Going local bouldering

When most boulderers think in terms of going bouldering they pile into the vehicle and drive somewhere near their home town, then park alongside a road at a pullout, or public parking area, and walk along a trail or path to reach a pile of boulders, whereupon the commence to toss down a hefty brightly colorized crashpad on the ground beneath their next 'Project'.

But that's most other boulders for you.

For me though, walking shoes, a winter coat, short knee length short pants (this is a must...no matter how cold it is because pant legs get in the way!), grab a bottle of water, tuck it into my mini fanny pack, and a snappy departure from home, taking either a left or a right route, and briskly march along the town paved sidewalks, going out for a long daily "walkabout" in this neighborly and quaint smallsville town.

En route along that multi-mile walkabout march I do make it a habit to stop at any one of a half dozen small town playground areas to check out the bouldering potential. I know, I know...you're thinking to yourself...that ain't bouldering. But I do digress on this fine point. Some things you eat and drink — I don't call "food" either.

There are the little town playground one may encounter the usual small kids playing on the playground equipment (various slides, steps, platforms, monkey bars, roped arenas, mini-bouldering wall, mini-tunnels, etc), and yep you sure can see and hear by all the smiles and noisy chatter that the kiddies are all having a blast. And the parent (usually its Mom)...well she is standing there nearby enjoying a relaxed moment, chattering with 1-2 other Mom's who are also there releasing all that pent up energy so very much bound up tight in those little 4 year-old  kiddies that ain't any taller than my waistline.

It's there, among all that friendly noise, that I pick a spot to sit down on the ground, remove my overcoat, plop my fanny pack and water on the ground, untie my tennis shoes, slip out of my socks, stand up, and slowly gravitate over to the starting point.

Yep, the key here (point #1) is BAREFOOT. Ya don't wanna be doing this stuff with shoes on...you can die doing it with shoes on...I should know after attempting it the first two times. Shoes are simply too clunky for this game. And while we're on the topic of "barefoot bouldering" you don't really want to spend time flying off (like you might do when you are out at the real live bouldering area and that big fat orange crashpad is awaiting to catch your feet). Because here at the small town playground area — the ground is indeed soft, and spongy-like, but....its usually composed of bark or sawdust chips, and sometimes big chips. So, if you hit the ground too hard you will certain find a splinter in your sole (key point #2).

Each play area has its own natural starting point for bouldering, and it does take some analysis to find it. This particular one begins at the vertical ropes ( a series of horizontal and vertical tied ropes). I step aboard (yep, it's kinda like getting on a moving Mississippi River paddle-wheel riverboat), and cruise easily along the roped section, then along the mini-vertical bouldering wall, to the rest spot on the outer start of the first monkey bar set. Here we get some stretching in because we are gonna need it soon enough.

Then I lean into the overhang, full body hanging from the slick metal monkey bars of set #1, and slowly cruise upside down, full body hanging along the first set of bars to the far end, then at the last rung, I flip my feet up into the previous bar, until my knees are fully enclosed on that bar, and let go with a woooosh — with hands off that last bar — I swing with a momentary rush fully upside down, like a gymnastics person, and continue to swing fully upside down, back and forth for a series of times, enough to get that blood a pounding in my head, and enough to chill down the fore arms (well not really...).

Then on the last swing, aim for the high bar directly above, muscle it with hands, foot out left on the vertical slick pole, other foot out right on the other slick pole (now bear in mind that this is typical very wide Beacon Rock style stemming!), and gingerly reach over to that far slick metal pole and smartly grab the second monkey bar set, and cut the feet loose, swinging your feet up into the awaiting first two horizontal bars and wrap your legs over it quickly, pull a swift, stylish reversal, all the while hanging totally upside down, then cruise in upside down mode all the way across monkey bar set number two. When you reach the far end of that set, do a very stylish reversal, and cruise the same monkey bar set for 3-4 loop sessions in a row, then at the farthest end of that monkey bar you can finally stop and take a brief break. No, no, no, not by putting your feet on the ground (that means you failed to send the route dude!). You sit there on the metal bars and chill briefly, or if you are not pumped (and technically you should not be here yet!), then you make another very very long stem out with your barefoot to stick it onto another far out there vertical slick metal pole, wrap your hands around it, both feet on it and on a nearby metal vertical bar, then lower yourself into another upside down position, and cruise along a single metal horizontal metal bar across to the far final end flat kiddie landing platform. Then cruise underneath that platform to the far end, grab the vertical metal ladder at that far end, stand up on it...then crawl back under the platform and cruise another horizontal bar hanging upside down, and pull a quick reverse, aim your toe for the center point of the farthest platform, touch it...and done.

