ivan

was reminiscing just today on how, 15 years ago today, i was preparing for a north face of hood ascent w/ you n' a gang of fools despite the fact the wife was pregnant and it was 20 degrees out in portland

it probably helped that i could well and truly give a shit about bolting debates

The Dude sees no reason to get all aggro - the trick to poking the bear is to do it w/ style, and to occasionally allow the fucker to have a suck on the liquor to See Beyond the Bullshit

i remember in the 90s on the old-skewl list-servs that death threats were just de-rigeur, didn't matter if it was just a bird-watching site or whatever - turns out a fair chunk of the population is dangerously deranged, and always has been...

not certain why no one threatened to kill me, as i dearly loved to dance w/ the devils - i suppose my Award Winning Personality disarmed even the dumbest of the trolls

faqh'n'a - snow indeed makes the summer ascent look dainty by comparison...

#2's 90% at least of the explanation i imagine i liked the wild west days quite a bit actually - was decent practice for when The Purge finally breaks out - "there was madness in every direction, you could strike sparks anywhere"

day 57 - laps 50-51 - the dead-man of summer's at the door n' moaning - sunshine supplanted by grim grayness by noon n' it was all too clear it's time to get one last gullet-full of beacon before daylight savings and the ceaseless showers of winter say fuck-all to vain after-school vertical ambulations - sarah n' jared in the lot, fortunately just moments after i went the full-monty to wrangle my way into the ever-hawt shorts over poly-pro - dashed up one lap ahead of them, then another to get some action shots of the ever-active anagogic couple higher up - fled them as night crawled in on crepuscular wings and the sweet smell of fresh rain washed over the innocent stone

well, if we are to die, i reckon it couldn't happen to a nicer lot of nattering nabobs

day 56 - lap 49 - once more we're prime, and seemingly poised to reach the half-century goal - a deep dive into years of cc.com drivel reveals my solo lap record was 54 in 2013 (not formally counted in 2012, when i first starting setting the daily dirty down w/ disdainful discourse n' good-lord even i can't wade through all that to madness to suss out the necessary #, but it looks well lower - 42 laps in 2014 - just 19 in 2015 - in 2016 only 23 - 24 more in 2017 - 162 counted laps so far in 5 years, roughly 3 everest's from sea to summit) - suddenly 56 seems the gnarly number to beat though the season stands on the end of a knife...

