Tuesday, July 8, 2008

On Bouldering and Awkward Conversations

Some days quick draws cover the ice screws. Other days, crashpads cover the ropes and biners. But on most days, piles of empty Olympia cans bury the climbing gear. A week ago, the boys of the Peshastin house dug the mountaineering gear out and made an epic slog up Mount Maude, a classic Cascade choss hike. For the next three days Max, Jens, and Dave sat. They barely had enough energy to scrap their pipes and take their hourly resin hits. I avoided the hike and stayed pysched on the local climbing, bouldering around the Tumwater and Icicle Canyons. Rad stuff. I took a day off and wandered the granite boulders to make a summer tick list. For the past few days, I have been attacking the list, checking out some of the harder problems and sending the easier ones. Two days ago, the monkeys and I rallied out to the Forestland to try the Ruminator, a classic Leavenworth boulder problem. The twenty foot highball begins off an undercling and follows a steep crack to an exciting finish. Sick. Real sick.

Jens and I drove out to Nason Ridge a couple days ago. The local choss pile features steep, crazy rock. Lots of big holds. Lots of loose rock. After warming up Jens started up a line in the left part of the cave. The climb follows easy terrain to a strange fin, which juts out at head height. The crux of the route involves hitting the fin and pushing against it in a sort of fucked up chimney move. Imagine reaching up and pushing off against the O on a stop sign. Jens fell with the rope wrapped around his leg, lowered to the ground, started back up and fired the route. I tried the route afterwards, did the move and entagled my arm in the rope. When I fell I managed to get a big burn across my arm just below my bicep. Ouch.

Yesterday, Max, Dave, and I met Joe out at Osprey Rafts, where Joe works as a white water rafting guide. The Wenatchee runs fast even through the summer. The class 3+ rapids crashed into our raft. Exciting stuff. Unfortunately, I was ignorant of how cold the run off of the Cascades is. That and the water was wet. Who knew? We barreled down most the river without too much trouble. The beer before the rapids gave us courage for the white water and the hippie lettuce calmed us down afterwards. Everything went well until the end when my b astard of a friend, Joe, flipped the boat. Max was livid and for good reason. Getting worked by waves sucks espescially when you swim like a stone. Scary stuff. Thank Jesus for life jackets.

In other news, my friend’s ex-girlfriend called me, seeking solace as to why her boyfriend ever left her. It was not awkward at all. I do not know what to say about this except that I need to screen my phone calls more, even if it is a girl.

Also, Jessica had a party at her house the other night. After bouldering, we headed up there, picked Rainer cheeries from her tree, gorged ourselves, and then settled back with a couple Olympias. A few hours later, some of the local Leavenworth kids showed up. One dawg wore a super sized shirt with a huge sequin dollar bill on it. He spent time in California before; he hustled outside Venoose, slinging Oxycotin for big skrilla. “Dollah, dollah billah!” He sprayed. Jens wanted to punch him in the head when he would not share his blunt. Max wanted to show the wiggah what was up for saying “dawg” and “skrillah.” Angry, angry monkeys. Funny stuff.

No comments: