ATOMIK Review: Part 1

There are certain manufacturers I quite like and ATOMIK Climbing Holds is one of them. They are for the most part quite cool and secondly their product is both exceptional in design and durability not to mention sold at what pretty much amount to wholesale prices.

I have used four different sets on my wall so I will discuss each set and their application, I am not endorsing any use I engage in with these holds so if you wreck your holds or knock your teeth out dry-tooling indoors on plastic then bear in mind dry-tooling is a winter pursuit and as such a dangerous one...

1. 13 Pack Sandstone: I only have ever used this set for dry-tooling as such they are pretty chewed up. Still they have been by far and away the most interesting set for this application of all time. Multifaceted with two aspects to many of the holds (you can flip them for a different hold) they have weathered the onslaught well, one hold broke early on when STRUCK by a guest who was climbing a tad too seriously and even that hold design has been replaced in the current set array. Another nice feature is most of this set have the pockets/edges ON the hold, they do not use the wooden panel as the back of the hold to be chewed up by tool use.They are also nearly indestructible, the two slopers provide sketch, have the crash-pad in situ when you huck for these. Probably their best set for determined dry-tool use. See them here:
http://www.atomikclimbingholds.com/products/215-13-pack-sandstone-climbing-holds.aspx

2. 10 Pack Sandstone Jugs: I never dry-tool on this set, they are too lovely for hand-climbing mostly I have been using them on my power panel but lately they have been migrating over to the super panel where they are ideal for glove climbing on the 45 degree surface. Being super in-cut and sharp they can be a little brutal but are so roomy you can "hool" on them (i.e., grab the hold with your fingers while still clutching the tool by the shaft, a handful but that describes my life to a T). I have these in earth tones which are very groovy for the natural wood panel, like everything Atomik makes they are super strong, in the past I have arranged these in pairs as pull-up sets on the power panel but I try and obey the maxim "A climbing wall is not a museum" so I move things about to hold interest. An amazing set, these would be buckets for dry-tooling...

http://www.atomikclimbingholds.com/products/213-10-pack-sandstone-jug-climbing-holds.aspx

3. 12 pack Large Divot Jugs: A newer set I am still setting, these are rounded open jugs with a big radius, all very sensual and at times challenging to use on the super panel. Mind you I am looking to make my training rigorous, I have been on too many cruel outings to think things are going to be easy on the hill so I plan accordingly. I don't dry-tool on these either, they are too pretty what in their Halloween color-scheme, instead I intersperse them amid straight-on dry-tooling holds. I NEVER mix use, if its a hold for dry-tooling so be it, if for hand climbing then no tools may sully the polyurethane. The beauty of these is the thumb divot which looks hokey but actually works brilliantly and how much fun it is to come flying off an 8 X 8 panel, just like real climbing...
http://www.atomikclimbingholds.com/products/292-12-pack-large-divot-jugs-climbing-holds.aspx

4. Simple 7 Large Jugs: A misnomer as there is nothing simple about these, they are cruel as intermediate holds amplifying the torment on le panel super why do in two moves which you can more assuredly fail on in four? Maddeningly tough to hang from I give it 50:50 when I head for one of these, sure I should be stronger but this is training, right? So let the games begin! In short I saw French ice-climbing legend Stephane Husson first seamlessly combine open-hand with dry-tooling a consequence of the then less than totally secure Ergo offset by the Gallic passion for limestone sport climbing. These holds are all that and a bag of chips...
http://www.atomikclimbingholds.com/products/165-simple-7-large-jugs.aspx


Holds I'd Like to Try: Atomik makes very nice sets, none of this 5-hold sets where you get two good shapes, one so-so and two crap shapes that seem to be the norm for most hold peddlers. Also they are not governed by a bunch of effete indoor-outdoor bouldering snobs who spend all their days making repetitive "send" videos and shaving themselves. The 12 pack Limestone Jugs look marvelous also the 12 Patina Pinches Pinches/Edges Dishes/Jugs look swell for the next dry-tool set (although some will need backing to avoid wrecking the wood). It is more a matter of having time to set these rather than affording them as they are quite inexpensive for what you are getting. I would also like to see Atomik develop a dry-tool specific line of plastic specifically for dry-tooling the Russians already have...

