ivan

Trip: Hood-Wand - Vernal Venture up the V Slot of Luetholds Date: 4/23/2011 Trip Report: by popular demand, i must pad my tr lead first saturday of sun for fucks sake in many a fortnight it seemed - plans kicked about for months on end w/ several fools, idealy for a n face climb - the mighty mitochondria, a svelte slav, not half my stature i'll wager, the driving force - the wife understandably leary of letting a rare piece of prime rib such as myself out by my lonesome w/ a lady, i'd worked to get beaconben or whoever into the mix but in the end it was this weekend or nothign really, and not a real man to be found...sigh. even our mutual miscreant, olegv, was deep in the downward spirals of a moscow mind-fuck, dead to the world it seemed, bumptious and billious. decided to reduce the plan to a single day - i'm too fat and lazy to enjoy the n side w/o spending a night out, so why not poke about the sandy? maybe the upper bit of yocums? hell...i'll be impressed if i can even get my ass packed and motivated out the door renaming anastasia "cop magnet" 'cuz twice in twenty minutes she had the fuzz crawling all over us, angry cop probocis out and probing feverishly - pulled into the p-lot in gresham, head screwed on nice and tight after an hour nap and a few big breaths, to see the po-po dismounted and flashlight equipped, grilling poor-girl on why she was staking out a closed-up starbucks at a stroke past midnight, sitting there in her slick ride - now a man w/ a headfull of half-baked crazy has little sense throwing himself into such a fray, but i felt a bit responsible for having picked out the rendezovous so i parked a discrete bit away and shayshayed on over, hands in plain sight, to shoot the cop some shit - he didn't seem too amused, but agreed to fuck off straight away and so off we sped a few minutes later all set to see what we could do with the hood-wand a couple minutes later, lashing through the interstellar wastelands between sandy and fuck-knows oregon, chattering away in her heathen english, "cop magnet" had a fast mover come ranging right up on her, tail-gating big time - i was just finish a stoogie, so thought it only proper to flick off the cherry into the slipstream and give homeboy a shot across the bow - yeah, a few nano-seconds later a galaxy of coplights glittered on up, and not half a minute after that we're on the side of the road in a comic state of searching for licenses, registrations, excuses, and jesus-fuck, a way to roll the goddamn window down? home-slice was on the verge of giving poor old anasatsia the ticket to sack her license once and for all and smug old me an even bigger one for having the audacity to eject flaming material out the ride in the depths of spring (i had the butt still in my rukers though!), but fortune felt some fool not far off needed to threaten to kill hisself, and so he gave us The Big Riot Act and then raced off, leaving a couple inches of fresh rubber on the road, in the right goddamn direction to relieve us for some time so there we were in the stillness of timberline at 1 fucking a.m., fucking hordes of hood-aspirants in all directions like radioactive flies on frigid whores - we packed up fast enough and in the cave started what would be a theme for the day, meeting a half-dozen folks who cop-magnet knew, and who all somehow knew me through the miracles of the intrewubs slow, slow, slow i was on that saunter up the palmer - couldn't help but compare anastasia's rhode-island sized pack to the dakota-ish dimensions of my own - excuses, excuses - at least she'd thrown in some non-russian smokes to my load to counterbalance the 2 lbs of half-cooked bacon i'd brought along - good dog that i am, she afforded me a sit-down for a few seconds at the palmer top to suck down a cig and 2 cups of honey-tea while she jousted w/ KK in their pidgin tongues i continued the trend of the day, lagging behind the lady as she raced mountie hordes in the half-growing light to i-rock - i was locked all day in a deep zombie-funk, trodding half asleep or more, too tired even to listen to music proper - had meant to figure out a way to nap before the late night launch but somehow it never worked out? one groggy bastard cowed under castle crag we lit off, a bit behind the mounties who were well ahead on luetholds and a party reid-bound yeah, that about sums it up we went off around yocums to see how the sandy looked, but not too far along the traverse 'stasia stopped digging how her tools had no decent spike for plunging and i started feeling The Fear that i'd lose gas far from home don't know quite how to untilt this'un, at the start of the traverse low down on yocum we decided to just wander up luetholds to the hourglass, and check out the upper buttress of yocums stare at feet, stumble-fuck further paused to catch our breath by the hourglass - could easily have had a phine phat nap here ice bandsaws! snow was shitty and post-holish, the hour was later than wanted, and generally the energy lacking for messing w/ yocum, so we settled for sauntering up the rest of luetholds - easyish snow, hardly any ice, a bit of styrofoam here and there jesus christ i forgot how much stumbling there is to be done above the hour-glass! cop-magnet shot well ahead and i slooooooowed on down some more as i broke into the sun i broke out my sunglasses and strait-off dropped the wife's cell phone, which shot off like a pissed off pelican - forutnately for my maritial relationship i was able to downclimb to retrive the 3 pieces it fractured into, and here came on back up i'd rather forget the rest - shuffle-fuck up cathedral - great views and dim wind - pretty, pretty crystals everywhere - saunter off to the summit - holy shit it was cold up there! one wee, one not so wee, and one frigging huge the descents always the best - giggle-fits and fuck-all laughter, lounging about the hogsback and points below - strung together several quick naps, waking w/ numb hands and drool-soaked gloves - met more than a few folks who knew our brave summit team - shits and sheenanigins - sunshine scorching 'stasia's face - dalliances w/ dharmabum - hollering hillbilly fuckall folktunes back in the lot - jesus-god, is that oleg? rumors and ruminations - mt hood food - beer w/ beacon on it - russian caviar - machinations - the slow boat home - escape velocity acheived - home - sleeeeeeep!

