, as the slide passed by in the main gulley maybe 20 feet to my left. The slide sent up a big cloud of snow dust, which blew over and settled on us. After Jeff led a traversing pitch across some wet rock, we got back on route. We ended up taking our packs along for the first three pitches before stashing them on a snowy ledge. We didn't want to leave them in the avalanche chute because we hope to descend a different way. Here's me leading the third pitch: And Jeff following: By this time, it was warming up an increasingly large avys were ripping down the gully to our left. Big slides that sounded like trains and bounding ice blocks obliterated the last couple hundred yards of our approach tracks. Chuck led the next pich up to under the first big roof system, and I got the next pitch which begins with an easier-than-it-looks chimney/traverse to finger and hand crack behind a flake. Really fun climbing in a great position: Plugging in gear after the traverse. The climb goes straight up the steep flake. Jeff: The pitch ends up at the base of the 5-6 inch offwidth which widens to a snow-filled chimney maybe 2 feet wide. Here's the belay. Jeff is tied into a section of wooden 2x4 that someone wedged into the wide crack. Here's Jeff, demonstrating creative footwork on the offwidth. (Note the tongue sticking out): While previous snow and icefall was limited to the gulley to our left, while Jeff was on the pitch, a bunch of snow and ice chunks sloughed off the top of Lexington and bounded down to our left, directly over the first three pitches--kinda exciting. It was Chuck's turn for the next pitch, which follows a burley offwidth that was dripping water. The grunting, wheezing and cursing was enough to put the fright of god into small children. Fortunately there were no small children 800 feet up on Lexington tower and chuck sent it in style. As we got higher on the face, we became increasingly concerned about the descent. Descending the avy gully--the recommended way down--was not an option. Slides were pouing down the chute and we'd stashed our packs back on the third pitch. We'd heard you could rap the route, but several of the stations we'd passed were little trees buried in ice and snow which concealed any webbing or rap anchors. It appeared we were going to be leaving some gear. After Jeff lead the last pitch, we consulted the Smoot topo and decided to rap Tooth and Claw in hopes it would be better than descending the route we'd climbed. It appeared the two routes converged where we left our packs. I rapped down over a huge roof and after much effort, pendulumed over to the top of the 6th pitch of Tooth. Committed at that point, I clipped into one of the most awkward, sketchy and uncomfortable anchors I've seen in a while. There I hung off this little half dead tree that was sticking horizontally out of a big pillow of ice and snow. Only a couple little sections of webbing peeked out from under the snow, so it was impossible to assess the quality of the anchor. While we couldn't see 90% of the anchor including the webbing and thr tree, someone had left two nuts in a rotten crack 10 feet above. An aged cord ran from the nuts down to under the big snow mound--presumably attached to the anchor. I wasn't sure if this was a good sign because the anchor was (apparently) backed up; or if it was a bad sign, meaning that someone who would actually see the anchor last summer had decided it was sketch enough that they decided to rig this funky backup system. Chuck and Jeff came down. In order to make the pendulum, I had to pull them over with the free ends of the rap rope. While I hung from the little tree below the mound of snow covering the belay ledge, water dripping down my legs, chuck clipped in and stood in an awkward stance on the face. The only place for Jeff was a little snow filled cave (where there's probably usually a comfortable belay) 10 feet the anchor. As I was rigging the next rap, my feet slipped off the slimy rock and I swung into the tree I was hanging from, breaking off several dead branches with a loud crack. We all got a dose of heart thumping adrenaline, because the noise of the breaking branches sounded like the tree itself we were hanging off was breaking. The next couple raps were less worrisome, although we did leave some gear to back up a couple of the stations. None of us were willing--if we could help it--to rap off an anchor where you can only see a couple inches of webbing peeking out from a mound of snow. Thankfully, we were able to reach our packs, and the rest of the descent was uneventful. We were rewarded with a beautiful evening view on the walk out: Overall, the climbs was great fun and the rock is great above the first pitches. Though between the avys, icefall, funky snowy belays and descent uncertainties, once we were down we admitted to eachother that we were filled with a certain sense of dread the whole day. After nearly creaming a deer driving back, we arrived to a bonfire and beerverages for all. Thanks for a fun climb guys! Tho next time let's wait til June... Gear Notes: A pictoral representation of the recomended rack for E. Face Lexi: NOTE: all pictures taken by Chuck.

I'm curious what percentage of all climbers out there(however you want to define that) have ever placed a piece of gear? 10% of people who have shoes? 20% of people who have climbed outside? 30% of all those who have ever lead a sport climb? I dunno, just wondering.

