Stories/Memories of Mike Borghoff?

[EWolfe]

Hi, all.

 

Well, I just got my copy of Glen Denny's Yosemite book in the mail. What a wonderful book!

My family and I are on pages 8, 62 and 82.

 

Seeing the pic of my Dad really brought everything back: mostly bad memories.

 

The timeframes would be about ''56 -'68 when he was doing a lot of climbing in California and Washington.

 

Thanks for any info.

 

Erik Wolfe (Borghoff)

 

 

[JayB]

 

Is that you in the photo, Eric?

[Lowell_Skoog]

Erik,

 

You might try browsing old Summit magazines down at the Mountaineers Library. I found a couple of articles written by your dad which I noted in my ski history project:

 

http://www.alpenglow.org/ski-history/notes/period/summit/summit-1950-59.html#summit-1959-dec-p20

 

http://www.alpenglow.org/ski-history/notes/period/summit/summit-1960-69.html#summit-1961-apr-p16

 

He may have published more writing during that period that I didn't make a note of. I really don't recall.

 

There is also the photo that your dad took of Fred Beckey on skis below Burgundy Spire during a winter ski approach to Silver Star. It's on p. 203 of Beckey's "Challenge of the North Cascades" at the beginning of the chapter, "Dolomites in America."

 

Possibly Mike Swayne could put you in touch with people who would have first-person stories. But I believe Mike's out of town right now. Me, I'm just a bookworm.

 

[roboboy]

I remembered something from somewhere - Roper guide to Yosemite

 

 

 

 

 

[EWolfe]

Thanks, Guys. That made my day.

 

and, Yes. That's me playing in the dirt!

 

This is funny stuff, Lowell:

 

The author had not yet climbed with Fred Beckey when he wrote this story, but knew him by reputation:

It was Fred Beckey, the Great Pacific Pterodactyl, who first conquered the Nooksack Tower. Pterodactyl? Well, the Cascades are creating their own mythology, and Fred's name appears in summit registers with such monotonous frequency--usually at the head of the list--that the Northwest neophyte is forced to conclude that Beckey flaps in on leathery wings, avoiding the murderous bushwhacking that is the curse of lesser creatures.

 

 

Regarding the brush itself, the author writes:

I crashed toward Dave [Hiser]'s forest-dimmed form and broke out into a sunlit patch populated by man-high plants with broad green and yellow leaves. Pretty, I thought.

"Hey, Dave," I shouted, "where's all this devil's club you've been jabbering about?"

 

Dave turned to me gauntly and pointed a bony finger: "Behold, Borghoff," he cackled triumphantly.

 

I peered again at the innocuous plant in front of me. Along the trunk and narrow branches were thousands of tiny, needly barbs, thickly clustered; they looked--well, they looked just like the spikes of a medieval club. A devil's club. It bowed to me in mocking salutation. A botanical Mephisto. [...]

 

Slide alder is a perfectly respectable deciduous tree, only instead of growing upward like it should, it has assumed the curse of the serpent and slithers along the ground; it grows outward horizontally from the slope, making each upward step a monumental effort against criss-crossed twining branches. Add devil's club to it, and you have an immense problem.

 

You fight; you grab, stumble, slip, slither backward, and land like an upended beetle on your pack. The brush pushes you down. Mud oozes up. Your ice ax is caught. You are on top a mess of devil's club. It starts to rain. Your feet hurt. You are bushwacking in the Cascades.

 

:laf:

 

 

Edited July 6, 2007 by MisterE

[Alpinfox]

Looking at photos, Camp 4. Left to right: Steve Miller, Fred Beckey, Mike Borghoff, Chris Fredericks (with cup) and McCracken, 1965. [Photo] Glen Denny

 

 

 

"When I first hit Yosemite in 1957, I was a mountain trooper from Colorado, as straight as a lodgepole sapling and celibate to boot. Fortunately, two derelicts then in garbage-can residence soon put me straighter with vicious amounts of Red Mountain wine. When not busy laying the groundwork for the Golden Age (that's about all they were laying), it seemed to my neophyte eye they stayed drunk. Why not ? Even many years later women were unknown to that distant world... The only thing down at Camp 4 in the Elder Days was dog shit and Tri-Delts surrounded by their betrailered parents, about as accessible as the Crab Nebula. So we had beatoff contests at the bivouac ledges, drenched our sleeping bags in semen, got drunk and indulged in towering fireside smut." — Mike Borghoff.

[catbirdseat]

Even many years later women were unknown to that distant world... The only thing down at Camp 4 in the Elder Days was dog shit and Tri-Delts surrounded by their betrailered parents, about as accessible as the Crab Nebula.

This helps explain why sport climbing was invented.

[EWolfe]

An aside:

 

I remember Mom telling me a story about early Camp 4. The campers were put with the climbers back then at "Pratt's Camp", as it was called.

Chuck's idea of a good time was to set all of the camper's dogs loose at 1AM and sit back and watch the fun.

 

Thanks for the quotes and info!