Uncle_Tricky

I've heard of that place. I heard there are bushes and trees and dirt and lichen and stuff. And it rains there sometimes. That sounds pretty sucky. I also heard that there are ill-tempered snafflehounds who can carry the Hanta Virus. That sounds sketchy, if not downright dangerous. Still, I'd like to go there somtime. The beta I got says to go East on I-90, but I'd like to get some more detailed information.

I totally disagree. Trees are aid. Dirt is off limits too. So is moss. Touching lichen will also invalidate an attempt at a clean ascent.

We take it day by day If you want it you're gonna bleed But it's the price you pay

As Szy says, stuff east of 97 is private. Don't mess! However, if you feel like an alternate drive back, go straight south from Nighthawk along dirt roads. Instead of heading back east to 97, keep going south and they will eventually hook you up to highway 20 right near Loup Loup Pass between Omak and Twisp. It's all public--mostly national deforest land. Along the way you will find some granite boulders and small granite crags if you keep your eyes open. You might find the China Wall, a huge old mill foundation made of granite blocks 30 feet tall and hundreds of feet long. But this IS private. Use discretion or just appreciate it from the road.

When we were kids we'd play "the ground is lava" game and try to traverse our whole neighborhood via connecting treetops, rooptops, and walking fencelines. Still today I see no distinction between climbing trees, rocks, dirt, shrubbery, grass, moss or whatever. It's all just monkeying around in the natch world. Long live Free-Tree Ascents! Or should it be Freedom Treeing? Tree Freeing? Or Free Treeing? Whatever--Trees ain't aid!

In another thread, PeteyPuget wrote: "Free means that you do not rely on anything artifical to aid your ascent. So, you do not...ARGUABLY pull up on trees and roots etc." So...let's argue! Is pulling on trees, grass, roots, moss, etc aid? Is an ascent somehow less "pure" if you pull on non-rock features? What if pulling on a non rock feature makes the climb significantly easier? It seems the grade of some climbs assume you DO pull on all available features, while other climbs are graded assuming you only climb the rock. Or is specifically trying to avoid pulling on non-rock features just a stupid contrivance? Does it matter whether it's a one-pitch crag climb, a sport climb, a trad climb or an alpine climb? Some different types of examples I can think of: Maple at base of Godzilla. Bush in corner on Toxic at Index. "Batman Bush" on Total Soul at Darrington Large trees growing out of cracks at Octupus gardens in Squamish Tree at base of crack on SW Rib of SEWS Can anyone else think of examples of climbs where trees or bushes are specifially considered on or off route? Obviously there's no God-Given answer for this one--but do you have any personal ethic? Or do you think, as Dwayner likes to say, "it's all good!"

Dude, it's gramer, not grammar!

