Uncle_Tricky

Kinda suprising, but the water is often warmer off Tofino and the W. coast of Vancouver Island than it is off the Washington or Oregon coasts. Typically happens in late summer and early fall when prevailing N/NW winds causes upwelling off headlands and cools the Japanese current as it goes down the West coast. Often the water temps as far South as Santa Cruz are about the same as up here. [ 11-06-2002, 12:50 PM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

Also, the longer the wave period, the faster the wave. In the case of an earthquake, the tsunamis that may be created are very long period waves, and they travel very fast. Any tsunami effect from a quake in Alaska would be seen here in a matter or minutes or hours, not days. I've got a web page that has links to some neat graphics. Click on "Pacific wave heights and directions" for images of current and forecasted wave height and direction.

Yeah, waves are basically a product of three things, wind speed, wind duration, and the fetch, which is the distance the wind blows over the water. Wind waves are waves created by local wind conditions, and generally have short period (up to roughly ten seconds.) Swells are waves that have traveled outside the windy area in which they were created, so all the shoppy crappy wind waves die out, and you are left with clean long period (usually 10-20 seconds, but sometimes longer, such as in the case of tsunamis, which might have a wave period measured in minutes. An analogy that works for me is this: Have you ever tried to fall asleep in a house where someone is playing music in another room? All you can hear is that base, because the short period wave energy (treble or wind waves) is weak and dies out, but bass (or swell) has a longer wave period, so the sound carries much further from the place where it was created. If you're surfing, you generally want swells that were created far away and have had time to clean up into long period waves and organize themselves into sets, not stormy victory-at-sea type conditions, though those can work some places. When it's 30 feet out at the ocean and coming down the strait of juan de fuca at just the right angle, it's possible to surf fun shoulder to head high ocean swells on Whidbey Island.