That is tour number one. Though each small town kiddie playground offers its own unique set of tours, this particular play area has a total of four quality power lines, yielding measurable technicalities upwards in the V3-V4 range, depending on your skill level (i.e. again reminding you that you get instantly disqualified if you do it with shoes on).

Do note that playing this whole game of town park metal bar bouldering — the weather must not be too cold for obvious reasons! Point number one, your hands and feet will never survive the super cold metal bars. And point number two...if its really cold during the day (in winter), such as 45F, then bouldering is much more difficult on slick metal poles (you need the foot stickiness that occurs on the soles of the feet upon the vertical slick metal poles for viable traction).

After doing a half dozen session you will get the hang of it, and playground bouldering suddenly becomes an exercise friendly, neighborhood walkabout, smile-at-your-neighbor non-motorized virtual necessity.

So....

One kiddo is dashing up the steps to the high landing then flying down the slide to the ground, and eagerly en route for another round trip he stops atop the high landing, peers down at me (while I'm in the middle of the monkey bars traverse hanging upside down staring up at the sky), and he calls down to me, "What are you doing, guy?"

"Oh, just practicin'."

He quickly catches the concept and replies, "I'm practicin' too!" And he briskly dashes over to the slide and vanishes speedily down it again.

So....

Another day when Mom and her kiddies were there making avid use of the playground equipment and — when I had just reached the end of that first monkey bar set, and proceeded to dive earthward into full upside down swinging mode, that ever-friendly Mom stepped a bit closer while I am still swinging back and forth upside down with brains still aiming for the ground (we had chatted briefly on previous occasion) and she casually told me what one of her little children had recently said after their last visit to the town playground.

"Mommy, are you going to get really strong pulling us in this wagon all the way to the park and back home again — just like that guy on the monkey bars?"

She replied to her little son, "Yep, Mommy's going to get real strong pulling you kids in the wagon to the park and back!"

 

A quarter twain?

A quarter twain...Huh? 

""That night we had the watch until twelve. Now it was an ancient river custom for the two pilots to chat a bit when the watch changed. While the relieving pilot put on his gloves and lit his cigar, his partner, the retiring pilot, would say something like this:

"I judge the upper bar is making down a little at Hale Point; had a quarter twain with the lower lead and mark twain with the other."

"Yes, I thought it was making down a little, last trip. Meet any boats?"

"Met one abreast the head of 21, but she was away over hugging the bar, and I couldn't make her out entirely. I took her for the Sunny South - hadn't any skylights forward of he chimneys."

And so on...""

Quote from the book "Life on the Mississippi" by Mark Twain

Note: A quarter twain is 2 1/4 fathoms (13 1/2 feet). And mark twain is 2 fathoms. And mark three is 3 fathoms. 

Note: the discussion is between two pilots aboard a large paddle wheel steamboat in the 1850s-1860s.

Family Gathering

This holiday season my wife and I visited three close kin relatives — all on the same day, for a brief bit of socializing, and a quick session of partaking of the abundance of food that my close relatives were sharing at a dinner table that Thanksgiving Day.

Our first stop was over at my big brothers family gathering for an hour long visit, where we intermingled, laughed, ate various select foods ranging from hot sliced turkey, mashed potatoes, maple syrup lathered sweet potatoes, home-made gravy, apple and pumpkin pie, a wide selection of cookies, chocolate fudge bars, and more.

We limited our food intake at our first stop, so that our next visitation stop over at my younger brothers family residence where another large enclave of blood kin relatives had gathered, we could still eat a bit of something. That second journey to the next close kin proved to be another great inter-social affair for we only tend to see our close kin about once per year — at this time of year during the holiday season.