Lastly indoor is for me more than just training it is the lab where new ideas and techniques are sussed. I don't want to necessarily be a better climber (whatever that entails) but I want my climbing to evolve and remain interesting. To this end indoor should be aesthetic with nice holds to climb on visually stimulating which is where color comes in, Atomik making some very nice shapes in very rich tones. For every hour I spend on the hill I likely spend 5 training, so with those numbers in mind the training thing has to be at least entertaining...

Dangerous days

"I've done... Questionable things."

"Also extraordinary thing; revel in your time."

-Blade Runner-

An e-mail from the blue got me started on all this, I was being asked for a route description for a line I had climbed solo on the North Face of Mount Edith Cavell in the Canadian Rockies back in1991. 21 years is a while ago but I had written the route up for the 1992 edition of the Canadian Alpine Journal so my written description in all its harrowing detail was there for me to consult.

That got me thinking about all the loony outings I've had many of them solo adventures from which I am quite pleased to have come back. I have decided to detail a Top 10 in two parts, here are my first 5...

Dangerous Days Part 1:

I. Edith Cavell North Face, solo: This route had been inspired by the antics of Slovenian alpinist Tomo Cesen who had purportedly done among other things the North Face of Jannu in the Himalaya, solo in an unbelievable time. In retrospect a bunch of Russians climbed the face in 2004 using siege tactics the route being both unbelievably difficult if not thoroughly hostile. Still, at the time an article I had written for Mountain Magazine on climbs I had done on the Grandes Jorasses North Face appeared in the same issue as Cesen's recounting of his Jannu and Lhotse climbs, I was certainly stoked on several levels. In September 1991 I packed my malamute dog Chamonix my wife Susanne and 5 month old daughter Simone into our Vanagon camper and set sail for Jasper, Alberta from Colfax, Washington where I was living while I attended veterinary College at Washington State University, we got there late in the afternoon and spent some time glassing the face. Early the next morning I went up after it and climbed the upper face in about 8 1/2 hours solo, it was quite an adventure probably more so for my wife who watched the whole thing through a 600mm telephoto lens. I called the route Tomoesque to reflect the source of my inspiration, this met with derision from the likes of Mark Twight and Joe Josephson among others. 21 years later I understand from the New York Times that Mark runs a health club that specializes in making its wealthy clientele puke during workouts, Joe has gotten bald and fat and the discredited Tomo Cesen's sons are now crushing it in the Himalaya.

II. Slipstream, solo: Another Canadian Rockies Epic (while on the topic), this one had killed several would be soloists one of which passed a party en-route then came back down sailing right over their heads. I did this one after several aborted attempts in early March 1992 in a little under four hours, it truly is one of the world's great ice routes. Although belittled at times in the climbing press it is very serious, the serac line at the back of the Dome Galcier cirque calved while I was climbing the route enveloping me in ice dust, I truly felt the breath of God upon me that day. A year later almost to the day three guys from the Seattle area were killed on this line including Mark Bebie who I had climbed in the Alps with in 1988...

Purportedly the route was only first guided in 2010 by Eric Dumerac who chose to rappel the route with his client!

You can read my report on this route in the 1993 edition of the Canadian Alpine Journal.

III. Les Droites North Face Voie Ginat: Mark Bebie and I did this route in 1988 on our first visit to the Alps, we went up after the first storm of autumn about the 31st of August, the first was thinly iced, only just in condition but we went up after it anyway. We had already done the Croz Spur so were used to the size of the faces in the Alps what caught by surprise was the weather. Throughout the second half of the ascent it stormed, on and off at first but then settled in with intent. Despite the deteriorating weather we kept at it and in the early evening I led the last three pitches up the crux waterfall and Scottish V section into the Breche where I subsequently collapsed utterly spent. Mark and I prepared a bivouac just below the Breche where in my wisom I had brought a half-bag (pied de elephant), I proceeded to pass out nearly freezing to death huddled in my snow hole, when dawn came I was genuinely amazed I had survived the night...

We rappelled down the chossy descent couloir on all manner of tat but what I remember most was an unidentified wall off to the north that sported a most attractive ice couloir that ran true to the summit, I resolved to learn the face's identity when I returned to Chamonix.

