The Monkey Pitch

Yesterday I met up with some people visiting the Gunks on their traditional autumn tour. They were folks I'd met and gotten to know doing trailwork last year(also part of their vacation tradition, which is about as opposite a stance as the "But I only have weekends to climb" ethic that stops plenty a local from pitching in once in a while!).

Anyway, Sherry and Preston are cavers from a bit further south, and apparently Preston spreads that southern hospitality by letting his network of friends know where he's headed, inviting any and all to join up with him along the way. He'd landed a big catch this trip, with people from Kansas, Chicago and New Jersey in his net. I found them as I was headed to the Trapps in search of a climbing partner for the day, and they invited me to come along with them.

It was a nice day, hanging with such friendly, easy-going people, and interesting because their primary connection is through caving, an activity that I've always been intrigued by but know next to nothing about.

Most of the group also had experience climbing, but one was totally new. When I asked about it, she said that the day was her second one out, and then went on to describe the books she'd been reading to learn about climbing.

Very earnest, she clearly wanted to become self-sufficient, knowledgeable and responsible; giving the impression of a safe climber-to-be, in my book. She asked questions to be sure she understood the rope systems we were using, climbing jargon and to clarify general details on some things she had read.

At one point, two of her friends were talking about some Gunks classic, and mentioned "that second pitch".... By voice inflection, it was obvious that the storyteller had found it exceptional.

Joining in, our newbie climber added "So, that's the monkey pitch, then. Right?"



..... Well - why not, I say!? It seems to me that the pitches that have given me the most bang for my buck also required a level of climbing that needed more than my standard human movements. I'm forever hearing people comparing themselves to each other in regards to their Ape Index. And I've listened to someone more than once dismissing a monkey's climbing due to their having feet that are more like hands("sure...if only I had opposable thumbs on my feet, I wouldn't need sticky rubber either!"). And forget penis envy - what about strength/flexible of the tail envy? One can just see it in the eyes of a climber watching the little primates dangling from a limb, swinging carelessly into a controlled penji.....

Monkey pitch sounds about right to me!

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Major Minor Breakthrough(continued)

(This is a continuation of the previous post, so if you haven't read the first part, you might like to start at the beginning.)

So there we were, David, Irina and I, at the belay of Raunchy, with David looking to get started on the second pitch.....

He glances at the sequence, and mentions the massive fir tree that is directly in front of it. Something about being able to get on without backstepping into the it.

He and Irina are discussing that, and I tell them I've heard about one climb where the tree was used by most people, and that maybe this is it.(Though it was me who'd chosen the route, I had done it blindly, and not taken more than a cursory look at the starting description. So - I didn't know the guidebook specifically said it was "okay to use the tree.").

David gave....the impression....that it was a burly start. Not only that, but gear was nonexistent. For several feet. No, make that several meters! He was very careful and focused in his movement, but made his way easily enough.

Of course, David climbs several grades harder than I do.....

Irina went second, and she started out with the tree giving her a leg up too. But she didn't pop to the wall right away, and found getting there more difficult because of that choice.

Watching these two work so hard, and not having checked the book, I did what I am wont to do... Which is - I look at the rock and read the route choices that I see. I am not a stickler for guidebook guidance, actually, and as of yet I haven't had any problems because of it. I use the guide as a route locater, and then - if I am leading, or discussing the line with the leader, I'll read through and see if what I'm reading follows what I see. But that's about it, and once I'm on the route, I let the rock take me where I want to go(up, mostly).

So....I take a look around. And, I see start variations within a few feet. One consists of an easy way onto the face, with a delicate bit of traversing up and back tot the right. Only the first move is easier - much - than what my partners took, and I simply cannot resist taking the path of least resistance.

Once up and in the thick of it, I am making the same sorts of moves David and Irina did, at the same level of difficulty, but I find myself doing the Shawangunk Shuffle, a beautiful dancing sequence back and forth, stepping up and dipping down, for progress. I'm slightly to the left of their route at times, picking away at lichen to uncover holds, and other sections take me through the same path. I am thrilled with the adventure!

Here I am, ecstatic that I'd been able to send the first pitch which, if you read this story's beginning, was a big accomplishment for me. And now I'm "off the book" and discovering marvelous, beautiful movement within the climb.

Then I come to the overhanging section, about two-thirds of the way through the pitch.....

While I was belaying David, I did watch him as he went through that section. I had to - in case he fell, of course. But I noticed something in the rock, a hold that I felt I'd have chosen in lieu of the one he did. I had made a note of it and was looking forward to seeing what I would do when confronted with the reality.

Irina also chose a different way through the overhang, and in her case, I simply watched to see her progress, believing I would not be going that way; it looked more difficult than David's way, and more difficult than what I had envisioned, too.

As I came up to that section, I saw my hold, and it was as good as I'd expected. But there was something that was causing me issue..... David had placed gear right next to and just atop that yardable jug, and of course it needed to come out before I could step up. I'd have preferred, in a perfect world, the gear to be available for my protection, as I'd be heading in a traversing direction, but if it was too close to the move. I'd be struggling into a stance like a little kid crawling into a bed that had been short-sheeted, if I didn't pop the piece.

So, of course I racked the gear, and watched the rope fall into reposition. Unfortunately, the next gear available hadn't set me up for an easy fall. A clean one - as it turned out - and as you can guess, I say that from experience. But before I took that fall, I still had a sequence to figure out and move through.

Seeing the lay of the rope, I fell into old habit. I knew that, if I came off the route, I'd swing. And depending on where I came off, the swing might....hurt. The jug I'd anticipated now was much less an attractive option as the potential for pain in case of fall increased. I didn't even take a look at the sequence to see how difficult it would be. Instead I began a hand traverse in keeping with the rope's line.

On that traverse, my feet encountered...loose rock. Biiiig, rattling loose stones, seemingly sitting on a ledge like glass bottles on the shelf in a curio cabinet.

That was disconcerting.

David had mentioned loose rock, but I wasn't expecting the extent of what my feet had just....moved.

I didn't want to be there, but more certainly I didn't want to add pressure with my legs to gain altitude. I was...uncomfortable. Quickly, I moved back to a stance where I had feet on solid rock to regroup.

The jug step up would have been much safer(for anyone under me!), but it just was no longer viable to me, because I was on auto-pilot and not analyzing my situation clearly. And so I continued on, to make the move I'd seen Irina pull.

Arriving at the section I knew was the meat, I could tell the sequence was going to rely on strength and power, my least developed climbing abilities. But, I went for it. What else could I do? Unfortunately, I wasn't fully in control. I hadn't truly committed to hucking the thing, and as my weight came onto my right arm, I knew I was off my balance. Maybe my right leg was even in air - not sure, but I knew at that moment that I needed an incredible bit of force to propel myself through the move.

I gave it what I had, but I didn't have enough, and off I came.

That was dissapointing, of course, but at least I fell straight down, landing in clean air. Just a few feet below the overhang..... Too far to get back on the route without lowering down to a stance. GRRRRR.

Not that I didn't try, of course, to swing into the face. I did. It was fruitless and I admitted the fact, asking to lower a few feet. Which brought me right to those friggin' loose pieces. Nice.....

I was unhappy.

But I got myself back in line for another attempt. And promptly failed.

Mad at myself for not making the clean move in the first attempt, I decided to prussik and get the hell out of there. I didn't want to waste my partner's time...right back into my old thinking mode.

Unfortunately, something was causing me some fear issues with the prusiking, and I didn't want to stand tall on the leg loop! Actually, what had happened was I made the first step up and was off balance. I fell. Which was a little scary, waiting for that looped accessory cord to catch on the rope..... The damage was done; I didn't want it to happen again, and so I began high-stepping into the foot loop, bending at the knee and sitting on my leg to weight the friction knot.

That gave me an incredibly reduced length available in moving the upper prussik cord. I think I was getting about four to six inches instead of the couple of feet I would have if I was standing on my foot instead of sitting on bent leg.

The added effort was quickly tiring, and after three or four repeats, I looked to check the slack between the prussik knots and my tie in point. It was barely even perceptable! And I had...a way...to go.

That sucked. And I was tired. The adrenaline rush I'd gotten from the original fall, compounded with the second, and more intense, jolt on the prussik, had zapped me. I looked up at my partners, saw the sympathy in their faces and felt I'd let them down.

Then I looked down. And saw the belay we'd been at, directly below.....

The decision was mine. I could continue the prusik - and move my butt - get back on the rock and finish the route. Or lower back to the belay and wait for them, since they'd be coming to it on the rap descent anyway.

To me it seemed a non-choice. I'd fallen off the route; my game had ended. Why draw things out? I lowered.

A strange mixture of feelings swelled within me as David sent me to the ledge below. On the one hand, I'd taken the most efficient choice. They were finished and waiting for me at the top, and I'd been unable to make the climb clean. On the other hand, I was aware that I had given up. Old school says "lower," but I don't think I know anyone who really follows that ethic anymore. I certainly don't climb with them.

