On Movement...

I finally stopped moving this weekend or more accurately driving my 2009 two-tone Mellow Yellow Mini Cooper all over the western US. I am excited about this having done three tournaments/festivals (Bozeman/Ouray/Redstone) in the last several months as well as "training days" to RMNP and Vail. A wild ride at speeds up to 114 mph not to mention M-whatever. I have been demonstrating my Euro-acquired Free-Tooling style a mode of winter climbing most akin to rock-climbing even though I don't know how to even rock-climb. Really I don't like extra weight (e.g., heel-plates) extra points (heel-plates, spikes/adzes) or decisions about what to climb in/with (I climb everything from waterfalls to dry routes in Fusion 2s and Ice Dragons). Learning to climb all over again has been an interesting if not humbling experience with several notable "no-sends" this season which irk me a bit but who said this would be easy?

The car has been a big part of the year as much a partner as any of the lost boys who have gradually melted away from the scene this winter leaving me with virtually no one to even ring-up. I have explored some good terrain though most recently Le Drool Integrale my first time up the thing, solo, ostensibly a tribute to the late-great Guy Lacelle. I felt utterly relaxed on this moderate test-piece cameras whirred and so I achieved a closure of sorts accepting my friend was dead so I would no longer see him out climbing.

Aside from the car there are the new F2s a tool so cunning you could put a tail on it and call it a weasel. To the gathering clog of detractors I say the 1990s called and they want their climbing style BACK. Sure, Nomics work but so did spurs, leashes, cutting steps and the Atatl. I am giddy every time I pick this piolet up that relegated every other tool I own to the museum, and what a museum it has become.

In a word I am now more into the FUN and spontaneity of it all the sending/spraying/posing rather bores me after all I have an occupation/profession so I don't need to live through climbing. Blasting around Colorado in a a Mini stuffed to the gills with climbing gear rolling out in eye-watering neon trousers for a session, moments of joy, quizzical stares, and ah, those instances of near-terror, always...

Fusion 2: The Definitive Review

Winter climbing comprises four elements; 1)Waterfall, 2)Mixed/Dry-tool, 3)Competition, 4)Solo. In the interest of modernity I have refrained from speaking yea or nay of the 2 until I have had a chance to put this instrument through the paces. Usually this proving assumes the form of scaring the shit out of myself a form of mental catharsis I at times crave. We all have our little nuances...

I had seen an early prototype of what was to be Fusion 2 in November 2007 spent some time top-roping with this set at the Hyalite then heard little more until a rather well-worn pair of advanced prototypes arrived in February 2009. These lacked the molded over-grip and rocked precariously on small holds, hmmm...

My own pair of production 2s appeared at the laboratory one day among the cases of plastic tissue culture flasks and other lab paraphernalia. I produced their jagged medieval forms from within the brown cardboard then ran about the bays howling-ranting about foreign-sounding place-names a story still being told two months later.

Living has never been the same since, those life-altering instances happen every so often, I am ass-over-teakettle in love with this tool. I get asked a lot of questions about whether 2 fills the shoes of Fusion 1 which is a bit like asking Cleopatra who was a more rewarding fuck Julius Caesar or Marc Anthony, 2 has erased all memory of Fusion 1 and so it ends there.

Whereas Fusion 1 was cruelly efficient 2 is pure fun totally reinvigorating the winter climbing experience which brings me back to the four pillars of winter climbing. I should mention that as an older athlete with some mileage under my rig I anxiously scan the horizon for an trick or gimmick to hold my interest. Not that Fusion 1 was a bad tool I still have two pairs in my inventory I simply no longer hold them in such esteem. In the quest for less in the bag I prefer a one-tool solution much as I no longer climb with a heel-plate if light is right then not having to think about what to take is divine.

An early test was to be Secret Probation solo but solo with no sussing just walk up and do the thing. Now I have seen ratings ascribed to this route raging from M4+ to M7 the lower grades reflecting perhaps extensive ice buildup or more likely fanciful thinking on the part of lap-top alpinists. That frigid morning the ice was steep near bullet-proof and smokin' cold. Once you perform the dry-tooling down-climbing is really not an option I never carry a rope on such outings so it's do or die.