2017 1/28 - grim indeed, so deep into this foul year of our dear lord Trump, the 1st of his name, blessed be his orange-mane, and yet i'd not made it to beacon to bare my mangled soul? many things have passed, most of them tragic - what can they matter against a backboard so bleak? much snow n' ice this month - work all ahoo - the good country on the verge of a solid-gold cunt taking control - what can you do? the silverman crew in camas not too early in the morn, me emerged from my overnight couch-nap n' crawling in w/ a bit of a cloud-fuck hovering over my head the typical chuckles n' cheerful banter backed with chutzpah as we wandered back east through the growing wind n' wicked glowing snow, not knowing what is adling toward us all (and eager) yarg, the ranger in the lot, w/ the all too familiar yack-yack-yack the corner was the call, and the walk down had me all grinning - snow the whole way, my boots fortuitously in the car, and a snow-pole too curious indeed - can't recall the last time i tumbled towards the corner in this late winter season n' was skunked by some new comers, but sure as shit, there they were - battle-ground bryan n' his boi cluster-fucking their way up the rather wintry first pitch - i cracked open a beer n' waxed philosophic, but my crew grew cranky, and soon we were on the tracks n' headed west for a true circumnavigation the labyrinth was the call, on the logical assumption the east wind would be more merciful on the west side, though it wasn't - we wound our way there n' kicked in our place among the snow and the oak - kyle carried us up there as we froze n' fretted, then we continued our hill ascent through the cluster-fucked cold n' fuckered off west to near the boat launch had a beer n' some failed-fire laffs, then some redneck hijinx in the snowy parking lot, then that was it - the day done amidst the wreck of dogs n' burgundy n' bitter embers of this unctuous underworld... 6/18 - jeebus, 6 months in the can and only my 2nd climbing trip to beacon for this foul year of our lord, 2017 fadder's day morning dawned foul in more ways than i care to cofvefe - mike gave me the big head-fake, biking bound for cape horn - so just geoff instead - the plan to get some jugging laps in to make tower more tolerable - he leads stone soup 1 while i contemplate the hms haunted house of my life burning to the water-line and just how wonderful maybe that might be had fun tearing out 500 yards of police tape from the general vicinity of the parking lot ledge - didn't quite get it all - don't understand why whoever take down the old fixed line from the ledge as it would have made that enterprise much easier... summer's here, squamish the plan for next week, assuming the canuckistani's allow us passage 7/19 n' 7/26 - lapz 1 n' 2 - back from hated virginia on a long flight made slightly less painful by sitting in the emergency row - i said i'd help, but secretly i planned to leave all those foolz behind at the first hint of danger the first lap an exploration in just how creaky i've become - hot and sunny but fun, my feet not always cooperating the way they're supposed too - afterwards i hiked the cape horn trail circuit w/ a few beerz n' ended up w/ wierd blisters after weeks of inactivity in the sultry south, air-conditioned bound and beer-dependent the second lap a day after a long run after a long time of not running - jesus, how does this world work? panting n' perspiring after each pitch, i made my way from shade to shade, then went out to battle ground lake for a long, lazy swim 7/28 - day 5 - lap 3 been running and swimming lately a good bit more than usual and feeling wicked sluggish perhaps as the result, panting from pitch to pitch, wondering what the fuck happened to the old me? 3 little terrors in just 30 minutes today - the first a scotched scorpion, just a few feet up the start, mayhap placed by some malicious fool to put fear into the heart of the mortals - the third a fattish snake snug-deep in the finger crack on the first step of pitch 3 - and the middle the oddest of all, going to pull the 2nd crux of the slab pitch, right where you lie back above one pin to get to the place where you can clip the last one and scoot around and up to the tree ledge - caught my right short leg on the pin, and promptly my pants shot down, making further movement uphill impossible but just as difficult in the other direction, and suddenly i was on the verge of being found dead w/ only my drawers between me n' dignity - my first instinct was just to pull through, but it was a bad one, and w/ a bit of a whimper i had to half-reverse the move, hanging off of just one hand, to get shit unsnagged n' the situation resolved 7/31 -day 7, lap 4 - volunteered to do some camp counseling w/ the fam this week for reasons passing understanding (well, not really - who doesn't like money?) - a humogoniod heat-wave in the offing starting tomorrow, so soon after we concluded i hit beacon as the south face passed into the shade - jimbo n' sal bandying w/ babes below cruise'n, i paused to soak in the ambiance n' let the heat break a bit the scorpion n' snake from the other day have fled the scene - i hiked my hoe-boi shorts way up above my belly-button to avoid the other awful thing the river's nice n' cool n' slow now, allowing a most pleasant soak n' paddle after the pleasantries n' the festivities 8/1 - day 8, lap 5 95 degrees fahrenheit at the skamania mart n' just 4:20 - seemed a moral necessity to stop n' splash in the blissful cool of the columbia for a long bit so that's what i did, after a capital shit in the class-a crappers down by the launch - cast across the channel w/ a pbr stuck in my pocket, n' after just a few short minutes i was across n' basking in the curious conditions, captivated by the sight of beatards abounding all over the recently shade-clouded column soon enough the other side again n' it was up n' over - kevbone maybe on jills? some mike-dude solo n' on a cool creep w/ a rope - i'd seen him alone toproping above big ledge from the island, n' by the time i was on grassy ledges he was down soling the corner to the top of warriors, intent on fixing a line n' going swimming too the fading light in the torrid heat - home only a sanctuary of sorts - how do these pale things persist in seeming perpetuity? 8/3 - day 9, lap 6 STEM camp w/ kiddos n' at closing time it was 101 in the shade and i questioned my decisions as i headed beacon-ways, w/ heavy smoke in the skies and the suddenly thick-scene steadily growing ever thicker under the high gorge walls a lovely sea-lap to start as i waited for the heat to break - paddled out to the island n' up n' over to just below the base, where i sucked on a brew n' watched a gang of fools frolicking all over the hazy stone back at the dock bantering w/ the fisher-folk when adam sauntered down w/ his lovely wife and a new beacon belle - the ladies lazed in the water while we nattered about fuck-all over rolling rock n' i gained a certain respect for New Things then it was the lot itself and denali-dave done appeared out of the canadian cloud-smoke to cackle and crow about his crazy-thing - ole'boy's looking as shredded as a julienne salad these days - guess all that clean living n' anabolic steroids, sunflower sprouts n' beatard-parkour really is putting the zap on his head, i should cut meself off a slice started up the corner as a crew were rapping down from tree ledge n' the evening air started to seep