The one consolation I came up with during those moments was that, since I'd surrendered at my point of failure, instead of forcing my way through, it would allow me a fresh chance at another time to do the last part of the route with no preview. That has to be worth something.

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Major Minor Breakthrough

This weekend I cruised, albeit slowly and with trepidation, the start of Raunchy(Gunks, 5.8). For a lot of people who know the route, the response to that sentence would be a variation of "....And?", but for anyone who knows me, the response is probably much more enthusiastic.

You see - I seem to have a commitment problem. Or fear of failure, or success, issues. Or something! For much of my climbing path, I've consistently found myself giving up before even trying whenever I come to a place where I can't fully guarantee success.

It wasn't always like that... Well, that's not true. It has been always like that. I recall my first time on real rock(with maybe 10 gym days under my harness) and coming to a mantle sequence. I stopped and sort of went into suspended animation. The guide, who I'd had some conflict with because he thought I was too know-it-allish for a newly minted gymbie, said "So...in the gym, when you come to a tough spot, do you wait for the guys to stop and encourage you?"

He was implying that I was an attention-seeker, I am pretty sure, waiting for all eyes to adore me...

Well...that stung. It really, really did. But how could I explain how utterly opposite the reality was; that when I needed to struggle, or to analyze, or to attempt and then regroup, that what I most desired was to be completely invisible to everyone? That words of encouragement were more apt to shut me down further than to motivate me?

But that was, and often still is, the case. It's an aspect, so far as I can figure, of the PTSD I live with. The feeling of being in a vulnerable place, with others aware of my predicament, sends shock waves through my system. Fight or flight.

I always chose flight. It was the option that included an outcome I could control. In climbing, my version of flight amounts to failing and asking to lower off.

That same guide mentioned above, was partnered with a real old schooler. They were both excellent teachers, but the older one had softened his edge over the years and was more aware of things going on. These guys worked together taking adjudicated kids on wilderness tours; not the "tough love/bootcamp" approach, but to develop teamwork skills and to show them that the world had more to offer than an urban life of crime.

Anyway - the older guy, whose name escapes me, told us that in climbing we would be confronted with our life issues. Our weaknesses, our fears, our defense mechanisms, out ignorance and naivety.

He was certainly correct. At least that's been my experience.

Climbing and the inherent lifestyle has shown me a lot of my insecurities, down to the simplest aspect of fear of being left without(a tent space in a group setting, a climbing partner, a decent belay).

But back to Raunchy.....

I was partnered with my friends Irina and David for the day, with David as the ropegun. As we walked the carriage road, Irina suggested we get on the climb "Columbia." Which we did. It was a nice, enjoyable route, which I didn't have much trouble with until the last move, which entails an overly high step and rockover onto one foot.

I balked.

Couldn't guarantee that move.... And I was peeved especially because right over to the right, just the other side of a tree, was climbing so easy I could have done it unroped.

But the rope wasn't on that side of the tree..... I always choose the path of least resistance and gave David some guff for taking the more difficult line just because he could. He countered, saying the rope drag would have been increased by taking the route I was pointing to. Grrrrr.

After suggesting I might swing the rope over the (15-20 foot tall) tree, and David agreeing, probably just to get me moving somewhere, I realized I was being a wanker. I decided to try the route as my partners had gone, and....made it. Surprised myself, too.

We rapped to the cliff base and David decided he'd like to lead Hyjeck's Horror, which - he did. Then he set a toprope and I lowered him so Irina and I could have a go.

I'd attempted the route(on TR) once early this season, with my friend Diane, and couldn't commit to the step up move onto the little edge about 10 feet up. Fairly certain I'd be watching a rerun, I found myself in the same place, doing the same thing. Or, not doing, actually.... I simply wouldn't commit, even with a steady belayer that I knew wouldn't let me hit the ground.

Irina made the climb and I tried again, only to find myself refusing at the same place. Of course, after I got off, untied my shoes and started to pack up for the next route, I started in with the excuses and through them, began to see(as usual) where I'd foiled myself....

David told me that it's my turn to pick a climb, since he and Irina had chosen the other two. I tried to get out of it, and I know why - I don't want to be the one who makes a bad choice that others have to contend with. For a person who is frequently told I exude confidence, I find it odd that I undermine myself and worry about inconveniencing others so often.

I flipped through the guidebook as we are gathering our gear and snacking, looking for something nearby that would be of a level to challenge David on lead and be something off the three-star beaten path for Irina, who likes to climb onsight. As for myself, I am just hoping to go along for the ride and enjoy myself. I always do - even when I don't climb well.

The routes nearby weren't fitting the above criteria, but finally I come across Raunchy, which I have never heard a word about. But, it has two stars, and so I figure it's probably not going to be a disappointment.

Reading the route description, I note the phrase "thin, bouldery start," and think "Well, it's probably like Classic; a move or two and then a safe stance"....

David accepts the decision, though not with overt enthusiasm, and as we continue to talk, I try to come up with another option...in case(doubting myself). I mention Higher Stannard, and that excites him. He says he doesn't think he's ever actually led the route, which surprises me. So, we get moving and head in that direction, along the base of the cliff.

Not far from Hyjecks, David stops and says "Here's raunchy. What do you think?"

I look at the route - and am.....dismayed. The start is a replay of Hyjeck's Horror. On steroids. I can't even SEE the sequence. Of course, I'm standing 10 feet away, but...still. "Thin" is accurate. The first possible protection is 20 feet off the ground, too.

David gears up, and I tell him I'll spot him until he hits the stance for pro. He tells me he has slipped off the route once before and accepts my offer, reminding me not to try to catch him if it happens, but to push him forward. He casts off and I watch, believing there's no way I can pull the moves, and feeling upset with myself thinking I'll be giving up and sitting the climb out as my partners continue to the second pitch.

Though he doesn't seem in danger of coming off, he doesn't make the climbing look easy, either. That I can plainly see, and I'm glad when he's reached the first, bomber, protection point.

Irina goes second, and she gets the sequence too, but not without working hard for it. I make a pointed effort not to watch her for beta. I didn't notice David's choices either, since I was watching him as a spotter. Even though I don't believe I can make the route, I still have my standards. Beta is a form of lowering the climb's difficulty to me. I like onsight climbing too, and piecing together the puzzle is is my favorite part of the game.

After Irina is safely onto the upper portion of the pitch, I begin to look at the route's start. The internal dialog, telling me where I will probably fall, has begun, but at that point, I recalled a different conversation I'd had with myself as I fixed breakfast earlier that morning.

I'd told myself that, when I came to a difficult part, I was not going to give up; I was going to focus my energy and work through the thing.

And so, as I looked at the thin, slablike face ahead of me, I took note of the divets, crimps and rough patches I could smear on. I heard a voice inside say "David did it, and so did Irina. Others have done this route too. So can I."

I specifically hunted the various points of contact, and told myself "They're big enough. They'll hold me. They're thin, but the pieces are all there; I see the sequence, and I will commit to it."

When I started up, I was challenged as soon as my second foot stepped the ground. But I landed myself, and had good balance. I was on the climb.

I recall that I began to feel the familiar feelings, of vulnerability, insecurity, and the worst of all - that I would waste my partner's time.

This is a very persistent problem for me, and one that takes a big toll. Others will hangdog up climbs, and I'll belay them patiently, but I can't turn the table. I cling to the old school "fall, get lowered off" credo, but it's not an ethic I'm adhering too. Something inside tells me I don't have the right to take more than the smallest share of whatever's being served up.

On lead, this doesn't tend to happen, but that's probably because I am honestly in survival mode. It's one place where I will take what I need, though I take care not to get on routes that have a high potential for risk. But I do know that, in times when I have been struggling to commit, and my belayer voiced impatience, my anger surfaced immediately.

Following or on toprope, though, and these issues are there.

Anyway, there I was. Four points of contact, a decision as to what to do next to be made, and voices telling me I probably can't do it so I should just blow the sequence with a half-hearted attempt.

But then, as I said, I recalled my earlier self-instruction and promise. "NO," I heard myself tell me. "THERE is the foothold. You SAW it on the ground, and you KNOW it is good. TAKE IT."

I did, and I made it! Shifting my weight onto that foot, a sensation of pride coursed through my body at the same time. Solidity! My brain and my body were in unison.

Then I had to make the next move..... The fearful body memories began to bubble again, and I consciously shut them down. "Look! Where's the move? Find it and commit to it.," I commanded myself. I did.

I was making progress, and a hideous crimper I'd spied from below was the hold I needed next. "Dime-edged" like Bachar tends to say, I heard somewhere in myself. "But, it's more like a quarter...I wonder if that is technically dime-edg...." I silenced that dialog, and reminded myself that hundred of people had been able to pull down with only that bit of rock, and so could I. I committed, squeezed down, bounced up, and....made it.

I was actually elated when I got through that one, because that had been a "no way" hold when I first saw it. And yet - it held me just fine. I have never in my life gone off something that thin, and the paradox of such a small edge having such an ability to assist me was a pretty amazing revelation. I knew other people made use of such holds, but I didn't think I would be able to.

