Jump to content


  • Content count

  • Joined

  • Last visited

Posts posted by Cletus

  1. Yeah Timmay, nice pics!


    Tumalo: the small hill w/east facing bowl just NE across the Cascades Lakes Highway from Mt. Bachelor, here in Bendover, OR.


    5-6 inches of new snow, made super smoooshy by strong sun, but still a lot of fun.


    That was Friday. Here's a pic of TouringTimm@y! laugh.gif



    (Clickable for super size)


    We went today (Sat) as well, to the Tam McArthur Rim. Nice tour, nice turns. WOW, there are some killer looking lines there. Give it another month to really consolidate, and there will be some nutty skiing done there.


    Pics from today to follow soon!

  2. gapertimmy said:

    on a serious note, i've heard many cat stories about 3 sisters wilderness. big tracks seen all over the place, tam mcarthur, pct, you name it


    personally i'm more afraid of the yokels that wander the trails packin heat blush.gif


    damn straight.. laugh.gif

  3. Hey dood, I exist again!

    I'm here...


    How is it up there today?

    Or are you at home watching puppy porn?


    Tomorrow? Skiing?

    Tumelo? Middle Sister? St. Helens? Hood?


    please, must drag my fat ass out from behind this cpu


    going insane





  4. actually, I think I was trolling a little. I have much respect for those who kill it on leathers or any old school/old style. But I do think you'll find the transition easier than you think, and my guess is that you'll be begging for something more substantial than the leathers and 3-pins sooner than expected.


    I still think I would push you towards soft, low, plastic boots, and a very neutral cable binder.



  5. this is all a bunch of crap. laugh.gif


    why throw away years of advances in technology and design?

    simple is fine, but back to leather and 3 pin? If you're a strong alpiner, and you actually want to learn to tele-rip, you're wasting your time. Of course, if you just want to have fun and goof around, by all means, go ahead...


    used t3s or t2s with Rivas, G3s, or another simple cable, on whatever old skis you can find.



  6. So, did you go JGowans?

    I'd love to hear how the conditions are now, firsthand and all...




    I'm starting to get suuuuper pysched for BVS (Big Volcano Season).


    Speaking of volcanic freshy plabness, here's one I took from Bachy last weekend, for all you freshy luvers...


    Hope you enjoy!



    Click and wait for full size!

  7. woo-hoo! so you like em, eh?

    did you sleep with them like you said you were going to last night, or have you only been humping them there in the office?


    pretty funny that you forgot to do up the walk/ski mode on your first attempt. can't think of anyone else I know that forgets to do that occasionally rolleyes.gif


    so, when do you get the skins? All that pow up top looks pretty nice...



  8. Two emerald green slits stare at me intently, hovering a mere inches from my face. The inquisitive, unblinking gaze comes from within an otherwise impenetrable inky darkness; the weight on my chest my only tangible reminder that these green orbs belong to a creature not imagined in the dreams of my last night’s restless sleep, but instead to the realm of the waking and walking. I probably shouldn’t have battled the dragon so fiercely last night; my head is still filled with that putrid stench. He shifts, rolls over on his side, and cocks his head at me, as if to ask, why? Why are you disturbing me at this ungodly hour? In response, I mumble something about early worms and catching birds. He nods, as if satisfied, although we both know these are simply the lies we tell ourselves when we have no better explanation. To prove his point, he steps off my chest and on to the bed, rolls back over, and proceeds to lick himself. My life would be a lot easier if I could do that.


    I throw the covers off of me, burying the cat in the bed as he gives it his best, and stumble to the shower to receive mine. The hot water begins to clear my head of the demons that reside therein, but it’s not until a bowl of oatmeal has made its way through my system, I have passed a herd of very low-class elk grazing on the very high-class links (I’ll bet they didn’t pay their does. I mean, dues.), and I’m halfway to the trailhead that the fog actually lifts.