Day 1 - Leithal the Lovely Lurker (LLL) and myself left the Greater Lake Wenatchee Metropolitan area at dark, and awoke the next morning along some red dirt road among the surreal spires near the Owyhee River Canyon in Eastern Oregon. The idea was to break up the drive to the City of Rocks with a detour to climb in the Leslie Gulch area. A morning spent lost on various dirt backroads left us with a flat tire. I read recently that guys need to listen better and be more emotionally supportive. So, as LLL changed the tire, crawling around in the dust and cow dung under the van, grunting and swearing like a sailor, I sat in the warm sun, listened intently and offered emotional support. One tire down, two others bulging, no spares to go, 60 mostly dirt miles from the nearest town, we abandoned the Leslie Gulch plan and headed to Caldwell for some new treads. Meanwhile my hound dog had developed a case of explosive diarrhea, perhaps related to his unofficial breakfast of coyote crap and deer entrails. Day 2 - After a night of rain, morning at the city was clear and cold. We climbed a couple climbs, including Rye Crisp, which is a really fun climb up fragile stacked flakes. LLL decided to lead a somewhat runout 5.9 (5 bolts in 110 feet) friction/face climb nearby. The sky grew dark. Halfway up, the rain came down, soaking the rock, the rope and her. Shivering and sketching high above her last bolt but below the wet crux, I was concerned that LLL might be exhibiting signs of hyothermia or Tourette's syndrome, given her incoherent mumbling and frequent outbursts of profanity. But then again, it's sometimes hard to tell with her! She eventually downclimbed some tough wet friction and lowered off. There was a short break in the rain, and we climbed and cleaned the route before retreating to the van to discuss options. It didn't look good. The rain had turned to hail with a little snow/slush mixed in. We decided to head South to Utah. However, it's hard to be southbound when your ride won't start. We managed to flag down the last person leaving the deserted City, who gave Leithal the Lovely Lurker a ride to Almo to call Triple A. The hound with explosive diarrhea and I sat in the cold van listening to country music on AM radio as the snow came down. Day 3 - After a late night powerdrive, we woke in Kane Springs Canyon, just outside of Moab. It had rained all night, but once again the morning was clear. A couple miles up the Red walled canyon is an area called the Ice Cream Parlour, which is a tall cliff of Neopolitan-like sandstone scooped hollow. Slabs down low led to vertical cliffs which lead to huge roofs high above. We climbed several fun slabby finger cracks, and then feeling masochistic, I decided to lead "The Coffin." At 5.9, this is wolf in sheep's clothing. I've climbed quite a few wide cracks, offwidths and chimneys of the same or higher grade, but nothing like this. In summary: I got worked, it was ugly and took forever. If you want the gory details, read on. The climbs starts off with a hand crack in the back of a chimney, then fist jamming and face holds over a steep roof. Having hardly climbed on sandstone outside Peshastin, at first I was spooked at relying on gear that I wouldn't question at all if if was placed in granite. As a result, I overprotected, tired myself out by climbing up halfway over the roof and back down numerous times, and eventually resorted to pulling on a piece to make it over the roof. So much for style. Above, a 30+ foot widening crack that became a lieback/OW flake led up to a dark squeeze chimney. I motored halfway up the flake, and got couple pieces in then placed the 5-inch yellow tri-cam just before the flake got too wide to protect, and then ran it up to the relative security of the chimney. "Secure" is an understatement. The Coffin was a deep squeeze chimney maybe 50 feet high, 15-20 feet deep, vertical, with parallel walls so narrow I could only fit in certain places. I was in a vice of smooth sandstone, tight enough I was unable to turn my helmeted head from side to side in most places. At 6-3, 195ish, I could barely fit, much less move once crammed into the Coffin. Had I eaten a big breakfast that morning, I would have been nothing more than bomber passive permanent pro. To make any progress in the chimney, I had to find slight wide spots that I could fit through. It was like a Chinese puzzle: If I wanted to go up, I first had to go down, then sideways, then diagonal, then sideways, then up. 15 feet of thrutching might yield me a few feet of vertical progress. It was too tight to generate any opposing force, so all I could do was breath deep to wedge my chest between the walls, inchworm up a little, then exhale. The widest spots were perhaps an inch deeper than my depth of my body back-to-chest. Progress was brutally slow. Several times I slid 5 or 6 feet down towards the bowels of the chimney until my body passively wedged in a narrow spot. This was dissapointing, because in addition to sanding off swaths of skin, I quickly lost hard-won ground that had taken me many minutes to gain. I've never been claustrophobic, not even when I was locked in a car trunk for 3 hours on my 21st birthday after consuming 10 beerverages when my friends lost the keys to the car. But in the Coffin, I was seriously freaked in spots--not because I was afraid of falling, (though my last gear was that tipped-out tri-cam 30 feet below below. As long as I was in the squeeze, all I could do was slowly grind down to a wedged stop, which I'd already experienced. What I feared was becoming literally stuck in this cold stone coffin. My body was wedged so tight between these two parallel walls that I had a hard time taking full breaths, which when compounded with the exertion of the climb, made me feel like I was suffocating. Several times I had to stop and focus on breathing and quell the panic of claustrophobia that I'd never felt before. I considered the question "how are they going to get me out of here? Explosive diarrhea?" Two thirds of the way up the squeeze, I finally got a few good pieces of gear in a thin crack in the back of the chimney. Now with gear, I felt OK about venturing out towards exposed, unprotectable and insecure edge of the Coffin. I traversed out towards the window of now-threatening sky some 20 feet to the right and up, and climbed up along the loose edge of the chimney. Difficult climbing up loose rock with viscious rope drag finally brought me to the top of the detached piller, where I sighed a sigh of relief. I sighed too soon. My hands could reach the top of the climb, but whereas previously the rope drag was merely like towing a spastic donkey through quicksand, now the rope had become completely stuck, totally immobilizing me. Runout above my last gear, stuck in a tenuous stance on flexible sandstone flakes and frictiony feet just below the top, I could peer over the top of the pillar at the chains 5 or 6 feet away, but I didn't have the rope to top out. Physically and emotionally exhausted, I considered my options. The sky looked like Something Evil This Way Comes, and I could smell the rain and electricity in the air. Far below, the hound with explosive diarrhea whined in sympathy with my situation. From my delicate stance, I reached back with one hand, unclipped and unknotted my cordellete from my harness. It took me a couple tries, but I was able to use the cordelette like a lasoo, throwing a loop blindly over the detached piller. I couldn't see exactly how it wrapped around the back side, but it seemed secure for a downward pull. I clipped into the cordelette, and still gripping the loose flakes, slowly weighted it. It shifted once with a frightening pop that sent some loose rock down the chimney, but held. Trusting my entire weight to the cordelette, I yarded on the rope like the anchor man in a tug or war contest where the loser would be executed. Finally I was able to pull enough slack up that I could pull a beached whale move up and over the edge. By the time I was on the ground, the storm hit. Pea-sized hail was accompanied by flashes of lightening that were followed almost immediately by crashes of thunder. Once again we took shelter in a cave. I'd left my cordelette and a few lockers up at the anchor, hoping that I would have a chance to watch LLL experience the Coffin. After all, at least half of the fun of climbing some desperate thrutchfest is getting to watch your partner suffer through it! There was a bit of a break, so LLL headed up. As she was tacking the roof low on the route, a good sized chunk of sandstone pulled off, hitting her in the cheek. That left a mark. The rain had started again. Sandstone and rain do not mix. I lowered her off and we left the anchor booty for somebody else. Well, those were the first three of our eleven days on the road. We had a great time climbing around Moab: Indian Creek (which force-fed us several more slices of humble pie), Potash Road, and the River Road. Self-flagellating offwidths, chimneys and tight corners seemed to be a theme. We went through a whole tube of Neosporin to heal our chapped, scraped and sanded hides. I took the Bloody Award, with several dozen open or oozing wounds on my knees, ankles, shoulders, back, elbows, hands and forearms, while LLL easily took the Combined Bruise Title--the coolest one being a clear imprint of a #4 Camalot. We hiked down wild canyons and never saw another person all day. We soaked our tired bones in beautiful wilderness hotsprings. We partied with the jack Mormon sinners in Moab. We returned to the City of Rocks, only to find it blizzarding there. We almost got stuck thirty miles from nowhere on a rough dirt road when we woke one morning to find it had snowed over half a foot. The hound's explosive diarrhea gave way to projectile vomiting which gave Leithal the Lovely Lurker's stuff a nice musky smell. Ahh, but climbing into - and back out of - the Coffin was the highlight of the trip for me! [ 11-03-2002, 09:11 PM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

