Flash forward. Leg is healed. Living on the east coast. Doing what the east coasters do. Not so much climbing, but there is fun to be had in the forest. Old hobbies are new, but with a twist (this time around, more dirt).
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Monday, July 13, 2009
Off the crutches at last!
I've officially gotten off of the crutches. For the past seven weeks, I have been slowly clack-clack-clacking around Seattle, not to mention on a trip to Banff as well as to visit my family in Oklahoma. I've traded up for the 'clunk clunk clunk' of a walking boot. Still not perfect, but much faster and less obnoxious than the crutches. The best part is that my hands are now free to do things such as carry a glass of water from the kitchen to the table, or go grocery shopping without bringing my mountaineering pack to load groceries into.
There were some highlights to being on crutches. They forced me to rely on the bus for my transportation needs during the day. Riding the bus during the day, and sitting up front in the seats for the infirm (e.g. me) provided constant, well, interesting interactions with other bus patrons. Most of these interactions involved people who were under the influence. The influence of drugs, alcohol, or mental illness, that is. First of all, they want to know what happened to me. When I give them my 'elevator' story (15 sec spiel), the first thing I usually get is tons of empathy, and supportive words. It's amazing - people on their way to the methadone clinic are usually say something like "You're not gonna quit climbin', are you, man? You can't quit!" I appreciate their dedicated spirit, even if I wish they didn't take the same approach to their, umm, hobbies. There's a surprising genuineness to these brief interactions. Someone with a lot of challenges, who may even be at the margins of society, knows a thing or two about hard times. I appreciate their kind words; I think they're from the heart.
Being on crutches means being slow. Which meant that for the first couple of weeks I was pissed off and late a lot. Slowly I embraced the slowness. Leaving my apartment a minute or two earlier than I otherwise would since it takes longer to walk to the bus stop. Settling on accomplishing fewer errands in a day. Yes, people on crutches run errands (think groceries and doctor follow-ups). Embracing the slowness led me to be more observant in my day to day routines. Again, the bus provides interesting sources of conversation and inspiration. One day, after hanging out at the beach (what else am I supposed to do? I'm unemployed!), I got on the bus, and had to wait a few minutes before it began its route. I was sitting silently reading, and the bus drive blurts out to me "What's a pachyderm?". No, I'm not having a weird dream. She asked me this. Before I could answer, she says "It's a camel, right?". I'm flummoxed. I can't see her clearly, and I am struggling for context. The best I could come up with in the moment was "I think a camel is a dromedary; a pachyderm is an elephant. Why do you ask?". She runs over the end of my sentence "So what's a kid lit pachyderm?". It starts to come together in my brain - she's working a crossword. I say "Maybe it's Babar", which I pronounce baaah-bar. She replies "Bay-bar? That kids book? Oh, right! Kid lit, like literature!". We went through a few more clues, and I proved to be of some use. "OK, fun's over, we gotta go to work now", and she starts driving the bus.
I ask which crossword she's doing. It's the New York Times, and it's a Tuesday, which explains the do-able clues. I tell her that I feel like a big man if I can finish all of Wednesday, and I'm hopeless on Thursday and Friday (they increase in difficulty through the week). She tells me she doesn't like it ever since Will Shortz became the editor. She then tells me about growing up, her mother worked the crosswords, and back in those days they required one to be well versed in literature and the bible; "all these foo foo clues were in the TV guide crossword, not the real one like they are today!" she complained. She says that she came from a family of 6 kids, and they would come together on Sunday nights and work the puzzle together.
We discussed our mutual love of crosswords, and then it was my stop. The story she told me sounded like something from a Studs Terkel interview. I felt lucky to have had this moment. It was unlikely, and stereotype shattering. The woman had a coarse way of talking, abrasive almost. She drove a bus, ostensibly not an intellectual vocation, but yet, in her own words, "schooled most of those Thursday puzzles, but started to get challenged on Fridays." I challenge you to find someone who can come close to schooling the Thursday NYT puzzle!