    And just in time.




    As I round the final bend, the sky begins to light and I am aware, just for an instant, of being caught in that state of being that is Dawn; not yet fully light but no longer in the dark, not yet fully awake but no longer sleeping. How appropriate, since the prospects for success today fall into a similar purgatory of possibilities. It’s February in Oregon, but it hasn’t snowed in weeks, and the west is gripped by the worst drought in a decade. Instead of winter, it’s been abundantly clear, overly crisp, and painfully dry. Much like my uncle’s sense of humor. Or certain Argentine whites. Ah, Mendoza. El Tierra Del Vino. Land of Wine. That’s what the sign says, in twenty foot-high letters on the side of the airport, as you disembark from the plane. Now there’s a place to call home. The vineyards of Mendoza harvest the most remarkable combination of grapes and women I have ever seen in my many years of traveling. Not that I travel for those reasons, of course. I travel to taste the mountains, not the women and the grapes. Although the latter pair can have an equally pleasing flavor when aged appropriately. But I digress. Back to Mendoza. And the Andes. Really just close cousins to the Cascades into which we, Eric and I, are now climbing. They’re close enough that they couldn’t get married to each other, except in Appalachia, which probably explains the Smokeys, the Ozarks, and their assorted sibling ranges.


    As we cross the frozen lake, I glance back at Bachelor Butte, where, in a matter of a few short hours, Civilization will cinch up her corset, pay the piper, and then spend the majority of the day entrapped in the machinery of Man’s invention. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Hell, I like being tied down occasionally too. But that’s back to the Argentine women and grapes, and my sordid fantasies have, at this point, been supplanted (no pun intended) by musings of the paths ahead. It’s nice to be headed north. Away from the Machine, and towards the Major Bear. It’s nice not to know what lies ahead. To have uncertainty in your future. It’s the very thing that makes you alive, that uncertainty. Not knowing the future is to live; only death is certain. (Taxes are, in the abstract, voluntary.) To manage the plethora of possibility is the exercise of intelligence over entropy, the bringing of order to chaos. It is, fundamentally, the essence of the human struggle. Or perhaps these are just the lies we tell ourselves when we have no better explanation.




    The first sight of our jagged peak as we crest the ridge above the lake washes my jumbled thoughts away, and I am silenced by the absolute wonder of creation. Plus, I’m really out of breath. We slide through forests of old powder and meadows of hoar frost, glittering like a million tiny diamonds sparkling in the hands of Frankie Four Finger. Benicio got shafted in that role. Boris didn’t really have to kill him. Although perhaps he deserved it for robbing a bunch of Rabbis. Honestly, who does that? Fuck with the bull and you get the horns. Or something like that. We gain the last of the intermediate ridges, and see before us the expanse of the Broken Top basin. I try to contain my partner, urge him to reserve his strength for the climb ahead, but it is no use. He is stoked. I fear the worst, but dutifully snap a couple pictures, and we press on.




    Soon we fall into a steady rhythm. It hurts, but not nearly as much as falling into, say, Brick Top’s pig pen. Now there was a weird character. This kid, Pigpen, was so dirty that you couldn’t even see his face half the time. I think Schultz was on drugs. Scooby and Shaggy were certainly high a lot of the time. And who knows about the Smurfs. Lots of little blue men running around, living in mushrooms? Or maybe that’s just the altitude talking. Must focus. Ten steps, drink of water. Ten steps, extra deep breath. Ten steps, drink of water. Ten steps, extra deep breath. Ten steps drink of water. Ten steps, extra deep breath. Bite of Cliff Bar. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. It goes on for what seems like forever, the mountain looming above but never getting closer. I put my head down and repeat my mantra, hoping that it will help me Zen the time away. Women and Wine. Argentina. Women and Wine. Argentina. Women and Wine. Argentuna. Ha. We-men and Wine. Argentuna. Ha ha. We-little-men and whine. Arggggh. And Tuna! We are little men, and why are we not simply fish in the sea? Gasping, obviously delusional, and unable to go any farther, I collapse to the hardened surface. It appears that it is I who should have been concerned about reserves of strength. I awake some unknown minutes later when Eric lowers me back to the ground from his shoulders. We have crossed the flats.


