Dude, Sweet Halk Bra... Nice

Today was unlike any other rest day, not only because we ended up climbing, but because it was full of good laughs that would have offended any taking life too serious. Well really that's most days with the crew, this day felt special for a couple reasons, but lets start from the beginning shall we. I'd planned on spending the day wondering the Butter Milks with Craig, just to warm up, get a good stretch and save my skin because Mondays plan for Get Carter Boulder and then Dales Camp (an area over the creek near my tent).

So anyways, I woke late sleeping till nearly nine (at the time having forgotten about day light savings and the fact my phone [my clock] adjust auto accordingly) and mossy'n out of bed for some oats, boiled up with some bannana and brown sugar, topped of with some almond milk. I lazed around reading Tom Sawyer, when I was interrupted several chapters into the day by Dave and his pedophile van. He rolled in to announce he was headed to the Happies Crag, out by town, to try Atari. I had the skin for one problem, especially that, so I made him shake Craig's tent.

We were off down the dirt road, which is Butter Milk Rd, to town soon enough to meet the crew at Star Bucks. On arrival we were informed of the plan for an afternoon session, to leave at three, as suggested by the Norwegians. So we flopped down our laptops for a days work and this is when things got interesting or entertaining none the least. We were having fun watching climbing video's and talking in appropriately for some time, when a guy walked in with big holes in his ears and short blonde hair. who knew this dude was about to make our day. After ordering his drink he found it necessary to interrupt Dave from his internet browsing to tell him he had a great mohawk. Now here's the thing Dave's hawk was nothing to wow about, the hair on the sides of his head had had a month of growth and he had been wearing a toque (wool hat for those American readers) the day before and we had joked it looked more like a topay and that we probably wouldn't trust him around children.

Anyways, back to Star Bucks were things remained the same and unchanged by our visitor for some time until I couldn't contain myself and had to ask, "that guy, he liked your hawk, what exactly did he say?" and at that point I discovered everyone curiosity because suddenly everyone inquired. Soon everyone was in hysterics over what had gotten into this mystery guy and everyone began complimenting Dave for his hawk, "dude, sweet hawk bra" unable to keep a straight face and sending everyone else back into hysterics. The real customers, not just there to rob the internet and sit there smelling bad, probably assumed we were all high. Later upon discussion we agreed guy must have been high. As the clock struck a ninety degree angle, we took our filth to our cars (Craig and I finding three kiwis on the light post next to the car) and off to the Happies, on the upper plains north of town.

There we warmed up on two classic lines, Jaw dropped over Redrum and the Hulk which if not for conserving skin, was oh so tempting. We arrived at Atari with two beautiful hours of daylight to spare, to find a bag of sourdough buns. It was extremely hot and several bodies complained and Gordo who was blamed for the plan pointed the finger toward the Norwegian's suggestion. We spent the rest of the late day sun there, enjoying the perfect lighting conditions and laughing our ass's off over remixing the lyrics to classic songs in all sorts of unrepeatable inappropriate manors, that would have made our fathers proud, our mothers embarrassed and our grands rolling in the grave.

A tamer subject would be how mohawk admirer was probably watching gay porn all morning and had, craving a coffee, just ran to Star Bucks to grab a drink and had mistaken Dave for his favourite gay actor, wanted to tell him his penis was so large, had choked and merely complemented his hawk. "I hear the camera adds atleast three inches," and by almost dark Gordo topped out finally, for the send of the day and Craig still huddled shaking in a corner from having to witness a underwear-less Gordo's Dick deliberately hanging unimpressive small and Jewish (according to the witness) from between the zipper of his fly.

The Rabbid Female Dog

A taste testing of sorts, the manor market, part of a gas station and hardware store has a ripe selection of quality beers. A Belgian Style IPA I've just acquired late after this noon, I have about now enjoyed. From flyingdogales.com, Raging Bitch with its striking label was an imprisoned nectar of untamed golden flavor, which impressed upon my taste buds and at eight and a half percent went straight to my head.