A friend and I and a dog spent two days in icicle and tumwater. No ticks. Guess we smell bad or something.

As of yesterday, the road is open and in good condition (at least for now). Some construction was going on in places, but no delays. Lots of signs of the big fall rains--logs stuck strangely high in trees and evidence of other large rockfall (away from the road) between Newhalem and Ross Lake. Big white scars and clean new talus. Only 5 feet of snow along the road in the deepest places.

It's be nice to have four climbers instead of three. Leaving Twisp early monday, passing thru Omakanogan shortly after. Returning Wednesday early afternoon. If anyone wants to meet us along the way (we've got one seat open) or up there, drop me a message.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Ritzville. The town is as cool as the name implies. Besides it's nice central location in Washington ensures that you are only a couple hours from everything (and anything). Still, despite it's name, it's relatively undiscovered and not overly ritzy--yet. Think Aspen 30 years ago. Once you get to the great PNW, take a road trip to Ritzville and behold the potential.

Some of the routes were dry last week, but then we got a few inches of snow on Friday. Now we've had several warm (50s) mostly sunny days and most of the south/west facing routes are dry enough to climb--at least til the next precip. There's still maybe a foot+ of snow down in the trees at the base but its going fast.

Any climb with a lot of traversing/pendulum potential. I've (unitentionally) taken a few beginners on climbs where although the climbing was well within thier ability, once they realized they were actually going to fall if they fell, their blissful fearlessness about being on top rope evaporated rather quickly. Much hysteria ensued.

The SW rib of South Early Winter Spire is my favorite climb to intoduce people to alpine (well sorta) multipitch rock. The Big Tree route at Darrington also.

Not sure if Gato will ever be a "selected classic" but damn if its not a rollicking fun full value alpine rock experience. The crux pitch alone would be a classic at any area if it were more easily accessible. Hype! Hype!

By the way--where are the Monkeyface Pics??? Pony up or I will release the stinky hound from hell!!!

I'm proof of evolution. I used to be like ya'll. Then I evolved.

I live up near the end of a dead end dirt road. Across from my place is a parcel for sale. The parcel has been on the market for quite some time, and yet it seems few potential buyers ever arrive to look... It seems the neighbors have an unspoken but understood conspiracy to insure almost no members of the curious public ever make it that far. Most visitors ignore the aged variety of "No Trespassing" "No Hunting" "Private Property" signs marking the boundry between paved county and private dirt road. Perhaps they feel a twinge of conscience about driving up a private road, but no matter. Then a mile up the road, visitors encounter the first real test of their will: a green official looking gate (always open except during hunting season) with a sign that says "Restricted Area--Authorized Personnel Only. Visitors Check in at Office." Of course the gate is just a relic, probably stolen from some government site somewhere years ago. But its enough that many turn around there. If they continue, they enter the antique farm implement graveyard. Lining both sides of the road are dozens of pieces of old rusty machinery. Propped among or hanging from the machinery are dozens of skulls--deer, horse, cow, etc. Each of the skulls has reflector lights embedded in the empty eye sockets. At night this is particularly spooky. They are being watched by dozens of dead creatures with living eyes. If this doesn't stop people, sometimes the fake skeleton hanging from a noose from an old apple trees does. Beyond the hanging skeleton, visitors encounter a sea of old cars, trucks, vans and campers. Windshields broken, sides shot up, one burnt out, another sinking into the earth. Visitors are left to wonder if these are the Mad Max remains of those that dared trespass before them... If they continue, they are immediately chased by my nieghbors two fast dogs, who recognize who does and doesn't live beyond him. If they don't recognize you, your vehicle is swarmed by several angry loud mutts, thereby blowing any quiet cover they might have had. Now they are freaked. And then there is the last neighbor's sign before my place. It is a large laminated poster that reads "HEY THERE TRESPASSER!!! If you cross my land (which they already have at that point) curse my wife, drive your four wheelers on my fields, scare my herd, or kick up dust, you've going to get yourself a taste of some WESTERN JUSTICE!!!" Below the writing is a picture of three men on horseback with rifles--the possee. Below this sign is a small crudely hand-lettered sign reading "This private road is patrolled by shotgun three days a week. Guess which three." At this point, most are simply trying to find a turnaround to get the hell out. I've also noticed an interesting correlation: on the rare occassion that a realtor takes potential buyers up to the property for sale, it seems my neighbors choose to use that time for sighting in their rifles, handguns and shotguns. While the realtor is trying to explain the virutes of the parcel, the valley echoes with gunfire. Personally, I appreciate my eccentric neighbors. They are good people and they look out for eachother, even if they are not super excited to see trespassers on their land...