    The route now climbs up the outer southwest ridge of the amphitheatre, gains a sub-peak halfway up, and then continues to the west summit along the corniced ridgeline. We plan to ascend to the west summit, ski the west face, climb back up to the west ridge of the south facing sub-peak, and ski the south facing bowl to the west of the lower portion of the climbing route. But countless other lines inside the stunning upper ring of reddish-brown spires draw my attention as well, and I vow to return to make multiple descents of the terrain that Eric praises as second to none (having skied many of these lines already). Re-energized by the prospect of our descent, we charge up the lower portion of the climb, reaching the halfway point by 11:30a. I appear to have acclimatized greatly in the last hour, as I am now able to trade leads with Eric, kicking steps in the steep slope. I am indebted to him for his quiet heroics. He is, to borrow a young person’s terminology, “sick.” And I mean that in a good way. “Siiick.”






    A quick break, and we are again struggling upward again. The snow is softening, and we appear to have beaten the odds on this day. By 1:15p we are at our high point, looking down 55 degree chutes into the amphitheatre from above. We traverse the other direction, out onto the west facing slope, and find a small ice bulge with a moat forming below. We carefully step into relative safety, and strap on our jocks for the 2,000 foot plummet to the base of the west face. Skis on. Packs on. Helmets and goggles on. Helmet cam on. Check. Check. Check. And check. Doctor? Doctor. Doctor? Doctor. Radio on? Check.


    “J.J.? J.J.? Can you hear me? J.J.? Are you there? Where are you? We’re at the base of the Pine Marten lift. J.J.? J.J? J.J? J.J.? J.J? J.J? J.J.? J.J? J.J?”


    “Excuse me, but we’re looking for Nancy, could you switch to another channel? Nancy? Honey?”


    “J.J? Is that you? J.J?”


    “No, lady, I’m trying to find my wife Nancy. This is Dave. Nancy?”


    “J.J. J.J? Can you hear me? J.J? J.J? J.J? Where are you J.J.?”




    “J.J., is that you?”










    For fuck’s sake.


    “Ma’am, you see that mountain way up north, off in the distance? The one with the jagged top? Sort of looks like a “broken” top? Yeah, well, we’re on it, looking back at Mt. Bachelor, and we can hear you just fucking fine. My guess is that J.J. has his fucking radio turned fucking off. And Dave? Nancy is shagging your buddy back in the condo. Maybe you should both just go skiing.”


    “J.J? Is that you?”


    Eric looks at me, nods, flashes me a grin, and drops in.


    * * * * * * *


    12 hours, 10 miles, 3,700 vertical feet, 5 Oreos, 3 liters of water, 2 cliff bars, 1 Ham and Cheese wrap, and no sunblock later, and I am walking back in the door of my apartment. My cat nonchalantly finishes peeing on my carpet and strolls over to see what the fuss is about. I’m too tired to kill, cook, and eat him, so instead I throw the leftover Thai Chicken Curry I made two days ago in the microwave, jam a couple leftover sushi rolls from yesterday into my mouth, hop in the shower, scour myself with scalding hot water, get back out, scarf the luke warm Thai, and collapse on the couch. Twenty minutes later, as I am pounding on my quads which have cramped up in excruciating pain, I wander back to that odd but perfect mid-winter corn snow, and tell myself that it was all worth it.


    Or maybe those are just the lies I tell myself when I have no better explanation for why life is so much fun.


    * * * * * * * *



    P.S. Picks can be viewed at super size on Biglines.com. Thanks to Biglines for image hosting.