Once I got to the section of the climb where I could fully rest, I gave myself the time to enjoy my success, and I even took more time than a minimal "I did it" would require. In fact, I took so much time that I think my partners were ready to tell me to get a move on.....

The crux of the pitch lay ahead, and it gave me a challenge too. I moved a little higher than I should have, where a move upward would be 5.9(as per the guidebook). I knew I was supposed to move left, but I couldn't figure it out, and that sucked. Then David made a comment about going lower, and...well, it was what it was. It was correct, of course. Whether I'd have stepped down on my own, or fallen off trying something else, I will never know. But the step over left was no gimme at any rate; I earned the reward I felt in successfully navigating through that section.

What an incredible sense of accomplishment I felt, when I gained the belay. I'd honestly not believed I would get ten feet off the ground before I'd stepped off it.

Pitch two was an interesting experience too, and if I had made it all the way through, I think my partners would have had to cork my mouth in order to get a word in edgewise the rest of the day. Lucky for them I fell off at the overhang.

Too be continued......


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No Climbing For YOU(I mean, for me)!.....

How could I have said no? My client, who rarely goes away, asked a month ago if I could do a dog sit for her blind Cairn Terrier, Cali. I knew it would mean a weekend stuck in the city - away from my Gunks home away from home - and no climbing. But I heard that stupid little voice ("Be a good girl, Terrie") reminding me how lucky I was, with my luxe dirt lifestyle(definition to come at some point in a future post), and how well I understood the need to get away. What sort of person would it make me, in denying another that luxury?

So - while you all are out there being weekend warriors, taking road trips or out living the life - I'll be here waiting. Waiting for next weekend, for my next road trip(Halloween SushiFest in the desert!) waiting for April First of next year, when - if all goes to plan(plans that haven't even been laid yet) - things will be changing on this Sucks In The City Grrrl's life.

Ahhhh...pre-reminiscing.....I'll just keep that in my head for now. But, I suppose, with the fall season started, it's time to look at the already-been-had part of this season(which is what's propelling me to take actions to change, as you'll see....).

2007 marks only my 4th year climbing, but I've been lucky. Being self-employed has, at times, given me a lot of freedom to travel and take extended weekends. But this year, it seemed like it stalled out on me.

Returning from my spring trip out west, I found myself in yet another micro-financial crisis(I say micro, because the amounts involved were a pittance compared to what many others would require to feel the squeeze. But when one lives on a cash basis, relying on zero credit, the reality of one's cash flow is a little more clear). At the same time, my newly hired assistant bailed after having worked with me for only a month. With the summer slowdown coming, I knew it would be impossible to hire a new person (But now fall is here - Craigslist Want Ads - here I come!).

So I was stuck doing the weekday work(thank you Nicole, my weekend assitant!). Which meant I finished my work week at 3pm on Friday, and had to be back for Monday....grrrrr. In comparison to last year, when I had my van and could drive whenever I wanted, and was taking off Thursday night or Friday whenever, and could come back some time on Monday....well, you do this math. The answer to the equation is "2007 season = Sucks!"

Well.....not really. I mean, I have been upstate nearly every single weekend since May(late start this year due to weather). I think I missed 3 weekends in total.

Alas - my most regular climber partners were AWL(Absent WITH Leave). One was in Europe for the summer, and the other was tending to her newborn baby. Having been out of the "blind day" partner loop, I found it difficult to locate partners to climb with, and found myself taking plenty of hikes instead. It was so bad that I even considered creating a faux username ar rc.com and pretending I was a newly arrived to the area woman..... Don't laugh! When I started climbing, each time I posted for a partner, I had scores of replies, from guys who had tons of experience(and appreciative of them all, I remain, for through them I learned climbing ethics).

Add to the mix that I dedicate Sundays to trail work. Though my time available at the cliffs has decreased this year, there's just no way I would think of giving this up. I know this season has been an anomoly, and that change is on the way.

So......this year has been a low-impact climbing season for me. I have led only a handful of routes this year and the only "first" that I achieved was taking a lead fall onto a nut (P1 crux of Frog's Head).

In comparison to moments like the lead I took on Bitchy Virgin, this was fairly a non-event.

So - autumn is here - and I have been besieged with so many request for partners that I can't fit them all in. I've got to make up for lost time! I still lead 5.5, still find myself deferring to others when they want to lead, and still give the world's most patient belay while wondering why it's sometimes not reciprocated....

Let's hope the rest of this year brings me many pitches to climb, good leads, and an improvement in making sure I take my share in partnerships.

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Road Trip Pre-TR

Busy, busy, busy...I have photos to edit, catalog, email, and post for the Goddesses on the Rocks event I talked about here.

So, instead of making an all-inclusive "here's what happened" report, I'm breaking it down into segments.

The plan was to Amtrak to Boston, where my friend Cheryl would pick me up. We'd stay the night at her place(a very nice little arts& crafts-y bungalow she's got, though I'm not sure if technically it's a bungalow. But I love built-ins and simple, beautiful wood trim, and the place had the original in place.). The next morning, we'd pick up person #3 from he airport, head to a campsite near North Conway, and get in a day of climbing on Friday.

Then, the Goddesses event for the weekend. And, as you may recall, I had no plan as to my transportation back....but obviously, it has worked out, and I am back home, being bombarded with the anxieties and troubles of city-living in the age of advanced technology. yesterday, my AOL service was FUBAR - that should be in 96-point type, by the way - yesterday. SO messed up that I spent more than 6 hours in attempts to diagnose/repair, with less than 15 minutes of that involving human tech support(an epic unto itself, but luckily I saw the route would not go early on, and bailed before committing past the first few moves..... GRRRR).

The train ride - This was stylee mass transport, in my book. I had a few options. Take the Acela, which is supposedly that ultrafast ride.... But at twice the cost, with only a half an hour shaved off in transit time, I felt it was a rip-off, and declined. Maybe there is something I missed that makes it worthwhile....I couldn't say.

They also offered an upgrade from coach class to business on Amtrak. Now, I consider myself a luxe dirtbag, so I automatically rejected the "upgrade" without even checking the price.

Locally, I'm used to taking Metro North to the Gunks, with my dog. I get the stink-eye if I take a seat(they're for 2-leggeds only, apparently) and so I ride in the open section for baggage and bikes, using my cooler for a seat, with Teddy curled around me somewhere nearby. simply having a SEAT is an upgrade for me, so I didn't think I'd mind the coach class train ride.

Well - Let me tell you something! I don't know what business class Amtrak offers, but Coach service has butt width seats and leg room enough for the biggest touron venturing cross country. Plush, clean better than any airline seats, in my experience. I settled in comfortably, and the only distasteful item was that the guy across the aisle was yammering into his cel phone for he entire first hour of the trip. Funnily, his big, oft-repeated topic was how "so and so" suffered from narcissistic personality disorder....

Finally, he got off the phone, and soon after got off the train, and I was left to the quiet of my inner thoughts while I watched the northeast corridor glide past as the sun headed round the horizon.

The drive up next morning, from Boston to New Hampshire, was a highway cruise, but since it was my first trip in the area, I was very happy enjoying the changing scenery as we entered mountainous ranges. Very pretty land, and as we drove the smaller roads the next few days, I saw many wonderful old homes, barns and outbuildings. Another few weeks and the foliage color-shift will make such a trip one to relish.

We camped at Covered Bridge campsite in the White Mountain National Forest.. The campground seems nice, I think, though I don't know what other options are available in the area. It had large, quasi-secluded sites that were clean(in fact, it appears someone comes in with a rake in-between tenants), fresh, cold water that comes from a hand pump down the road(there's something to be said for manual labor in exchange for subsistence). Best of all - there are huge logs set across the roadways, at about 8 feet off ground level, thus stopping any RV or monster-tired truck in their tracks.

Apparently, we were pegged as undesirables from the get-go by the campsite host though... Within a few minutes of our choosing a site and unpacking, he drove up in his golf cart and told us to slow it down in our driving. When we returned from our climbing session in the early evening, a form-letter list of Rules to be Broken was tacked under an item on the picnic table. I'd tented on foliage, it seems, although what I'd actually staked my claim on was the same surface that covered the rest of the tent area(gravel). It did have a carpet of dried leaves, but I honestly wasn't anywhere near putting up on the forest dirt ground. Ahh well... I am not one to piss off the guy in charge of my accommodations. So, I quickly moved my tent.

We then set out to begin our evening meal, and as we were doing so, a car that happened to be the same make and model as ours came careening down the road(that means they were going a little faster than the posted fast-idle posted speed limit). As I saw them pass our site, I told the girls "Watch - we're going to get blamed for that one!"

Sure enough! The host came Barney-Fifing down the road in hot pursuit! Off course, he'd had to get off his chair, call his wife/deputy and into the golf cart beforehand, so it was a few minutes later that he screeched to a halt in front of our site.....