When we arrived at le Montenvers Mark who had decreed he would walk down to Chamonix thought better of it and borrowed 35 Francs from me for the train. We fell out over this as Mark wouldn't repay the sum, I eventually collected weeks later but hard feelings lingered, we did no more big routes together.

IV. Big Four North Face, Solo: After I got back from the Alps in 1988 I looked about for a project in the Washington Cascades. I new there was one road-side attraction the North Face of Big Four Mountain which I went to climb 10 December 1988 an early-winter outing with friend Alasdair Street and his chum. The face was icy with minimal snow complex but seemingly moderate the plan being to solo while they climbed roped. Said plan quickly tanked I was an aerobic monster after seven weeks in the Alps and quickly outdistanced them by mid-mroning they were far away off to my right and well below me, after solo-climbing a line probably now identified as the Spindrift route purportedly done in 1996 the weather tanked. No sooner did I summit then I was forced to retreat back down the face down-climbing and rappelling amid howling winds white-out conditions and roaring avalanches as the massive 4000 foot face funneled all manner of fury down upon me. I managed to get down alive bivouacked in the car but the lads didn't make it out until the next morning having retreated and bivouacked somewhere low on the face. That February I met my wife Susanne at the Vertical Club in Seattle wooing her with this pyrrhic tale, my last and only major solo effort in the Cascades.

V. The Drool: I had taken my son Cormac then 13 on an outing to the Redstone Ice-Fest in Colorado, billed as a winter extravaganza I envisioned a sporting time with the other climbers something along the lines of Festiglace takes Colorado. Conditions sucked though, it was too warm and when I finally located the event organizers it occupied at least three of them to belay Will Gadd. No matter. We eventually located the Drool and waited several hours for the ensuingVogue photo shoot to wrap up before I set off to free solo the thing. While my son watched and took some very nice pictures I cruised this 5+ wonder one of the best free-standing cascades ever. I climbed leash-less in fruit-boots driving my then new Fusion 2 ice tools even dropping a Shaka. I think my son learned something about his dad about focus and self-control as he grows into a man now it is a memory he and I will always share and call upon.

The climb itself was very steep snow fell throughout the ascent I made a point of doing all three pitches though the first pillar pitch is the gem. It takes one route to make a season this route plus a dry-tooling line I did at Hidden Falls End of Days really filled in the winter nicely.

Le Panel

After Ouray I always enter a time-space warp where I do little climbing this is not the first year this has happened so I know nay I welcome this lull. Not that I am depressed or bored sore at the outcome I just pour myself into this event leave it all on the hill as it were I relish the subsequent reprieve.

Still no way can I just lay about waiting for the mood to strike. On the outside chance I might want to send something later in the winter I must maintain if only for sanity's sake.

Enter Le Panel...

For a long time a lame wall of rough plywood occupied the North wall of our gym which sucked, everybody hated and nobody climbed on. A hang-board hung there for eons then the new Power Panel went up which was infinitely preferable for pull-ups then my elbows cried "no more" so pull-ups went out like hair-bands and pink Lycra.

I dreamt of a new wall steep pure smooth hung at a sickening angle then in the week before Ouray I scored at Home Depot screwing and gluing an 8 X 8 monster together that lay dormant on the gym floor like Godzilla in the Japan Sea "Do Not Walk On Panel" said the paper sign I stuck to it to ward-off foot prints a sentiment that was to prove eerily true in the coming weeks.

Back from Ouray I pondered a more pressing how to get the massive panel now glued and screwed in finality up off the floor and into position. Scout and I tussled with it but we could barely move the thing holding it up long enough to fasten into place was out of the question. "Think like a Roman" suggested Sue who knew of my fondness for feats of ancient engineering.

Which I did scooting the monster up onto a stack of bouldering pads before hoisting it into place by way of a Spectra harness affixed through the body of the panel a 10mm rope and Grigri affixed to the wall via an expansion bolt did the trick. We tuned the angle not too intrusive yet still nearly un-climbable the panel had to have rock-steady stability yet not pull the ceiling down so upon the bones of the old sucky panel a new facade emerged...

Le Panel.