Well, this ride is no longer with me, but it was a memorable one for our deliquent teenage expeditions. I used to have a trashed bent 1969 Ford Galaxy Deluxe. These heavy monsters were often converted for stock car racing--super heavy frame, rocket launch-like acceleration, and single-digit gas milage that inspired delirious joy amongst OPEC members. You couldn't fill the tank up past half, or it would rapidly leak out, leaving a trail of gas and other vital fluids on the road behind you. In fact, we had to keep a close eye out for people throwing cigarette butts from cars in front of us and take evasive action--or risk being chased down by a trail of burning fuel. Back in the day I set my own personal land-speed-with-a-boat-attached-to-your-roof record in that car. Myself and three friends were on our way to float the Winchester Wasteway, which is a maze of a swamp/stream/overgrown irrigation ditch that flows from just past George, WA into the Potholes Reservoir. With a 20 foot green canoe strapped to the top of that thing, we pegged the speedometer at 130 before backing off for fear of taking off into the atmosphere. For a 1969, this car was loaded: it was one of the first models with air conditioning, full power windows, brakes, steering, etc. One of it's other quirks was that the car would die spontanously, leaving us coasting down the North Cascades Highway at 80, with no brakes or steering. While squealing around curves, wrestling the non-responsive steering wheel and stomping on power brakes useless with no power, you had to kick it into neutral, restart it and get it back in drive before losing complete control of the beast. [ 11-02-2002, 06:25 PM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