I called out an apology for my tent, but was cut off with an officious "I TOLD you not to drive so fast in here!"

Well! My site mates weren't having any bully bullying them around, and they let him have it! Cheryl EVEN pointed her finger at him while declaring "That wasn't us!"

Luckily, she deflected the situation by explaining the look-alike vehicle and adding something like "We get into enough trouble on our own without having someone else's trouble added!"

He laughed at that one and that was the last we saw of the sheriff while we were in his town....

Climbing - Cheryl took us to a lesser-known crag to climb that day, so as not to lessen our experience with the Goddesses event if we'd be going to Cathedral or Whitehorse Ledges the next few days. She chose a slab area called Lost Horizons, which was just a short ride away from our camp area.

The hike in was...vigorous. At least it was for me... The heat and humidity added a level of exertion, but nobody else in the group(we'd met up with some others of Cheryl's friends) suffered as I did.

I don't know what happened, but after a few minutes, I was having some difficulty in my hike. I had stupidly left my full rack in my pack, not wanting to leave it in the car, which was parked along a busy-enough roadway. I fell back to the rear, and later took a short rest. Continuing on, I felt overheated again in another few minutes and had to stop.

By that point, we were a few minutes away from the crag, and Cheryl(enduro-woman, as you'll see in the photos below) had already gotten there, dropped her pack and returned. She offered to take the rope I was carrying, and I gave no resistance.

I decided to take it easy for the rest of the approach, no matter that everyone else was moving more quickly. But then, a steep section came up, and I found myself feeling a little light-headed. I sat down on a log, thinking it would be a short rest and suddenly I was accosted with a full on attack of dizziness and nausea.

Wow! It was bad. I truly thought I was going to pass out and throw up. So, I put my head down between my knees and waited as wave after wave rolled through my body.

Not sure what was causing the thing, I came up with the idea that I must have had my first menopausal hot flash, and when I tried that excuse out on the others(most of whom had already been there/done that) they didn't buy it..... But, they were good-natured about me and my excuse for physical unfitness. It WAS, I will admit, "that time" of the month, and it was generally agreed upon that the humidity, the semi-stiff approach, my pack weight, and the iron loss probably was what did it. Kindly, the "maybe a few sit-ups once in a while" suggestion was not offered as a remedy for repeat occurrences....

So - I survived, though I didn't feel so great, and was careful to be safe once we began climbing. The crag is a slab that rises into routes that range from 5.4 to about 5.8(so far as I know). The trail at the base is simply a footpath where rock meats dirt, and the angle of the slope continues downward, so any trips or stumbles mean down you go, only to be stopped by the forest of trees.

We climbed about 5 routes, with everyone getting a shot on all if they desired. The easiest routes were simply walk-ups, where no real route-finding is required other than the obvious(Go upwards). But the first bolts were up there, and then there were some run-out sections.

I chose to lead a route that was purported to be 5.6, a grade I'd stand by. And that first 25 feet of slab definitely did keep me on my toes(well, actually not, for I pasted as much rubber as I could get). The thought of coming off, and the awareness that the fall wasn't simply to the cliffside trail but onward and into the woods.... made for a sporty feel.

The first bolt passed and I breathed my relief sigh and continued onward. I don't recall feeling any worry about runout on the route, and the climbing was not too difficult(I lead Gunks 5.5). But the anchor! Oh my.....

I have heard of suspect anchors, but this one was definitely a runner for the title of Miss Manky Anchor. Not bolted, by the way. It consisted of a natural bridge-like bit of rock, with a shallow tunnel under it. The width of the bridge was maybe 8 inches or so, but the rock quality was pure, disintegrating as you watch, choss. It had the consistency of sandcastle material with some pebbles added for texture.

At any rate, the climbing was fun; I do like slab. And the route did require some skill in finding the best path, plus it had two crux-y spots(the first before the first bolt).

Still - I nicknamed this crag the "Green Acres Crag." It seemed every route had something....."off" about it. My lead was the awful anchor. There was a route that appeared to have a HUGE run out with groundfall potential from 60 feet up. It was an illusion....The missing bolt was actually in situ. It just happened to be several feet off the natural course of the route.

Another line had anchors placed at a point where a 60-meter rope meant the belayer had to climb 15 feet off deck(easy 5th class moves) to gain the belay stance. It WAS a nice little dish, although the space was tight for leader/belayer to start out on. Nowhere to anchor the belayer, so the leader had best not come off....

And it seemed that someone had made some effort to clear the slabby face of years of lichen. Except the clear spots tended to be in between where the bolts were placed! The routes tended to go straight through grainy lichen patches, making the routes feel as if peppered with a little local spice.

At any rate, it was a fun day, out climbing with a group of women in a quiet setting. We saw no other people while we were there.

As we drove back to camp, Cheryl stopped just after passing through the campground's namesake covered bridge. She wanted to show us what she called a Party Trick. Now, before you peruse the pictures, I should mention that earlier in the day we had been talking about training regimes (Of which, I volunteered I had none).

Cheryl, on the other hand..... did tell us that one of her endurance exercises includes doing repetitions of pull-ups to exhaustion. The thing is to do 5 pull-ups in a minute, and repeat each minute until incapable. So, you do 5 and then have the "rest" of the minute to rest.... Next mintue, same thing. Supposedly......one starts out with lots of rest time, which lessens as the reps build up.

Cheryl does this for.....45 minutes.


....I know.


So - the party trick consists of climbing, hand over hand, up this iron guyline, and then exiting through the pretty window on the bridge.








She did it in one shot, taking probably about 10 seconds, fully locked off the entire way.


What a sicko!


ADENDUM: 9/14 - I just remembered.... When I climbed with this hardwoamn the first time, it was in JTree on April of this year. She had told me that the day before she and some other chicks had gone to the legendary Gunsmoke to do some bouldering.....

She, having never been there before, and being newish to rock climbing, looked at the traverse(from the overhanging end) and....seeing no feet.... had one of the others boost her to the holds. And she proceeded to CAMPUS the traverse fully to the corner. Clean. Onsite.

ummm...yeah.
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Road Trip!(Just a Quickie)

I'll be disconnected for the next coupla daze, on a short climbing trip. It's about damned time. My last trip was way back in the end of April, for the Supertopo SushiFest.

This time, I'm headed up to Boston where I'll meet up with a climber I met ON that April trip! We're going to Sterling Rope's
"Goddesses on the Rocks" women's climbing workshop, up at North Conway, NH.

This will be my first time in that area, and I'm looking forward to seeing the place. We will head up a day before the event and get a day of climbing in. Sport climbing...if I understand correctly. Do you think I'll succumb, or will I stick to my traditional roots! I dunno, but I'm looking for fun and pretty sure I'll find it.

My friend will be participating at the event, and I am volunteering. I'll be a go-for to whichever group leader I get tagged up with; looks like I will have either Intro to Climbing or Beginner Trad. Either way, it will be a great chance to encourage women to get out there and get at it.

My friend has another person coming for a few extra days, and....I am not sure how I'm getting back home....since I have to travel on Monday, and they are staying in the area. Well.....I'm sure it will somehow work out that someone from the GotR event is headed south....right?

The next Goddesses event is September 29-30, at the New River Gorge. Info on the link earlier in this post. I can tell you these events are fun and a great way to network with other women climbers. And an easy way to get to see a new climbing area!

See you next week!

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I Got Good Guidance

Like so many people, my first "climbing" experience was in a rock gym. While it was sublime, it didn't take all that long for me to understand - clearly - that there was climbing(as I was "doing"), and there was "climbing" (as in....outside, or rock). Later on, of course I realized there was yet another kind of climbing (as in the crap-my-pants, 'GottaGettaPieceAndThere'sNoPlacement-AAAAGGGHHH!!!! Save me, Jesus!' run-out kind of climbing), but let's not get too far ahead of the story.....

Just as with "their," there" and "they're," the three "climbing's" may be spelled the same, but everyone except those still in Phase I (gymboree) understand that's where the similarity ends.

In the spring of 2004, there I was - no shit - stuck solidly in Phase I and knowing - with an aching, all-encompassing, kind of knowing - that I had to go out there and get it, if I wanted to climb for real. I desperately wished for some other gym members to take me to the Gunks. I knew they went up there; I could hear them making plans as the week rolled along towards Friday. But I was too intimidated to ask to be taken out. I do carry a card in the "Why Would Anyone Want Me" club, unfortunately, and that self-centeredness has cost me dearly.

One of those costs ended up being that of paid guides, who I hired to elevate my status from "gymboree" n00b to "Potential Hazard" (to the safety of my climbing partner, that is). All joking aside - I had incredibly rewarding experiences every time I went out with a guide, and I think I have a deeper respect for ethics and style than I would have gained on my own. Since, oftentimes new climber's are desperate to get out there, they might be apt to rope up with those who really are just a few steps ahead of them on the path. Some even latch onto another adventurous soul with the same lack of experience, and head for the hills.

