Alpinfox

I sense a nobel prize in your future.

Existence is suffering The root of suffering is desire (samsara) The freedom from samsara is possible The path to freedom is to follow the eight proper behaviors... .... and shit. edit: Not bad for off the top of my head. I shoulda stuck with that religion major.

M: Ah. I'd like to have an argument, please. R: Certainly sir. Have you been here before? M: No, I haven't, this is my first time. R: I see. Well, do you want to have just one argument, or were you thinking of taking a course? M: Well, what is the cost? R: Well, It's one pound for a five minute argument, but only eight pounds for a course of ten. M: Well, I think it would be best if I perhaps started off with just the one and then see how it goes. R: Fine. Well, I'll see who's free at the moment. Pause R: Mr. DeBakey's free, but he's a little bit conciliatory. Ahh yes, Try Mr. Barnard; room 12. M: Thank you. (Walks down the hall. Opens door.) Q: WHAT DO YOU WANT? M: Well, I was told outside that... Q: Don't give me that, you snotty-faced heap of parrot droppings! M: What? Q: Shut your festering gob, you tit! Your type really makes me puke, you vacuous, coffee-nosed, maloderous, pervert!!! M: Look, I CAME HERE FOR AN ARGUMENT, I'm not going to just stand...!! Q: OH, oh I'm sorry, but this is abuse. M: Oh, I see, well, that explains it. Q: Ah yes, you want room 12A, Just along the corridor. M: Oh, Thank you very much. Sorry. Q: Not at all. M: Thank You. (Under his breath) Stupid git!! (Walk down the corridor) M: (Knock) A: Come in. M: Ah, Is this the right room for an argument? A: I told you once. M: No you haven't. A: Yes I have. M: When? A: Just now. M: No you didn't. A: Yes I did. M: You didn't A: I did! M: You didn't! A: I'm telling you I did! M: You did not!! A: Oh, I'm sorry, just one moment. Is this a five minute argument or the full half hour? M: Oh, just the five minutes. A: Ah, thank you. Anyway, I did. M: You most certainly did not. A: Look, let's get this thing clear; I quite definitely told you. M: No you did not. A: Yes I did. M: No you didn't. A: Yes I did. M: No you didn't. A: Yes I did. M: No you didn't. A: Yes I did. M: You didn't. A: Did. M: Oh look, this isn't an argument. A: Yes it is. M: No it isn't. It's just contradiction. A: No it isn't. M: It is! A: It is not. M: Look, you just contradicted me. A: I did not. M: Oh you did!! A: No, no, no. M: You did just then. A: Nonsense! M: Oh, this is futile! A: No it isn't. M: I came here for a good argument. A: No you didn't; no, you came here for an argument. M: An argument isn't just contradiction. A: It can be. M: No it can't. An argument is a connected series of statements intended to establish a proposition. A: No it isn't. M: Yes it is! It's not just contradiction. A: Look, if I argue with you, I must take up a contrary position. M: Yes, but that's not just saying 'No it isn't.' A: Yes it is! M: No it isn't! A: Yes it is! M: Argument is an intellectual process. Contradiction is just the automatic gainsaying of any statement the other person makes. (short pause) A: No it isn't. M: It is. A: Not at all. M: Now look. A: (Rings bell) Good Morning. M: What? A: That's it. Good morning. M: I was just getting interested. A: Sorry, the five minutes is up. M: That was never five minutes! A: I'm afraid it was. M: It wasn't. Pause A: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue anymore. M: What?! A: If you want me to go on arguing, you'll have to pay for another five minutes. M: Yes, but that was never five minutes, just now. Oh come on! A: (Hums) M: Look, this is ridiculous. A: I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid! M: Oh, all right. (pays money) A: Thank you. short pause M: Well? A: Well what? M: That wasn't really five minutes, just now. A: I told you, I'm not allowed to argue unless you've paid. M: I just paid! A: No you didn't. M: I DID! A: No you didn't. M: Look, I don't want to argue about that. A: Well, you didn't pay. M: Aha. If I didn't pay, why are you arguing? I Got you! A: No you haven't. M: Yes I have. If you're arguing, I must have paid. A: Not necessarily. I could be arguing in my spare time. M: Oh I've had enough of this. A: No you haven't. M: Oh Shut up. (Walks down the stairs. Opens door.) M: I want to complain. C: You want to complain! Look at these shoes. I've only had them three weeks and the heels are worn right through. M: No, I want to complain about... C: If you complain nothing happens, you might as well not bother. M: Oh! C: Oh my back hurts, it's not a very fine day and I'm sick and tired of this office. (Slams door. walks down corridor, opens next door.) M: Hello, I want to... Ooooh! H: No, no, no. Hold your head like this, then go Waaah. Try it again. M: uuuwwhh!! H: Better, Better, but Waah, Waah! Put your hand there. M: No. H: Now.. M: Waaaaah!!! H: Good, Good! That's it. M: Stop hitting me!! H: What? M: Stop hitting me!! H: Stop hitting you? M: Yes! H: Why did you come in here then? M: I wanted to complain. H: Oh no, that's next door. It's being-hit-on-the-head lessons in here. M: What a stupid concept.