The second visit, at my younger brothers, we encountered another major supply of amazing home cooked hot turkey with a wide selection of much favored items, and again, we were very selective about consuming too much, for we still had one more stop visit to make that same day.

On our third and final stop visitation to my younger sisters family residence where his descendants were all gathered — another large steaming hot turkey awaited, with all the trimmings, ranging from mashed potatoes to pies and more.

Yet by the time we arrived here...my normally bottomless man-sized stomach (being an athletic well-honed fit and trim mountain climber) that could tackle immense quantities of food finally reached its culminating state — plump stuffed fullness — barely finishing it with a slice of whip topping covered spice flavored pumpkin pie. Soon, that comfy feeling of sleepy floppy plumpness had set in.

And what would a family gathering be without some of that famous home-made pumpkin pie? For I had heard one of my kin relatives explain an event leading up to this day....

As our sister was pulling that hot pumpkin pie out from the hot oven and putting it into the tray to cool, the four-legged metal wire-framed cooling tray tilted slightly and in a rush the fresh out of the oven hot pumpkin pie aimed for the kitchen floor where it promptly ended up -- upside down, crust staring up at a set of discomfited eyes that were staring forlornly back down at that now lost pumpkin pie.

"Well" ...thought one family member, "It's still viable for pumpkin goulash, yes?"

"Sadly. No," replied my little Sis, "Not when it's mixed with dog hairs."

Yet that was not even the end of the pie saga this holiday season. The first floor bound pie occurred on Wednesday. On Thursday, the morning of our planned visitation, when one of the families children were helping to set the table in preparation of the coming meal, the second pumpkin pie slipped out of their grasp while the person was walking en route to the 12-person large dining room table, and it ALSO ended up on the kitchen floor!

For one brief moment a worried thought tore through their minds...what would this holiday season family gathering be without pumpkin pie!

Yet thankfully, somewhere one of the family members did solve that momentary limiting factor that afternoon at our third close kin family gathering — and they did have pumpkin pie — straight from the grocery store and loaded with quality flavorful spices (cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and clove).

But as we all know...it's not really about the pumpkin pie, is it?

No it's not! For our family gatherings at this time of holiday season, done only once late each year, in the cold winter months -- is really all about socializing once again with our immediate close blood kin family, for it's all about connections and communication with those person whom we love best, all the while aiming for a quality future ahead of us.

Pepperoni Pizza

In our early twenties and full of energetic zeal, my climbing partner and I often planned (or revised) last second goals for the weekend adventure outing, be it mountaineering, or local rock climbing, depending on the weather condition updates.

Late Friday night we committed to a day at Beacon Rock west of Stevenson, Washington for a day of rock climbing.

In those days our low budget life style living habits tended to keep our refrigerator in a near barren state. On this journey I had a hand full of granola bars that I stuffed into my lunch bag. My climbing friend had even fewer options...and when he opened the fridge, he spotted the day old 1/4 large slice of pepperoni pizza that was left over from yesterdays dinner, so he grabbed it, wrapped it in cellophane, and stuffed the pizza into his lunch bag.

Later that day, after several long busy hot hours of rock climbing various lengthy quality routes on the South Face of Beacon Rock, we stopped for a respite high up on Grassy Ledge, quite near the vertical cliff edge, at the Borderline route belay station. Grassy Ledges is, of course, several hundred feet above ground level, and the south face of the cliff is a steeply vertical cliff scarp with a near constant supply of easterly or westerly breeze. The views are superb from atop those midway ledges, and it provides a unique zone to sit and relax upon after a busy session of rock climbing.

I always prefer carrying some kind of small day pack (stuffed with quick items like water and snacks), so, as a rule, whoever was following the pitch got the wear the small daypack.

There at Grassy Ledges, lazily encamped at the very edge of the vertical cliff precipice, and quite fatigued from doing a solid half-day of classy rock climbing leads, both of us eagerly pulled our lunch bags out of the daypack. I got to nibble on a collection of 5-6 granola bars, while my partner snatched ahold of his pizza.