in, the shadows growing ever longer - after two flawless ascents in a row, this one wasn't so much but i lived, so that's right - lolled around w/ andreu n' justin as they finished up uprising n' bumped again into dave soling up, n' adam n' the beacon-belle rapping down - a damned donnybrook down by the riverside n' revelry is everything, ain't it? life could get a lot worse than this lazy day, n' it likely will before too long 8/12 - day the tenth, lap the seventh - a week on the olympic coast w/ the homefolk, frolicking around lake quinalt - i swam the near 2 mile width and felt like a space traveler for a good long while - back in time saturday for adam's shindig in the shadow of beacon - w/ rain on the way after 2 months w/o, i figured to get my lap in before the festivities as there was fuck-all chance of getting another in the morning bbq n' mojitos, taco dogs n' pretty girls, the gusts of fall upon our faces in the darkness - climber films n' classic bullshitting, nattering w/ the olde guard - guitar picking n' gut-sides splitting 8/16 - day XI, lap VIII 3 days of negotiations n' seemingly endless nattering in the midst of dogdamned summer and still no salami? firfuksakes, a man needs to blow off some steam... the lot near 3 - rumors of alex honnold in the neighborhood but preferring bulo's pt for reasons beyond reason - ran into steve n' adam n' levi instead on grassy ledges and had a chuckle-chuckle at the duckblind - they tucked down tourist attraction soon thereafter and i wandered over to the river for a lonesome swim - nearly a good mile circuit in the channel there, and almost all in water w/ great visibility and interesting things to stare at while doing the endless stroke-stroke - arrived at home to find my wet drawers n' shirt still on the top of the ride, miraculously still present after a near-hour drive 8/18 - day 12 beacon w/ the brother-in-law, he in town for the great eciltopcalypse of 2017 - he's never climbed shit so i thought have him play around on rhythm method to suss it out, then maybe shove him on to the corner had a ball n' some beers n' enjoyed the capital sun - the corner didn't totally work out but jim was there to gavreet w/ for a bit n' i at least got meself a half-chubbie - afterwards it was the lake w/ the clan n' some pizza n' early 2 bed to be in redmond in time for the world to go away 8/23 - day 13, lap 9 the first dying gasp of summer, clouds about and occasional rain drops, temps in the 70s - an easy climb of the corner, past a crew that probably woulda been happier if'n i weren't there - someone seemed to think we needed a bolt at the very top of the se corner but left the pin - can't say i totally agree but whateva cool temps n' breezy by the dockside so just had a quick splash out to the island n' back fork - the summer's dead in a few days 8/24 - day 14 crazy day meeting new hires at work - 2 former students now teachers themselves - unsettling news of another one now in jail for a decade for shit that just ain't right adam n' steve fucking around on a recently much renovated local access/reasonable richard - jugged a lap to warm up, then top-roped them both while chit-chatting w/ jim n' sal n' generally enjoying a lovely, breezy, cool, late-summer day a little bird on the way home zigged, then zagged, n' in the end splatted itself on my wind-shield - i suppose even the very wise cannot always find the right way 8/29 - day 15 horrible news last week - the powderhund bryan is busting loose from pdx n' heading south to san franny to get his ghey on - setting up a permanent residence down there w/ his special lady-friend in the land of the cork-soakers - sigh... one last climb i suppose before i start hitting him up to drive us to yosemite for spring break crazy hazy w/ gaudy fire-smoke in the gorge - couldn't hardly see across the columbia did the middle-aged warriors route, scooting around the other folk clogging up the lower 3 pitches - good times n' bad beer - couldn't help but notice the new bolt for the route off grassy ledges is sucking all kinds of suckers off the 4th pitch into a place of pain... shit n' shinola, seems like school is back in full effect in six faqh'n days 8/31 - day 16, lap 10 last day till it gets real work - blissfully simple end to the warm-up week - pale ale and an easy ambulation out - crowds on the corner - jim n' shit - blitzed up n' then back to family bidness heat wave coming - thinking the pierce island swim'n'circumnav is the order of the day 9/8 - day 17, lap 11 the world turned upside down, the weak turds discouraged by the Great Eagle Crick Cook-Up of 2017 - 4 days after the big burn began, the Lords of Beacon re-opened the park so i scooted in to see what was still standing despite the rumors of raging destruction, both sides of the gorge look good enough - oregon still smoking away of course, and the archer mtn sizzle continues, but 14 was clear, if a little traffic choked, and sunbreaks even showed here and there, a bit startling after a week solid of a sad, orange sun hardly able to scowl down on us in it's late summer-glory beatard itself like the great n' querulous Khaleesi, totally unburnt despite the dangers close aboard - the local boys out in full force - adam n' dave n' steve, their homes still standing, undaunted n' undying, crawling all over the south side n' uncrying bits of burnt debris all over, lifted up from the oregon side i'm sure after a flight thousands of feet up - seems 99% of it all was well out by the time it settled, but that 1% was clearly a bitch lotza new bolts on the wall of the sport-boys there by blade-runner - looks to be getting some activity n' that's fine by me - the welcome table is well when it is widely set gut-lafz n' giggles w/ the crew up on snag ledge - we banter a bit before they all go away, then i bound up to grassy ledges for a beer and a bit of determined gazing at the gaudy scene before me - smoke rising east, north, south, n' west - fire clearly ragin up every canyon south of the river - chinooks cruising past w/ water buckets - hueys dully chopping away at the air like its doomed saigon in spring oddly, train traffic un-interrupted on both sides of the river, even though on the south side the track wends in n' out of 84, which is closed to all the trail down totally quiet, not a hiker in sight - the archer mountain smolder quite clear in the near horizon - the high-pitched whine of a generator somewhere close by, i assume powering some omnipotent attempt by humble humans to tame tumultuous nature i was careful not to trammel the sweet-green mantis feeding on the tawny grassy ledge - we are all Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, and so Judgement is not just now in our own best interest, got it? 9/9 - day 18 another burning day in the gorge, this one a bit gusty, so the fires bloomed as the wind blew passed out by 9 the night before - adam said he wanted a solid sleep in, so when i awoke at 5 i had little choice but to get a pre-dawn drunk on in order to nap again before leaving at 11 cool n' breezy, the first day of climbing in pants since squamish in june - the eagle-creek sizzle continued unabated though, w/ the frantic all-day dance of the hueys a constant fucking reminder pipeline - adam did it fine while i fucked around w/ my belay book - "the barbarous years" - turns out them early colonists were kinda cock-suckers afterwards we ambled up jensens first pitch n' then did some scrubbing n' fumbling on red ice - i did such a infelicitous job on tr that poor adam said fuck it... spitting rain by cape horn on the drive out, then pouring by camas - could be the cure for our recent calamity? 