Living a slowed down life has led to quite a few interactions with people where our exchange was more human, more individual. Even if I can smell the vodka all the way across the aisle and it's 8:30am. Rather than being frustrated, I've managed to go with the flow and appreciate the slower moments in life. As I get back on my feet, I hope I can become as productive as I'm used to being without losing that perspective on savoring the slower moments, interactions, and sensations.
There were some highlights to being on crutches. They forced me to rely on the bus for my transportation needs during the day. Riding the bus during the day, and sitting up front in the seats for the infirm (e.g. me) provided constant, well, interesting interactions with other bus patrons. Most of these interactions involved people who were under the influence. The influence of drugs, alcohol, or mental illness, that is. First of all, they want to know what happened to me. When I give them my 'elevator' story (15 sec spiel), the first thing I usually get is tons of empathy, and supportive words. It's amazing - people on their way to the methadone clinic are usually say something like "You're not gonna quit climbin', are you, man? You can't quit!" I appreciate their dedicated spirit, even if I wish they didn't take the same approach to their, umm, hobbies. There's a surprising genuineness to these brief interactions. Someone with a lot of challenges, who may even be at the margins of society, knows a thing or two about hard times. I appreciate their kind words; I think they're from the heart.
Being on crutches means being slow. Which meant that for the first couple of weeks I was pissed off and late a lot. Slowly I embraced the slowness. Leaving my apartment a minute or two earlier than I otherwise would since it takes longer to walk to the bus stop. Settling on accomplishing fewer errands in a day. Yes, people on crutches run errands (think groceries and doctor follow-ups). Embracing the slowness led me to be more observant in my day to day routines. Again, the bus provides interesting sources of conversation and inspiration. One day, after hanging out at the beach (what else am I supposed to do? I'm unemployed!), I got on the bus, and had to wait a few minutes before it began its route. I was sitting silently reading, and the bus drive blurts out to me "What's a pachyderm?". No, I'm not having a weird dream. She asked me this. Before I could answer, she says "It's a camel, right?". I'm flummoxed. I can't see her clearly, and I am struggling for context. The best I could come up with in the moment was "I think a camel is a dromedary; a pachyderm is an elephant. Why do you ask?". She runs over the end of my sentence "So what's a kid lit pachyderm?". It starts to come together in my brain - she's working a crossword. I say "Maybe it's Babar", which I pronounce baaah-bar. She replies "Bay-bar? That kids book? Oh, right! Kid lit, like literature!". We went through a few more clues, and I proved to be of some use. "OK, fun's over, we gotta go to work now", and she starts driving the bus.
I ask which crossword she's doing. It's the New York Times, and it's a Tuesday, which explains the do-able clues. I tell her that I feel like a big man if I can finish all of Wednesday, and I'm hopeless on Thursday and Friday (they increase in difficulty through the week). She tells me she doesn't like it ever since Will Shortz became the editor. She then tells me about growing up, her mother worked the crosswords, and back in those days they required one to be well versed in literature and the bible; "all these foo foo clues were in the TV guide crossword, not the real one like they are today!" she complained. She says that she came from a family of 6 kids, and they would come together on Sunday nights and work the puzzle together.
We discussed our mutual love of crosswords, and then it was my stop. The story she told me sounded like something from a Studs Terkel interview. I felt lucky to have had this moment. It was unlikely, and stereotype shattering. The woman had a coarse way of talking, abrasive almost. She drove a bus, ostensibly not an intellectual vocation, but yet, in her own words, "schooled most of those Thursday puzzles, but started to get challenged on Fridays." I challenge you to find someone who can come close to schooling the Thursday NYT puzzle!