But...he doesn't like the slices of pepperoni (and never has), so he casually gripped each slice between a finger and thumb, and flicked each pepperoni slice outward away from the vertical cliff's edge, into an updraft of light breeze. One by one each thin slice of pepperoni was flicked away and each slice drifted away with the gentle breeze, en route somewhere down the vertical cliff scarp. Some hunger forest critter sure will be happy about the free meal, we thought to ourselves.

An hour later, after lunch and water were all consumed, we opted to descend by rappelling down the common rappel route near the SE Face route, and soon we arrived at the base of the South Face near where we had stashed our larger backpacks near the short hole-in-the-rock tunnel #1.

Another climbing team was actively doing a few routes at the base of the South Face near the SE Face route that afternoon as well, and we quickly struck up a brief conversation with them.

Then one of those two climbers asked....

"Gee, did either of you happen to have pepperoni pizza for lunch?"

The ears of my climbing partner perked up instantly.

"Well...no, not exactly — I had tossed the pepperoni slices away 'cause I don't like pepperoni...but yeah we ate PIZZA for lunch."

The other guy in that other team replied.

"Your slice of pepperoni landed on my shoulder!"

Model T

Harvey Firestone, Henry Ford, Thomas A. Edison and John Burroughs, the famed naturalist, were intimate friends, who found much pleasure in each other's company. On one of the many trips they enjoyed together, they had tire trouble. Fortunately for them, it happened near an auto repair garage. The sign read, "Firestone tires sold here" and they pulled the vehicle into the garage facility for repair.

While a new tire was being mounted, Ford said to the attendant, "It might interest you to know that the gentleman standing behind you is Mr. Firestone, the man who makes this tire."

"Really?" The attendant seem little impressed.

"And...I'm Henry Ford."

"Oh, yeah?" Responded the attendant.

"And this gentleman over here," continued Mr. Ford, pointing to another of his close friends, "...is Thomas Edison."

The attendant rose from his half-finished job. Slowly and exploringly he scrutinized each member of the party in turn. When his eyes found the long-gray-bearded John Burroughs, the garage attendants eye bugged out and his mouth dropped agape. Slowly, he turned back to Mr. Ford, and said....

"If you're gonna tell me that that long-bearded gent over there is Santa Claus, you can mount your own bloody tire."

Quote from the book "Me and the Model T, by Roscoe Sheller.

Canyon Creek

In search of an upstairs 2-holer

"I had went to Burke Idaho in search of a two-story outhouse, led more often by rumors that frequently turned out to be wild imagination run amuck. It was late in the afternoon and the only place open was the local saloon, yet this time, while at the local bar, after being quickly educated by the locals in "local ways and local terminology" they pointed me in the right direction."

"Here in this tiny community I was pleasantly surprised, for many outhouses emptied directly into the creek from both sides for a mile upstream. There were overhangers, trestle jobs, creek straddlers, and on a smaller side creek there was even an impressively unusual bridge plus outhouse combination."

"That unique bridge/outhouse straddler combination piqued my interest, so I opted to return later in the early evening hours when the lighting was better to attain decent photographs of it."

"The outhouse proved quite uniquely designed, for the bridge was built of wood, a single span of about twenty feet, wide enough for one car and two outhouses, that joined in the center to become one long structure accessed by two doors to the privy throne. There was a private residential homestead on each side of the creek (immediately next to the bridge/outhouse combination) so I presumed that both neighbors had access to their portion of the outhouse."

"The resident of one of the homes watched me from his window. He saw me snap photos, then write in my notebook. Soon he came to the conclusion that I was a government man gathering evidence, probably a member of the hated Environmental Protection Agency."

" "He rushed out of the front door of his house, ran to the bridge and hollered, "We don't use it anymore. Ya hear? We ain't used it for mor'n a year!" "

Quote from "The Two-Story Outhouse" by Norm Weis

Peak Bagging in August

My mountain climbing partner and I had picked a weekend in August, yet on this occasion we logically assumed that there would be other peak bagger mountaineers doing the same ascent and that they would arrive on Friday or Saturday, and depart by Sunday. So on our journey we opted to arrive on Saturday about mid-day, make our ascent on Sunday, and depart on Monday.

We spent the first day, Saturday, driving north there from Portland, arriving at the parking lot at mid-day, thus giving us a reasonable half-day to make the initial approach hike up to high camp.