9/13 - day 19, lap 12 the hump day dispensed, the air clear n' coolish, i eschewed a long swim in favor of a hootenanny out beacon-way - columns of smoke billowing into the balmy sky, 84 still closed, crowds of cars pouring out of the gorge on the washington side as i breeze eastwards, eager to see the waning summer survive a bit longer bill coe leaving cryptic messages on jim's rambling ride - jim n' sal n' adam n' a foreign-speaking feller at the bottom of rhythm method - some good gavreeting - tried to put on sal's harness for a lap but it was silliness indeed, n' i wasn't so keen to climb-up n' climb-down w/ just a bow-line about me beer-gut the corner alone then - a good crisp wind to go w/ - a lovely lady following young warriors pitch 3 n' a bit of bantering, then bounding up again w/o interruption (i busted my lap-beer w/ the boys, so no need to tarry) an easy orbit back - life's too easy - i fear the turning of the page... 9/14 - day XX, lap XIII an awful n' orange sky as i plied east, intent on planing down the passions that do accumulate eagerly from time to time over the drip-drip of a day limpid air, high clouds, the slow smoke seemingly w/ nowhere to go, it just sits there sullenly in the great valley - the choppers thud away, doing the dance of the valkyrie, dumping their loads n' limping away - time stands still beacon all in a hush, the lot forlorn, i head out under a surreal sky - the base and a half-beer, i banter w/ a cute couple and crawl away upwards - the ledge, the slab, the ramp, another ledge again, no sights to be seen well across the way to the oregon side - obvious bands of dead trees, mostly well above the highway - extensive cutting above 84, bright white stumps marking the passing of the primal scurge cameron n' his comrade who's name for chrissakes i can't recall (i spent a good time scratching my head to summon cameron's back to mind afterall) - they done w/ young warriors, we wound our way together up the final ridgeline, n' had a good laugh at the shiny new belay bolt at the top already having been disassembled, the rock-dust from the drilling not even having had time to be washed away before it was dispatched back in the lot, an amazing site - some guitar-playing fool going damn near 60 n' westbound suddenly flew into the ditch, bouncing viciously in the rubble, rubbing up against the stony hillside, rolling nearly 180 onto his backside before bashing back into the main thoroughfare, the bottom of his ride clearly ripped out and his beer certainly spilled don't worry, he came to rest, quite crucified, broken body n' spirit, in the beacon rock ranger parking lot - i'm unsure his trials n' tribulations were at an end... 9/16 - day 21 - laps 14-15 the day begun after delicious sleep, the air so lively and cool now, the fan thudding away in the darkness, dispersing the humid demons of late first it was climbing w/ ben, then it wasn't, then it was again, and then i simply said fukit n' headed out alone, figuring something would shape up great gusts of wind, the smoke blowing wildly - lines of traffic though 84 is half open now - limited visibility - st. peter's dome like a looming demon, perfectly outset from the cliff behind, spectral, silent, wrapped in clouds of smoke though it was a good n' gloomy drive, ozone was packed and beacon too - topher n' tim on blood, sweat n' smears, struggling but not quite brought to tears - one lap up the corner, then two, the second pausing atop flying swallow to watch the action below big ledge n' enjoy some beerz big rain on the way - i'm over the surreality of these recent smoky weeks - hoping for a great soak to chase away the cloud-murk, then indian summer for as long as it can be sustained 9/22 - day 22, lap 16 my autumnal ambitions of beyond the dreams of wildest avarice paid off in spades - the corner a treasure trove of wondrous delights, my eyes as wide as The Dude when he's just checked in to see what condition his condition was in - manna from heaven just kept falling from all around muthafuckers - lord how i love the complete fucking amateurs hereabouts rick n' steve n' a Right Olde Hollee Shit of a hootenanny soon thereafter - ole'rick's looking a tad too thin, we gotta feed him some corn-beef n' cabbage n' get'em back thick - blood red sky on the slow crawl back, the sun divided today in even bits, how i hope i shall survive to see the other side... 9/24 - day 23 no rock today, but the river instead - pat in town w/o warning, a notice on friday night for fuck's sake - a sudden feeling-out, authored by anastasia no less, an offer to cross the columbia in unusual style, swimming of course saturday was a trip to suss out the stepladder situation, followed by a peek up pinto rock - good times - almighty cold up there actually - fall came fast pat at the house for saturday night, i arrived late - the whole family together on the couch n' pizza n' burgundy n' a coupla episodes of "orville" - a heap of a hoot, but the wife was asleep early and soon i crawled that way too sunday pat n' i galloped gorge-ways w/ the obligatory stops for offensive fast-food offerings - met nastia in camas after she called for a delay, n' she arrived sick as the proverbial puppy our plans for a hood river cascade crossing suddenly all in a-hoo, we called the audible and bent our way to the beacon boat-launch instead - basked in the sultry sun and crisp autumnal air down by the dock, waiting for the right moment to throw ourselves in the water - nastia waffled on whether she'd wade in as well, n' ultimately walked the bank instead, willing us on our way cold as hell in january, we jumped in and started paddling - the river so pitifully low we had to stand up and walk some sections as we headed east towards the end of pierce island - time passed - seaweed - clam shells - schools of fingerling fish - the water warm enough i guess, an honest incentive to keep going at least after a bit of walking, we reached the main channel n' it was time for decisions - at first i was determined to eschew the main crossing n' keep the wife happy - there was plenty to see as dangerous: a ripping current, a bulging barge heading west at a frightening speed, throwing off a bow-wave that was itself intimidating, let alone let the damn thing run over you - plenty of power-boats beside the delight of light-speed swimming down the island though was i guess too much - just floating in the current we were flying, so much so i reckoned wearing a fucking helmet not such a bad idea, as w/ the murk in the water, you could very well barrel into a submerged object at break-neck speed enjoying just how easy it was to move, i looked back n' saw pat was heading south, oregon-bound, n' it was time to measure my manhood i guess - spur of the moment, it seemed to follow across was perfectly possible, and so then i was splashing south too - didnt' seem a thing until we were well across, when a boat came bearing down n' there wasn't much anything to do - then the shore itself, studded w/ dozens of fisher-men, all w/ their lines in the water, n' the whole coast therefore as nefarious as normandy, decidedly uninviting, but little choice as to an alternative soaked n' sodden, i hauled meself ashore to incredulous eyes - a bit of a nervous