ivan

single rope is fine - not much pro recommended as you won't find much anyway - a handful of nuts - a small selection of cams - some double-length runners

always happy to see that sarah pallin chick getting out n' climbing

7/31 - day 19 - first street legal day on the riverside in a rare ould time - mike's at 7 in the morning mist - bleary eyed, jesus christ, i'll be back at work in 4 weeks - knees too weary to start on cruising, we start up the corner and i somehow pinch a nerve in my back - electric lights dance when i move my head, so i learn to climb w/o looking anywhere

the hike up the heather finger to the top of doug's direct was the Long Dark Tea-Time of my soul

how you know when you're name is toooooo goddamn long damn, girl, you had a different reaction to your first TFT traverse then me - mine was "never the phuck again!"

learning how to aid is about as hard as learning how to take a dump

enjoy the miserable hike up all that goddamn scree!

i saw the supertaco washington pass guide for the first time this past week and thought it was pretty sweet there's no snow in the gully leading up to the liberty bell/beckey rte currently, and only a little bit at the base of the wall on the liberty crack side

NOT climbing the nutsack is a sign of latent homosexuality

good definition of "exceptional" would be "i'd be eager to do it again" - don't sound like this'un meets such a description for you?

"wise sir do not grieve it is always better to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning for every one of us living in this world means waiting for our end let he who can achieve glory before death when a warrior is gone that will be his best and only bulwark"

i'd like a section on all the groovy performance enhancing drugs i can take in order to crack the 5.7+ barrier tip: no need to add water to your starbucks "via" packs, just put'em strait on your tongue, eyes, up your nose, etc...

funny fellers - think it was jesse who drank 2 24 oz pbr's in a combined 20 seconds!

