lancegranite

shhh, my wife will hear you spraying....

...it's just like Grand Theft Auto.

Reading some of my dad's copies of 101 hikes, I never realized how full of venom the text was. Every third page they bitch, bitch, bitch about the purity of hiking and their superior distain for all other users. Don't these fossils realize that those other user groups are the only allies they have? I don't care if you hike wearing bells and waving sparklers, if you are out hiking, chances are you are not there to drill for oil.( and therefore a friend of mine)

"Thanks again, those ravens were not the friendliest lot ... care for some seeds?"

Anybody want to buy a gnome?

Climbing in Vegas is great, but the summer has a somewhat oppressive effect. Day after day of 100+ temps leave a person grumpy. We have a world class sport climbing area, Mt. Charleston, a 11,915 foot limestone massif just outside of town, but this year I felt largely uninspired for drilled pocket pulling. I bought a touring kayak instead. Lake Mead sits 30 miles east of the strip and is the second most popular NRA in the country. The water is warm, the fishing is outstanding and if you squint your eyes, it looks just like Baja. My usual routine is to wake up at 0300, brew up and roll to the lake, about 45 minutes away. Launching into the warm quiet darkness provides for a deprivation chamber effect, a welcome relief to say the least. Usually the air temps at 0400 are 75+ and the water is about the same, so when your hand goes into the water there is only wetness, but no temprature difference. Usually I have about a hour of total darkness with only Orion and a occasional cyotye as company. This morning I had quite a shock when the sun came up. A 17 foot tri-hull had run aground on one of myfavorite snorkeling/ fishing spots, a rocky point. Powerboat detritus was every where. The boat's owners had abandoned everything and a recient storm had spread the boats contents across 200 feet of beach. Fucking pissed at first at yet another example of why I hate this place, I beach the kayak and inspect the wreck. Flooded to the gunwhales the boat was filled with junk and sand. The boat's 12 volt battery was left in the water so I retrived it, the gas tank floating in the water, intact, thank god ( so much for my fishing spot). Putting it on shore I realize what was initially junk was upon second glance, a whole lot of really good lake booty . The law of the desert is also the law of the deep, the owners could have rented a boat and salvaged the wreck for around $100.00. Instead they chose to abandon a whole lot of stuff and risked a 20 gallon fuel spill in their own water supply. Fuck em' I cleaned up the worst of the mess and took the best of the rest. Upon reaching the car, a ranger pulled up and I told him about the wreck and potential fuel disaster. Nonplussed, he said only "which one is it? there are several right now" The sad tone in his voice suggested that this was just another weekend on the lake... God I hate this place. The take: 3 fishing rod/reels 1 tacklebox (full) 1 tool kit (craftsman!) 1 first aid kit 12 sodas, mixed brands 1 life vest 1 pair Oakley sunglasses 1 multimeter 2 snorkel/mask combos and finally, 1 plastic gnome, red hat/ bird on shoulder

Post deleted by lancegranite

I freely admit that I was stoned out of my mind when I watched the Tour de France.

yeah.

It's like i'm working two jobs now. A recient favorite: Running across two bears that I decide to take home, of course they turn into native americian childern (5 &7 ) I adopt them and give them clothes that don't fit me anymore. ( good thing that I saved those old clothes) The church that I go (WTF?) to doesnt like my bear-childern so I wreck the place up in a green VW bus (I like that part) the bus sustains little damage and we make our escape back to the den-house (nice view of a lake, I must be dreaming...) we live happly until the Clearwater tribe gets wind of my adoption and wants the child-cubs back. it goes on and on.... I just remember loving these kids so much that it hurt.

I'm sorry that I ever came here...

I''l buttonhook this one... Reciently, I quit my herbs and spices for the first time in nearly twenty years. The daytime is fine, but it seems my nocturnal self has been repressed somewhat... the dreams! the dreams!

If memory serves me right, a cougar's tail is nearly as long as it's body.

Flash climber got my refrence to Cunning Stunt. I repeated the route on my vacation and found it exciting to pull the crux. The fall would not be that bad, but it was not that appealing either. Greg's retro job brings up good questions, when is your route not yours anymore?

Hamish's little dog did not seem to have a problem with the runout...

No man should be able to make a noise like that...

Say that you are the first ascenionist, and you want to add a retro bolt or pin to your route. Do you have to ask a bunch of ingrates? or do you just do what the good lord intended...

...and a drilled pocket feels just like a pin scar. Index was a gravel pit. Every climb at Index was completely excavated, scrubbed, trundled,toproped, preprotected, pinned out and then "sent in good style". ohhhhhh! the majesty! It's really hard to take this seriously from a outside standpoint... we just jook like a bunch of wierdos prancing around, telling each other how to live.

Anybody local want to provide a post-destruction pic?

As I recall, the Access Fund was trying to open talks with the homeowners....but that was in 1997.

Some of my first climbing was done on the mythical Lake Stevens boulder. A house sized granite erratic plunked down five minutes from Frontier Village, the rock provided fun top roping on good stone 15 minutes from I-5. a housing development bought the land and soon the rock was in somebodys backyard. The end happened much like the Malamute, bolts smashed, holds filled in with concrete. Anybody ever climb at this once cool place?

After totally flailing Clean crack, I fumble to untie my shoes. Looking up, the beast was 40 feet away and rolling so quietly that I did not hear the engine. I was 4 feet from the tracks, sitting down. The climbing world will mourn the loss of the finest granite climbing area 20 feet from train tracks.

Things looked nice out there this week. Cleaning and trundling are just part of climbing, and Index deserves to be taken care of.

My good friend cattalk is camped out at Index right now, he is hard to miss, as I am sure he has dug a foxhole to sleep in. Home from Iraq, he is really excited to climb!!!

By the time you read this, it will be too late.