Click HERE to buy your Forest Pass

6:00 AM Myself and a first (and last) time climbing partner I'll call "Elmer" met up at the parking lot in Squamish to climb Diedre, a classic 5.7 on the Apron. He is a cc.com lurker who said he is a "safe, all around 5.10 leader" who's been dying to climb this route forever. I've climbed the route before and led all the pitches, so I agreed to let him do the leading. 7:00 AM We arrived at the base of Diedre. The approach took somewhat longer than usual because Elmer insisted we rope up for the steep approach through the trees. There was a festival-like atmosphere at the base of the climb, with people of all ages from around the world. We found ourselves waiting for the party ahead of us, which was waiting for the party ahead of them, who was waiting for the party above them, who was waiting for the party above them--who was apparently superglued to the rock. Or perhaps they were just a pair of immobile manniquins that some jokers hung from the anchors of the fifth pitch to create a traffic clusterfuck. 8:00 AM After an hour, nothing had changed, and I suggested we climb a different line up the Apron. "Hell no!" said Elmer, "I've wanted to climb this route forever!" 9:00 AM The top party showed some signs of movement, thus proving they were, in fact, not manniquins. Elmer started taping up (?) and racking his gear, which included a double set of nuts, a double set of cams to 4 inches, 4 tri-cams and 7 hexes. 10:00 AM The sun cleared the top of the Chief and the day turned HOT. Elmer set off on the first pitch up to the little tree. 11:00 AM Elmer arrived at the tree and put me on belay. I walked up to the tree. 1:00 PM We reached the belay at the base of the corner. Elmer was--as advertised--a very safe leader. I returned the 11 pieces of gear I cleaned on the pitch leading up to the corner where the fifth class climbing starts. 1:30 PM The parties ahead of us had moved up sufficiently that we were clear to climb with no one slowing us down. Elmer started up the dihedral. Judging by the severity of the sewing machine leg he had going, he appeared to be a little nervous. But he protected the pitch very well. 3:00 PM Elmer arrived at the belay. Shortly thereafter I arrived and handed him back the 19 (!) pieces of gear he placed on the pitch. The insufferably slow parties ahead of us had by now left us far behind. We had clear sailing ahead all the way up to Broadway! However, now we appeared to be slowing down the pack of anxious climbers below us. 4:00 PM The scorching day got hotter. We drunk all our water. Elmer was showing signs of physical and mental strain after leading the first three pitches of 5.6 or 5.7. A noticable tick has developed in his left eye. I offer to take a lead or two, but he responds with surprising vigor: "No fucking way, I've wanted to climb this climb forever!" 5:00 PM Elmer is still within spitting distance of the belay, swearing and sweating as he tried to fiddle in an RP, his 6th placement on the pitch thus far. There were approximatly 8 frustrated parties jammed up beneath us now. I was starting to feel like the stubborn turd that's clogging the toilet. 6:00 PM Elmer arrived at the fourth belay. The climbing was taking its toll on him. Our water long since gone, I started to wonder how long it takes an average person to die of thirst. After resting for a half hour, his twitching had subsided somewhat and Elmer started up the next pitch. 7:30 PM Inexplicably, Elmer was building a gear belay 3/4 of the way up the pitch instead of continuing on another 40 feet to the bolted station. Gently, I queried him about his intentions. All I heard is a stream of angry profanity echoing across the valley and something about running out of gear. "I'm fucking leading this fucking climb...blah...gear...blah...fucking forever blah...blah..." I wondered to myself how it would be physically possible to place all the gear he was carrying (enough to stock several small retail shops) on one 5.7 pitch. And as the sun cooked me like a worm on pavement, I wondered idly if he was afflicted with Tourette's or perhaps some sort of degenerative brain disorder like Mad Cow disease. 