That'd be a full day, though if you'd already done the routes, knew the descent (which is quick and easy) and what gear you needed, it wouldn't be that hard. I'd do the harder W. Face First. You can run the last long finger/hand crack pitch right up to the rap station for the descent. I'd descend the gulley, drop off most of the small gear, grab the large gear, and do the NW corner. Combined, there's really just a total of 6 pitches harder than 5.8. The linkup would mean pitches of 5.8, scramble, 5.7, 5.10, 5.11, 5.10, descent, 5.8, scramble, 5.9, 5.9, 5.9, and scramble. It'd be fun to try sometime, though I'm more into taking my time and having a lazy herbal afternoon on a sunny summit. [ 10-20-2002, 09:19 PM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

There's some nice hotsprings in the area.

Yeah, no kidding. I'm just now feeling normal--three days after crashing my longboard coming down Fremont Ave in the rain after having consumed several beerverages. Dumb. Gotta a shredded shirt, road rash on ass and elbows, a egg-sized lump and a good gash on the back of my that bled for two days. I'm going to go log onto marthastewart.com to see how to get blood stains out of pillows and clothes...

Oklahoma: like the play, only no singing

Why is Nebraska so windy? Cause Oklahoma sucks.

All I know is that I was being belayed at Leavenworth by a Vertical World employee using a gri-gri. I took a leader fall and kept falling...and falling. Finally I said something like "hey, anytime you feel like catching me, feel free." Or maybe I just screamed "FUCK!!!" Anyway, only then did she lock me off. Freaked me out, and I've been wary of being belayed with a gri-gri since. [ 10-13-2002, 07:07 AM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

Sitting here at work listening to some Leftover Salmon--high quality stompgrass! Primus Deadbolt Willie Nelson Jerry Garcia/David Grisman jamming together Hanuman Jane's Addiction Yonder Mountain String Band

You already got many good suggestions, but I'll throw a few more out there... The Big Tree Route (5.7) at Three o clock rock in Darrington. Some neat cracks, low angle liebacking and jamming, a somewhat intimidating friction traverse to start the 2nd pitch, etc. Lotsa fun. 4-5 pitches. Zig-Zag (5.7) at Mt. Erie. 3 pitches if I remember correctly. The Arch and Spaghetti Sauce on Icicle Buttress (both 5.8) Also Sams ‘n Cams (5.6 on Sam Hill in L-worth) Martian Diagonal (5.5) and Vertigo (tough 5.8) at Peshastin Party in Your Pants (5.8) Frenchman's Coulee Western Front (5.3) Twin Cracks (5.6) X-Factor (5.7) The Cutting Edge (5.7) all at Royal Columns, Tieton River Canyon SE Corner (5.7) several pitches and some scrambling at Beacon Rock [ 10-11-2002, 05:49 PM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

The Great Red Book, 5.8. It's only two pitches, but they are full value pitches in a huge dihedral--jamming, face climbing, liebacking, stemming, some chimney, etc. A good choice for a mellow day and there's lots of other good cragging type stuff nearby.

Headed to the City for the first time. Anyone have any general advice or favorite routes to share? If any fellow cc.commers happen to be wandering southern Idaho the last week of october, and want to join us for some climbing, drop me a message. [ 10-06-2002, 08:59 AM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

Truth be told, I'm not really worried about global warming. The things that really freak me out are the certainty of asteroid impact at some point in the future, gamma ray bursts from distant galaxies, a collapse of the space-time continuum, rogue black holes (astronomers estimate there are 10 million in the Milky Way alone), giant solar flares (more properly known as coronal mass ejections), the reversal of the earth's magnetic field (The last such reversal was 780,000 years ago, so we may be overdue), flood basalt volcanism, a bio-tech experiment run amok, a particle accelerator mishap that could start a chain reaction that would destroy the world, nanotechnology that could spread and reduce the biosphere to dust in a matter of days, divine intervention and the apocalypse, and grandiose interstellar alien construction project that destroys the earth to create an inter-galaxy expressway.

