knotzen

Well, it was kind of moist today...

utter stupidity

I don't believe you.

I agree--it's too damn hot. I went climbing up the Icicle Saturday and got a nice toasty (more like tomatoey) sunburn on my shoulders and arms. After only 2.5 hours in the sun. The rock was hot to the touch. Give me blue skies and 65 degrees, and I couldn't be happier.

'Fraid you'll have to cool your blue heels on that one.

A couple of smaller stores to try: Marmot Mountain Works, Bellevue -- I've bought a few pairs of boots here. Feathered Friends, Seattle -- known for their down bags, jackets, etc., but I bought a pair of plastic boots there many moons ago. Worth checking out. Pro Mountain Sports, Seattle -- never been, but owned by Jim Nelson, co-author of the "Selected Climbs in the Cascades" guide books; good reputation. HTH.

I can't get the site to load either.

Kewl pix! Looks like fun.

Before or after you find a "climbing girlfriend" on cc.com?

Sprayers or climbers? You be the judge......... Oh shit, I caught something from Crampon.

Maybe. If we'r--I mean, he's lucky.

Sure, OK, Jack Lowenbrau--or is it Jack Schitt?

<Sniff, sniff> I smell a troll. Anyone else smell that?

Who are you calling a bitch, bitch?

Roskelly...despite the discomfort, and the fear he'd end up a cripple, climbed in his usual gangbusters style, telling himself, that "mountaineering is the process of finishing what one begins...."

Willi talks frankly about the hemorrhoids that afflict him when he climbs mountains, calling them his "Achilles' anus," and he reports that he enjoyed a great advantage over Hornbein on Everest because "I had an enormous bladder...[Tom] was just filling and emptying all night [while] I could go on an easy fourteen hours. We had a fancy French urinal [for use inside the tent at night]...it turned out my bladder was larger than the urinal. You have to devise a means, way down deep in your sleeping bag, of monitoring the flow exactly, and if you understimate, as I sometimes did..."

I hate REI because they make you walk all the way upstairs to make a return. Like we're mountain climbers or something.

Oh yeah, I forgot who I was talking to. But you probably read the Bif! Boom! Bam! I know I do.

Oh, you're just jealous because you're still reading comic books.

Dingman had expected to find Jerstad and Bishop, or their bodies; that Unsoeld and Hornbein were still alive, and on this side of the mountain, means that they've accomplished their monumental traverse of Everest. (In the ensuing forty years, no climbers have repeated this ascent, up the West Ridge and down the Southeast, despite continuous improvements in equipment and mountain technique.)

Nevertheless, situations arise in the useless enterprise of mountaineering that present people with choices, that make emotional and physical demands that few can meet.

I throw the rope down. It gets stuck in the damn crack. Rappelling is zen.

You are fucking nuts. But climb the mountain you will. Nuts climb mountains, too.

What am I doing? I could be at home drinking. Rock waits for no one.