chuckle, n' then the odd site of watching a forest ranger walking the beach, telling every last man he met to fuck-off, as everything was ordered closed by the eagle creek fire, still smoldering in eye-sight i'd felt a bit desperate the last stretch into the arms of the fishermen, and looking north was uncertain how to proceed - walking back upstream before recrossing seemed a good idea, but w/o shoes unlovely indeed - pierce island seemed maybe long enough to let us make it back, the current bedamned, and somehow we thought it easily possible i felt the Big Fear only a hundred yards out, a great big gorilla crowding out every other consideration - i've seen this bitter demon so many times before, and it's a devil better left way down in the hole - panting, passing west at a bewildering clip, it was obvious i'd be swept past beacon before touching the washington shore, and all i could think of was bailing back to oregon, even if that option seemed fucked - i got better things to do then die today, i reckoned turned around and didn't feel a bit bad about it - pat eventually followed too, but we were split up and returned well apart - he nattering unhappily w/ fisherman who felt it necessary to call him an idiot, our boy never one to welcome a rebuke - i was happy w/ whatever just to be back on dry land and figured, one way or the other, we'd finagle our way back to washington an offer of a boat-ride from a nice lady by a boat-launch, and humorously enough, the feller who'd just been bellowing at pat was the guy she directed to do it - a socially awkward roar back across the river at warp 5, taking all of 2 minutes, deposited us right by nastia, bathing in the sun n' sweating out a fever bowls n' belly-laffs n' some beers n' butts by the dock-shore - the good life of the laggard slumming it in the sadly failing fall sun, then eventually home n' hearth n' tomato canning n' crawling back into the work-week w/ a suspicious smile and what do we say to the god of death, my dear? not today not today 9/27 - day 24 - lap 17 back to school night, so just a bit of time to fill in w/ sheenanigans before heading back to work in the evening a big, busty wind, but no smoke that i could see - i think they done broke the back of that eagle crick burning bastard jim n' sal n' steve n' that busted-foot lady i've met before, all chatty-chatty at the base of the corner - a smooth ascent, but the flawless rating lost when a foot blew out above grassy ledges of all places - a pair of neophytes freshly finishing warriors, which jim had steered them to after they'd been geared up for the corner sad sight on the trail down - a lady w/ her epileptic dog, post grand mal seizure, trying to reassure it back to health - on the off chance she's listening, it's phenobarbital that's seemed to stave off the same problem w/ my wife's pooch for the past 2 years... 10/4 - day 26 was supposed to be lap 18, but arrived to the lot to see quite the commotion - nastia and her buddy chris just come to grief on jill's thrill (hereafter to be called "chris's agony" more aptly) chris had fallen above jill's crux, having not protected the last bit to the anchor below crazy horse, and thus crashed into the ledge below the crux, some 20-some odd feet, and with terrific force - nastia was way down on snag ledge and well out of sight, and after a good bit of time, had lowered him all the way back down to her i arrived not knowing what to see, just 2 beers and a jacket and some shoes for the same-olde solo - ole'boy was hobbling w/ his arms over adam and dave and not happy - we ended up laying him down near cruising and adam ambled up the trail to summon emt folks for a stretcher - though chris didn't seem too terribly damaged, caution was clearly called for and he wasn't walking any further unless the devil himself was calling in his dues i lent my jacket, and soon my beer and smokes, to the cause, and so therefore in my shiverish state had little to offer beyond caustic comments and sheer sarcasm, shit-head that i am the ranger showed up in due course and did what rangers do, dampening the whole proceedings with dyspeptic diatribes against all manners of evil, all of them of course as well rooted into the living rock for phucking-generations like the poison oak itself, and just as harmless really - nastia and i looked dutifully naughty, as one must in contact w/ gun-clad quasi-authorities, and the whole thing continued at a snail's crawl - a few minutes later EMT folks rolled in w/ happy drugs and the same old questions and then we sat queerly around some more n' chuckled over poor ole'chris who i can only imagine at this point was thoroughly ready for the whole scene to move on to it's conclusion eventually yet more rescue folks w/ a stokes litter and half-done tattoos and they bore him away, me to remain waiting for dave to finish his raps, rescuing abandoned gear, me rueing the bastard who ordered me to poor out my unoffending beers in the name of...what...exactly? i shoulda just crawled up the corner and had my fill, but tempting fate seemed not the order of the hour all's well that ends whatever of course and soon we were back in the lot, the ranger gone and chris crammed into nastia's sweet-nasty love machine, heading west to the emergency room and i imagine a full evening of goddamn-you-mudda-fuckas 10/4 - day 27 - lap 18 dastardly defalcations crop up in these deadly days, 'cuz -it's the mild man who cruises through them w/ care n' comes straight to safer shores w/ a a true n' towering buzz a gentle fall afternoon - gentle breeze, gentle air - the far forest unsmoking now - the ghostly burnt standing sentinels showing totally clean floors- all the shite-wands a man might want to bolt-fuck his way up laid bare n' just right over there, go get'em boys a crew on bluebird, otherwise a vacant, subdued scene - i scuttle silently up the south-east corner, the song inside me suspended for some time now i fear - curious how the significant humors that sculpt a man shift and settle, like tides upon the beach, the sands waxing and waning, and all heading towards a suspicious conclusion... not a soul to see, i settle on a ledge and think thoughts of bloody revolution n' nurse the necessary things - these bastards have to learn sometime, no? so when shall that be? the bolt hangers back at the top of the final ridge now, should that put a bee in yer bonnet international taco day i hear, how in tepid hell did it come not to be on a tuesday? 10/15 - day 28 turned 43 thursday, even as tornadoes swept the town and the hard hail rained down - friday was day drinking and a trip to the dog-park w/ the wife - got in a freezing cold swim saturday, then some skerry movies w/ the family until midnight sunday was adam's after 9, steve n' the prodigal son kenny rumbling around too under the haze and in a biggish breeze - took some time to get our plans sorted out - thought we were gonna all tag-team jensens but then it was just me n' steve down w/ that, they onto local access instead not the worst fall weather for jensens, but stiff at any rate - i got blown around on the ever interesting first pitch, and steve wasn't so impressed w/ continuing up from there, but i managed to thrash him up one pitch higher before bailing - it was quite cold, and the lichen in high winds is a bitch - we left a rope fixed for a rematch sometime soon did a corner crawl afterwards, having a hoo-down on the ledges along the way - good stories - goals for life and such - warm water and 40 oz dreams.... 