no, not much - plastics need to be comfy from the start

you need to answer your own question by doing at least a week's worth of walking in them in the hills - the kahiltna's a shitty place to have feet to fucked to fumble on down the trail

poor ethics indeed to multi-tr the same goddamn route, so thought i might add a few thoughts to this here old'un and wistfully wonder where are the kens of yesteryear? first saturday of sun for fucks sake in many a fortnight it seemed - plans kicked about for months on end w/ several fools, idealy for a n face climb - the mighty mitochondria, a svelte slav, not half my stature i'll wager, the driving force - the wife understandably leary of letting a rare piece of prime rib such as myself out by my lonesome w/ a lady, i'd worked to get beaconben or whoever into the mix but in the end it was this weekend or nothign really, and not a real man to be found...sigh. even our mutual miscreant, olegv, was deep in the downward spirals of a moscow mind-fuck, dead to the world it seemed, bumptious and billious. decided to reduce the plan to a single day - i'm too fat and lazy to enjoy the n side w/o spending a night out, so why not poke about the sandy? maybe the upper bit of yocums? hell...i'll be impressed if i can even get my ass packed and motivated out the door renaming anastasia "cop magnet" 'cuz twice in twenty minutes she had the fuzz crawling all over us, angry cop probocis out and probing feverishly - pulled into the p-lot in gresham, head screwed on nice and tight after an hour nap and a few big breaths, to see the po-po dismounted and flashlight equipped, grilling poor-girl on why she was staking out a closed-up starbucks at a stroke past midnight, sitting there in her slick ride - now a man w/ a headfull of half-baked crazy has little sense throwing himself into such a fray, but i felt a bit responsible for having picked out the rendezovous so i parked a discrete bit away and shayshayed on over, hands in plain sight, to shoot the cop some shit - he didn't seem too amused, but agreed to fuck off straight away and so off we sped a few minutes later all set to see what we could do with the hood-wand a couple minutes later, lashing through the interstellar wastelands between sandy and fuck-knows oregon, chattering away in her heathen english, "cop magnet" had a fast mover come ranging right up on her, tail-gating big time - i was just finish a stoogie, so thought it only proper to flick off the cherry into the slipstream and give homeboy a shot across the bow - yeah, a few nano-seconds later a galaxy of coplights glittered on up, and not half a minute after that we're on the side of the road in a comic state of searching for licenses, registrations, excuses, and jesus-fuck, a way to roll the goddamn window down? home-slice was on the verge of giving poor old anasatsia the ticket to sack her license once and for all and smug old me an even bigger one for having the audacity to eject flaming material out the ride in the depths of spring (i had the butt still in my rukers though!), but fortune felt some fool not far off needed to threaten to kill hisself, and so he gave us The Big Riot Act and then raced off, leaving a couple inches of fresh rubber on the road, in the right goddamn direction to relieve us for some time so there we were in the stillness of timberline at 1 fucking a.m., fucking hordes of hood-aspirants in all directions like radioactive flies on frigid whores - we packed up fast enough and in the cave started what would be a theme for the day, meeting a half-dozen folks who cop-magnet knew, and who all somehow knew me through the miracles of the intrewubs slow, slow, slow i was on that saunter up the palmer - couldn't help but compare anastasia's rhode-island sized pack to the dakota-ish dimensions of my own - excuses, excuses - at least she'd thrown in some non-russian smokes to my load to counterbalance the 2 lbs of half-cooked bacon i'd brought along - good dog that i am, she afforded me a sit-down for a few seconds at the palmer top to suck down a cig and 2 cups of honey-tea while she jousted w/ KK in their pidgin tongues i continued the trend of the day, lagging behind the lady as she raced mountie hordes in the half-growing light to i-rock - i was locked all day in a deep zombie-funk, trodding half asleep or more, too tired even to listen to music proper - had meant to figure out a way to nap before the late night launch but somehow it never worked out? one groggy bastard cowed under castle crag we lit off, a bit behind the mounties who were well ahead on luetholds and a party reid-bound yeah, that about sums it up we went off around yocums to see how the sandy looked, but not too far along the traverse 'stasia stopped digging how her tools had no decent spike for plunging and i started feeling The Fear that i'd lose gas far from home don't know quite how to untilt this'un, at the start of the traverse low down on yocum we decided to just wander up luetholds to the hourglass, and check out the upper buttress of yocums stare at feet, stumble-fuck further paused to catch our breath by the hourglass - could easily have had a phine phat nap here ice bandsaws! snow was shitty and post-holish, the hour was later than wanted, and generally the energy lacking for messing w/ yocum, so we settled for sauntering up the rest of luetholds - easyish snow, hardly any ice, a bit of styrofoam here and there jesus christ i forgot how much stumbling there is to be done above the hour-glass! cop-magnet shot well ahead and i slooooooowed on down some more as i broke into the sun i broke out my sunglasses and strait-off dropped the wife's cell phone, which shot off like a pissed off pelican - forutnately for my maritial relationship i was able to downclimb to retrive the 3 pieces it fractured into, and here came on back up i'd rather forget the rest - shuffle-fuck up cathedral - great views and dim wind - pretty, pretty crystals everywhere - saunter off to the summit - holy shit it was cold up there! one wee, one not so wee, and one frigging huge the descents always the best - giggle-fits and fuck-all laughter, lounging about the hogsback and points below - strung together several quick naps, waking w/ numb hands and drool-soaked gloves - met more than a few folks who knew our brave summit team - shits and sheenanigins - sunshine scorching 'stasia's face - dalliances w/ dharmabum - hollering hillbilly fuckall folktunes back in the lot - jesus-god, is that oleg? rumors and ruminations - mt hood food - beer w/ beacon on it - russian caviar - machinations - the slow boat home - escape velocity acheived - home - sleeeeeeep!