I consider myself very fortunate, for having put myself in the hands of guides for the various "rite of passage" events in my early climbing daze (typo intentional). My first time climbing outside was with a guided group, and on the second day, I made seconded for the first time, following a guide. No welded nuts and over-cammed pieces for me! My first real road trip, to Seneca Rocks, was with Marty Molitoris, who operates Alpine Endeavors, a well-respected service up near the Gunks.

Marty goes with a low guide to client ratio, and he had brought along one Nick Sisk, who had guided and dirtbagged at Seneca years before. Nick was my personal climbing partner on that trip, and every time another group of climbers came along the trail, it was like a reunion of old friends. Everyone knew Nick.

When Marty mentioned the other areas he holds guiding permits at(an extensive number of locations across the US), and I heard the word JTree(yes, one word), I signed on immediately. Again, Nick came along as my one-on-one partner, and during that marvelous 10-day trip, I learned he had spent some years out there, dirtbagging as well.

Nick's specialty seemed, to me, to impart the values of old-style ethics. Because of him, I learned that a campsite was marked "reserved" simply by the presence of a fuel canister on a picnic table, or an overturned Crazy Creek chair anchored in the parking spot.

So much more, of course, and I'll go into greater depth on my next post. It's time for me to get packed and head out for a weekend at the Gunks.

Have a great weekend, have fun and be safe!

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HitchHiking and the Mohonk Mountain House

Getting from New Paltz to the cliffs with no car is very easy. I have heard others - men, big and apparently able to fend for themselves men - say they just take a taxi from the bus station. I tried that. Once. It's a long story. Let's just say that I won't be doing that again.

Instead, I hitchhike. Getting off the bus, I hightail it down Main Street to the stretch of curb in front of The Gilded Otter. This is a good spot for thumbing it, because it allows oncoming drivers a distance of space in order to process the information they are receiving, which would be: Hitch-Hiker, female, backpack, climber. Minimal brain activity required to surmise that I am probably not dangerous; just looking to get out to the Gunks and go climbing.

If they have quick reflexes, and decide to stop where I stand, it is a section of the road that allows them to do so without being rear-ended by an unobservant driver in a following car. If they are smart, and decide to pass me and turn the corner a few feet ahead, they can stop and not concern themselves with unsafe driving practices at all. I'll simply run down to the corner, throw my gear in the back and hop in. Then we'll turn around and be on our way.

The reason I rush to this spot is because sometimes there is another person on the bus heading to the cliffs who has gotten their partner to pick them up at the bus station. They might have room for me, and I want to be in place when they drive by.

You might think "Why not look around at the bus station and ask for that ride?" I will tell you why not. Because more often than not, they won't have room for another rider and their gear. or they will be wanting to stop at Rock and Snow, and then at the grocery store for power bars and water. And then at the Mountain Deli for breakfast. Like the time with the taxi; I did that once. Another long story, which gained me the revelation that it is often a big waste of time and energy to tackle the project with that plan.

Anyway..... This past Sunday was like any other hitch-hike day and I got a ride directly to the cliffs within a few cars passing. New Paltz is one of the few cities in New York state, I am assuming, where it is still relatively safe for a woman to put herself in the hands of a stranger on the road. The place is special that way.

On Sundays, I volunteer on the trail crew. We have a small group that works steadily, during season, to reinforce eroding sections of the cliff side trails, improve areas that are difficult to manage when evacuating an injured person laid out in a litter, and maintain the thing in general. It's my pleasure to do so, and I look forward to the day each week. There are long stretches of the trail that I helped fix up, and the work will endure for years. That's a very satisfying thing, to me, and one of the few ways I have to give back to the climbing community that has given me so much.

But this Sunday, we didn't have much help. Just myself and the crew leader. Our current project involves rock collecting and though the old saying goes "Three's a crowd," that's certainly not true in this case. The rocks we are looking for are more aptly called boulders, at least by the layman. A
boulderer would call them "bad landings" if they happened to be under what THEY consider a boulder.... The rocks we want weigh between 100 and 1000 pounds and range in size comparison to basketballs, microwave ovens and dorm-room style refrigerators. They aren't moved by one person hoisting them, but with rock bars and grip hoists

So - with just the two of us, no work could be done. Disappointed, I headed to the Uberfall, which is to the Shawangunks climbing community what the barbershop was to Mayberry, R.F.D., in the hopes of picking up an impromptu climbing partner.

Now, I have never been successful in doing this, and unlike the taxi game, I still haven't learned it's a waste of my time. Maybe it's because so many other people have success in finding partners that way; I know that it works. At least for some people....

It's just a paradox that I can stick my thumb out on a state highway and ask a ride of someone I can't even really see, but am unable to do the same on a more personal level. I get uncomfortable, sulky and introverted. I pull out a book and burry my nose in it, hoping "the perfect partner" will stop, and ask me to climb with him. (Yes, it's a him. Tall, smart, long, curly hai....Ummm... Well at least someone with plenty of experience.).

The truth is that I am not good at saying no, and when it comes to life/death situations, which climbing entails, one had better be prepared to do so. I have heard way too many stories of people roping up and finding themselves in serious trouble because they didn't vet heir partner beforehand, and found themselves climbing with someone who had misrepresented their abilities, whether intentionally or through naivety.

Combine that with some of the assinine scenes I have witnessed being enacted by FWDKTDKS (Folks Who Don't Know They Don't Know S***)...and I get a little...scared.... just roping up on the spot with just anyone. While I have climbed blind with well over a hundred people over the last few years, and had great days of it, I DO vet heavily beforehand. Someday I'll write a post about that experience.

I pride myself in an ability to stay safe. That's another story in itself; this one's supposed to about the Mohonk Mountain House and hitching a ride. So - let's get on to the Mountain House....

After a weak attempt at searching for a partner, I decided I'd hike over to the Mountain House. Because I usually have my dog, Teddy, with me, and dogs aren't allowed on MH property this was a good day to do it. By the way, if you are not familiar with the Shawangunk ridge and the Mohonk Mountain House, it's an interesting story.

I knew the Undercliff Road eventually led there, and was fairly certain it would be easy to figure out. The carriage roads, paved with shale and well-maintained, are hiked every weekend by families. I have only once seen someone in duress while doing so, and that was a man who called a gentle incline of less than 5 degrees "a hill." And, I've never heard an horror stories of anyone being lost overnight out in the wilderness of the Mohonk Preserve. The walk would be cake for me, and though I was a little concerned I'd be bored(it IS a flat road-like trail, after all....), I cheered myself up with thought of being able to take photos along the way.

That lasted about two seconds, before I realized I'd passed up the opportunity to restock in double A batteries for my camera. It's an energy hog, and I knew I would be lucky if I had enough power for a day's shoot. Berating myself for neglecting the item(for it had occurred to me to restock at home and then again when I got off the bus that morning), I had to stop myself from stepping into the quicksand of self-pity.

Soon enough I came along a bit of greenery that was photo-worthy and unpacked my camera with intrepidation. I knew what I would find, and was not surprised when the thing would barely power up. The half-press to fix the focus shut the thing down. "No photos for you" I heard, in the chiding voice of Soup Nazi from the Seinfeld series.

Again, I knew it would be a bad thing to allow myself to wallow. Oh - I had ammunition all right. I had no man, nor a climbing partner, nor even my dog for company. I wasn't going to be getting the heavy duty workout that a day on the trail crew brings; an exhaustion that is surprisingly satisfying, in a sort of masochistic way. I didn't even have use of my (sniff, sniff, dab away the tears) crappy little, barely beyond a point and shoot, FujiFilm camera..... I would have to be - oh no! - comfortable in my own skin, staying in the present. Laugh if you will -but when was the last time YOU really did that? I don't even OWN an Ipod, and use my cel phone only for the most basic communication; can you say the same? Hmmmm?

Well - it was what it was, and what it was, was a walk along the carriage road at the Trapps, listening to people yell climbing signals, as I trudged my day's destiny....

Of course, one can't really have a bad day out at there, or at least I can't. Before long I was happy in my thoughts, looking at pretty plants and noticing other small details of nature. Just before I hit the trail I usually take for Sleepy Hollow, I noticed a big boulder(climbing-sized) that looked pret-ty sweet. With an impromptu access trail barely discernable. Definitely not an *approved* trail, but one that was a hella lot easier to walk on than the one that had been put in officially. With just a tinge of guilt, I took it.

In my defense, I made absolute certain of my footwork, stepping on rocks wherever possible. I went out of my way to tread open ground when no rock was available, and avoided delicate mosses at all cost. well - except to gaze at their beauty. Sleepy Hollow is quite wonderful, in it's heavy mantle of furry moss. If you are reading this, and are wont to go "off-road," please try to at least do the same. The difference between traveled areas and the places one doesn't go, when it comes to nature, are actually pretty astounding. It takes surprisingly little traffic to maim fragile growth, and the half-life for destruction is a long one. Recovery, when possible, takes a timeline measured in generations.