10/16 - day 29, lap 19 the goal to get at least a 20-spot of corner crawls this season seems w/n reach, the annual total declining much as a home-run slugger fades into obscurity though... the tune "ain't no god in mexico" humming in my head, full of toxins n' temptations, i tumbled down to the tracks n' tussled w/ the fact ole willie n' waylon might have know damn-well what they were talking of - jim was there to set me straight if the highwaymen hadn't already and soon enough i was clear n' casting off the rock alone w/ only my fears to serve as friends a gaudy, calm late-afternoon fall day - a pride of sea lions upon the spit, splashing and laughing, their slim, pale forms from high above troubling the waters not a bit... 10/24 - day XXX - lap XX a shit day, this st cripin's eve - 30 seconds before going on-stage at 7:40 a.m., word comes of the death of a best friend - what is it i always say? "wise sir, do not grieve - it is always better to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning?" but how to avenge a suicide a coast away? how to make up for the time that passed as distance sucked off the surface of a deep friendship? i've never bawled before the kids before, but my class nearly saw it happen for the first time anyway - a few gulps and composure comes back - best to shove that shit in a mental closest n' come back to it before the sun sets- somehow i get through the day, then head east through the gaudy, gusty gorge, swallowing sadness back into my gullet as i go beacon - wicked windy, but a metaphorical shelter from the storm i wish - nastia, joe n' steve nattering around on bladerunner - my small-talk powers shit up the corner in my jacket, somewhat fearful of suspicious curses on this auspicious day, sweating n' freezing in turn time for ruminations along the way - what to think on the dead, and does it matter? the memories i carry, should any care: - acid and moonlight and the beach, us simple as babes, the world not to worry us a wit, we were on the cusp of Total Consciousness afterall - new years 2000 - my boy, all of 130 lbs soaking wet n' standing in boots, squaring off against a 400 lb black bouncer in a boisterous bar as the ball comes down - when i try to intervene, my guy says "stand by or i'll belt you in the gob" n' the utter silliness of it all dissolves me into gales of laughter and somehow it all gets better - my wife - i'dve never met her or convinced her i'm not the creep i appear to be w/o him - his identical twin, dead by the same cause when we were kids practically - the surreality of it all, us powerless as sissies- the sick desperation, then as now, that hellish realization that those we love most we're least powerful to help - pink floyd - never had heard them before him - many a feverish discussion in altered states, so often just on the cusp of dawn - "wish you were here" once blew my brains out in a mall parking lot, the tiny sound turned tremendous through his car speakers, the horror in hindsight over the aptness of that simple message, all these years later... - in the end, just a warm, gentle impression, all these decades gone away - the goodest of friends, capable of fulfilling any demand, beyond the simplest: dude, can you please stop being so fucking broken? 10/26 - day 31, lap 21 a balmy, easy indian summer day, coupled with ballistic wicked winds from the east - beacon with the parking lot in half-light, leaves lashing against the windshield, a turd released and off we wander a team of 3 on tree ledge n' some rare auold rambling - i pause atop warriors for a beverage n' to yell at the gale - dave appears n' suddenly it's a party... 10/27 - day 32, lap 22 homecoming friday, hormones in full flood, the world tips sidewise n' i siddle eastwards as the wind grows in gasps and shrieks and what's left of life gets easy all alone on the gusty stone, i take my time n' tipple a while on ledges here and there, until tumult once more comes upon me, n' i slouch back west to vantucky to be born 10/28 - day 33 homecoming friday come n' gone n' sad camas unseated 14-13 in the final moments - we learn more in loss than in victory though, or so we are told, but those that beclaim it are nought but a cult of vicious bastards and you know it a nice night w/ the boy-child - pizza n' tv n' he had the better sense to cart his ass upstairs before passing out, me spending the night on the couch even after the wife wandered back at whatever wicked hour been 2 years since i'd done warriors complete, geoff neither, n' lord but the pair of us were sad fools fumble-fuckign our way up it in the shade and breeze - krist-on-a-kracker, our hari-kari hour is coming round fast... 10/31 - day 34 - lap 23 all hallow's eve n' all though the gorge no one's got time fir me nor my whores precious little time, i speed from an iep n' rocket east with a pressing need to pee jim in the lot, sad words on fred beckey then down the trail i stumble as i change my perspecty nastia, dan, then steve n' sweet kim as i ponder my options n' wonder who could think who was Him? it's the end of an era, but who the fuck could say who's the next master of adventure, or where she shall stray? there's gods n' there's guides, n' all men in between but the truth is we all flounder at all times just like teens godspeed, good fred, i hardly knew ye i know but fuck we're all doomed, n' that's how it goes 11/18 - day 35 howling damps for weeks on end - tried thrusting my fat-fuck ass through the dead-horse last weekend to no avail - after days of sad union bidness, no hope for a brother or a sister, i slunk east not long after the sun ambled up w/ old adam, set to slink our way up free-fir-sum dank, chilled air in the lot - building breeze at the base - beers whilst adam got up the first bit of the necessary, then me too - afterwards it was the corner, barely dry enough for an ascent but good enough guess i ain't making it to 25 laps this year... 12/8 - day 36 - lap 24 3:45, the sun low, low, low in the sky - 36 degrees in the parking lot, radio said gusts to 80 mph - it took some coaxing to climb into my war gear n' crawl down the trail, leaking snot and tears in the glorious gale, half-certain i'm completely gone with the other half not caring one whit at all at the base - stinking shoes over sweaty socks n' second guesses, but then goddammit-all-just-get-it-done n' up we go - pauses every few feet to shove my hands down my pants n' coax the digits back to their duty - the breeze rocking n' swaying my dump-truck body as i gasp for breathe - snag ledge n' i can't sit still for long - the first crux of the slab no problem but the second's scary w/ gloves on so off they come - the roar of the move onto the east side, the full riot of the wicked wind waking my woebegone senses - i try to time it but really there's no telling fate what's fucking what the tree ledge, roots flexing in the poor soil it's precariously planted in, the dirt bubbling up as if in a full-on earthquake - the hurricane grows greater as we get up into the sky and i feel for maybe the first time ever that the railing sure seems a long way off - that curious mixture of freezing cold and sweating at the same time uprising with the light gone gray and gaunt, the life bled out of the world as the heavens above begin to gleam with starlight tornadoes at the final turn onto the trail, and what do we say to the god of death? not today not today