Living a slowed down life has led to quite a few interactions with people where our exchange was more human, more individual. Even if I can smell the vodka all the way across the aisle and it's 8:30am. Rather than being frustrated, I've managed to go with the flow and appreciate the slower moments in life. As I get back on my feet, I hope I can become as productive as I'm used to being without losing that perspective on savoring the slower moments, interactions, and sensations.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Calgary & Banff
Christine wanted to run a spring marathon, and chose to do Calgary. It fit in the right weekend with her hectic schedule, and was reasonably nearby. I lobbied hard, persuading her to go to nearby Banff with me for a day or two afterwards for some R&R. Originally, this was going to come right on the heels of my return from Alaska. It wasn't as whirlwind of a schedule that was originally planned, thank goodness. Christine ran a pretty awesome marathon, and was surprised a couple of weeks later to find a prize money check in the mail that had the decimal point a little further to the right than she expected (you go, hon!).
We stayed at a cute hotel, were lazy, and did some sightseeing. It was awesome.
Pretty mountains, pretty girl:
One alpine glacier-fed lake (Lake Louise), one elite runner (4th place open women at the Calgary Marathon!), and one Quasimoto:
More amazing scenery, and some cool looking climbing routes visible from Moraine Lake:
My parents used to drive me around when I was a colicky baby to get me to fall asleep. Apparently it still works if Christine does it - please note I was not colicky prior to this photo being taken:
More scenic lakes:
Cascade Falls in summer conditions - Gore Tex and rock gear recommended for an Eiger Sanction - style ascent through a waterfall :P
This trip was great! I did my best not to let injury and discomfort keep me down, and Christine was a champ about doing the driving. Thanks, hon!
We stayed at a cute hotel, were lazy, and did some sightseeing. It was awesome.
Pretty mountains, pretty girl:
One alpine glacier-fed lake (Lake Louise), one elite runner (4th place open women at the Calgary Marathon!), and one Quasimoto:
More amazing scenery, and some cool looking climbing routes visible from Moraine Lake:
My parents used to drive me around when I was a colicky baby to get me to fall asleep. Apparently it still works if Christine does it - please note I was not colicky prior to this photo being taken:
More scenic lakes:
Cascade Falls in summer conditions - Gore Tex and rock gear recommended for an Eiger Sanction - style ascent through a waterfall :P
This trip was great! I did my best not to let injury and discomfort keep me down, and Christine was a champ about doing the driving. Thanks, hon!
Friday, May 22, 2009
Injury Follow Up - Feelin' Good
Having the ice my tools were sunk into delaminate from the rock was unlucky last week in Alaska. However, virtually everything else that followed involved a lot of good fortune. Starting with the limited nature of my injuries. Given the circumstances, a minor difference of the terrain below us could have led to more serious injury.
After that, there was the speed with which things were resolved. First and foremost, thanks to my partner Kevin for giving a good belay and having an adequate anchor setup to hold everything together! He kept his cool pretty throughout the entire thing. I was fortunate to have an experienced and cool-headed partner in this situation. He did everything right, including being very generous with his time in rounding up all of our gear from basecamp and helping get my stuff back to me. Also, sounds like he was able to salvage some of his time and got to experience the backcountry of Alaska in the wake of the accident.
Second, I had the great fortune of making it back at my apartment in Seattle about 24 hours after taking the fall (thanks to other parties assisting, and the weather clearing allowing me to catch a flight out). Second, the very next day (Tuesday) I was able to see a surgeon for a consult. I was operated on Thursday. Finally, the fractures weren't complicated to fix, and the surgeon reported to me that things went off without a hitch.
Injury Details: I had a complete snappage of the fibula (my terminology, I don't know the medical terminology), along with a distal fracture of the tibia (think a 'chip' off the side of it). The broken fibula bone kinda dislodged things in the ankle, so technically there was a dislocated ankle involved. The process of bolting the fibula back together with a big plate resolved the dislocation. The tibia will just heal itself in place; no scaffolding needed.
The first few days after surgery were, of course, a little uncomfortable. Compared with orthopaedic surgery I had 5 years ago to repair broken arms (yes, arms) from a bicycle accident, the pain was much lower. I was able to leave the codeine haze after only a few days. There is basically no pain if I am sitting still with the leg slightly elevated. Amazing!