Scott Johnson posted a topo of Gato Negro this summer, a worthy new 11-pitch route on the W. side of Silver Star. Just search for GATO and he should find the info on Scott/Larry's FA. Descent from the pinnacle of "Whine Spire" is via two single rope raps into the obviously terrifying descent gully to the South. BobbyP and I did the 2nd and would probably be happy to share whatever additional beta.

Hey ya'll, thot some might get a laugh outta this piece I wrote for the local paper. Bring your headlamp if you want to take a dump in Twisp! ------------- Sitting in the dark Methow Valley News January 7, 2004 As a prolific pooper without a proper crapper, I greatly appreciate the public restrooms scattered about the Methow Valley. Wherever you need to go, there they are. Aside from the restrooms that have been hidden away at the Community Center, Winthrop started the trend of providing bathrooms for the people. In 2002, a set of primitive but stylish public restrooms sprang up in Mazama. Not wanting to be left out, Twisp added public facilities in The Merc Playhouse building last year. I remember my first visit to the Twisp restrooms. There I was, doing my business and appreciating the bright, sparkling new construction. Then the lights went out. My first thought was, "Shoot! Perhaps a tree fell on the Loup powerline, causing the Methow electrical grid to crap out." Then I realized the restroom lights were on a timer. You see, in order to save energy, Winthrop and Twisp installed the restroom lights on a motion-activated sensor. When you walk in the door, the sensor detects your movement and the lights click on auto-magically. But once you enter the stall, the sensor can no longer "see" you, and the clock starts ticking…. Sitting there in the darkness, I realized I had exceeded the allotted time to do a number two. Now I don’t linger, and I do eat my share of fiber, but subsequent visits to the Twisp public bathrooms almost always ended the same way: me sitting in a stall as black as the proverbial bowels of Hell. In an effort to achieve enlightenment, I’ve tried waving my arms over my head to get the attention of the motion detector. It doesn’t work. Standing up in the darkness with pants around ankles while waving one’s arms in the air is also futile and fraught with potentially messy peril. Trust me. Inevitably, just after the lights go out, someone else arrives to use the restroom. They open the door and step into the darkened bathroom, which causes the lights to turn back on. Whereupon they immediately notice two boots visible under the stall wall. I can practically hear their thoughts: "Why is someone sitting in the public bathroom in the dark?! How long have they been there? Are they even alive?" This recurring experience raised some profound questions, such as "Has the Town of Twisp imposed comically unrealistic time limitations on illuminated defecation? Or am I just a slow go-er?" Clearly some scientific research was necessary. I recruited a female assistant who owned a stopwatch. This allowed me to get precise time measurements for all Methow public bathrooms, while avoiding the difficult task of explaining to the police why I happened to be sitting in a women’s public restroom with a stopwatch…in the dark. Measuring the time for the Mazama bathrooms was easy. They have no light or heat, so just remember to dress warmly and bring your own flashlight. Winthrop is the land of equal pooping opportunity. The automatic timers in both the men’s and women’s rooms are set to allow visitors a generous 17 minutes of light. By contrast, the Town of Twisp gives women 11 minutes of light to do their business–less than Winthrop, but still plenty of time. However, if you’re a guy in Twisp, you get a mere 2 minutes and 31 seconds before the automatic lights go out. I’m not shi…uh…kidding you: 2 minutes and 31 seconds. My suspicions regarding the timed lights in the Twisp public bathrooms were confirmed, but this only raised more profound questions. Why do men and women receive the same amount of time in Winthrop, but wildly different amounts in Twisp? Is the town of Twisp simply more zealous about saving energy? Or are those who use the Winthrop bathrooms on average six times more constipated and thus need more time than those who use the Twisp restrooms? I don’t know, but these are questions to consider next time you use the public facilities in the Methow. Should the Town of Twisp reset the timer in the men’s room to allow for a more leisurely and gender-equal public bathroom experience? Definitely not! Every town needs unique and distinguishing features. Instead, Twisp should install a one-word sign in the men’s room stall: HURRY. First-time visitors would sit there pondering its meaning–for exactly 2 minutes and 31 seconds–at which time the lights would go out, and sitting there in the dark, they would see the light.

The Arndts still have a place out on the island? A number of years ago I spend a few weeks out there watering their orchard and splitting wood. Good people.