on the other hand, they would make very fashionable earrings

day 55 - lap 48 - wearied by a long swim yday i was abed by 9 n' therefore wide awake come 430 in the morning, the soreness of my top-half making just rolling over a chore and the choice to rise n' binge n' purge on trailer-park boys in the rude darkness the clear one - a nice short nap come rosy-fingered dawn n' then it was d'n'd n' daughter-fetching n' time enough for a beacon lap - the golden gorge, fall's plaything, the columbia gone languid with catspaws crawling over its lazy face - passing 9 folks on the corner, i ended up essentially sprinting each pitch to avoid the log-jam at the next, no way to enjoy the sultry sabbath at all and killing my desire to cram in a 2nd ascent and set meself up for the half-century mark tomorrow - geoff in the lot w/ his prized bulls and a good goddamn gavreet over some session-beers ensued as we bandied over the here-to-fore's n' how-in-the-hell's of this atavistic age of ours - the world's gone completely side-ways on us, but there ain't no getting off anytime soon, so it's all about looking for a handhold and keeping an eye on the door

day 54 - lap 47 - october w/o equal, the quiescent sun shines seemingly unwilling to quit - the week wounded to death, we decamp east as evening sets in - it's friday so fuck-off is what we say - shade and wind on the south side, but nothing like what the season will bring us in short order when the roar of heaven and furious earth will declare w/ simplicity the simple n' humble message of fawk-you human - death over our shoulder, we proceed undisturbed n' bolt down the pedestrian trail - back in time to fetch the maladjusted young'un from macbeth n' make pizza n' nap out the bitter end of the dying day - for november we have no need

day 53 - lap 46 - hero-october half-dispatched and summer will not die, though the wind builds up and sags upon the rock w/ a long and lasting sigh...

day 52 - lap 45 - the indian summer is threatening to last at least another week, the long-shot goal of 50 solo laps in a year yaws into sight - cats-paws n' baby white-caps upon the columbia, the raging winds of winter are clearly in the parlor and planning on rushing out soon to transform every outing into a rude epic, sunshine or no - fear enough to go round, despite no good reason, just the growing reality that it's all about to come crashing down soon and it's common sense alone between us and the devil and the deep-blue sea - the crag alone, the long nagging shadows of evening at just 4 o'clock now, the trail down as lonely as the climb up - a waxing moon - more corn trucks on the crawl in - before long it'll be finger-gloves n' 2 layers against the wind and a lap a month at best

young for a tortoise, old for your average tit-mouse

10/12-13 -days 50-51 - 2 days of beacon bliss, and all thanks to adam, the supplier of the beacon-base for this critical shoulder-season session- my birthday friday free and so ben n' i made our separate ways out to the woe-be-gone driveway just off the little road in the early morning, where 'true country-living,' to coin ben's phrase, was for the having all around - friday a bit of donnybrook, me way-laid on flight time, a true disgrace really, for a route i once regularly traveled when the world was young - we salvaged it though in the afternoon, clambering up the first two crazed pitches of jensen's and fixing on down - a rare hootenanny of an evening to follow - bonfires n' beers n' hellish introspection on the part of your friend-n-humble-narrator - abed by 10 for firfawksakes and that's the worst you can say for some sad-sack on the completion of his 44th whizz-whirl around the great big-flaming-what-have-you - the first day after that though a prime one, ole'adam lighting-along his signature breakfast that makes dining till dusk unnecessary, the goddess-sauce the primary touch - we bolted from ben at the first opportunity, then jugged n' juggled our way up from the place where the trail ends - atop pitch 2, i launched again, my cuticles immediately cursed to dribble blood on the rock from there to the end - p3 the tribal-treasure, the wind blast a test of our basic character and nothing more - exposure enough to excoriate our under-lying essence which is weak-weak-weak - ben owned on p4, which we all beheld in the furious glare of fall's fell air, then me up the final bit and belaying on the trail - burgers n' bridging-the-light-fantastic after n' then the long roar down the road home to hang w/ ladies who don't look lightly on trying to talk during the midst of their movie-tales