I only had to wear a cast for 6 days before being switched to an 'air cast', which is basically a removable plastic boot with basketball shoe - style pump action (Christine promised to draw a Nike swoosh onto it to make it sportier). This is great; it can be cinched down tight to keep swelling at bay, loosened for comfort while I sleep, removed so I can change my clothes and not have to wear paper ER pants or shorts any more. Overall, this is a way better outcome than having a cast for weeks or months. Lady luck strikes again!
The greatest fortune I enjoy, however, are my great friends, family, and Christine. Well wishes from the climbing community, including a night of brews at Hale's Ales courtesy of the Bushwhackers and the delivery of tons of reading material to keep me occupied while sitting around, have kept my spirits high. My immediate family, Christine's family, and many of my extended relatives have all reached out. The support I receive has, and will, make this a much easier move forward for me.
Christine has been a champ. I do what I can around the house (our kitchen is small enough for me to hop around and continue my usual cooking duties, I can still scoop the litterbox and sorta do laundry), but Christine has been grinning through the thankless tasks of carrying plates of food to and from the kitchen, taking out the trash, grocery shopping, and doing other chores that I'm unable to do at the moment. Thanks so much, hon!
Finally, I have the great fortune of living in a city with good public transportation. A bus drops off and picks up about 200 yards from my front door. I am able to easily use the bus to get to and from the hospital for doctor visits, the grocery store, the library, and about anywhere else I need to go. If I lived in a smaller, more rural, or less well served urban area, my life would be a huge pain in the neck right now. And, of course, we'll be relocating to Washington DC this late summer, which is even a notch higher in its public transit, having one of the greatest rail systems in the US.
It'll be about 5 weeks before I can stop using crutches and begin aerobic activities such as riding a stationary bike or swimming. Put another way, however, is that I'm only really sidelined/couchbound for 6 weeks, and one of those weeks has already passed. I'll be able to to put the trainer in front of the TV in July when the Tour de France is on for extra motivation. Getting back into cycling was part of my plan in moving to DC anyway, and that it can be integral in my physical therapy / rehab from this injury has only hastened my interest in getting it going.
Like everyone else, I like to think I don't take things in my life for granted. That said, my recent adventures have helped me realize how lucky I really am. Thanks to everyone who has been supportive!
After that, there was the speed with which things were resolved. First and foremost, thanks to my partner Kevin for giving a good belay and having an adequate anchor setup to hold everything together! He kept his cool pretty throughout the entire thing. I was fortunate to have an experienced and cool-headed partner in this situation. He did everything right, including being very generous with his time in rounding up all of our gear from basecamp and helping get my stuff back to me. Also, sounds like he was able to salvage some of his time and got to experience the backcountry of Alaska in the wake of the accident.
Second, I had the great fortune of making it back at my apartment in Seattle about 24 hours after taking the fall (thanks to other parties assisting, and the weather clearing allowing me to catch a flight out). Second, the very next day (Tuesday) I was able to see a surgeon for a consult. I was operated on Thursday. Finally, the fractures weren't complicated to fix, and the surgeon reported to me that things went off without a hitch.
Injury Details: I had a complete snappage of the fibula (my terminology, I don't know the medical terminology), along with a distal fracture of the tibia (think a 'chip' off the side of it). The broken fibula bone kinda dislodged things in the ankle, so technically there was a dislocated ankle involved. The process of bolting the fibula back together with a big plate resolved the dislocation. The tibia will just heal itself in place; no scaffolding needed.
The first few days after surgery were, of course, a little uncomfortable. Compared with orthopaedic surgery I had 5 years ago to repair broken arms (yes, arms) from a bicycle accident, the pain was much lower. I was able to leave the codeine haze after only a few days. There is basically no pain if I am sitting still with the leg slightly elevated. Amazing!
I only had to wear a cast for 6 days before being switched to an 'air cast', which is basically a removable plastic boot with basketball shoe - style pump action (Christine promised to draw a Nike swoosh onto it to make it sportier). This is great; it can be cinched down tight to keep swelling at bay, loosened for comfort while I sleep, removed so I can change my clothes and not have to wear paper ER pants or shorts any more. Overall, this is a way better outcome than having a cast for weeks or months. Lady luck strikes again!