link not mine.

Glad you are still with us Jens.

Yes.

If you embedded little barbs in the strap the 'pons would probably stay on even better. Editations: A 490g solution that will actually be usable I got a good deal on these, so they are what I use. 590g.

Cinching that strap down on the achilles tendon is genius.

Interesting story about first ascent of Abraxas: First Date It was the summer of 1971. The Vietnam War was in full swing. Nixon was still in office. I [Don Harder] had just turned 17 and was too young for the draft. A lot of unknown climbing was out there to be had. Life was good. For some. One of my friends, Richie Doorish (Pete’s younger brother), said that someone named Pat Timson was working on a new route on the upper Index Town Wall. I’d heard rumblings from other climbers about this guy– what a badass he was. Richie didn’t have much good to say about him so I figured he must be ok. In 1971 few climbers were in the Seattle area and we all seemed to know each other. Weekends in Leavenworth were, after climbing, amazing parties around campfires at Eightmile or Rat Creek. We’d all seem to congregate at or near the same campsites for an evening of roaring fires and camaraderie. Mark Weigelt, Jay Ossiander, Bruce Albert, Al Givler, Carla Firey, and Julie Brugger were just a few of the people you would find at the parties. Sometimes there’d be dozens. Anyway, if you didn’t know a certain climber, you knew someone who did. So a guy named Pat Timson was working on a new route on the upper Town Wall. I picked up the telephone and called him out of the blue. He sounded suspiciously amenable and we agreed on the next weekend to give it a try. If I’d had any idea what I was getting into I would have hung up the phone, locked my door, and hidden in my room. Pat had this great ’63 or ’64 pale green Volkswagen bug. We put a lot of miles on that car over the years. It finally blew a sparkplug and Pat sold it to some sucker with the sparkplug epoxied in place. We found ourselves driving to Index on a beautiful summer day. We got a late start and carried god-awful pin and rope-laden packs for the hike up. We didn’t get to the base of the climb until sometime in early afternoon. In 1971 the Upper Town Wall didn’t get much traffic. Only three or four routes were there and you could usually count on being the only people around; you might have been the only people there for months. The place had a surreal, peaceful feel, at least until you got to know it better. At the base, Pat sort of nonchalantly looked at me and said he’d lead the first pitch if I wanted to lead the second. Being out of breath and obviously stupid from oxygen debt, I agreed. Several decades and a thousand pitches later with him taught me what was behind his evil offer, but this first time as a rope partner left me clueless. If I’d had any idea what was behind his generosity, I’d have grabbed my stuff and run in screaming terror down the trail. Anyway, Pat did a good lead to a small ledge where he set up a one-bolt and tied-off pin belay. I got there and eyed his dubious anchors. I wouldn’t be the one to complain. If the anchor was good enough for him, it was good enough for me. In these days we actually trusted 1/4-inch bolts. Pat had a friend who worked for a construction company who’d given him a bunch of construction bolts. They were even worse than the standard climbing bolts available at the time. If you’ve ever clipped one, the experience is unforgettable. Pat only put in bolts as a last resort, so if you clipped one of his, it was either a long way out from the last one or in the midst of some really nasty climbing. Either way, the bolts sucked. Unless someone has had the sense to replace them, you’ll still find some scattered throughout Washington and California. My turn. I looked up and saw a nasty bottoming groove disappearing over a short headwall. Pat was silent as we sorted hardware. Shit, I thought, I can do this. I had a couple good aid routes under my belt. Besides, I’d read the Chouinard catalog about how to stack pins, how to make them “cunningly jam themselves” into the crack. A friend of mine, on another route, having read the same words from the same catalog, took a whipper when the pin he was standing on “cunningly” un-jammed itself from the crack. I started up the flaring groove. Those days were before copperheads or smashies. This pitch would have been a piece of cake with some of those little do-dads but what you don’t have, you can’t use, and we didn’t have any. So I found myself doing nasty stacks with rurps and angles. I was taking my time and Pat was getting antsy down below. I’m ten, fifteen, twenty feet out and really getting nervous since none of the placements are worth much. One last, ugly placement remained before the crack formed up again. I slammed in a solid knifeblade. It sounded good and I eagerly clipped into it and stood up. I’ll be double dipped in dog-doo if the side of the crack by the blade didn’t fracture away, and off I went. I don’t remember flying past Pat but it must have been quite a sight. All that crap about pulling a pitch sounding like a zipper isn’t true. The stuff I had placed didn’t make a sound as it woofed out of the seam. The next thing I remember is bouncing on the end of the rope twenty-five feet below our funky one-bolt and one tied-off pin belay. I’d gone fifty feet and ripped everything to the belay and was hanging on our one bolt. Pat had had the foresight to clip his Jumar to the bolt and use that as a belay device instead of belaying around his waist as was the norm in those days. Time to go down–for now. The next day found us hiking back to the base and jugging up our fixed line to the top of the first pitch. Pat was eyeballing me from the side, really giving me the stink-eye. I don’t think he was too sure about his new climbing partner. He wasn’t about to let me slack off leading that second pitch so I had this nasty deja-vu as I racked up and headed up the pitch for a second time. This time around didn’t seem any easier. I didn’t even make it up to my previous high point before I found myself flying through the air again. This time wasn’t quite so bad; I was getting used to it. Do you think I was nervous heading up there a third time? Duh! I could tell what was going through Pat’s mind, “What the f*** is this guy doing” and “I’m f****** glad it’s his rope.” Somehow I made it to my high point using tricks that I didn’t even know I had. One placement stands out in my mind; a ground-to-a-taper skyhook tapped into the seam. I thought for sure I was going to take another whipper but somehow it held. I made it past the spot where the traitorous rock had broken away with an extreme feeling of relief. We went up several more pitches, doing some pendulums and granite ballet before backing off. For some reason, Pat and I never went up there again together. He went up there a year or so later and finished the route with Bob Crawford who came back with horror stories of expanding flakes and nasty overhangs. Pat called the route Abraxas. NWMJ link