It reminds oneself of late the evening before around a fires discussion about mountain lions, new boulders, six degrees of separation, fraud, linguistics and discovering that English men enjoy the word cunt, almost as much as the Quebecois lady the week before. It all started with his lady friend, who's birthday it may or may not have been, when it was all but her around a fire of men. Her dealing quite well with the crudeness of the evenings discussions. Soon - "whats the word for four, but not a few?', "a parliament of cunts have arrived," with his English accent rang. Surely I ate to much cake, "where is Shirley with more firewood?"

Escaping Ignorance

Far from reality I pulled on a glassy crimp. The wind, our only source of worries blows violently sending the crash pads hurdling off as a parody of spotters run in every direction attempting to battle the wind. The climbing day is ended early as we bundle into a vehicle to take refuge at a town coffee shop. This life maybe simple in these moments, but selfish as it is climbing rocky remains of glacial ages. As we read, in comfort from the glossy glow of our laptop screens, of the crumbling unnatural of western ideals and failure of human culture. Is there something more beneficial one could be doing?

It seems futile to argue with prevailing heads when U.N. leaders choose to seemingly waist there time telling Canada there medical cannabis users are breaking international narcotics laws dating from the seventies. When human beings decide to let one another live there lives in the peace of there own mind, while not harming each other, then maybe they will be ready to listen to reason.

Or perhaps the solution lays in baby steps, small building blocks towards that goal. For now climbing ice age jewels in alpine like conditions seems the best choice of action, while coming to terms with the stubbornness of those to well off to plead ignorance.

One Greatest Day

Wednesdays forecast, through word of mouth called for precipitation, but as I roused at 7:30 am, promising Matt to meet him for a day of climbing, a cloud couldn't be seen. I made an amazing breakfast, melting cheese into egg and then onto a peanut buttered with beacon bagel, to create the ultimate breakfast sandwich. I drank tea by the creek, in a perfectly shaped rock chair, reading a book. As I finished a chapter, with great timing, I heard Matt stroll up. We headed for a good warm up of highballs and slab, then headed for his project (Soul Slinger). We spent some time there trying it, me stubbornly trying my own beta. With one burn to go Matt coaxed me to try the 'regular' beta, "It's good to stick to beta, but keep an open mind". I did it that go and for the rest of the day insisted to everyone it was easy, having Gordo giving me a hard time after he later attempted it, "have you done this slab Thomas?" "Oh, is it easy?"

Matt and I meandered back to my camp to enjoy a restful lunch, I made a grilled cheese with ham, onion and mushrooms. We had green tea with goji berries Matt happened to have. At this time, the wind that was keeping the sending temps around all morning picked up and a storm front began to build over western mountains. We warmed back up and tried a few climbs before clouds and snow engulfed the Butter Milks (though Gordo reasoned me into trying one more climb as tomorrow was a rest day, we were warm and he was psyched).

As the Snow fell harder I wondered alone south down the path to my creek side camp when startled in front of me, the largest group of deer I've seen, standing shoulder to shoulder. Thirty plus deer mostly mule with the odd buck, all stood staring right at me. I stopped and observed them for some time. They move north around me slowly, at one point spooked by some other course, half the group bounded quickly off. I gathered dinner and cooked from the door of my tent. Snow continues softly.