Indeed, up there at high camp were a number of other summiteers camped at the bivouac site at several of the flat landing spots along the moraine near the lower terminus of the glacier.

Early Sunday morning we departed upward summit bound; that same morning everyone else departed downward trailhead bound.

We marched slowly but steadily across the two-and-a-half mile wide glacier, meandering around numerous crevasses, en-route to the final steep snow ravine near the summit plateau.

Above that final snow ravine it was a basic long march across the flat summit plateau to the lone subtly higher real summit perched roughly some 400' higher than the nearby surrounding snowy terrain. It took all day for the adventure but we returned safe to our high bivouac campsite near the moraine late in the day.

At that moment a unique situation clearly struck our innermost senses, for not only were we the ONLY party up there at high camp in the early evening hours surrounded by an entire alpine zone all to ourselves, but we had also managed to pick the perfect weekend of banner blue skies with nary a hint of clouds anywhere in sight. As we relaxed at our bivouac site in cotton T-shirts and cotton pants, there was not a hint of any chill temperature, nor a strong breeze in the air.

And for miles around us at the alpine level, between the deep green forested slopes below us, and the rock and snow peak world above us, lay an immense treeless alpine world of infinite colorful bloom with every imaginable flower available on full bold display.

I had brought my Canon DSLR 40D camera with me, and while my climbing friends proceeded to prepare our evening dinner, I took a long wide slow walking tour amongst all of the very colorful meadow floral beauty that surrounded our campsite, taking many dozens of photographs of one of the most impressively amazing floral displays I had ever seen on the west side of the northern Washington Cascade Mountain range.

Collie Dog

"Among the rattlesnake's worth enemies is the collie dog. On one very hot morning, while Hale and I were talking at the back gate, our collie, Cim, came running down the road toward us. Suddenly he stopped. A coiled rattler was lying in the bright sun on the roadway. Cautiously Cim drew near the rattler. Then he began a dance in the sunshine that would have won applause for a ballerina. On tiptoe, the dog swiftly started circling the snake and every so often dashed in, as the snake, open-mouthed, fangs exposed, struck back. Between strikes, as the snake's head followed the dog's movements, his slender, darting tongue had a hypnotic effect on us. But the collie was too quick for him. He was also having great fun, for he knew when and how to come in for the kill."

"As we watched, fascinated, the dog waited for the precise moment when he could close in and grab the rattler at the back of the head. Suddenly he tossed the snake high into the air. He then trotted smugly over to us, knowing he had put on a great show. Back of him lay the still-twitching body of the dying rattlesnake."

Quote from "Ranch Under The Rimrock" by Dorothy Lawson McCall

Hardy House Plant

My daughter knows that every time I've gotten a house plant, somehow I've managed to 'kill' the poor house plant — either by neglect, or lack of water, or who knows what. I just don't have that key green-thumb nature touch personality, I guess.

About the only thing I haven't 'killed' that has grown up in my home are my six children, all of whom are adults now, married and living a family life of their own.

So...one fine summer season, one of my daughters purchased a new house plant for me, and casually said to me, "Now Mom, don't worry, you can't kill this one. The florist at the store guaranteed it by claiming that this one is a very hardy house plant."

"Well OK, I'll try it," I said, knowing full well where this house plant was going to end up at — a month or so from now, neglected from green-thumb care to keep it alive.

Several weeks later the hardy house plant — a twisty vine odd thing — was still green and growing slowly, with a host of tiny blooms still in full color on the house plant.

A month later I glanced at the house plant again, and yep, it was still green and growing slowly, with a host of tiny colorful blooms still on it.

"Hmm...I thought to myself." That's odd, the blooms sure are lasting a long time.

I have poor vision eyesight, and don't always wear my eyeglasses, but this time I leaned in much closer for an inspection of the hardy house plant and its colorful blooms — stuffing my nose up quite close to the plant.

To my surprise, and with a light chuckle, knowing the quirky sense of humor my daughter partakes in regularly, I realized that the blooms weren't real...they were made of SILK...the blooms were forever blooms.

My daughter was right about this hardy house plant...it's still alive and doing well, silk blooms and all.