tvashtarkatena

Locals: Will there be any access issues into the range still? Looking to get into the Finger of Fate, Warbonnet, and Elephants Perch areas for some of that alpine rock n roll.

It's not well known that Ivan can 'hover' when called for - hence that last pic. His 'hover' feature must have been disabled the day before.

I haven't seen an ATC used in the way shown in the pic. Putting the ATC on the end of a runner (or 2, for redundancy) instead of directly on your belay loop is a standard way to add friction for rapping. The longer the runner, the greater the friction.

Was that you two?

If there's a lesson to be learned here, it's this: As near as I can piece things together - I momentarily had my hand on the grigri lever to allow Ivan to pull and clip the final bolt - (a piton actually, like most fixed gear on the route). His hold broke off during this brief moment. Petzl advises to minimize the time you're depressing that lever for reasons made pretty obvious here. It's much safer to avoid putting your hand on that lever entirely. Grigris get pretty sticky with fatty ropes (we were using a 10.5), so the temptation is strong. If you can hear the leader, its far safer for the leader to anticipate the clip and call for enough slack just before yanking. More coordination and attention required between leader/belayer, sure, but WAY safer if wind/distance doesn't preclude voice communication.

Trip: Zionism and the Sanctuary of Exposure - Desert Shield, Touchstone Wall Date: 4/6/2014 Trip Report: Ivan on P6 of Desert Shield “I slept with a cactus last night.” I could just wrap this up right now with that little metaphorical synopsis, but why not embullishit with a bit of imagery and a spine or two of fresh wisdom? For it takes an increasingly not-so-rare breed of seeker to drive over a thousand miles to a place called Zion – “a word interpreted to mean sanctuary or refuge” – in search of precisely the opposite. We had enough time to piss all over the concept of ‘sanctuary’ more than once, so we opted to leverage our ignorance by attacking the more delicate of our objectives first. Materiel was carefully sorted and solemn oaths dutifully uttered; we would either return with or on our Desert Shield. Plan of Attack: Desert Shield (bottom) and Touchstone (top) Desert Shield (L) and Touchstone Desert Shield I’ve got a 31” waist and a 46” chest. ‘Why should I care’ you might ask? Because that is the absolute maximum size of human that can extrude themselves like that last squirt of KY through the pitch 3 flake just below Desert Shield’s bivvy ledge. The more svelte might simply levitate up the outside, sans pro, but I’m more chuckwalla than chickadee, so into the slot I slithered. No Fatties, Please. P3 of Desert Shield. P5 of Desert Shield Once at the bivvy, a mixed media installation involving a Russian ice screw and the Coleman Company will challenge your functional art boundaries. East Meets West WT...? Oh...right. Bivvy atop P3, Desert Shield A bad case of Comet Leg. Bivvy on Desert Shield. At P7, the route stiffens like a Protector of Traditional Marriage at a gay bar. The slope can be, indeed, a slippery one – with sugar cookie edges and wafer thin placements that slow things down a bit. As much of a rude awakening as that pitch might be, P8 is much ruder and more wide awakening, although, save a couple of anomalous cam pockets, ‘wide’ is used in the very narrowest sense, here. Ivan on P6 of Desert Shield Ladybug Love Attempt Serrated: P6 of Desert Shield Ivan clipping on P7, Desert Shield I’ve clearly lost control of that last paragraph, so I’ll move on – and so did we upon reaching the midpoint bolt on P8 – a mere pitch from the prize. Outta time and outta here. A wise move in hindsight – we failed to fix the rap between the top of P4 and 6 (recommended) – doing that Swing and Thrash in the dark would have been memorable. So, it was to be on, rather than with, The Shield this time around. The New Face of China High Pressure slamming into a Front of Low Ego spawned a second gearnado in the Visitor Center Parking Lot, and by the following afternoon we were fixing pitches on Touchstone. The New New Coke Although technically easier than Desert Shield, Touchstone was not without its surprises – mainly in the form of the very last hold just below the very last bolt breaking off – that, combined with a long horizontal pay out and an inexplicably lackadaisical gri, sent Ivan slamming into a nearby tree on his way earthward. Not to be left out, I received some beautiful rope burns in my attempt to motivate the gri to do its only job. P1 boltpike of Touchstone (pic by Ivan) P3 of Touchstone (Pic by Ivan) Top of P3 of Touchstone When the dust cleared there wasn’t a whole climber between us – Ivan’s back took a hit, and I would soon be in the market for a Dr. Strangelove prosthetic, but we didn’t have far to go. I scooted up to finish the final move. Mercifully, I was able to lasso the final piton, which sticks straight up, with my good hand and French free it, thus avoiding pulling the full Corpus Dei on my thoroughly stigmata’ed fingers. We managed to ensconce ourselves in the descent gulley before night fell. Out came the headlamps, and with them, millipedes, daddy long legs, ground beetles, bats, Mars, Saturn, and half a moon. After that, it was simply a matter of doing the 7 or so raps on some truly imaginative anchors down through the sandy gulley to the base, where cool water, cold chili, and other comforts awaited us. Finally, refuge. Inevitably, a string of ‘why’s descends close on the heels of a party that’s just gotten banged up a bit. Pointless, of course. After all, does a swallow ask ‘why’? Oh wait, they can fly – well, how about a ground beetle, then? Does a ground beetle mill around thinking – “well, at least I haven’t been stepped on yet”. After all, if we knew every cactus we would sleep with beforehand – if we knew what the future held - we might not venture forth to make one at all. Aaaaaaaaahhhhh Climbers on P8 of Desert Shield (Pic by Ivan) Gear Notes: Lotsa Approach Notes: The wheels on the bus...