Are you wearing anything made by Arcteryx right now?

OMG! This thread is so HAWT!

Sweet! Always good to hear about people getting their stuff back.

Ouch.

Did I ever tell you how fat yo' momma is?

Damn that's a lot of booty! ...and garbage.

As long as you stay off of the Beckey Route on Lib Bell and the south arete route on SEWS, you shouldn't have too much trouble with crowds. You may have to wait in line for the rappels though. The SW rib on SEWS is an awesome route. Can't go wrong with that one. If you do this one instead of Rapple Grapple you don't have to deal with the Lib Bell gully which is probably the most dangerous part of a climb up there.

Cool running into you up there Alex. After you left we were wondering if you had soloed Backbone since we didn't see your partner and you said it was "scary".

Isn't that cute?

Damn, Another nice clutch o' pics. "Artesanraju is the mountain used in the Paramount ad" That's good trivia. I always assumed it was a fictional peak loosely based on Ama Dablam.

$450 jackets with cool brand logos are de rigeur for volcano slogs and those chilly evening walks on Venice Beach. You'll look smashing darling. I say go for it.

It'll be great in Los Angeles you wank.

Mt. Garfield. Look in the brown Beckey guide.

Like this clownpuncher?:

naw, just a wig.

If you'd like to do some testosterone urinalysis, I can probably provide you with a taste test.