The greatest fortune I enjoy, however, are my great friends, family, and Christine. Well wishes from the climbing community, including a night of brews at Hale's Ales courtesy of the Bushwhackers and the delivery of tons of reading material to keep me occupied while sitting around, have kept my spirits high. My immediate family, Christine's family, and many of my extended relatives have all reached out. The support I receive has, and will, make this a much easier move forward for me.
Christine has been a champ. I do what I can around the house (our kitchen is small enough for me to hop around and continue my usual cooking duties, I can still scoop the litterbox and sorta do laundry), but Christine has been grinning through the thankless tasks of carrying plates of food to and from the kitchen, taking out the trash, grocery shopping, and doing other chores that I'm unable to do at the moment. Thanks so much, hon!
Finally, I have the great fortune of living in a city with good public transportation. A bus drops off and picks up about 200 yards from my front door. I am able to easily use the bus to get to and from the hospital for doctor visits, the grocery store, the library, and about anywhere else I need to go. If I lived in a smaller, more rural, or less well served urban area, my life would be a huge pain in the neck right now. And, of course, we'll be relocating to Washington DC this late summer, which is even a notch higher in its public transit, having one of the greatest rail systems in the US.
It'll be about 5 weeks before I can stop using crutches and begin aerobic activities such as riding a stationary bike or swimming. Put another way, however, is that I'm only really sidelined/couchbound for 6 weeks, and one of those weeks has already passed. I'll be able to to put the trainer in front of the TV in July when the Tour de France is on for extra motivation. Getting back into cycling was part of my plan in moving to DC anyway, and that it can be integral in my physical therapy / rehab from this injury has only hastened my interest in getting it going.
Like everyone else, I like to think I don't take things in my life for granted. That said, my recent adventures have helped me realize how lucky I really am. Thanks to everyone who has been supportive!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Alaska - Happy Thoughts
Despite the bad outcome, I got some cool pictures. Here are a few. Notably lacking are sweet panoramas of the Ruth; I was figuring I'd take those once we got back down from Ham'n'Eggs. Hopefully I can score some from Kevin's camera eventually; the setting was the most stunning place I'd ever been.
Only moments off the plane, Kevin and I bump into living legend Fred Beckey in the airport. He
likely has more first ascents to his credit than anyone in history, and has opened famous routes in Alaska, the Cascades, the Rockies, and the Sierra. Quite the character, he's still making climbing trips to Alaska after making pioneering ascents there (including Mt. Hunter with Heinrich Harrer of Eiger fame) in the 1950s. He told us weather was good near the Moose's Tooth, where he had been on this trip. I look like a dork giddy meeting a hero. He was on the cover of a Patagonia catalog a couple of years back. Anyone still climbing at 86 is a hardman in my book.
Kevin and I were planning a 3 week trip, which required an absurd amount of provisions. Here we are sorting gear and food at Talkeetna Air the night before our departure. I still can't believe we crammed all this stuff into moderate climbing packs and a couple of duffels each. We weighed in with 268lbs of gear between the two of us. If Kevin is able to continue his trip, that guy is going to be eating like a king on all of my foodstuffs left behind on the glacier!
On our flight in, we got views of a lot of peaks. The eastern flanks of Hunter and the intimidating Mt. Huntington are visible.
Bye bye, plane! TAT disappears over the camp of another party after we've been dropped in the amazing Ruth Gorge.
Views of the Moose's Tooth from the Gorge. Ham'n'Eggs is the broadest couloir in the center of the photo. It is approached via an icefall and couloir well left of the photo. The big hanging glacier front and center sent down some big stuff the first afternoon we were there.
The approach to the Root Canal glacier from the Ruth Gorge would likely be considered a classic moderate climb in itself if it were located in the Cascades. Weaving through glaciers, negotiating a steep couloir with a little verglas - covered rock, and topping out in a broad gentle snowfield as sun came up was a nice first day of movement on the trip.
