Imagination

I wish I was an idiot savante, minus the idot part. Imagine being able to tickle the keys of any grand piano with Mozart’s 19th symphony or strutting into a Las Vegas casino, counting all the cards, and strolling out with millions or maybe Tom Cruise could be your brother. But I’m not Rainman, though I am an idiot savante, minus the savante part.

I try to picture myself inventing the paper clip, or perhaps the glue on the back of a post-it-note. That would be smart. I try not to picture myself with a paper clip, scrapping a tin pipe for resin, or sniffing a post-it-note’s glue to get high. That would be more realistic. I prefer to imagine the fantastic. Walking around the financial district of San Francisco with a leather suitcase filled with protocol pamphlets on Wells Fargo’s auditing department. That would be fantastic. Somewhere along the lines of Falcor, the luck dragon in The Neverending Story, a flying white Dachsun, who looks more like he should belong inside a hot dog than amongst the clouds. Sitting in my station wagon, stealing wireless from the local library, and looking for another job, more money to pay for another pair of climbing shoes. That would be realistic. Too bad reality can not become the fantastic.

I am epicing. I have no money. I am not working enough. The future looks grim. This is me festering.

Cleaning and Grinding

Today, we cleaned the Peshastin house. I took the time to scrub the counters with a sponge and soap instead of my shirt sleeve while Max swept. Hell, he even moved the furniture. After such hard work, we deserved some well earned sustenance. Max blended a creamy peach and banana smoothie complete with a healthy dose of Trader Darwin’s Whey Protein. This vanilla powder contains 16 grams of protein, 130 IU of Vitamin D, and 80 mg of calcium from the whey protein extract. Tired of all the jokes about how he jumared the Compressor Route on Cerro Torre, and got dragged to the summit of a first ascent on Fitz Roy, Maxwell is bulking up, moving from his current bantam weight class to one where he will not be considered so light duty. Good luck Max! After he finished his bulk fest, I used Max’s Cuisin Art to mix a batch of garlic hummus, which turned out quite well. Now, let me tell you something; I can blend. It’s a delicate art, this whole chopping and grinding business. Here are a few things I have learned over my years behind a blender.

1. Do not toss your ingredients in half-hazardly. Oh no! Formulate a game plan, starting with the items which will be hardest to chop and adding to this base ingredient.

2. I once mistook peanut butter for tahini. Make sure to read the labels on all ingredients or your hummus may have a strange hint of Skippy.

3. The proper way to run a food processor is to add ingredient, close lid, and then blend, puree, or chop. Do not run the processor with the top off for two very good reasons.

3.a There could be splatter. I spent half an hour wiping garbanzo beans off my kitchen walls.

3.b The opportunity to put in some foreign object into the blender is way too great when the cover is off. My favorite wood spoon lost half of its curve and there is always a chance a finger could fall in. Neither splinters nor blood add a pleasant taste to hummus.

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.

Work

I've never been one to like work. My distaste for the matter stems from my childhood, too many long hours shoveling goat shit, planting rows upon rows of silverqueen sweet corn, and chasing cows when they broke through the fences in Vermont. But, I need money to support my obsessive climbing habit. Shoes, ropes, and gas do not come cheap. Thursday morning, I will start working at a rafting company in town. I am torn between trying to find a second job and work a lot, the current position at Osprey only requires 24 hours of work a week, and just trying to get by. Less work means more climbing. More climbing now means more work later though. I would really like to have some money to move to Boulder in December and to take a few months of before going. I really want to spend a little time hanging out in Yosemite/Sonora area this fall as well as head down to Zion. I might have to find a second job.