I looked at it for days before having the guts to drill there would be no preset grid problems would be conceived of THEN drilled furthermore this would be a bouldering panel an idea that lasted exactly as long as it took me to drive back from Ouray contemplating the virginal dry-tooling potential that awaited once the new panel went up.

So I set a route using the new Atomik holds I had received bouldered it out and hopped onto my suspended tools before cranking out a line a little sore yet from my Ouray exertions but digging the angle you can see all that here:

https://vimeo.com/35855919

Lately I have taken to setting dry-tool routes upon Le Panel using a plastic backing that Metolius holds were once upon a time sold on cut to shape so that the beautiful wood isn't chewed to death. The results have been spectacular almost too good after all why go climbing out of doors when you have dry-tooling in your garage?

Never to fear the stainless bolts I gave Scout last year to project with in Rocky Mountain National Park at long last have found there way onto a route so finally after a month of indoor I am going climbing out of doors.

Blessed...

Ouray Ice Festival 2012

I sought to wear the competition jersey at Ouray if only for one last time. So I packed the Mini with all my kit plus Scout drove west by southwest through a Colorado largely barren of snow the ravages of climate change to painful too even look at. Arriving mid-afternoon we rolled out crammed our sacs with draws and rope staggered down into the floor of the Box Canyon set upon Seamstress a heavily machined dry-tool route that this year had an intriguing slip of ice along its right edge. Suiting up we entered into a discussion with some Bozeman folks intent on snatching the line for their top-roping, yes I was going to lead up, no that was not Tic-Tac...

I had come to climb, to train, to prepare for one last turn in the lists, that hastilude that is the Elite Mixed Climbing Competition so with a combination of ice climbing dry-tooling and rock-climbing I made the ice seam where I could do what I do best which is make good use of a small volume of ice. On-sight complete Scout headed up hugging the dangler until he was established, sends in hand we retired to our room, pints were opened, fists bumped, mind racing I slept not a wink.

The following day we went to look at Bridalvail Falls near Telluride, a most fearsome line in early season, blue and vertiginous. I had guided Susanne up this in April 1994 but today was not the day. The Fang presumptive Grade 5 offered more opportune sport, it looked like a toy ice climb from the road, how hard could it be? After an hour plus breaking trail we stood below it "five maybe six screws" quipped Scout, I was certain I could solo this runt in about eight minutes but I tied in anyway. A good half-hour later pumped giddy I had matched hands above screw number seven was un-shouldering a tool to go up right when my F2 rode up out of the placement and GEROMINOOOOOOooooo.... I was airborne for a good thirty-footer onto a 13cm screw our Sterling Nano went ballistic and I came to rest a few feet out from the ice utterly unscathed. I scampered back up placed two more screws then lowered off a sling around two twigs (yikes!).

Scout went up next looked solid but flamed out after pulling the crux, even still he drove yet two more screws above where I had fallen then furrowed through the bush (because that's what Scouts do) above to place a sling around a fir tree. Red-Point time. Racking our last remaining screw and draw, with all the clips in place and nice holes from before the climbing still had me gargling, I placed the last screw before the bush for a total of twelve plus the twig runner, just another Grade 5 featuring 35 meters of vertical ice...

Just the same pints were had fists bumped food was eaten I even slept a little...

The following day the Gods drop trouser took aim and shat squarely on Rob's head, no personal insult intended just an immense cosmic defecation on me, my car and my vacation. Still, steaks were grilled and generous pints were guzzled at the Ourayle House Hutch made a fine host plans were made and that's as much detail as need be revealed.

Thursday we set our bleary-eyed sights on Mighty Aphrodite a bolted line I had attempted to on-sight as a demo in 2010 (post-Petzl party, bad idea). After a warm-up lap of fishin' n' yardin' on draws I set off moving like my younger self the bigger the moves the better to get the son-of-a-bitch over. I top out through sunlit ice red-point in hand it has been a long dark autumn with little time to climb, finally I feel like I might belong in the event.

Friday my left arm and shoulder has locked itself in the closet won't come out so Scout sends handily a dandy M7 while I belay so after the obligatory spaghetti dinner there's nothing for it but to go to bed early for Saturday is Competition Day, day of days.