The boulder, by the way, was a good one. Local boulderers know which one I'm speaking of, of course. Already chalked up extensively, I still noted several virgin paths of least existence. Lines I would never follow, simply because I didn't have the skill, but also because I was traveling alone and couldn't risk making one of those "bad landings."

That was good for a bit of time and soon I was back on the road, headed for the Mountain House. I figured I would do a rock scramble I had heard of along the way, called the Giant's Workshop. The walk was pleasant and, with just a few people passing by on bicycles, I was pretty much in solitude the whole while. At one point, I came to an intersection of paths (at Rhododendron Bridge) and decided to follow the Laurel Ledge Road.

Rounding a corner, I came to a very small cliffband right along the way, which reminded me of a mini Uberfall area, and shortly thereafter, a deer in the woods caught my eye.

Upset with myself about the situation with my low-energy camera, I slowly and quietly unpacked, hoping to try for a picture or two. She was happily grazing, but became aware of my presence immediately. I was able to get a few shots off, but wished for a better vantage point. She was further away that I'd liked and there were downed branches and trees hindering the sight line, being the woods and all.... However, I knew stepping so much as one foot off the road and into the wooded area would scare the deer off. She looked so content, laying down and munching greenery that I knew it would be incredibly rude to invade the territory in even the smallest way.



Not much further along, I came to a side road, The Old Minnewaska Road. To the west, this comes out to a bridge running over the Coxing Kill, and Split Rock swimming hole, a nice little summer laze-about spot that can be quite the local scene on a hot summer weekend day. It was interesting to put another disjointed piece of my Mohonk Preserve topographical puzzle in place.

This part of Laurel Ledge Road was fairly picturesque, carriage road-wise, and is a trip that would be incredibly beautiful in autumn with the foliage color change.

To the right, soon came a marker for the Giant's Path, which I assumed led through the Giant's Workshop. I took it, and soon enough found myself in that scramble.

For some reason, I had assumed this area was going to be a much larger maze to meander, but was not disappointed. The 'trail' through the thing is, in my opinion, not as clearly marked as it might be. I am a chicken, frankly, but considering that people who may not be aware of just how deadly a fall onto rock can be, the level of 'think for yourself' that folks are left to surprised me.

At one point, I misread the marking and headed in a way I thought would be a natural route. "Holy crap!" I thought, removing my pack to get through a tight spot. "This is a pretty big move for a novice to make, and a fall would definitely have potential for a broken ankle." Not the brightest start in the galaxy at times, I continued....

An easy step or two and the route I was on led through a slim vertical shaft toward daylight. I moved ahead...and looked down. "Holy crap!" I thought. "Sure, you can sort of shimmy/chimney through here, but the foothold is friggin' thin! Miss it and you are going down for a while, until you wedge into a constriction!" Knowing that families bring young children out to scamper in this thing, I was....beginning to think I may be off-route.

Still....I proceeded. The route WAS there, after all. I saw it clearly. I moved through that fissure and out towards the corner. The point of no return was one step ahead, and at least I had the sense not to blindly go forward. Stretching as far as I could, I saw that - yes - one could work their way to the outside. It was 4th class climbing though, and that was just the next few moves. Once past the corner, I'd be on a rock wall, and at least twenty feet above the ground, into 5th class range.

"This ....must not be right." I told myself, and headed back. Reversing the "big" move mentioned earlier wasn't difficult (again, for someone who has climbing skills) but still....

Looking at the trail blazes again, I realized that the person who had marked it used a symbol that hikers know as "turn this way" more as if it were an arrow, with the center pointing the way. I guess that was the crux.... At any rate, the "correct" way was.....just a little easier than how I had almost gone.

Coming out the top, one gets a very nice panorama of the valley below and the Trapps, Near Trapps and Millbrook ridges off to the southwest. And, a choice of several routes going forward. Being that I wanted to get to the Mountain House, I chose the one that said...."To Mountain House"....and had a nice little walk though, again, the trail was not well marked. It's just obviously been a while since someone's been through to touch up the blazes and though I suppose it's difficult to get lost out there, I wondered why the maintenance hadn't been done. (Probably for the same reason I was out there that day, instead of doing the trail work I'd intended; a lack of volunteer help!).

At any rate, in not to long a period, I came to more choices in my path, by way of carriage road. I couldn't help but be impressed, knowing as I do, that all these carriage roads were created in the late-nineteenth/early-twentieth centuries, and the work was done with manual labor using hand tools.

Headed in a northwest direction along the outer edge of a highpoint in the topography, I came across a pretty wooden pagoda, one of many that I knew had been put in place by the Smiley family, owners of the Mountain House, for the pleasure their hotel guests out enjoying their nature walk. Thinking back to what it must have been like, to be a young woman in corset and long dress along on this road, I can imagine it must have felt like quite the workout. Thinking back even further, hundreds of years before the slate roads and wooden scenic lookouts, to what it might have been like to be one of the area's original human inhabitants.... I couldn't help wondering how romantic it all must have been.



Eventually, I came to a clearing and saw that I was coming to the Mountain House grounds proper. A baseball/soccer field led way to tennis courts and soon enough I was...in a different world, and feeling a bit like a dirtbag, with my casual clothes, disheveled hair and huge, seen-a-bit-of-backcountry backpack, and my climbing shoes and camera bag dangling from daisy loops. Casual attire by way of being a Mohonk Mountain House guest is just a wee bit different than the casual attire I had on.

But! I knew there was a gift shop. And that meant I could replace my camera batteries and try for some photos of the place. Boy....did I feel weird, walking past the valet parking, moving off the road for fancy cars. I knew that, as a preserve member, I was allowed access to the grounds, but it sure didn't feel right. I kept expecting a butler in tuxedo to appear at my side, nose tilted to the sky as if I had BO, affecting that tone and asking "May we help you?"

No butler that I could see, though there were plenty of young, attractive guys in green polo shirts, the uniform of the hotel. Plenty! Almost an equal ratio to the guests, it seemed....

I can steel myself as well as anyone, and though I definitely felt out of place, I emboldened myself and stopped one of these guys to ask about getting batteries for my camera. I didn't think I would be "allowed" in the hotel, but thought maybe there'd be "some way" I could get those batteries. I'm not sure if I was supposed to be given carte blanche, and maybe I caught him guard but he directed me to the main entrance and gave directions as to where I'd find the gift shop.

The entryway was a zoo. Busy with arriving and departing guests, I felt like the obvious interloper at the wedding, or a salmon swimming upstream, instinctively needing to do so in order to carry on. Walking through the maelstrom as if I belonged there - as if I were, in fact, a paying guest and gawd help me but I was just that cool, not deigning to wear fashionable designer dungarees....

The hotel is...beautiful, and after I got my batteries, I headed out the back, where I understood Lake Mohonk resided. Just before exiting, I found a wonderful old Stickley settee. I touched it. How could I not!? I really love Stickley and though the pieces I have in my apartment are recently produced reproductions, there ARE Stickley, and have been made to the same standards as this antique; of radiant quarter-sawn oak. And I felt the energy, from the hands that crafted the piece in the first place to the years and years that piece has been standing, like an old tree in the forest, having seen it all and stood by, quietly.

Mohonk Lake is indeed very pretty, but I have to say - I did not really like the feeling I got, standing on the back porch of that hotel. I hadn't gone unnoticed, and though I generally don't really look at people, I DO glean sensation. It's a trait I've had all my life. It's not very helpful when running into people throughout my travels, since I rarely recognize faces or remember names. Such a problem it is, since I am apparently known by an awful lot of people, that I have no option but to be honest and let people know this is something that's "wrong with me;" I simply do not recognize people I have met before, nine times out of ten.

But I get their drift all right. And the drift I got at that time was one of riff-raff, myself being the cause of the rift. There were all these....lazy...I'm sorry but that's how it felt....wealthy men sitting in rocking chairs, impatiently waiting for...something. Looking at me as I walked by, and wondering to themselves - in a Thurston Howell the Third voice - on earth I was doing there. I got away from there as soon as I could!

I had decided to go walk along the lake, figuring that, though I definitely was no supposed to be in the hotel itself, there would probably be plenty of other preserve members and day use visitors on the grounds. Well....I can't say whether that was the case or not, but it wasn't so bad.

Well...it sort of was, actually. I came to a path that led to the famed "rock scramble." Deciding to take it I started down the path only to be quickly overtaken by families and young couples, moving like cars on the expressway upset that the little old lady(me) was driving too slow and in their lane. I had to "pull over" and let them pass, or feel their irritation as they impatiently tail-gated.

Almost immediately, a mom, dad and two young boys zoomed past. The youngest boy became frightened when he had to step over a crevasse. Not knowing how bad it was, I could see he was definitely scared and felt sorry for him. He cried and balked all the while she pulled and finally launched him over the thing and finished him off with a belittling remark. wow....

Now, I got lucky, because while I had pulled back to let this family get past and gain some space, I had taken time to look around. And you know what I saw? I mean besides several plastic drink cups, soda bottles, and food wrappers stuffed in the crannies between the rocks....

