wake up! it's time to go to work!

[erik]

Wake Up! It’s time to go to work!

Thursday again! Time to head out for the weekend. Phone calls made, plans hammered out, logistics figured. Leavenworth again! This ideal little town nestled in the rain shadow of the Wenatchee Mountains is blessed with an absurd amount of granite to climb. The canyon slopes are just littered with domes, cliff, boulders and buttress all begging for the modern free climber to ascend. The history of Washington rock climbing is deeply rooted in Leavenworth, the establishment of free climbs on Castle Rock in Tummwater canyon dates all the way back to the late forties. Fred Becky, Pete Schoening, Jim Yoder, Peter Croft and many others have left their mark on the cliffs; establishing climbs that are still today test pieces and classics alike. In my opinion this is the choice place to enjoy a four-day hiatus from the “real” world.

Mike and I head out to John’s house to gather him up, always an ordeal. After all the barating, eating, slack line walking, hacky sack and coffee we pull out of the compound and head for the hills. Being chased from the West Side by a constant rain, we make no haste in escaping to the east. The constant debate over the safety of white water kayaking, the ethics of climbing and how hot Steph Davis really is, lets the drive pass like a sport climb approach. Monroe, rain…Index, rain…Stevens Pass, more rain…and finally Cole’s corner, moonlight. Once again the eastside of the mountains shines through as a refugee camp for moss brained westsiders looking for dry stone! With the approach of Icicle junction I can relax now, 5 more minutes and I can escape the confines of this infernal beast and let the beauty of the mountains envelop my spirit and use the privy.

Creeping into the campground (if a diesel can!), it looks about half full, though only a few cars have that dirtbag look to them. Admittedly I don’t count Subaru Outback’ as a climbers’ car, or at least brethren so maybe there are more climbers. 11 p.m. and the drive has left me restless (I slept most of the way), I guess we are going to have to get more beer cause I’m drinkin’. Drinking without a campfire, for some reason drains any life out of the party, so maybe we won’t have to get more beer. Zipped into the sleeping bags once again brings on chattiness, route ideas are tossed around, shit talking ensues and we are asleep.

When working I can guarantee that I will wake up an hour late. But when climbing without effort I wake up an hour early. A bad thing? Nah, it just gives me time to read my book and drink my tea with a little peace and quiet. Then again watching the sunrise is pretty nice too! The second round of boiling water and jostling of the coffee press sparks Mike and John’s interest in the day. “BOYS” I yell. “Time to wake up and go to work.” John springs from his bag and tackles me, “DIE T-BALL!” With a couple kidney punches I pass on the job of coffee boy to him. With coffee made and a breakfast of yogurt and granola handled, let the hacky sack begin! We have devised a warm up ritual that allows the energy to follow from our bodies and regain the balance we lost sleeping on the cold, hard ground. After running from one end to the other end of the campsite attempting for that all elusive ‘hacky’ it is decided that we need to slack line. But first more coffee! These spring time trips with the cold mornings really take some getting use to. In the winter you know it is cold out and make the “smart” decision to stay in your bag a little longer. Winter at least shortens transition time. Wake up! Go climbing, that’s it. Now the altar of the sun must be set up! Us westsiders really appreciate this religion, as the Mother Nature controls sun worshipping on the westside much like the Chinese control Tibet. It exists and we let you now that, but we don’t want you to see it.

With the slack line set up and the hauling systems removed, it’s time to practice my circus tricks. Admittedly Barnum and Bailey are not coming for me soon, but I can at the least salvage Rock Monkey honor by giving it my best. Watching Mike waltz up and down the line as if strutting like a runway model, I decided that it is time.

With the eloquent language of a Hillbilly, “Pack it up girlz we goin’ scalin’!”