10 Years

Today, the last day of February, I spent exploring the town of Bishop. I found my friends from Hueco (down at the happies), edited some photos of Red Rocks (that I'm a little behind on), found the library closed and bought a mantel for my lantern and groceries. After Two months on the road all is well, the truck is still running (yet a hole in the tale exhaust is making it sound more "hard core" than usual), my elbow though bothersome for a few days last week feels good with warmth, trammel, tiger balm, a brace and care. For my first dinner with out James I had Pork steak (with Dijon), with beer caramelized onions and mushrooms, jalapeno cheese bread and a carrot. After Camping with friends the past couple weeks it feels strange to camp alone, its quiet (when I'm Not talking to myself) but nice. tomorrow I will be moving to the butter milks to join friends, though I don't mind the pit for $2 per night (once you see the Butter milks in the morning fuck anywhere else - paid or otherwise). Tomorrow Marks a decade of climbing for me and I'm more than ecstatic to spend it in the Bishop Butter Milks. Hopefully it is a good day, if not... no matter there is more. Now where is that Trammel for my elbow.
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It was a good day by the way... I ran a round doing moderates all day getting reacquainted with granite and big top outs... my fingers got trashed... blasted two weeks of sand stone made my tips a bitch.

"Is That All's Ya'lls"

Las Vegas boiled and froze, stormed and was perfect, but as we exited the Red Rocks Casino breakfast buffet it threatened to rain once more. After receiving a blue slip for overstaying our welcome of 14 days (the sheet read something like - to prevent homelessness please kindly fucking vacate). I dropped James off at the Sin City Hostel (for his flight to Chile March 5th) on Las Vegas Boulevard and headed North on the 95. The mountains faded into low lying cloud as I pass through multiply storm fronts. After passing the highest point in Nevada, Boundary Peak, which I couldn't see due to low cloud. I went through California State line, where upon I was interrogated by a pleasant old man who stated he felt good for his age. Bishop was wet but stars shown by bed time and the magnificent peaks to the west began to reveal themselves to me.

The Ghetto of a Thousand Rules.

North, twenty six miles out of El Paso down highway sixty two, there is a turn off at a space craft shaped real-estate building.This road winds and dips its way out into the flats of a desert landscape between rolling hills, as if from no were lie’s an out cropping of rock only several dozen acres in size, Hueco Tanks State Park. Just before the entrance gates were climber vehicles and sometimes tourists line up each morning to get in (on days you are void of reservations), turns left an ever deteriorating road. To the Hueco Rock Ranch it makes its way along the flats a five minute drive from the park. Here behind a house and barn were climber gather each evening, is a several acre “camp ground”, if you will (more just dirt flats with two roads and dispersed vegetation). If you sit on the ground all you see are the few bushes around you, the top parts of the barn and house and tops of the two “large” peaks that are North and West mountain of the park, if you stand up you see for miles in every direction, even with small glimpses of Mexico.

In the back east corner I find myself huddle under a blanket in my tent listening to the intermittent rain and howling northern winds cutting at my 14+ old Outbound tent. Today is a forced rest day (like all the others I’ve taken, forced by rain and a day of snow - good thing the desert is so dry), but much needed as I have climbed 13 of the last 16 or so days and my body screams with fatigue.

This morning I woke to the sound of a giant flag howling in the wind above my head and an unusual amount of light entering my tent. I rose to discover my fly half off flapping dangerously in the wind, as it threatened to blow away. I quickly dressed and ran out in the biting cold to peg the fly now with 5 extra guy lines. I sat huddled in my tent reading until my stomach could take no more. I went out to grab my coffee and oatmeal, set up my mini stove (in vestibule) to discover a missing crucial piece to my stove. Out in the wind I attempted to cook on the big stove, hunkered in the back of the truck to make a peanut butter burrito up against the duck tape back window, thanks to a mishap yesterday which ended with me putting a ski pole through the glass, to poor results I now consuming runny oats in my tent.

On any other day we climb in perfect temperatures which continue to get warmer, when void of this northern wind. In the evenings we eat then head to the barn to play table tennis and soccer, enjoy a card game, a beer and new friends. When we tire of these activities there is an endless supply of pallet fires to warm the soul, and stories of the days before, injuries, which there are a few of at this moment (including my pinkie finger which its pulley decided to explode a week of so ago - which only affects few moments). With all that there is still nothing to complain about, life is good. I’m enjoying the company of four books right now, and some new films I’ve picked up.

Peace and Love,
Teacozy