8:00 PM Elmer finishes building his anchor and brings me up. The tick in his eye has deteriorated noticably and his pupils are dialated in a worrisome way. I can't help myself and comment on his anchor, which is clearly a work of art--if you're a Celtic knotsmith or some sort of mad engineer. The anchor consisted of 4 cams and 3 nuts each qualized with double clove hitches and backed up with a secondary anchor composed of two tricams, a hex, two RPs, a cordellete and four slings. Granted, I'm a fan of bombproof anchors, but this one could have survived a direct napalm airstrike followed by a nuclear holocaust and still held a factor 5 fall. He didn't appreciate my kind comment. "Are you questioning my fucking abilities you goddamn pissant?" Judged by his full-body spasms and the way he kept grinding his teeth, he was physiologically unstable and psychologically unbalanced. 8:30 PM After his outburst, Elmer calmed down a bit and started apologizing profusely, weeping and blubbering like a schizophrenic on a bad acid trip. I didn't want to say the wrong thing, so I just wrung out my sweaty shirt into our empty nalgene bottle, took a swig and offered him a drink, which he accepted gratefully. 9:00 PM We were still hanging awkwardly from his armageddon-proof anchor. Elmer had stopped crying and appeared to be in some sort of meditative state, perhaps visualizing the sequences or protection on the pitch above. An angry mob of climbers hoping to get off the Apron before nightfall had gathered below us, wondering what the delay was. (I'm sure they were also curious about all the yelling and wailing.) While we hung stationary at his gear belay, several parties simply climbed by us, including a grandmother in flip flops who was soloing with her grandchild in one of those kiddie backpacks, two hikers who apparently got lost on the Stawamus Chief trail, and a surprisingly speedy team of quadriplegics who were aiding the climb by placing gear with their mouths. 9:35 PM I was hesitant to disturb Elmer while he was concentrating on preparing mentally for the next pitch. However I was getting concerned about our pace--we were only about halfway up the 7 pitch climb, and I had to be back in Washington by tomorrow afternoon. I nudged him and once again I casually offered to lead a few pitches for the sake of efficiency. This threw the previously-peaceful Elmer into a blind fury: "No fucking way, I've wanted to fucking lead this goddamn climb for fucking forever! What the fuck do you think I am, some sort of fucking incompetent?! If you ever again try to take one of my fucking leads on this fucking climb I will take this fucking knife (brandishing his Swiss Army knife), saw your fucking ears off, then cut you loose to plummet to your death you fucking miserable condescending piece of shit!!!!!!" He emphasizes each word by puching the rock until his knuckes bled. One of his eyes rolled eerily back in his head. He was foaming at the mouth. 9:36 PM Hmmm. Fight or flight? That was the question. I figured pacifying this maniac was perhaps the best approach to the situation--or at least preferable to brutal hand-to-hand combat while tied in to a common belay 500 feet off the ground. 9:37 PM I put on my most sincere smile and said "Sorry, Elmer--you're the leader, you're on belay, climb when ready!" I said as cheerily and nicely as possible. Meanwhile I casually repositioned my nut tool on my harness for easy access in case I needed to kill this raving lunatic before he killed me. 10:00 PM It was getting quite dark. Elmer was finally ready and headed up the next pitch of Dierdre. I breathed a sigh of relief as the rope ran out (very slowly) and he put some distance between us. 11:00 PM Elmer finally reached the next set of bolts. Once I saw he was safely anchored, I yelled up "You're off belay!" 11:01:30 PM In the fading twilight, I untied from the rope, tossed the free end into space, waved up at a perplexed Elmer, turned and ran down the Apron (roughly along the line of Sparrow) as fast as I could. 11:15 PM I reached the parking lot, quickly disabled the alternator on Elmer's car, gunned my van towards the border and never looked back. Epilogue: "Elmer" apparently survived, because he is back in the Partners Section looking for another poor sucker to attempt one of Washington's classic routes. The moral of the story? You never know what kind of psychotic you might get hooked up with when browsing for a climbing partner on cc.com...