I rise early shower dress don the jersey warm up by sending Scout's route from the day before. I had pulled #4 jersey first out of the bag the evening before so it is my destiny to go late in the day before the full crowd, if this is to be my last performance I wish it only to be well attended. Waiting to rappel into the canyon I learn the route has already been sent, the thing already decided, so there is no pressure, after some kerfuffle over whether Ipods are permitted I get the okay to play my tracks, things are looking up...

I suit up under Sam's supervision then drop into the Canyon where in the stillness and cold I await my turn, then I tie in...

ONE TWO THREE GO!

Super slippery climbing but the hooks are impeccable from the sky above come the strains of Cyaan Stop CANT STOP, CAN'T STOP I AND I...

Wicked dub-step gets me going the crowd starts to groove after all that crappy white-boy drivel they've been subjected to all morning. I'm making clips gyrating my hips women are swooning the Taliban are in full flight when all the sudden some killjoy pipes up:

"Dude! You're out of bounds!"

SO!?!WHATSITTOYA?!

I scan my situation and notice maybe two points on my right plate in contact with some red spray paint, hells bells dog! I move left but then they start harping on about how I have only twenty seconds to get to "the loaf" so I pull for it sink my F2 hear the announcer assert I've made "the loaf" (phew!) but the line judge (killjoy that he is) thinks otherwise they start yanking on the rope telling me I have to come down...

Which I do, whooping it up, I raise an F2 salute the crowd who cheer mightily, its all about the fans, you see...

The belayers have an eye on me, "where YOU going," one inquires edgily. "Just chillin' out a bit", I sniff a little, feign professional devastation, they nod knowingly, poor guy he must be hurting...

Attentions turn to Whit as he heads up the comp' route so with a squeal of glee I scarper off tools in hand downstream lash my coat around my waist thus frothing slightly at the mouth attack the nearest grade 5 ice line I encounter as No Doubt by Turbulence comes howling out of the speakers (they plum left my play-list on!)

There is no doubt
I smoke the herb
to concentrate
all the evil evaporates, yeah...

I got my F2s loaded for bear landing big shots stabbing my Ice Dragons in slaying it all picking my way up through big globs of blue-white ice a 4-legged neon paint splash insouciant being happy just to bang a little longer on the stage that is Ouray Ice Festival. Near the top the ice gets weird I slow a bit when one of the Ice Park employees appears off to my left imploring me to take a rope, ever the sportsman I oblige, top out, turn towards the bridge, that's when I realize that several hundred people have been watching me...

I would like to say I am sorry for stealing the attention due anyone else truthfully but having stolen the show somewhat if even inadvertently I am patently unrepentant. Amid the blur of blue and red paint sweet loafs pinched loafs disqualified contenders pulsating athlete egos I sought and at last found my moment of pure climbing bliss, one man, one errant mustache, one very loud pair of trousers, the omnipresent two inches of chome-moly steel betwixt me and perdition, the unblinking crowd...

The following morning on my way out of town a beautiful hippie girl hucked her arms around my neck gave me a big squeeze told me I had done most awesome.

Who would argue with that?

Postscript: On Sunday 15 January Colorado ice-climbing icon Jack Roberts was attempting to lead the second pitch of Bridalveil Falls when he fell sustaining fatal injuries in the ensuing 60 foot whipper, though I had not spoken to him at the Festival I recall seeing him through the crowd, a fleeting glance before being distracted. I would like to think that my assessment of Bridalveil a little over a week earlier as being in too grim a state for climbing had kept a similar fate from befalling either myself or Scout, the truth is I adhere to a hard and fast rule, never to repeat major ascents I have completed, running the gauntlet once being in my mind perhaps once too many.

Truly though it is a shame to see the older climbers, Guy Lacelle, Charlie Fowler, John Bachar, Craig Luebben and now JR being picked off over the years, a wealth of experience and lore goes with them but perhaps more poignantly having rounded 50 I now find myself in this clade, with each passing I see the queue before oblivion grow shorter.

Time to quit? To what end? Bad luck or just bad conditions? Such thoughts weigh inescapably on my psyche...

"I want more time, fucker..."

-Roy Batty- from Bladerunner.