watching kev play that spanish voodoo magic is like watching rainman playing blackjack

careful in early june - usually when i've been up there that time of year it's raining rock

i think if a man's gonna be so bold as to propose one of his tr's, it should have to be a tr of a failure, a glorious, glorious failure, fun beyond belief http://cascadeclimbers.com/forum/ubbthreads.php?ubb=showflat&Number=892710

how 'bout: LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROY!!!! ? [video:youtube]

dunno 'bout rich folks, but since wa state started wanting an extra 2$/pack for the drugs i smoke, i've found it pretty easy to fulfill my death wish in fabulous or-e-gone instead

i've been excercising my rare ability not to spray about beacon seen jimbo and company out there too, so not been neglected too much... offering free rides to folks who might want to take the cool way to the top, but no one's taking me up on it yet...fucking tourists.

given my recent track record, those bitches just need to pay me to go climb down there and boom, they'll have their goddamn rain alright

"it is very bad to drink jabu's rum"

charlie sheen suuuure has changed since that movie "what league you been playing in?" "california penal."

wise king 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

holy shit that's a fine eulogy there, john - we'd all be lucky to live a life that could be capped w/ that

alright, fuck it! how about "the cascadian clusterfuck?"

i won't offer an answer until a prize is promised

the forecast is total shit for saturday night and all day sunday i hear the mounties are attacking luetholds on saturday though if you want to follow their tracks

zion jealous of yer wedder

the words "rime" and "safe" don't seem right to put in the same sentence

the whole lot, sans article, is on ng's site: http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2011/05/yosemite-climbing/chin-photography

i read the article today - great pix of course, for krisakes its national geographic, but this epitomizes everything that i think sucks about the present and summarizes what was So Fawking Kewl about the Hallowed Past: "Climbing in the 70s was about adventure much as about athletics. Today its evolved into vertical gymnastics....Consider the 30 or so climbers who show up a party at Potters cabin. In the old days such a gathering would be a rager, roaring till dawn. No longer. Nobody smokes, hardly anybody drinks...one and all are in bed before midnight..." hanging out in the valley sans smokes n sangria?!?

i knew your weren't critical, just thought it odd that you wouldn't understand why others would be - you know well that politics in general, especially those of the climbing world, are very, very silly - for many, climbing everest, and especially writing about climbing everest, automatically makes you a lame-ass poser

you don't need to win me over - i actually liked into thin air and the devils thumb essay is sweeeet - i would think you of all posters would politics though

climb everest?