After spending a couple nice sunny days up in squishtown with miss cakalakee, upon crossing the border, I gave Coondog a call to see if he wanted to climb Mary Jane Dihedral. While it was warm and sunny up on Snow Creek wall, the wind was really nuking today. Sand/dirt/leaves/moss were blowing out of the crack into our eyes during the three corner pitches. A lotta fun regardless. I got the first dihedral pitch, which is clean and solid, nice fingers and hands up to a kinda awkward hanging belay off a couple 1/4 inchers and some gear. Coondog got the loose dirt pitch climbing a ways off the belay, he spent several minutes fiddling with uninspiring cam placements among loose blocks in the corner. Then he noticed there was a bolt right in front of his face and his day became less stressful. I got the last corner pitch, which was my favorite of the day. It starts out with a slopey traverse, then up face holds and flakes back into the main corner, then up over a roof onto slabby cracks and chickenheads to rejoin Orbit. Super fun. All in all a great climb despite a little bit o' funk. Back at the base, the wind was howling through the dead fire-burnt trees. We joked about our odds of crushed by a falling tree. Best not be talking shit about the trees. As we were descending the outer space trail towards snow creek, a jumbo telephone pole-sized tree snapped off. With much cracking, smashing and many flying branches, the tree fell directly across the trail--right where we'd been no more than 30 seconds earlier! The rest of the descent to snow creek was a bit spooky. In addition to many smaller branches (which could still ruin your day), we heard another very large tree come down. Well, that's the end of this trip report, but if you've ever wondered about the "tree falling in the forest" question, please feel free to read on for some distantly related speculations. -------------- If a fir falls in the forest, and there's no one there to hear it, but there's a tape player recording the event, is there sound? What if the tape is never played? What if it's played backward? Is there such a thing as a satanic tree? What if the person or persons listening are too Mary Janed to pay attention? Does the mere presence of a climber at the time of compression and rarefaction denote sound, or do the audio images have to impinge themselves on a climber's consciousness? Scenario: A sound-activated tape recorder is placed in a burnt grove of trees along the snow creek trail where it has been determined there is a high probablility that one or more will fall. A tree then falls onto the tape recorder, exposing the tape to the sun, wind, rain and snow. A few weeks later, a snafflehound happens upon on the recorder. He notes that the tape is unsalvageable, but that the tape counter has advanced. Using his incisive powers of logic, the snafflehound determines that an aural event has occurred. But is there sound? Was there sound? When? Why or why not? What if the snafflehound brings the wrecked tape player back to his den where it languishes for a thousand years, at which time Fred Beckey (yes, he's still climbing in the year 3003) unearthes it, and gives it to one of his hot belay bunnies, who, using scientifically advanced recovery techniques, manages to recreate the magnetic impression on the tape? Is there sound then? What if, just as she is about to play the tape for him, he runs off to China to do a first ascent and doesn't listen to it? Tree falling girl interrupted? What if a tree falls in a forest and there's no one around the immediate vicinity--BUT the grove is being monitored from deep space by aliens who don't have ears but do have very sensative antannae that can feel the most minute of vibrations? Can they hear the tree? Suppose they can recreate sound patterns from the light waves. And yet the light waves won't arrive until four years later (assuming they live within our own galaxy) by which time the light waves may have been skewed by increasingly heavy gravity and/or the doppler effect? And what if, by that time the waves of light sound arrive at the aliens' pad in deep space, the forest has been clearcut to pay for Larry the Tool's new Cadillac Escalade so he can drive his fat ass around in air-conditioned leather-bucket-seated comfort while violently enforce the by then non-voluntary Kick Me In The Ass Forest Pass Program? Can you hear a tree that fell in the forest if the forest no longer is? Sometimes I might wonder about these things while stumbling down a hot dusty trail after some Mary Jane Dihedral.