THE LAST WORD: I don't mean to beat a dead horse here but in retrospect it is apparent that I got higher on the competition route than a number of the other climbers who in fact fell off well before they got to the "sweet-loaf" feature, several guys I know for a fact came off on the thin ice hooks leading to the blue structure whereas I actually stuck the thing before timing out. This is okay as I was in fact OUT OF BOUNDS at one point, the judges warned me about this I thought I had moved my foot off the red-painted ice but if I did so I did not do so soon enough for their liking they are the judges in this matter and that is that.

I have always viewed climbing in competitions as an exceedingly useful tool to improve my climbing performance, going up against top-level climbers from here and abroad is a sure way to elevate one's game. The flip side is I do a good deal of solo climbing (witness my exit from the canyon immediately following my comp' run), I'm older and exceedingly cautious about progression fearful of injury that could permanently alter my climbing career, not to mention I make my living as a large-animal veterinarian and need to be physically sound to work with ornery (and big) critters. I move with confidence but am slow at times, warming up gradually careful to avoid a ground-fall, for me to disconnect from the solo mind-set on command is not always so easy, perhaps not the best attribute for being in a timed competitive event but one that has kept me alive and mostly well through an ice-climbing career that has spanned over thirty years.

But I'm stoked! I climbed pretty well in this event met some cool people and had a really good time with Scout.

Photo: Helen H. Richardson/Denver Post.

The French Effect

Already there has been snow deep enough to lick down boot tops ice not the fragile new variety but older if not downright ancient. Summer now heated memory today finally a rest one hot tub lager then hours sunbathing nude. Amid tsunami of yellow autumn light I tune crampons long-dull from winter's bout with the Super Couloir. To me it had occurred perhaps that was my last climb a good note to finish on. But I had amid summer wanderings with fly-rod in hand seen great snowfields melted back to a sickening angle. Ages ago I had trained on the crazy tilting seracs of the Glace du Bosson up out and over stacked ships of ice though now the climate has shifted the fleet has sailed never to return even in our childrens' childrens' lifetime. Record winter snows replete with near cyclonic winds had left these drifts to morph into giddy icy walls some with most improbable angles. I had poked around a bit gotten my tools wet yet had spied Le Serac Grande listing well at the back of a cirque. By the time I got to it the sun had been at it a suicidal drop into a tarn one possible outcome... A big storm hit that Saturday by Sunday blue sky beckoned luridly up Scout and I went booting through quite a bit of the fresh cold stuff above us on a whale's back of old glacier snow a crew of keen skiers made turns in what drifting snow had not blown off towards Nebraska. I knew the way what to expect had bolted fresh Chinese front-points into my Ice Dragons wrapped F2 grips in new rubber tape on tip-toe so I stuck the mass of ice cranked-up kicked-in headed off on a rising inclination route landing big shots into gelato tinged scarlet with weird alpine algae. About half the screws were okay the rest were just for show the wall had a jolly angle down low then a fat-man's bulge before it became merely steep. I bumbled a draw into the drink but pummeled on nonetheless a cold night had set the neve' up beautifully ever stick like the last one I would ever make. I rigged the top-rope for Scout but he wasn't feeling it so I ran the draws again my nipples hardening with every clip. Then it was make a ski-pole snare for the fumbled draw lower down to but not into the drink finally slurped that sparkly toy out of the dark water pulled the rope packed for home. On the somber walk back I had wanted more a mist stealing upon us we had lost the trail early in the morning so I didn't want any after-hours stumbling about though I had learned one lesson from le Super and that was don't leave your head-torch in the car to save weight. More laps more steep more jingus clips more adrenalin of which I am so I am told (reliably so) a confirmed addict. Scout wanted to swing at one of the ice fields on the trail down but I had had enough my packing job was a tight one so disemboweling the sac stepping back into cold Ice Dragons held little appeal. In the preceding weeks I had seen mule deer elk pronghorn antelope even three magnificent bighorn rams grazing behind a barbwire fence. Knowing sheep I had strolled right up to them mindful of the cactus that paved the ground in my battered sandals. One of the larger two rams was gamboling about expressing his rather imposing penis in anticipation of all that ewe pussy he was going to get if some methamphetamine-crazed trucker didn't smack his ass dead when he attempted to re-negotiate the highway. I know exactly how he felt...