ZZZZHWCB!

Damn. I heard 18 on NPR this morning and was hoping that was a typo. 18 is not a small number in and of itself. Grim.

18, not 108

Analyzing a data set statistically does not speak to the randomness of its origins. Just sayin...

I tried surfing, but it was like landing on Omaha Beach - people blinded by sand and salt screaming, tumbling, drowning, suffering blunt force trauma - when I finally came to shore I realized that all those people were me. Everybody else was enjoying a nice sunny day at the beach.

Some organisms require nothing short of a motivational asteroid.

Some climbers fall a lot, some almost never. Depends on how far you push it and other factors. Similarly, some drivers have a lot of accidents and some never do. Depends on how far you push it and other factors. Both can be modeled statistically in the aggregate - as can anything you can measure. An aggregate model's predictive capability erodes with granularity, however. You may not be able to assign a probability of falling during your next move - but you do continually estimate it on the fly. You're really doing a risk analysis, though - chance x consequences of falling. If consequences = decking, even a relatively easy move can sketch you out. You can probably predict how many times you'll fall in the next year based on last year's data if you climb - and fall - enough to create a large enough statistical sample, but that prediction will come with a statistical margin of error. The sparser or more clumpy your data, or changes in conditions (change of climbing habits, health, gear...) the larger that margin will be. They really are givin you a numbuh, and takin 'way yo name.

Did I mention the overhead heat lamp? Your heaving, shivering body is gently warmed from both sides. The raja slate, the black granite - it's almost a cleansing mini-retreat, really. My 2nd bout was courtesy of Taco Bell, I believe. That's our traditional family junk food station we're talking about - the ultimate betrayal. Meatless burrito, too. No kangaroos were harmed in the making of this disaster.

Yes, this is yet one of many excellent arguments for single payer. On the flip side, there really aren't any credible arguments against single payer at this point. Private health insurance companies has proven that the profit motive and providing health care are at odds. They need to go away.

I have a radiant heated bathroom floor, so there was that. There's one local teriyaki joint I'll be skipping from now on.

Write up your TR in your voice in a way that suites you, throw some heart into it, and all will be well. The objective or your skill level isn't anywhere near the whole story. There was a recent TR about some high altitude climbing - really spectacular stuff - but the photo/caption I remember the most from it was a pic of a guy dancing with a goat with the proscription "Don't judge" underneath. That could have been a TR about the Tooth and it still would have been just as funny. You never know what part of your story is going to hit home with readers, but if it hits home with you, that's the most important thing. I think you'll find that the process of crafting a TR is also a means to savor and gain insight into the experience you've just had.

If you could assign probability of a fatal fall while free soloing - say 1%, you could calculate your mean time to failure - in other words, your expected lifespan, as follows. Lets say you make a 1%, skull and bones crux move once a day, every day. Your expected lifespan would be when the probability of making the move successfully N times in a row (that's the part Rob failed to read correctly) would be: .50 = .99^N, where N is your expected lifespan in days. In this case, N = 69 days. This is an important principle to understand, particularly for free soloists who 'just go for it'. Yes, your chance of dying in this example is 1% every time (the part Rob did get) - and that produces a mean time to failure - your expected lifespan in this case, is still only 69 days. Those few hard core, regular free soloists who survive have such a low probability of falling - well below 1%, obviously - that they clearly don't 'just go for it' (climb at the edge of their ability) very often. The 'heads in a row' formula is a simplified instance of the same mean time between failure calculations used in design and manufacturing. The gambling pic also provides an illustration. The probability of winning a blackjack hand is constant at 42%. The probability of winning 5 hands in a row is .42^5 = 1%. That's how casinos make money. I'm harping on this because the Rob's misunderstanding is a dangerous one. Several years back I met a Canuckistani guide who did understand this equation. He told me: "I used to run it out. Now I sew it up. When you do it as much as I do, its a numbers game."

After 2 bouts of food poisoning a week apart, I'm inclined to go with the 'indifferent' over the 'merciful' model.

Dog in His Infinite Indifference.

having a big door (Lighthouse) is really nice for a bunch of reasons - the weight difference isn't much.

Watching other folks live a better life than yours can suck if you don't rise above the behaviors that put you in your present position in the first place. If you do rise up, another's happiness becomes a good thing rather than an object of envy. Rather than bringing you down, it lifts you up. Wishing ill to befall others invites it into your house as well. Maintaining a list of enemies for such a purpose wastes energy one could be using to improve their own situation. It makes one's spirit repulsive rather than inviting. The world has a keen sense for that. It responds accordingly.

When I was about that same age my first/best climbing partner was killed climbing. That drove some reality home in no uncertain terms.

Given a survey size of 1 particular poster here and today's probability of my being a dick is 100%. Today's sampling does not, however, affect my probability of being a dick tomorrow in any way. Kinda weird. I'd a thought a software geek would know that basic sheeit by heart. It's an EZ google. Then the full aggro, complete with anti-bullying PSA and the required 'butt-hurt' reference. OK. Sounds serious! Seduced by the allure of an innernut win, I reckon. Such passions destroy many a fine mind!

This wouldn't be the first time I've been called a dick for knowing my statistics. People do not like to see the numbers, that is fo sho. They're like hubcaps.