10/11 - day 49 - lap 44, completed just hours before turning 44 - scuppered by slickness n' unnecessary concern the day before, i rocketed east just after close of day, sucking down copper ale n' spitting dill pickle sunflower seeds out the window - the corn mound sadly gone after a week of scavengers gilded w/ crazy n' ruinous rain - the base and our dear russian and chris b just getting down - rumors of war - bounding up the dry stone, joy internalized, the feel of friction and the puff-puff of determined breath pulsating through the pink-matter of the mind - topher n' company at the grassy ledge, n' jarred just above - hoot-hoot n' good times on the land of the little people, the golden gorge glowing before us as we bantered over god know's what - traffic jam at the parting place, we went up uprising w/o complaint - lost-cam kenny firkrisakes emerged w/ his special lady friend even as jarred jetted off - our boy a goddamn grandpa now and i suppose that fate is impending for all such fools who choose to procreate - the big bound home as crepuscular evening crept in - birthday meals in battle ground, a gullet-full of glorified mac'n'cheese n' molly-coddling the indifferent - holy hell, the 3-day weekend is upon us

10/4 - day 48 - solo lap 43, one for each sordid trip round the sun by your's truly - my 5th climbing day in a row, and right called for as the indian summer is clearly coming to a close w/ storms and fog for fuck'all to come - nary a soul, and i enjoyed the elbow room on my tiny perch where the warrior and the corner converge - shooting over the trail railing i crashed a total teen party - it's thursday night on the south shore of skamania county and the kids are out in force, sucking down pbr n' smoking all kinds of things - i hid my face as these fellows might all well be my responsibility but, far from home, and on the side of the beacon-wand, we're all kind of swiss and must abide - the drive back the best - the hill of road-corn, rudely left by a crashed tractor-trailer just yesterday, already sadly diminished, crawling w/ human scavengers made giddy by the prospect of free grain - as i paused solely to take pictures, car after car cruised in, spilling out half-drunk hill-billies w/ ikea bags and common tarps and high-hopes of scoring the perfect crime, leaving w/ arms over-filling of the produce of our far eastern brothers whose insurance i can only hope is secure

10/3 - day 47, the long-sought for douglas-adams memorial lap (how i hope someday to render my regards personally to him at the restaurant at the end of the universe ) - frost on the car this morning, it appears fall is not fucking around - black ruminations today in lecturing on the 25th anniversary of the events of "black hawk down" - spinning senselessly through the gyre of time, sometimes i can't see out of the circle, good-god is there really any arc to history? - but beacon always the balm - as i've long claimed, every trip there reveals some curiosity not previously discovered - this time it was the double-tractor-trailer that went into the ditch just short of the park, spilling the largest pile of fresh corn on the cob i've ever seen in all directions - woulda been better n' more comical still if all the cops on the scene were eagerly munching on peeled ears whilst filling out the forms n' cleaning up the bodies - blasted up the lap w/o chit-chat w/ my fellow climbers, no time for beer n' contemplation, duty-bound to make a southwest central labor council meeting at the teamster's hall - kinda kewl to mix w/ pipe-fighters n' printers n' the other proud union laborers of the earth and plot the way forward

you ain't lived boy-o, come on down for the whole shit-show! the classic route, the south-east corner, is something like a 5 pitch, 5.7 route and ascends more than 500 feet of mountaineer-worthy terrain- every pitch is 5th class but it's always 5-fun (the 2nd pitch is the crux, and has several serious parts) - much, much harder multi-pitch routes too on the rock, including many still aid-routes - like index, for generations locals have looked to it as a yosemite test-ground at any rate, yes, it's a 5th class free-solo, but a far cry from what olde ale honnold is doing these days...

10/2 - day 46, lap 41 - the full october wind announcing it's presence in the parking lot with authority, blowing over garbage cans and ripping the tired leaves from the sagging trees - the face itself strangely quiet and calm though, the true beatard micro-climate in reality - a far cry from a flawless ascent, slipping and sliding all over the place, but the law of 3-point contact is a powerful one - just past the horn on pitch 2 i started onto the slab but found myself in an alien configuration - inspired by the freak-out of recent days to reject new ways i backed down to the start and attempted the human-flesh version of a control-alt-delete - amusingly, launching back once again after a few moments i repeated the same entire bizarre sequence and said screw-it and pulled through, all mortal fear bedamned - a great place to confront the true-true reality of sir isaac newton i swear and a happy ending so that's that - alone in the lovely wind at the top of uprising, i took in the total scene and felt the upwelling of the human spirit that keeps my broken soul at the wheel

10/1 - day 45 - 40 solo beacon laps this summer, nothing to sneer at - if it's 500-some-odd vertical feet the lap, then that's 20,000 feet so far, almost 4 miles from sea to sky, the height of denali, which the normal mortal crunch-crunches up at something half-way horizontal - a few years at any rate since i've managed so many and 50 might not be impossible if the fall chooses to be sublime - the shoulder season hard upon us at any rate - a calm parking lot, the savage winds soon will come but they're not here yet and it's a balm for the past-bittered mind - changing into shorts and t-shirt, i stumbled down upon my way, recoiling at the critical moment from face-planting through the web of a huge forest-spider hung half-way across the trail - up the route i bounded, barely aware of the warnings of recent days - nary a soul along the way, just distant deep purple rain-clouds for company and nagging fear of course - a beer and beatific thoughts below the notch, then dave hoot-hooting as he exploding up uprising - reunited at the trail we nattered over ethical conundrums the common-citizen currently couldn't avoid but certainly should - then it was home and breakfast for dinner and that hard-harpy we call tuesday just over the horizon

9/30 - day 44 - lap 39 - sore as hell and asleep by 9 on a saturday night, sad, sad, sad - up by 6 as a result though so the chore of grading done w/ before noon, time enough for a beacon lap before the getting of groceries and the preparation of dinner for an indifferent audience - gray and gloomy along the river - a tween-ager and her pops on the 1st pitch, then on until glory to the top - a wee slip on the chimney above grassy ledges saw me slip-slid a bit but nothing like the mismanagement of last sunday - a good gavreet w/ a fellow sabbath violator below the notch, a beer, then the big blast back home