Next came Bulldog World another M7-M9 affair in Hyalite. In all fairness I deployed my best Squid jiggery and pokery on this little number sent on my second try and returned the following day to add the elegant Yaniro at the crux for the perfect moment.

Finally comes Ouray the adventure-demo under the Lower bridge where I climbed up having a pretty good idea where there might be some bolts to add quick-draws to another cold, cold morning where it was ill-advised to hit the squeakin' dagger too hard lest the scattered fans get more of a show than I had ever bargained for.

The Invitational on Saturday was all it could be with weird chimney climbing and a sit-start I had unknowingly practiced daily in the confines of my home gym, I wasn't even pumped when I timed out and lowered off.

So, what does it all mean? That I trust my life to this 2. There is no greater endorsement, my gloved hands ever at ease cradled with-on the black rubber-stuff or whatever it is. The Fusion Pick is an obvious choice for mixed where any degree of dry-tooling is anticipated but Laser works too very sticky on waterfall ice. I have added a layer of rubber tape to the grip as the overall profile is fairly slim then again I have always preferred diminutive women as well.

In a rare moment of humility I will concede that 2 climbs better than I do my penchant for on-sight climbing as opposed to planning and working a riute has cost me several sends already. My failures (if that's what they are) barely off-set by my successes, it's hard to always be "on" particularly in front of a crowd and a severely hung-over crowd at that.

What you will need for 2 is a good wrench the flat BD number that comes with the tool being utterly inadequate. I have a 14mm Bost that I got in a hardware store in Chamonix only then can I put enough fire on the lone head bolt to feel secure. A good mill file is a second necessity and truth be told I replace the chome-moly bolts that hold the butt-hook (get yer' mind out of the gutter!) on preferring stainless replacements from the Downtown Ace Hardware.

Bill Belcourt of Black Diamond equal parts Merlin and Leonardo conceived of this tool his stated goal at the time being a tool that climbed ice superbly while still conserving (most) of the dry-tool prowess of the Fusion 1 seems to have beaned the prez' on this one (SON OF A DOG!) proving that Arabs can't throw worth a shit. I believe he threw out the figure of 80% although 2 is more like 90%+ plus that extra sexiness that will get me up every time.

And if you aren't inspired to climb, what's the point of new kit anyway?

Postscript: I should mention that the longish 2nd prototype underwent substantial re-working the toll now being rather-shorter a good thing too as this returned stability to the tool including virtually no pick-shift when transitioning to the upper grip. 2 clears ice features very well owing to enhanced hydro-formed sculpting, I don't know anything about this so I won't be boring but this technology enables the curve of the thing to exceed anything you can create by merely bending aluminum tubes. One high-end climbing athlete seemed to think the plastic tail hook (there, happy?) was slippery, it kind of is but after purchasing my first sports-car this year I can appreciate the need for speed AND for fun, sometimes the safest place to be when in the company of a thoroughbred is squarely astride that mount legs wrapped fingers locked in the mane.

What all this means is that I'm not sure 2 is the easiest tool to use might take some time to learn to "drive" it. I say this as a lot of people hated Fusion 1 which enabled the mediocre Nomic to thrive with its erector-set appeal all the while Fusion 1 was putting up the hardest routes in the world. "it's not the arrow it's the Indian" my local shaman and medicine-man Ryan would say, true enough...

OURAY BOUND

I have trained very, very, hard this year I anticipation of the Ouray Invitational an odd proposition as being an invitational with no qualifier I never know if the invitation is to be forthcoming or not. As of late it has become fashionable to carp ceaselessly about 2009 a year of great personal transition for me not to mention indirect tragedy. I took the Guy Lacelle killed during the Hyalite IceBreaker tourney particularly hard Guy having been my hyperactive partner in two Festiglace du Quebec events in 2006 and '07. Guy was not a man to shun risk in the name of adventure nor competition during one turn at the rope in 2006 he bouldered up after a distant bolt even as I offered to stick-clip the anchor for him no sooner had he scraped his way up the suspect wall of tottering shale when BOOM down came Guy cradle and all flat on his back atop an ice boss. He swarmed back up but no doubt a man already in his fifties would have been feeling a tad stiff later that night.