  9. You know what I think matey...


    R.EX 177cm (84mm underfoot)

    Fischer Big Stix 84s 180cm (84mm)

    K2 AK Launchers 180cm (88mm)

    xXx's or MegaBangs (AT/tele version of xXx's) 178cm, 90mm


    I still think the Crossbows are gonna be too wimpy in crud. Light and soft ski + PacNW chunder death cookies = yardsales.


    Did you get that email I sent about the 180cm Launchers for cheap?


    D.C. sux at 30 degrees F, by the way, but I did go bouldering today, you'll be happy to know.







  10. lurking a little, traveling a lot. I was on the road for practically all of Nov and Dec. Did get in some nice WAIST DEEP skiing in UT and CO though, so there's always that.


    Hmmm, a little MPOTD might be in order...

    Off to the archives!




    EDIT: here we go, a little MPOTD, winter style. From To-hell-u-ride, Colorado. Sorry about the huge...size. (Heh. Heh heh.)



  11. ya, bored, and ya, will do (on the skiing Xtal).

    Actually I'm planning to get up there and meet a buddy there sometime soon. Out of town for the next weekend or two...bidness travel to the bEast Coast + a little extended layover in CO on the way back, but shortly thereafter I'll be up there...


    I can't decide whether that will be before or after Tahoe though. Geez, so much skiing to be done, so little time.


    Maybe I can get gapertimmay to join me up there...



  12. Heh. I don't know what you're talking about.

    Must be a different Cletus from Bouldend, Coloregon. laugh.gif


    You read over there? These two places are equally entertaining, I have to say. Although the Cletus over there spends an awful lot of time there, while the Cletus over here drops by only occasionally.


    Jeez, lot's of changes over here. I couldn't even figure out how to reply at first. Hmmm.



  13. My understanding was that the Titanal 3 was simply this years version of the IIs. The Freeride is still touted as the higher performance binder when it comes to descents.


    There are vague rumors, by the way, of another model with DIN to 14 in the works, although even some of the reps haven't heard about that yet...Might show up next year...


    I'm currently debating whether to mount another pair of Freerides on some big fatty Volkl Explosivs for serious pow days. The only debate being, of course, that I fully intend to huck on that setup, and while fairly beefy, the Freerides don't compare to a true alpine binder.


    Still, check out teamdirt's responses in that link. He's a pro (I won't say which one), and he throws down some serious shite. If they're strong enough for him, chances are, unless you break gear much, they're good enough for you. Hard for me to judge, cause I've never broken anything, even having skied hard for many seasons.


    Hope that helps...



  14. Howdy.


    I have had Freerides mounted on 10.EXs since early last season. Absolutely frikkin love them. Ski them AT with Denalis mostly, but readjust for my alpine boots and rip em inbounds sometime as well. No slop whatsoever (if adjusted correctly), although on hardpack, they don't transfer edge power quite as well as an alpine binder (although that is also likely a function of pushing the 10.EXs, which are stiff but light, causing a little chatter at speed on hardpack).


    In short, these puppies are as close as you get right now to an alpine binder with a releasable/touring heel, barring of course Alpine Trekkers, etc.


    I know of people who have dropped small cliffs in them with no problem, and I've skied a few solid bump lines on them myself with no ill effects (although I wouldn't choose to do so in the future).


    For lots more testimonials, check out:


    Diamir Freeride owners please reply at the Powdermag.com message board,


    but don't venture far from that thread, cause the natives are very restless there, trust me. [Wink] If you do happen to want to read a bit on that board (or, gasp, even chime in - oh lordy, the cross-pollination is gonna freak me out), go find the Welcome Wagon in the CHATTER forum, and start there. It may ease the pain of popping that cherry, which can be quite significant for most. It's much more mature here (believe it or not [big Grin] ).





    ps. yes, brakes can be removed.


    [ 11-18-2002, 09:13 PM: Message edited by: Cletus ]