I saw - a porcupine!

Yes, I did. He was, believe it or not, coming out of what was probably his den, right there at the start of that rock scramble.



The little buy ahead was still crying, now with shame as much as the residual affects of being scared silly and I thought. "Hey! I them about the porcupine, and that will break the negative feeling! Nobody expects to see a porcupine, certainly not...here... and the kid will be amazed!"

Well....not quite.

No response/reaction whatsoever from the two boys, but the mother crisply said "Unfortunately we can't make our way back there to see it." Only what she meant was "And why is it, may I ask, that you are speaking to us?"

Oh.....

Well, I decided to let them have a LOT of space. And so I stood waiting for the porc to come out and let me see him, and sit for a portrait. He did rollover onto his haunches and give his belly a good scratching - long claws, I'll say! - but he realized that I was probably going to be stupid and tell everyone I saw that he was down there and point him out, and then he'd probably get poked at with sticks and have his day messed with. So...he stuck it out, and waited until I admitted defeat and moved on....

Within short order, another set of people came up from behind and overtook me. Now - this rock is polished. I'd much rather have been scrambling over talus at the base of the cliffs than this stuff; it's got a strange smoothness in places and though it's easy stuff, the mix of smoothness, trash litter and impatient scramblers was a little disheartening. I didn't like it at all. At one point two people went ahead of me and stood in an opening. I could hear they were talking to others in their group, who had taken a different path, and were waiting for them to catch up. Since I could see them coming, I waited, and decided to let them go as a group rather than try to get ahead or go in between.

This, apparently, upset someone who came up behind me, who nearly pushed me out of the way while asking "Are you going?" wow.....

The rest of the scramble was pretty much the same, unfortunately, though it's probably much less icky on a weekday or in a less busy time of year.

Once out of the scramble, its a shale-graded path rising up a hill to the top, where the Alfred Smiley Memorial stands. People seemed much nicer up there.

There are some very nice views from Skytop, like the rockface of Lake Mohonk.



And the memorial is a nice piece of craftsmanship too. Here is the iron gate at the front entrance.



On the way down(Nooo...I didn't take the scenic way down. I walked the road, thank you.) there are pretty vistas, with stopping spots and those nice wood pagodas. Some give way to views of the majestic old hotel.


As pretty as it is, I can't believe they have this ugly dock running through the lake. But I guess they have to be able to accommodate the leisure traffic, and a rustic smaller dock wouldn't be able to handle the load.


Getting back to ground level, I realized that my day had been burning along fairly well, and it was probably past the time I should have started to make my way back to New Paltz. I had....wrongly...figured I'd simply get a ride back to town in much the way I do from the cliffs. That is - to go to the parking area, and ask people heading to their cars if they had room for me and my gear. I had dawned on me - sometime between walking in the back door of this resort and that moment - that my plan was flawed.... Little did I know just how badly.

I had wanted to walk the cliffbase of Skytop, and get a look at the fantastic climbing routes. But I was tired; I have no idea how far I'd walked, but had been pretty much going nonstop since 10am, and by my guess it was at least 3:00 at the time. As well, the sky was darkening as rain clouds began brewing.

Uh oh....

I decided to save Skytop(the real Skytop - the rock climbing!) for another day, when I was fresher, and make my way toward the parking area. I was worried about the ride situation; I could simply not imagine the reactions I was going to be getting from these people when I asked if I could hop in....

And so, I headed in the direction I knew was the exit. Along the way, I passed a section of formal garden, filled with pretty flowers. I took but one photo, probably because, as I said earlier, I was becoming tired.



On the road to the exit, there is a truly magnificent old tree. It's not a Weeping Willow, but it has a similar sweeping mass of tendril branches. Up close, he tree is fantastic - an ancient, windy limbed beauty. Just spectacular. The hotel has placed a rather large and obvious sign asking to respect the tree's age and beauty, and to please not climb on it or carve it. Nonetheless, the limbs are scarred with cutwork initials.

So...I headed out, and off what I thought was the hotel grounds. I believed I was heading down a drive that would shortly lead to the road leading back to New Paltz.


Wrong.

Oh, and when I am wrong, I am wrong.....

I had not known that the hotel had a two-miles plus long driveway. I had been to the gatehouse entrance a few times in the past, only to find out the parking lot was full, or they wouldn't allow me in because I had a dog. I had simply assumed at the time that the hotel was just down the road, well camouflaged behind a heavy bank of trees. Suddenly I understood why I had seen several short-busses with "Mohonk Mountain House" emblazoned on the side......

Uh oh.

I knew, I just knew, that it would be bad to put my thumb out on the resort driveway. Disrespectful, and.... just bad. And so, I committed to the walk, thinking perhaps someone might see my pack and recognize me as a hiker, take pity and offer me a lift.

Then I came to a sign that said walkers MUST use a side path to get to the gatehouse, 2.3 miles down the road. The good news, the sign promised, was that the path was a half mile shorter than the road.....

Even if I had wanted to disobey the rule, the road really was too thin to walk along. There was absolutely no shoulder, and it was not a lazy country road. It was one way and winding, with cars winging around the curves every few seconds.

Oh, crap.

I had no choice.

Eventually I came to what I thought was the road..... I put my thumb out and each car stopped, only to say that no - they weren't headed to New Paltz, and unfortunately could not give me a ride. I had been wondering why the road seemed....thinner...than I had remembered it, since I'd driven it a few times last year when I had a car. But, as I said earlier ...sometimes I'm not so bright.

This road didn't have much of a shoulder either, and it was sort of scary. I had to go quite off into the woods edge in order to be safe and not frighten the drivers; I didn't want to upset them - it really was a thin pathway.... and I didn't thumb it if the road wasn't clear enough that I felt the car could stop without being in danger of traffic coming up behind.

Finally, another car stopped and strangely, they didn't roll down the window for me to query about a lift. Well - I was about out of steam. It was obviously going to rain at some point, I was worried about getting back to own, and had realized - some of these people...were not nice. At all. This was NOT the same as hitching a ride to the cliffs. These were not climbers and hikers and locals of the area, used to quirky climbing bums. At all.

So, I shouted through the window. And at the same time, I noticed the lady passenger was speed-dialing something on her cell phone. "Oh christ" I thought..."Do I REALLY look like an axe murderer?"

The man let the window down a crack, and I repeated my request. As if I were a moron (well...if the show fits, now that I think about it), he said "This road goes to the hotel."

Oh. Crap.

When I came off the walking path, I had mistakenly thought I'd hit the road, when it was actually the entry drive into the hotel. Now wonder it seemed like a one-laner..... It WAS!

The driver cheerfully told me that the road wasn't far back, really.....

I DID remember to thank them, by the way.


And so....I walked. It wasn't that far. Not really. Probably 10 or 15 more minutes. But then the fun really started.

If you know that road, you are aware that it is a very winding one, with lots of blinds sections and curves around steep embankments with guardrails set very close to the roadway.

Not a good place to be walking, much less hitching a ride. Especially from wealthy patrons to an exclusive resort hotel.

I walked for half an hour, listening very carefully for oncoming traffic. It wasn't their fault I had been stupid, and I intended to be considerate. If the road was not a clear enough stretch fro them to safely slow and stop, I would step well off to the side and not signal for a lift. In the instances where I could thumb, not a one of those expensive cars so much as slowed down even the slightest.

Thinking I was screwed, and wondering how many hours walk it would be back to New Paltz, I tried to make the best of it, while hoping I was forecasting wrongly in thinking rain was less than an hour away.

FINALLY a car stopped. Oh my god, was I relieved. It was a man who worked at the Mountain House, on his way to New Paltz for another shift at a second job.

And thus ends my little Sunday trip report.....

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Elvis Arm?

A few weeks ago, I was following someone on CCK(Cascading Crystal Kaleidoscope at the Gunks). It was my first time on the line, and though I’d heard it was as spectacular and real as that chick’s breasts on “Seinfeld,” I knew little else about the route other than to expect exposure. At the Gunks, that’s like saying to look for sunny skies in Florida; to expect the expected.

Climbing onsite, whether on lead, following or on a toprope, is my preferred style. I’ve found that, while I like repeating routes well enough, the fun is definitely in the unknown. I’ve also found that, on lines I hope to lead in the not distant future, to know what’s coming sometimes makes me afraid to get on the sharp end! Going in blind puts me on a higher state of alertness that makes dealing with events as I confront them seem more manageable.

But, I lead 5.5, and CCK on lead for me is not going to be happening this year or even probably in the next season or two. My partner that day leads 7’s 8’s and 9’s, which is a good challenging range for me to second. And so, when he asked what I’d like to get on, I suggested the route.

It was a hot, sunny day, and we were behind a party of three. Waiting at the hanging belay before the meat course of the meal, I found myself… a little nervous about the opening moves. Obviously, I don’t want to give away the goods, but suffice to say that…some things I’d have no problem with at ground level suddenly seem rather severe a hundred or so feet up in the air on the face of a near-vert cliff. One could consider that sequence an hors d’oeuvre for the main course at the crux, I suppose.