Postscript: I went back up two weeks later to re-try this line, snow had fallen in the interim but we were late that day waiting for a team member who never showed. Despite the cold the ice had softened in the sun somewhat, some of the screw placements were mushy leaving me to hunt for veins of denser ice, much hanging around led to a sufficiently fortifying pump. Certainly I was glad to strike out past the pair of marginal screws making an impassioned dash for the top. I cleaned on top-rope foregoing another lap, one should always recognize when one has thoroughly gotten away with something.

Recently a big storm plastered the range, that one is for the time being on the books...

Photos: Top, RCC on French Effect, image by Ryan Bogus. Bottom, Autumn Bighorn Ram, image by RCC.

Is there life after LA GORZDERETTE?

What happened to winter? Where did it go? Is there life after LA GORZDERETTE?!

Amid the red wet confines of the ewe's pelvis I hunt for life nose toes anything that denotes a lamb. Sensing my intrusion or even to yet expel her lamb ewe contracts against

upon my cupped I weather the crushing search on.

Gloved fingers detect an identifiable form lamb skull muzzle then a nascent twitch from an indeed still live lamb time to work fast. I rotate my hand to where hooves should be hoping for an optimal presentation no luck the lamb is legs back a common ungulate dystocia meaning the head is presented in the birth canal but the fore legs are positioned under the lamb's abdomen so the lamb is shoulder-locked in the birth canal.

The obstetrical solution is elegant yet counterintuitive, repel the lamb's head back into the uterus then reposition both forelimbs so the hooves are under the nose the way lambs are supposed to be delivered. I cup my broad hand over the lambs face shove lamb back into ewe's belly.

Now the tricky part slide rolled hand along lamb find left forelimb with right hand hook ankle with finger pull limb forward until hoof is found cup hoof in hand swivel about being sure hoof though soft from uterine fluid does not lacerate uterine wall and position under lamb muzzle repeat on left side (tricky) until lamb has chin resting atop forefeet like dog on kitchen floor.

Ewe struggles squeezes with renewed interest post-doc laying on ewe huffs-puffs Wyoming wind howls I insert left hand too beaucoup lube (sorry babe) secure front paws between index-middle-ring fingers cup back of head with left hand stretch ewe's vulva (no movement from lamb now, uh-oh...) exert steady pull lamb moves from depths of ewe into blaring Wyoming spring sun.

The lamb's dead. Limp like so much wet disaster draped in my steaming arms strands of fetal membranes slurping onto my sodden coveralls.

I towel away clearing lamb's muzzle so breath could be drawn lamb flops back a soggy plush toy as I palpate chest a heart beat bum-bum-bum-bum-bum...

Bloody gloved hand palms lamb head places lamb's muzzle into mouth I blow air lamb's chest puffs up like party balloon.

Lamb splutters coughs breaths lifts head moves a little herky-jerky life begins.

Photo: Rob Fullerton.

Rob shot this photo of me in my dry-tool den day before starting my new posting at the University of Wyoming in Laramie, WY. Me at the height of my post-winter-powers the Super Couloir Direct already a memory a man on the verge of a pretty-big-brand-spanking-new-life adventure.

Detendez-vous, ca va bien se passer...

Detendez-Vous Ca Va Bien Se Passer

La Gorzderette. Where to begin...

There are those trips where you go somewhere do a bunch of climbing n' drinking then come home. Then there are those trips that change your life irretrievably. I don't mean in a bad way just that things are going to look just a little different from now on.

For me going to France to participate in La Gorzderette was just such a trip. Ah, La Gorzderette how I wish you were a living breathing woman of flesh and blood skin and sinew that I could make love to and retire to a Chalet make Beaufort cheese by the wheel and have 13 children with.

But I digress. What is a La Gorzderette? How do you stalk this thing? And what's with the rabbits?

Once upon a time there was a town, nay a village, nestled within the firm engaging thighs of Le Vanoise which like most of the Alps is being adversely affected by climate change. Not to be deterred the village found solace in the machinations of Stephane Husson and Sam Beaugey who conceived of a tower of ice a fortress keep in white,

For climbing on...