Mr. Layton topping out on a boulder problem at Larrabee State Park:

Self-portrait:

A.D.D. version: Climbed the Direct East Buttress and the SW Rib of South Early Winter Spire with bobbyperu on Tuesday. It was fun. The "I'm under house arrest and have nothing better to do than read tediously long TRs on CC.com" version: I rolled into the parking lot of Hank's Harvest Foods in Twisp around midnight Monday. Since I currently have a phone number, but no phone, I've taken to lurking around pay phones with pockets full of change. I put a buck of nickles into the phone, called my no-phone number, and found a message from bobbyperu: "Hey, come find me if you wanna climb something at Washington Pass tomorrow morning. I'll be bivying somewhere right along the road between the hairpin and the Blue Lake trailhead. Got a little blue car. Should be hard to miss." Indeed, I barely missed him. The next morning found me speeding up the road to Washington Pass, where I braked hard and swerved into the oncoming lane to avoid running over what appeared to be a log lying in the highway. Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be bobbyperu, comatose in his bivy sack. I guess sometime in the night he'd rolled off the shoulder, across the white line, and into the center of the westbound lane of Hwy 20. Lucky for him WA Pass traffic is light at 6:30 am on a Tuesday. We decided on the East Buttress of South Early and threw together a rack. We parked at the hairpin turn and started up the approach gully at 7:00 am. The soft snow and cool morning temperatures made for relatively easy hiking. Upon arriving at the toe of the buttress, we discovered that we'd forgot a critical piece of gear. We had two thirds of the Rasta Bivy Kit, but had neglected to bring the crucial element of FIRE. Momentarily dispirited, we conferred and decided to proceed up the route despite this spirit-crushing adversity. BP had to be in Winthrop that afternoon, so we needed to make decent time. I'd never climbed the route before, and BP had climbed it several (OK, like 10) times, so I was happy to follow his leads for the sake of speed and efficiency. Because honestly, I usually climb pretty slow. OK--real slow. When I'm hauling ass, I move approximatly as fast as a Three-Toed Sloth who's been popping valiums and binging on red wine. When the climbing gets tough, my leads slow to a pace on par with continental drift. My upward progress becomes imperceptible to the human eye without the aid of time-lapse photography: now it's morning...now it's evening...now it's night... Climbing at a relaxed pace does have it's advantages though. One "Tricky Trick" I use is to find a comfortable stance below the crux of a climb. There I wait for weathering action and the passage of geologic time erode the crux to an easier state before I continue up the climb. The downside is that this strategy can enrage belayers who had planned on returning home sometime prior to the next ice age. ANYWAY, we simuled the first two pitches up to a tree belay below the big corner. At that point, BP took a variation pitch he called the "flakes pitch," (apparently the 1965 variation in the Beckey Book?) which heads right out of the corner onto the face. Wow. Huge instant exposure and super fun climbing on steep cracks and flakes lead to a wide corner crack (the bolts mentioned in Beckey's book have no nuts or hangers). This full rope length pitch rejoins the Direct East Buttress route at the top of it's 4th belay just below the start of the first bolt ladder. BP flew up the next pitch, freeing the 5.11 face climbing, clipping every second or third bolt and once again running the 60 meter rope all the way til he had none left. The pitch was great, starting with delicate face and friction climbing, then traversing right out onto the crest of the buttress, where more face climbing leads to cool crack with long reaches between pods for fingers and hands. Beautiful climbing in a dramatic position! Much to my surprise I followed the pitch in less than a day without falling or pulling on gear. The next pitch starts with another 5.11 bolt ladder over a bulge that leads up into a steep corner crack with weird moves and a hard mantel. Once again BP cruised up, freeing it all easily. The steep face climbing at the beginning played perfectly to my weaknesses, and I flailed and fell. Maybe I could have worked it out, but I'm weak and we were moving fast, so I pulled on two draws. From the ledge/tree belay above we simuled the last few easy pitches to the top. It was a perfect, clear, calm, sunny day. We downclimbed the South Arete, chilled a bit and had some food. I sat laughing at BP, who was working hard to produce fire by rubbing two sticks together like a man posessed. No luck. Alas, our smokables would have to wait until we returned to the car to be combusted. But it was only 10:30 am, so we figured we'd climb something else. We headed down to the Southwest Rib of SEWS, which is a fun 6-7 pitch 5.8 climb we'd both done before. BP took one of the many possible variation pitchs with one move of 5.9 up to the base of the flake/Crack. I led the flake/crack, he took the "nervous 5.6" pitch, I took the wide crack bearhug and then continued around and up the crest of the buttress and we simuled the last couple pitches to the top. Once again we downclimbed the South Arete. We traversed the ridge, then slid and glissaded down the gully to the hairpin. What a blast. The snow was perfect--you could go fast, but stay in control enough to avoid a granite enema from one of the stray rocks that had fallen down and melted into the surface. We arrived back at the car at 1:00 pm and finally found FIRE.

ChucK--yeah, exactly. From the Safe Sex belay under the big triangular roof in the big dihedral, I traversed straight left, put a cam in the nice handcrack on the left wall (about 20 feet below where it tapers out), then continued traversing left over the arete out of sight of the belay. I slung a shrub in the next corner over. Then I went up and right via face moves to reach the really cool looking finger crack. At that point I was kind of desperate. I had my fingers in the finger crack, which was up and to my right, but I couldn't move up or get gear in the section of crack I could reach (which was nothing but flared tips). So I downclimbed a little bit--and then fell--back down and left where my sling around the shrub caught me. So I gave up on that idea. Instead I continued my horizontal traverse left under a long roof with a hanging flake all the way to the base of the Blue Crack (maybe 70 some feet total traversing straight off the Safe Sex Belay?) and then up to the top of the Blue Crack.

Sometimes it ain't bad...