Kevin mixing it up on 5.6 moves on the first pitch of Ham'n'Eggs. For perspective, it was around 4:30am when this photo was taken. He led it in fine style, confident and in control. I had a good feeling about this climb. Too bad I was wrong....
Only moments off the plane, Kevin and I bump into living legend Fred Beckey in the airport. He
likely has more first ascents to his credit than anyone in history, and has opened famous routes in Alaska, the Cascades, the Rockies, and the Sierra. Quite the character, he's still making climbing trips to Alaska after making pioneering ascents there (including Mt. Hunter with Heinrich Harrer of Eiger fame) in the 1950s. He told us weather was good near the Moose's Tooth, where he had been on this trip. I look like a dork giddy meeting a hero. He was on the cover of a Patagonia catalog a couple of years back. Anyone still climbing at 86 is a hardman in my book.
Kevin and I were planning a 3 week trip, which required an absurd amount of provisions. Here we are sorting gear and food at Talkeetna Air the night before our departure. I still can't believe we crammed all this stuff into moderate climbing packs and a couple of duffels each. We weighed in with 268lbs of gear between the two of us. If Kevin is able to continue his trip, that guy is going to be eating like a king on all of my foodstuffs left behind on the glacier!
On our flight in, we got views of a lot of peaks. The eastern flanks of Hunter and the intimidating Mt. Huntington are visible.
Bye bye, plane! TAT disappears over the camp of another party after we've been dropped in the amazing Ruth Gorge.
Views of the Moose's Tooth from the Gorge. Ham'n'Eggs is the broadest couloir in the center of the photo. It is approached via an icefall and couloir well left of the photo. The big hanging glacier front and center sent down some big stuff the first afternoon we were there.
The approach to the Root Canal glacier from the Ruth Gorge would likely be considered a classic moderate climb in itself if it were located in the Cascades. Weaving through glaciers, negotiating a steep couloir with a little verglas - covered rock, and topping out in a broad gentle snowfield as sun came up was a nice first day of movement on the trip.
Kevin mixing it up on 5.6 moves on the first pitch of Ham'n'Eggs. For perspective, it was around 4:30am when this photo was taken. He led it in fine style, confident and in control. I had a good feeling about this climb. Too bad I was wrong....
I Fall Down
I am back in Seattle far earlier than expected. On my second roped lead of the trip, on the third pitch of the Ham'n'Eggs Couloir on the Moose's Tooth, I took a lead fall at the top of an ice step, maybe 12 feet tall. I fell onto a steep snow slope, where I sustained fractures to my right tibia and fibula. I continued sliding in a scary fashion before the rope came taut from the belay. Bye bye, Alaska. Bye bye, Mt. Hunter. Ham'n'Eggs was ancillary compared to Hunter for me. I would not even set up camp at the Kahiltna on this trip, unfortunately. That said, I made it home in one piece - something for which to be thankful. It could have been much, much worse. Also, despite the outcome, I continue to believe that Kevin and I approached this trip and these climbs with an appropriate amount of humility and respect.
A quick summary of the details is here. The terrain we were on was technically moderate, and I felt very comfortable climbing. Near the top of the ice step, my ice tools were plunged into neve atop what felt like a good layer of ice, adhering to underlying rock. When weighted (to allow me to move my feet up), the snow and ice suddenly came loose from the rock, and I fell backwards onto the snowfield, sliding down despite desperate attempts to arrest, eventually plunging over the cliff at the bottom before being stopped by the rope coming taut from the belay (thankfully with me free hanging instead of spattered on rocks further down). The ice in the step was thin and I didn't place a screw; it was also extremely moderate and I felt comfortable on it. The only crack in the rock that was ice - free was flaring and I couldn't get a cam in, either. There was probably 30 feet of rope out, and I took a complete, real deal factor 2 fall onto the anchor. We chose to leave pickets behind for this climb, and one placed at the bottom of the ice step wouldn't have prevented my injury, but it could have prevented me from sliding over the edge of the cliff. An alternate description of it is written here, with maybe a little more discussion of technical details of the fall.