France I have decided at least in the rural areas seems to retain a certain medieval quality. As pal Simon pointed out the distance between neighboring chalets in one hamlet was sufficient to permit two horse-drawn carts to pass one another. Thus the setting for a medieval tourney replete with loads of yeoman yeomanning about pushing hay-filled sledges (luge), skiing, slack-lining, tandem snowshoeing, coiling ropes whilst standing in ice-slush, orienteering, guide-obstacle-coursing. Oh, and ice-climbing.

I had hoped to duck the Tournai so I would be fresh for the l'exhibition Saturday but not to be, Stephane Husson tracks me down having recruited Sam Beaugey's lovely-yet-mountain-ready gal Geraldine. An accomplished alpine skier from Verbier Geraldine proves both agile and good natured the ideal partner for the multi-disciplined La Gorzderette. First we wander off in search of clues on an orienteering outing my college geology class saves the day as I recite for Emilie Delanney the theory of glaciation (in French no less). Next we ski an aerobic lung-buster that serves well to help provide me with conditioning for my later Alps adventure. I throw berets, ski some more then its off to the sledge push-race a muscle-power vent where l'ensemble has to guide a 250-year old hay luge around a course completing two laps, my experience with weight-training and grappling comes into play as I dig in to move the surprisingly heavy luge and keep it moving while Geraldine steers and hauls.

Notably next is tandem snowshoe left-right-left-right then the "le course de guide" that geraldine and I rope up for tip-toeing along frozen posts rails then my nemesis, the slack-line. We do okay before we climb, I choose a mixed-dry-tool route on the inside of one of the tripod legs largely because the overhand is crowded plus having a demonstration to do that evening in l'exhibition I need a route to perform on, preferably not on the overhang which I know the younger French climbers will likely monopolize in their usual no-shirt antics.

The route looks good I get half-way across the roof when my belayer pulls the rope tight the last clip being the finis so I will have to leave the last part of the route for the evening show under the lights.

So we are done, with la tournai anyway I grab some heavy-duty cuisine de haute savoie (sausages, pasta, bread, cheese, cafe' and a lemon tart) then its time to hang in the Chalet and wait for the evening show. Which is supposed to start at 6 but is in effect in full swing by 5. As expected the French guys are hiking the roof taking their shirts off so I suit up, make my way through the throngs of people step through the barrier onto the icy ground below la Tour...

All of France is watching...

Well not exactly but when you as the sole American show up in the heart of French alpine culture wearing psychedelic snow trousers a hand-painted top and a sea-creature mustache people notice I collect my belayer and make for the inside of the leg. Tie-in drop coat the purple Nano comes to life as I nail pockets jump for the frozen plastic holds switch back to the flanking ice skirts pull for all I am worth a red spotlight hits me I hear Sam Beaugey invoke my name through thumping French techno my perfect moment even if nobody is watching me above me Monica Dalmasso hangs from the Tyrolean cable her flawless eye sure hand captures my journey nay my transfiguration to walrus-sine event mascot.

Then its over everybody splits as I take in one last route they are giving the rabbits away to the event winners let the party begin.

But there is one more ordeal to undertake, "The Best Climber in the World" contest for which I am enrolled. No rest for the supremely wicked anyway there's the plane flight in two weeks to sleep on...

A sadistic congenial romp through the surreal first up is a pull-up contest on my F2s in which I crank as many as I can en-route to munching a snickers bar tied to a string being seductively lowered before the inductee. I manage twelve before I nail the bar biting it clean in half. Next I have to stand in a wash-tub filled with slush whilst coiling a frozen rope having seen the French lads hurry through this I lay it on absentmindedly coiling some rope while prolonging the burn as long as possible, "WE love you Rob!" shout several French" girls while I ham it up. Their is the table crawl, the weighted slack-line, shirtless haul-bag haul (more posing), the bottle crawl then I'm all-in...

I miss some of the French when Sam announces me as the best climber in the world, there is girl winner too a chocolate medal which I hang around her neck followed by the much-appreciated cheek-kissing.

Time to party!

Photos: Clockwise from top- La Gorzderette is very much about spectacle, think medieval pageant. Lower- Champagny en Vanoise: The world's coolest ski town. Lower left- No fear, the natives are very friendly. Geraldine, 1/2 le ensemble de tournai. 1 & 2: Monica Dalmasso. 3: RCC Collection.