Coondog and myself headed up to climb Dreamer yesterday. We got a fairly leisurely start. In an attempt to make up time, I tried to goad Coondog into driving ALL the way to the base of Green Giant Buttress, but he declined. I guess he’s still babying his new “previously owned” 4WD truck. So we walked to the base of the climb. The sun was high in the sky by the time we got on the rock. I’d meant to bring MattP’s excellent topo, but forgot it, which resulted in some Adventures in Routefinding. After consulting the Matt’s website today, it appears we climbed a couple pitches of Dreamer, two pitches of Urban Bypass, one pitch of Safe Sex, then one scary hard pitch that doesn’t appear on his topo linking the Safe Sex Belay under the great roof to the top of the Blue Crack (more on this later) then the last four pitches of Dreamer to the top. I started off and made it to the belay below Urban Bypass in one long leftward angling pitch (some simulclimbing required). Coondog led the Urban Bypass 5.10 friction pitch, then I led us up and right where we apparently connected with Safe Sex. Coondog led a short pitch up through the bushes and trees past a rusty hangerless bolt to a big belay ledge in the huge corner below the Great Roof. It’s this next pitch I’m curious about. I’m pretty sure we were off of any route, but perhaps others have gone this way accidentally or intentionally. On MattP’s topo (attached below) I highlighted our route in red and this one particular pitch in orange. I started at the 4th Safe Sex belay in the huge corner about 50 feet under the Great roof, and ended up at the top of the Blue Crack. From the Safe Sex belay, I downclimbed a few feet, and traversed left across the beautiful handcrack (which ends 15-20 feet above). I went left out around the corner, where I found myself out on a face with some crumbly grooves, hard moves and uninspiring protection. I climbed up and left, slung a shrub, and then began a long leftward traverse under a roof. I traversed for 50 or 60 feet horizontally leftwards. It was pretty freaky and I felt less and less confident I was on route. Basically it involved underclinging or jamming this inch-thick hollow flake hanging several feet vertically out from under the roof. Spooky. I jammed it as much as possible to avoid pulling out on the flake. Protection was OK in places, but in other spots it seemed pointless because of the fragility of the flake. I was having visions of taking a long whipper with a large thin sharp flake in my lap. After a long leftward traverse, I arrived at the base of a really cool looking clean flake/crack above me (which turns out was the Blue Crack). I think this is where I rejoined Dreamer? In order to get into the crack, I had to continue traversing left another 10 feet, to where you can go up and make a couple face moves back right reach the crack. The Blue Crack itself is a beautiful feature. You can lieback or jam it, but I felt more comfortable jamming it, as the lip of the crack is quite thin and friable in spots. With horrendous rope drag, no slings, and little rope left I reached the hanging belay above the blue crack. So has anyone else tried this variation? I can’t say I’d recommend it, but it certainly was mentally and physically challenging—the highlight of the day for me. One of those “fun after its done” kind of pitches. The rest of the climb was straightforward and enjoyable. It appears a piano-sized chunk of rock recently departed from the last short easy pitch. There are some loose blocks around the scar, but they are easily avoidable. There was no wetness anywhere on the climb, and no snow anywhere on the approach or at the base. The creek is low enough you can easily cross without getting your feet wet. By the time we got back to the base of the climb, it was getting dark. By the time we got down into the woods, it was very dark. By the time we got back to Seattle, it was today already.

Hey Dwayner, thot you'd appreciate this in your search for the ultimate crash pad: Streetmattress.com

Heyhey, whaddaya know--MtnGoat said something coherent, concise and kinda funny!

Burdo's North Cascades/Mazama "Select" guide is fairly annoying. He puts routes he apparently hasn't climbed on the "unrecommended" list. ("From what I've hear, this was a bad route.") Hell, if you're gonna go out of your way to specifically dis a route, you should at least have climbed the damn thing. And a lot of the guide is all "me, me, me, I, I, I." He offers detailed monologues about what he was thinking while on routes that he soloed--including what what he had for breakfast and the composition of his stool that day--but fails to include actual helpful information with comments like "Pro?"

ChucK--let's hear it.

The book that changed my life was the Anarkist's Kookbook. Of all the books that you should NOT give to a teenager, this probably ranks the highest. Fortunately, even felonies are expunged from one's criminal record upon turning 18.

Actually, while porcupines love to eat bark, the marks really look like bear given the wide dull scratches. I've seen many cougar trees on the OP, and the claw marks are much more sharp and surgical looking.

Posted a couple of Bulo pics in the gallery.

fred took their climbing class in 1939