Little Sauna

The temperature edged towards triple digits the past few days in the greater Seattle Area. High eighties for "cooler" Seattle, same for the normally cold Sammamish, and even warmer in North Bend, near Mount Si. In eastern Washington, Leavenworth, the mercury boiled up to 96 degrees. The weather's been hot. Now, they say that it's okay to workout in the heat. It loosens the muscles, they say. Your flexibility is higher, they say. You lose more weight they say. Well "they" don't know shit about rock climbing. For the past two days, Little Si transformed into a little sauna. The trees grabbed the moisture and hugged it close to the steep gray rhyolite wall. My forearms sweated grabbing the slick, greasy rock. I could barely keep enough chalk on my hands. The humidity and the heat made conditions suck. Or so I imagine. Patrick O'Donnell, a former Californian, informed me that the temps were abnormal. Still, Patrick was able to climb, and well at that. Despite the sauna conditions, Patrick redpointed Extended Illness (5.13c), an extension to the classic Chronic. The route follows the sustained Chronic to just below the anchors before jogging right up through a difficult v7 boulder problem. The red haired Irish man's smooth ascent inspired me. I want to climb hard too. So I tried. And I floundered. And I tried more. And I floundered more. After four tries I managed to squeak out an easy climb to a dumb boulder problem. Then I performed some multi-pitch bouldering on Technoridge, which features a v5 boulder problem to easier climbing. The heat definitely made climbing difficult. I felt sluggish and only climbed 6 pitches yesterday and 5 today. Sad. While I did manage to flash Rainy Day Woman (a good flash for me) and send Busta Move, I felt like my climbing blew.

Today, I hiked to the crag and caught a belay from the bantam weight Ben Gillkinson and his buddy Ryan. The boys were busy establishing a new route when I came to the crag. Actually, Ryan was laboring on the route, smashing off loose holds, and cleaning the rig while Ben twirled around on the rope, belaying from below. After removing all the choss, Ben booted up and tried the rig. Looks hard. The line is an extension of an extension of a route. Weird. It climbs Rainy Day Woman (12a) through Hydrophobia (12d) and into a large obvious roof with a hard boulder problem involving some serious campusing. Think v8 on small holds. Eventually Patrick rolled up to the crag and we climbed together for awhile. Fun stuff.

At the end of the evening I tried Technoridge. It was hot. I was sweating. The holds were greasy. I moved up through the 11b begininning, into the v5 boulder problem, where I was quickly bouted. I tried the move again. And again. And again with marginal success. I moved to the top of the route. Lightning flashed across the sky as I headed to the anchor. I grabbed a sidepull and planked my body, cantilevering off a smooth fin of rock. I hit a small hold and threw for a large sidepull. Then I fell. I whipped twenty feet before the rope finally caught me. That's when I heard the lightning. Patrick and I walked down, following Ben. It was nearly dark. As I drove back to Sammamish, it started to drizzel, then rain. And I started to think, then obsess. I'll have to go back to Little Si soon.

Adventures in Washington

So You Think You Can Dance!? features a half dozen pairs of dancers vying for the votes of the millions of weekly Fox viewers. Their dances are choreographed and they (one cute girl and one gay man) perform the routine in a business suit for him and half a dress for her. I settled into the couch in Sammamish to watch the show this evening. My eldest brother, Chris, flanked me while my sister-in-law, Kat, sat curled beside him. I imagine this is a weekly affair. The whole Tivo/recordable tv show business made the event bearable. The tv in the Peshastin house only plays DVDs and tapes and I haven't watched network television since the last time I was in Chinese Camp. My brother is an avid fan. He's the director of strategy over at Microsoft; he's in charge of revamping the political organizations of small countries in Africa and Southeast Asia with newer, improved, more Windows friendly types of democracies. I suppose his job is hard. Lots of office politics. "Turf wars," Kat said. Whatever. It's been a few years since I've seen either him or Kat. It's hard to meet up when he's busy directing strategy and Kat's busy taking care of my four year old niece Graylin. While it's nice to see them both, I'm afraid my oldest brother's gotten a little round around the stomach. When I say "a little round" I mean very round. And when I say "very round" I mean, think Goodyear Blimp. The climbing lifestyle doesn't afford too much fat. Sure, I occasionally roll around with a bit of a muffin top, but it usually doesn't spill more than an inch or four over the top of my jeans. Maybe I'm just not used to seeing round Americans. It's really unhealthy. He's diabetic. It's not a good lifestyle. Everything's better when you're fitter. From you're ability to think and perform daily routines to nocturnal wrestling. I'm tempted to say something to him but don't know how. "Dude, you're fat" seems rather callous, especially since he's hooking it up with a sick place to stay for when I go to Little Si tomorrow. Maybe, I'll try to get him to go on a hike with me and Graylin. It can be a bonding thing...aka a two hour power slog up a strenous hill. Hopefully he's not in danger of cardiac arrest.