i'd gladly do it again - sheeeit, son, you'd dig it the most

Trip: Libelous Belle - Libatious Krack Date: 7/25/2013 Trip Report: the storms of summer subside - the last gasps of july gurgling away - a week at the beach in the company of jolly drunkards, kids n' cousins n' inlaws guzzling away at all hours - bouldering on the bergs of bandon, barefoot or croc-shod - teeming corpses of marine mammals rotting away at the tide line - sand castles and the crash of surf as i sleep - half-praying for the Big Tsunami to wash us all away but then it was time to slouch back to vantucky n' resume this ragged-ass vertical life - the sister in law at the helm and the goddamn black-dog in the back, i binged on burgundy and weiner-schnitzel as dawn brightened and i spun the web to see what sorta partner might be ensnared - good thing lawyers always return yer calls, as Olde Boye Geoff signed on right quick - my initial inspiration was the ultimate lame-ass aider's link-up: liberty crack n' infinite bitching, but in the end the later wasn't in the cards, given our various social n' political obligations come monday morning i shook off the dregs of my drunk the evenign before, greatly troubled by the train of spicy thai food moving through my bowels like a raging dump-truck through a toys'r'us - goddamn 5 peppers on the menu, why can't i mind my colon more considerately? fortunately geoff had some bidness to tend to over in portlandia, so i had time to tend to my insulted innards and pack for the party - some potent medicine imbibed to sort meself out, ultimately Olde Boye arrived and we cast off, me with my ubiquitous bottle to help kill the many miles between wherever n' washington pass - in a stupor the day subsided, my face in michner's "chesapeake" and a camel between my lips, though always in obeisance to the "single-smoke/hour rule" - the roar of wind whipping by, the crash of traffic and the tyranny of Bending Space but then the pass near evening, and a box of burgundy of course in proximity of those eponymous peaks we cruised over to the overlook parking lot and set up a proper bum-camp, thrown down on the tarmac - a million mozzies, our closest friends, were overjoyed to see us after all these ages, so we sorted shit out for tomorrow as rapidly as we could in order to escape the vicious bastards behind the netting of the tent - the liberty bell glowed in the baleful last-light of evening a leisurely wake-up on tuesday, our intention for the day to fix the first four pitches and then turn in early for a pre-dawn start the day after my wounded soul, beleaguered by bad knees, a trick-hip and a seriously bruised heel, found salavation after the lung-fuck of the forest hump - the sight of the lovely belle, shot of her winter wrappings, in the gentle morning light what luck, my 2nd "50 crowded classics" of the summer, and both sans crowds?! getting on route wasn't too hard, as most of the snow was melted out - we harnessed up in the talus, then made a short shaky traverse on steep snow, heavy packs on back to rack up in a frozen alcove just above the easy ramp - i brought us over n' up to the first gear anchor, and geoff got to the serious business of climbing this goddamn thing pitch 1 he progressed on up as the sun set to scorching my pink skin something savage i'd asked for the privilege of leading the lithuanian lip, and for my crimes i was permitted it - for long i'd dismissed the thing as No Real Challenge, clearly no way as wicked as what the valley has to offer, but i was pleased to find myself right-puckered, at the bolt and w/ the first move onto gear requiring a refreshing leap of faith - you're not that far off the ground, but jesus christ the sense of exposure there sure is grand solid gear above the bolt, a glorious big old pin at the cusp, then an easy enough pull-through on thin cams pitch 2 proceeded merrily along - above the lip a bit of mandatory free to gain a bolt ladder, then a comfy perch to bring the big boy up old geoff's never without some hesitation, so i tongue-lashed my lawya something fierce to set him off on p3 - in hindsight i wish i'd done it, as who can't get a cheap thrill out of clipping the piano-wired heads of some long-dead era gone by? in the end he got it done, all grumbling aside - we shoulda brought a skyhook for the crux, but he miracled his way through without - too much time had gone by though, and we didn't reckon fixing p4 was in the cards if we were to rise early a few hours later so there we were, back in the parking lot after a long stumble-fuck back down the hill - hiding from the mozzies under the mesh, me w/ my book and my bottle, a high-pitch drone filled the tent - the Dance of the Diminutive Vampires - geoff suddenly guffawed, grabbing his gluts and shrieked in pain as a fine old charlie-horse set in - i grew suspicious our grand plan for a few hours hence would come to fruition and so it came to pass - the hate-fuck of the alarm in the dark, the tent glowing in the bright moon - a perfunctory conversation - yeah, this feller needs him a sleep-in, then some libations and a leisurely afternoon percolating in the pale-waters of the meandering methow - i made my peace with this new plan, then was fast asleep again a fun morning to follow - burgundy for breakfast with camel-chasers - bumming in the shade, staring blearily at the tourons rolling through the lot in their grandiose automovats - powerful medicine - the reading of runes - the noon reached, we set off down the hill, me to purchase the most outrageous priced pack of smokes i'd ever seen, he to place a few bidness calls in order to Make It Rain eventually a good soak by the riverside - 6 cans of moose drewl and a 2-hour slumber in the sand as the evening set-in - we hoofed it back up to the pass and established camp once again - i attempted an awkwardly timed evening sleep as my hangover reaved through my ruined senses - soon i Passed Beyond though, brought back solely by the chirp of an alarm at 4 AM at the base of the route in the pale dawn, geoff started up our fixed lines before the first light of the day could shine on us the plan was for me to do a block of the next 4 pitches, then hopefully have geoff trade off some of the easier parts higher up p4 was plenty fun, though wimp that i am, it all went as aid geoff followed... pitch 5 - holy shit, i CAN actually free climb the blazing sun upon me, a loooong pitch just completed, i felt the wind spilling from my sails as i heading into pitch 6 - blissfully, shadows were gathering in the back of the dihedral - i alternated free with aid, wandering around the scary flake below the big block - bad bolt, good pins - i settled into the supreme ease of the belay atop the block, resolute that this bastard would do the next pitch so i could have a rest following p6 okay, so my sudden inspiration was a shitty one - wanting to soak up the ambiance and salve my hunger and fatigue, i fell to peer-pressuring that poor feller to do what he clearly didn't want to - i sucked on cigarettes and stared at the scenery, listening to a long littany of "i don't know, dude"s in the end of course, it was my place to do p7, and so i set to it, growing happier as i went along - solid aid to start, the pitch transformed itself into a slab where cheating wasn't really so easy - confusion past the mid-pt anchor, where the hell am i going? in my zeal to get this thing done, i passed the 2-pin anchor and found meself short-cocked by the rope, searching for a ledge to settle upon - seriously exposed free climbing, tons of rope-drag, i finally found refuge geoff came on up - i then rambled on higher a few feet to a treed-ledge above us - from there he felt sufficiently inspired to take on the "5.6 chimney" shown on the topo yup, he's in there somewhere from there we could definetly sniff the barn - there was a good bit of light left, and only 1 more serious pitch to go - i contemplated the very little water left in my bottle and looked past the bastard to what i had to do a fun pitch - made me wish i was a better free-climber as i aided too much of it, my feet howling through my shoes - i set up the belay in a small chimney above a snag, still a few feet of serious ground to cover - that was done soon enough, then geoff took the last stretch of easy 5th class on up to the shoulder from there we wandered around, tryign to find the goddamn rap anchors - the day was dying quick, and i really wanted to be on the trail before darkness set in - we alllllmost made it - rapped into the gully w/ a glorious orange glow on the far wall - harness off, rack distributed, we began the ramble on down the scree n' sand n' talus but it was not to be so easy - the sun set - in the dim of dusk we reached the big boulders, but somehow lost our way - we wandered through the grey, weary as fuck, waterless - where the fuck are we? steep slabs all around - stumble-fuck - my neck screaming from the weight of metal it was supporting - all sense of direction diminished - hopeless, we sat for a bit on a big boulder, molested by endless waves of avaricious winged mother-fuckers - i contemplated the grim reality of sitting there for hours to come, waiting for the dawn to return, not a goddamn drop to drink here geoff showed his mettle, dragging me from my desolation and resuming our shit-show on down the mountain - soon enough we found a sweet cairn, following it to a stream that we sucked from, greedily gulping down gut-fulls of deliciously cold fluid, campylbacter be damned! all hint of the glowing orb gone from the sky, the moon not yet risen, we hate-fucked it down the dusty trail - eons passed, i grew a bit delirious i must confess - but then we were on the road - our gear cached, we rambled through the moonlight to regain our ride at the truck, i tore into the dregs of my burgundy, rebuilding the bastions of my Goode Humor - i musta been wasted - the evening air seemed savagely chilled, i shivered and fumbled w/ my cancer stick two climbers hove into view - hard-men fo'shizzle, they having just freed the entirety of the thin red line in half the time we'd spent on the liberty crack - a good gut laugh w/ these gentlemen - the grandiose gesture of a pbr-bestowed upon me - shooting the shit, i sensed how small this climbing world of ours is - they knew beaconben, my favorite beatard - a tale i shall never forget, him shitting on an el cap partner, precipitating a battle some number of pitches up the nose and then what must have been a rather tense bail thereafter friday morning all was glory and honor - a last trek up the hill to recover a rope we'd cast down - my single smoke dispensed, we said good-bye and set off for home - the tyranny of traffic - the death of fun - the return to a normal life - when, oh lord, shall we again enter the hall of the demented mountain dog?!? Gear Notes: doubles from 0 tcu to #4 camalot single 00 set of off-set cams very nice a couple small wires single set of off-set nutz shoulda had a skyhook

nah, i can ask for all the advice i want on the internet and it won't matter, 'cuz i'll usually be wildly intoxicated and incapable of remembering anything soon thereafter anyhows - the initial question was just important for sorting out the quantity and variety of said intoxicant to be required

the northwest is for play, not work!

i found the key to hitch-hiking off this route was walking in the middle of the road and not moving

it's hard not to be an asshole when you're at work, no? even fluffers tend to be bitches

the war on methheads is quite similar to the war on terror

not popping a stiffie when vaulting over the trail railing in the presence of the ubiquitous hotties

THE SLEEPER HAS AWAKENED!!!

"wise sir do not grieve it is always better to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning for every one of us living in this world means waiting for our end let he who can achieve glory before death when a warrior is gone that will be his best and only bulwark"