Spawn of Satan Ejected from the bowels of Hell, which is much hotter than Mars thus that funky smell.

quote: MtnGoat wrote: What kind of organisms? The extremely virulent and dangerous forms of Shrubus Ignoramus (common name: George W. Bush) or Clintonus Horriblus var. Hilarious (common name: Hillary Clinton) for example. There is some debate as to whether these two fearsome mutations are actually organisms or viruses, but that doesn't make them any less deadly.

I have a mix of cams, some BD, some Metolious, some others. They all work just fine, and I like having a variety of kinds since different brands of cam within the same range fit differently and give you a wider variety of pro choices. For example, the metolius cams I've got have a narrower profile, so they fit in places where the equivalent sized BD cam wouldn't. As far as hexes go, don't bother with anything but the three largest or four sizes. Some don't like them at all, but they are cheap, much lighter than the equivalent cam, easy to place and totally bomber. I don't place them as much as I used to since I've collected more cams, but I'll take them along on routes where multiples of 2+ inch gear is handy. If you're just building a rack, a few large hexes will get you up stuff until you can afford some larger cams. As far as stoppers go, again I like having a variety of stuff, as each brand fits a little differently. I have a base set of BD stoppers, with doubles in the some mid-small sizes, and then some other random pieces--a few DMM Wall Nuts, which are great, a few HB offsets, etc. The same rack will never be practical for all climbs. A guidebook, or just looking up and eyeballing the route will give you an idea of what gear to take and what gear to leave behind. On routes that require lots of gear in a given size, just create an appropriate rack by combining you and your partner's gear. Have fun!

Suppose we take a leap to the next quantum level of perspective, from which the earth is seen as an organism, and humans are microorganisms. From this view, the human race is displaying parallels to the behavior of pathogenic organisms: parabolic growth, consumption and production harmful waste - with no regard for the health and well-being of its host — in this case, planet Earth. Of course, infected host organisms fight back. As humans become an increasing menace, can the Earth defend itself? When a disease organism infects a human being, one of the defense mechanisms our body deploys is the elevation of its own temperature. This rise in temperature not only inhibits the growth of the infecting pathogen, but also enhances the disease fighting capability within the body via the sudden and rapid proliferation of antibodies, T-cells, white blood cells, and other defenders against disease. Global warming may be the Earth’s way of inducing a fever — as a reaction to human pollution of the atmosphere. As the global climate changes, and as the natural environment chokes with pollution, we're beginning to see what sort of organisms nature can and will suddenly unleash to confront us. In addition to global warming, other defense mechanisms are beginning to show themselves as insect pest population booms, accelerated genetic mutation, new epidemic strains of deadly bacteria, viruses, and algae particularly toxic to humans. Many of these can be linked either directly or indirectly to human proliferation and alteration of the environment. Is it really such an absurd idea? Such non-conscious but seemingly intelligent dynamics take place on molecular, cellular, species, and ecosystems levels. Why shouldn't the same dynamics apply to the scale of the earth? I wouldn't be surprised to see our species get force-fed a slice of humble pie. Until then, party on! [ 09-29-2002, 06:14 AM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

It ain't granite but sandstone the consistency of styrofoam. Bring your crampons.

Ah yes...Resucci-Annie was wise in the ways of love and taught me many things...sure, she wasn't totally anatomically correct, but we had a good time and she never asked me if her 70s style sweatshirt made her look fat....In the end, I couldn't get over my jealousy at her promiscuity...she ended up eloping with Resucci-Andy...bittersweet memories...

Back when I was a juvenile delinquent on probation, one of my community service assignments was working for the Red Cross. The task? Cleaning dozens of Resucci-Annies dummies that had just been returned from school and community programs... [ 09-27-2002, 09:42 PM: Message edited by: Uncle Tricky ]

I know it's not the usual approach, but is it possible to approach from the Blue Lake side, go over the pass S. of SEWS, and then do a falling traverse past the Passenger route to access the base of the E. buttress? Anyone tried getting there that way? Also, any comments from people who've tried climbing it free instead of aiding the bolt ladders? Does a second need jumars, or is it easy to french free?