But it was not Guy's own drive that slew this Geant du Cascade rather the combined hubris of individuals athletes and organizer alike at the aforementioned IceBreaker an event billed as "this ain't Ouray..." by event author Joe Josephson. Indeed, Guy withstood many spirited runs at Ouray largely unscathed only to perish in his second turn in the now infamous IceBreaker, senselessly consumed by an avalanche triggered by a party in the gulley above. That high winds, snowfall and bitter cold had drastically altered avalanche conbditions in Hyalite in the preceding 24 hours advancing a "moderate" risk to patently suicidal seems to have escaped the attention of both Joe and the participating athletes. From the 5th floor of RC2 NOAA forecasts for Hyalite and the surrounding mountains were quite express, I watched the impending grinder take shape relieved to have been snubbed for 2008.

Accidents certainly happen and while there may be no "blame" per se there is culpability galore to go around. The following week I hit town mostly to retrieve my daughter Simone a freshman at MSU but also to climb. In conversations with some of the competitors one of whom actually was involved in triggering the slide that swept Guy to his destruction it became apparent that neither in the athlete meeting nor in the pre-dawn start was any discussion of the avalanche potential undertaken an omission of near-criminal proportions. Even still the party of Josh Wharton and Sam Magro who set off the fatal slide had in fact endured one near-death experience moments earlier when JW was swept down the gulley leaving an ice tool in the ice above.

Now many persons (including me) would have promptly and correctly asserted THIS IS FUCKED and retreated but no the lure of one's name engraved on the golden piolet on display at Barrel Mountaineering was so great these blokes opted to continue and they weren't the only ones as Guy despite decades of experience in the Candian Rockies that included a harrowing near-miss under Gimme Shelter in the '90s pressed on right into the cross-hairs of what Sam described as being struck by "18 sheets of dry-wall". That this wasn't a double or even triple fatality seems to have escaped everyone's attention in the subsequent rush to memorialize the late Quebequois before returning promptly to the leisure-based lifestyle of non-stop climbing. After all, the show must go on, oui?

Perhaps, but only just. Having ice-climbed my entire adult life I really know no different as even my son Cormac succintly stated "what else are you going to do all winter!?', indeed. But the world just got a little bleaker the Ouray event a shade gloomier without the fierce Lacelle to compete against. We were after all both of an earlier era one of sodden wool and ice-glazed primitive implements where the consequences of error could be immediate and exceptionally violent. In glancing about the ranks of such veterans has thinned considerably to the point where I feel conspicuous there are old climbers, bold climbers, but no old, bold climbers, correct?

Yet Guy was the exception proof that the old saw was just another load of crap his perceived risk enormous as he completed breath-taking solo ascents of creaking frozen Leviathans across three continents. After a 1993 ascent of Curtain Call with Susanne I noted that some cat named Guy Lacelle had sent the line solo an effort that no amount of training or leashless wizardry would prompt me to undertake to this day.

So what went wrong? In a word, competition... As one particpant of this fateful event pointed out to me en route back to Bozeman from Hyalite, in competition the athletes involved are blind to the hazards roiling about them they see only the prize and no one exposed to a new partner as the draw ensured wishes to be the chicken the one to pull the plug. I know this because this is precisely what I had done in the same event in 2007 when paired with an individual I quickly ascertained to be not only incompetent but plainly a danger to my well-being. For a year I wore the "no-score" I opted for an albatros about my thick hairy neck only now feeling poorly vindicated for my cantankerousness.

So who missed the flags? Certainly anyone hosting such an event must have the safety of the athletes firmly in mind above any lingering gripe against oragnized "sport" events represented by the likes of Ouray or the Ice World Cup. Simply put no half-assed adventure comp' is worth the life of a man like Guy nor any other soul. In short a little humility shown by all might have gone a long way that black day even saved a man's life...

Then Ouray 2010 would have been like old times Gut and me toe to toe in the comp' friends yet rivals old bulls off in some meadow snorting and pawing antlers locked in some farsical contest then the obligatory arm around the shoulder self-portrait of us both one more for the scrap-book.

Not this year though, nor any other for all time.

Guy et moi...

I am in Bozeman watching the light come upon the land long dark cold night that it was. Over coffee I ponder the death of Guy Lacelle what if anything it all means. Having watched the Doug Chabot video I see how he died but the why eludes me. Was this competition and these lifeless gulleys worth a man's life?