Other teams were retreating from higher on the route due to challenging weather conditions
(high winds, lots of spindrift coming down the couloir). About the time that I got back to Kevin at the belay anchor, these other teams arrived on their way down. They generously assisted in my evacuation, making it more orderly and less stressful. A party below on the Root Canal glacier witnessed my fall and me being assisted on rappel, and met us at the base of the rappel line with a sled to assist in evacuating me to the nearby glacier airstrip. From here, I was able to take a great photo of this beautiful line. What little climbing we did was aesthetic, and it appeared to only improve as one went higher. I will likely never know, however.The weather cleared, and I was able to get on a glacier flight out to Talkeetna. A quick shuttle ride to Providence hospital in Anchorage followed, and with the help of some area climbers I was able to get to the airport in time to catch a red-eye flight home, 25 hours after I woke up to begin the route.
I am grateful to everyone who helped out - Sarah Fritz and Irena of Boulder, Jason Butrick and Galen of Anchorage / Talkeetna, and Ryan and ?? of Anchorage (I forget Ryan's partner's name, but will try to recover it from Talkeetna Air). Most importantly, thanks to Kevin for being a great expedition partner (if only briefly), and for catching my fall!
I am also grateful to all my friends and family who have reached out and been supportive. I go in for surgery on Thursday to put some bionic plates on my leg bones. I will be in an air boot / cast for about 12 weeks before I can begin to select my own activities. It is hard to say what role climbing will play in my life when I am healthy; for now I am concentrating on making a good recovery and staying positive during this challenging time.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
I'm off to Alaska!!
The massive duffel is packed. The last food has been dehydrated. The final trips to REI and Feathered Friends have been made. I get on a plane with Kevin tomorrow to Anchorage. From there we will catch a shuttle to the tiny town of Talkeetna (we'll stop in Wasilla for groceries, I'm hoping maybe to get First Dude's autograph).
Once in Talkeetna, we'll take a glacier plane to the Ruth Gorge, stay for a few days and make an attempt on The Moose's Tooth, and later the Kahiltna glacier to give Mt. Hunter a shot. With any luck, we'll be able to squeeze in another technical day climb or two while up there. I'm excited and nervous. The planning that has gone into this trip has been a massive piece of work in itself, and it is a relief to finally have it here.
I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has helped and supported me in making this happen. First and foremost, the support of my fiancee Christine; she's endured endless jibba-jabba by me about the trip, my itinerant lifestyle climbing this winter and spring in preparation, and my extended absence. In addition, thanks to all my climbing partners, friends, and mentors (especially those at the Bushwhacker Climbing Club) who have given me inspiration, beta, and hooked me up with gear. Finally, the support of family (both mine and Christine's) has been very important. Thanks, everyone!
I'll return May 27th or 28th, hopefully with great photos and stories of the trip of a lifetime.
Once in Talkeetna, we'll take a glacier plane to the Ruth Gorge, stay for a few days and make an attempt on The Moose's Tooth, and later the Kahiltna glacier to give Mt. Hunter a shot. With any luck, we'll be able to squeeze in another technical day climb or two while up there. I'm excited and nervous. The planning that has gone into this trip has been a massive piece of work in itself, and it is a relief to finally have it here.
I'd like to take this opportunity to thank everyone who has helped and supported me in making this happen. First and foremost, the support of my fiancee Christine; she's endured endless jibba-jabba by me about the trip, my itinerant lifestyle climbing this winter and spring in preparation, and my extended absence. In addition, thanks to all my climbing partners, friends, and mentors (especially those at the Bushwhacker Climbing Club) who have given me inspiration, beta, and hooked me up with gear. Finally, the support of family (both mine and Christine's) has been very important. Thanks, everyone!
I'll return May 27th or 28th, hopefully with great photos and stories of the trip of a lifetime.
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