Giving myself just enough time to build up an appetite for fear, I took the plunge(or rather…I didn’t!), and the feeling of success was exhilarating.

Still, the climbing ahead was what had given the route its reputation as a classic line, and though I am able to block observing sequence information as I belay my partner (it’s actually very easy, if you focus on giving your best belay), I couldn’t help but get the feeling that the operation was a delicate procedure.

Again, I don’t want to detail anything, in case you haven’t been on the route. I will say that I wasn’t completely sure I could grasp the matter at hand and stay on my feet (I wear size six street shoes, and I like footholds that fit!), and the path of trajectory should I slip would be…unfortunate.

Alas, as in all things climbing, the best way through is usually up. And that is where I began to head. Timidly. Very, very timidly. Even my sense of humor was tainted, as I came up with old standby nervous energy chatter. I pride myself in a quick wit, but what came out of my mouth was “I don’t think I like this route! Whose idea was it to climb this thing anyway?” Who hasn’t heard THAT one a million times already….

Compounding matters, there was another party coming up from below, on the direct version of the route(We had taken the original, traversing line). So, there I was, on thin moves facing a penji, with a partially innocent stranger coming into the line of fire. I couldn’t help but giggle(but just for a moment, and I kept it to myself) at the vision of swiping this guy off the face as I tarzan’ed past him. I’d definitely have making SOME sort of guttural scream, and who knows – maybe he’d have become tangled in my vine, I mean my line, and, clinging to me like Jane or Boy, went along for the ride. That was certainly more exciting that the imagery of a dull “thwack” and dead drop, which was more realistically what would have happened.

Scared for him as well as myself(ever the thoughtful one, I am) I told him I wasn’t sure I’d stick. This guy looked up at me with the calmest, just out enjoying a day, eyes I’ve ever seen on a leader. If Disney ever makes an animated climbing film, this would have been a “hakuna matata” moment. Even as he sacrificed himself to the moment, he was in complete control, and had no worries.

He patiently told me he’d wait if I preferred.

I did.

Between his encouragement, and my partner’s patient and attentive belay, I eventually committed to the sequences needed to get out of there. Again - I am not going to give beta, but if you are like me, this climb with have you swearing, crying, wishing for an exit stage left miracle, and generally trying to stay composed at least enough to avoid complete meltdown.

It was pretty ugly and embarrassing. But I know one ethic about climbing is that it’s cool no matter what happens, so long as you don’t fabricate the style you did it in. So let it be known – I stunk up the wall with noise pollution and a traffic jam.

Finally I made some moves and came to a gear placement that held a blue Camalot. I set my stance and pulled the trigger. Out the piece came, easily enough. A perfect extraction.

But then….THEN! Then I couldn’t believe what happened. As I adjusted my finger position to move toward clipping the piece to my harness, I noticed a most unusual sight…… My forearm was doing the rhumba! Or acting like a drunk on Red Bull trying to walk a cop’s commanded straight line. Wasn’t happening.

I seemed to be seeing double, I knew my arm was bent at the elbow, with the cam still trigger-pulled in my hand, but my hand and wrist were just….not…behaving. Mexican jumping bean, the tracers of a fire-dancer at a pagan festival. Use whatever imagery you prefer; the fact was – I was under the effect of Elvis Arm!

What a rip off! I have to tell you(and if you have ever climbed with me you already knew this). I always prided myself in having never experienced the sewing machine leg. Seen it a million time(well, maybe not that many) in others, but I’d never had so much as my foot tapping a rhythm. And I was good about adjusting my stance when I felt a little stiffness too. Hold my heel down, take a breath, make a body shift to reduce tension. Whatever was needed, I seemed to automatically render the adjustment and avoid yet another Elvis sighting from cliff bases across the country.

I just have to be different, I guess. Elvis leg is for….other people. I got the King’s Swing in my front legs, dammit.

And so it was. I was astounded by the betrayal and brought attention to the scoundrel arm immediately. As if it wasn’t a part of me…. I could have stayed there longer, in awe and shock. But of course, I had kept my partner waiting too long already, and the guy below probably would have liked to get on his way too. And so, I continued on the route.

I don’t recall right now if there was still more difficult(for me) climbing ahead. I believe there was. But forevermore, my memory of CCK will not be about the beautiful colors - twinkling quartz crystals glinting in the sun, as it was for the supposedly tripping first ascentionists. Nor a slow-mo recap of the delicate traverse to powerful pull through sequence. It will be the bad, truly campy, impersonation of the elvis leg phenomenon that my body performed that day.

FreeBird

Supposed to meet my partner at 8:30am in the Uberfall, and I was hurrying because I was late. Only by a few minutes, but I do like to be prompt. Besides, I had not had my morning constitutional yet, and that's something one doesn't want to leave til the last minute, which usually occurs at some point,finding ousrself deep in fear leading a wild pitch or slung into a hanging belay while our partner takes.....waaaaayyyyy to lonnnnngggg.

Scurrying toward the area, I don't see David anywhere. And I spy the UberPooper, as the outhouse at the Trapps in commonly called. There's no pack set on the ground out front, nor is there a line of people, so that means it's available. David seems like the sort to be on time too, and so I am pretty pleased to get this reprieve from his punctuality.

As I pass Ken's Crack, a popular classic route that is one of the few true crack lines at the Gunks, I notice a blue backpack along the trail.... Not thinking twice, since my eye's on the stall and I don't want to get sideswiped by someone in the short distance I need to travel, I ignore it.

Almost to the pooper, I become aware of some movement on the wall and look up to see a person climbing the route Boston(5.5). Realizing it's my partner, I look down to see who he's roped up with. Nobody! He's freesoling the route.

Now, I knew David was a punctual sort of person, but I never figured him to be a freesoloing type. I was a bit taken aback, since I'm such a chicken that I can get nervous on a Less Than v0 bouldering traverse if it goes more than four feet off the deck. It always surprises me when I realize someone else has a different mindset than I do.

Not wanting to disturb him, I try to sneak off to the side, while getting out my camera. The big question was...of course... Do I snap the shutter if he starts to come off? I KNOW! That's terrible. But...well....? Would YOU, or wouldn't you?

At any rate, David has seen me, and he shifts his stance to downclimb. He's just coming into the crux of the route, an offwidth chimney with a tricky exit, and I suppose it would be a good time to bail. If there was any hesitation on his part.

Still unsure what was up, I told him to continue, and not worry about keeping me waiting, which was his reason for starting down. After all, it was my lateness that gave him so time that needed filling in the first place! And so, up he went.

I did get some shots, and was pretty nervous as he hesitated at the crux. I guess perspective is a little bit sharper when your climbing style passes the realm of a clean lead into the purity of freesolo. At any rate, David took his time, assessing the moves needed and being sure he was solid as he made the sequence. Relief was palatable as he topped out.

.....

Funnily enough, that UpberPooper is featured in an other freesoloing experience I witnessed at the Gunks. It was probably two years ago, and I was climbing with Richard, known to many in the climbing community as DrKodos. We were headed to get on Apoplexy and I stopped to use the john. When I came out, Richard was nowhere around. Then, I spied his pack, a grey haulbag, resting along the trail at about the same spot as David's blue one in the story above. But...where was Rich?

I finally saw him; he was soling Ken's Crack, as two young women dilly-dallied over starting the route on a toprope.

That was my first time seeing someone climb completely free and it shocked me that he'd choose a stage such as this, in the overly popular Uberfall, on the most visible 5.7 in the Gunks, on a beautiful(crowded) Saturday afternoon.

But...that's Richard. All the world's a stage, and he's taking the lead role.

Watching his intentional movements scared the crap out of me, but he told me he'd done this line, in this style, literally hundreds of times. Even so - I couldn't help feeling a sense of outrageous fear, as I imagined myself up there.

Freesoling is not for me, I'm pretty sure. Although, I was watching some friends climb Three Pines(5.3) last weekend, and I sort of had an urge to go for it.(Boy, would they have been mad. I had turned teaming with them on the route!). I knew, beyond all doubt, that I could do that first pitch, up and down, with no problem.

And I have done some scrambling in Joshua Tree - a place where the line between third and fifth class climbing or highball bouldering is all a matter of personal perspective. But, I'd kept a read on each move's reversal, and backed off when I couldn't fully guarantee the next move upward.

I still have plenty of room to grow with my climbing experiences before freesoloing would be a viable way to take it to another level. Perhaps I'll never know what it's like to go fully free. But I do admit that I have some admiration for those who can. The most common arguments (selfish, dangerous) may make sense to some people, but I have witnessed enough of those same folks making selfish and/or dangerous decisions on high to question their authority on the topic. Dead is dead, whether it's a freebird who took a mistep and found their wings clipped, or a roped climber who fell on badly placed gear and one piece too many pulled.