The past few days, actually the entire time I've been in Washington, I've been lost. Completely disorientated. My Boy's Scout Orienteering badge is on the edge of being revoked. I drove past Index today by 8 miles. I had to turn around when I hit Goldbar. The night before I drove ten miles past the Forestland, which is the only bouldering spot I've been to more than once. Damn. I almost gave up on going. I was pretty frustrated. I couldn't find the tiny turn off the wooded road, the boys in Peshastin all stayed home drinking beer, and my ankle hurt from a big fall I'd taken off a boulder two days before. I managed to find the boulders though and I dragged three crashpads out. It was a really good solo session. I rarely boulder alone but I managed to get psyched and do a couple problems I wanted to try. I even stuck a dyno, which is rad considering I don't know how to jump at all. I didn't mind having been lost for so long when I stuck that boulder problem or when I finally found Index.

I was all psyched on bouldering last night, trying to send the gnar, but today I stopped by Index to hang out with Cole Allen and Mikey Schaefer. They were toproping at the Lower Town Wall. Suddenly, I got severiously amped on route climbing again. I could learn a lot from Index. My technique is pretty appallingly and the smooth granite of the Town Wall could sharpen my skills quite a bit. A couple days at Little Si, sport climbing and hanging with the fat brother, and then maybe I'll go hang in Index for a little bit.

Still, I need to find a job. If I don't get one soon, I may end up working some crummy gig like Max did 2 years ago, grinding away at a chocolate factory in a uniform in downtown Leavenworth- he packed fudge in liederhosen in little Bavaria.

Leavenworthless

The Toyota Tercel coughed west on the 2, out of Sammimish, through Monroe, and towards Leavenworth. The muffler hacked, straining it's coat hanger support, and threatening to drag over Steven's Pass. Thousands of conifers cover the rocky hillsides, with small outcrops of granite poking through the forests. The strong Sykomish, the Wenatchee, and Icicle Creek rush along the roadside with their white capped flow and irreverent roar. It reminds me of the Catskills where I grew up. Less farmland. More trees. Beautiful land in the Northwest.
The people are another matter. As I followed my dirtbag climbing partner, local hardman Jens Holsten, the culture emerged. In Goldbar, a crew of firefighters plied a sedan that had backed five feet into the local ramshackle bar, destroying the flourescent Budweiser sign and knocking over a few bar stools. In Index, a trainwreck of trailers lined the river below the popular Town Wall crag. The inhabitants slunk out at one point. The sight of one woman horrified me. Her blood shot eyes stared vacantly in two different directions, her WalMart sweat pants hung off her, and her grill was horrendous. She could have eaten corn on the cob through a chain link fence.
My first couple days here, I haven't done much. Bouldered a little, climbed at Index, and the Drip Wall. On summer's solistice, I worked on securing a vicious hang over, one which I couldn't recover from all day on Sunday. The climbing here is pretty rad. The bouldering's really good. The routes leave something to be desired though Jens insists that the mountain routes (aka the brush covered 8 hour slogs) are what make the Cascades so awesome. There's a ton of monkeys hanging around the Pasamish house where I'm staying. There's a hippie dude on the couch, Max and Ryan have their own rooms, Jens lives in his car (and vias for space on the couch), Jessica lives up the street, Joe lives down the road, and Cole and Johnny G come out to Leavenworth on the reg. Charlie's also out here crushing. Yesterday he put up a sick V10 highball, which jogs right off the Ruminator in the Forestland. Neither Cole nor Johnny were able to repeat it (there assholes puckered too tightly when they had to pull hard moves 20 feet off the deck.)
My current agenda includes looking for work. I penciled in to find a job some time before I run out of money. There's a ton of Baviarian inspired restaurants in Leavenworth and as long as I don't have to wear liderhosen, I'll be pysched. Besides the restaurant scene, a thousand orchards and vineyards line Leavenworth. I could pick cherries, pears, or apples with the other migrant workers.
It sort of sucks that I don't have the internet right now. No lurking on Facebook and I can't regularily keep up with the cool things going on the world. I feel so...so...disconnected. Whatever. Also, I'd like to note that most of my time has been spent in Little Wayne style, "Getting higher than gas prices."