No. They cannot be. Over Facebook I chat with Stephanie who knows Guy she is French possessed of that uniquely French fatalism, yes Rob, it could ahve been you but it could be any of us. Rob Fullerton has more the tally, his Freezing Gravity image exhibition now has 3 of the ten featured climbers now deceased, I am one of the seven still standing and frankly the math disturbs me.

Just the same I AM excited very much about my climbing, the new Fusion 2 is a remarkable instrument which I have used gleefully in my wooden cave almost every day so that my shoulders ache my tendinitis growls like a hurt animal in the corner. But what fun and climbing should be fun so it should not kill you nor your treasured friends.

After all, if Eric Deglerc should ever come back from Afghanistan and hold Festiglace du Quebec again who would be my partner? Not Guy, now... There is a hole in the universe in his leaving that I have stepped into stumbling over my own mortality. Last week on my birthday my partner was too drunk/stoned/disinterested to show up for our day of climbing so I went alone. I went up Secret Probation solo on a very cold morning with the ice like marble talking myself through this madness I say out loud "CONTROL YOUR FEAR" so I am not a crumpled bleeding heap on the cruel ground.

But Fusion 2 carried me through that and the years spent off the ground without a rope, that and my new outfit which made me FEEL strong competent. Which I really am toiling away in my home-made cave running across the frozen golf-course huffing like an old dog, so what?

For this is all gravy now, isn't it? I've done my climbs let others do their's let them eat cake. There is no one to impress now the younger climbers can phone me when the are over 40 or 45 let me know if they can still climb if they are even alive to do so. I have tried to puzzle this Guy thing out but truly there is no kharmic lesson gravity never fails in its task always vigilant ever patient. It's just that the Craig Luebben-John Bachar-Guy Lacelle trilogy in the last six months featured three older "masters" two of whom I've climbed with all of whom were accomplished soloists. I see the circle constrict with me still at the dwindling center most climbers of my generation having ceded to fat bald-dom or oblivion so should I continue if so, why?

Becasue it's fun I suppose. Buried somewhere in all the events amid the gear-mannequin poseurs resides this great activity, ice-climbing.

For that it's worth continuing...

Sharpening Steel

I am sharpening steel as of late, ice screws, ice tools, fruit boot plates, the file has been busy by the fire sending filings into the abyss. Here in CO there is but a brief, torrid respite from cold, oh I how I immensely enjoy the red-dawn forays out back in the nude to piss out last night's spirits the day already thick on my sun-browned skin. Now the wheel turns a great cosmic retribution for such sybaritic acts the sun fleeing south, away, a great pagan reckoning to come. The solstice looming birth death renewal days to grow longer again in freezing cold assertiveness...

I run from my car to work, to RC-2 across the parkway golf-course over the campus panting in the elevator like some alien being past the warm pastries at the cafe' up to the fifth floor the mountains silly beautiful with their cake-frosting snowfall helm, is this for real? Should really be getting paid for this?

I smell the winter "it beckons" so to speak my hands frozen so I could hardly work this morning so I press on smitten by the beauty of it all. When the post-docs arrive they are sullen will close the blinds on their side but I leave mine gawping for I see snow that one day will no longer fall when the world is reduced to excrement by the crush of humanity and christian investment bankers in their shit SUVS.

Steel begets steel for I am looking for bite-pump-terror the transfiguration one more year OH-F*CK-PLEASE just one more year one more fish one more 24 year-old woman writhing upon me, please f*ck please...

Good things may come to those who wait but good things are more likely for those who get up early do their pull-ups and bother to chat-up, I'm sprinting for a finish line that is really the edge of a cliff a void black infinite beyond open my arms tumble feel a rush of air then nothing the ride over but no one there to even recognize said fact...

This week the storm come the mother of all storms that ushers in the horned God Goddess in descent still I pray for that rotation the end of winter resumption of green the promise of grandchildren I old and broken only stories to tell of a time when the earth held ice and cold life not obliterated by the crush of humanity still wild creatures and places.

Tell us grandpa what did snow look feel taste smell like?

The Great Beyond

I was flipping through my Facebook feed last night there amid the usual personal drivel was a post by Micah Dash. For those of you unfamiliar with the illustrious Dash he is/was the archetypal Boulder yuppie climber who perished under and ice-fall over the summer.

Accidents of course happen. It has been my observation that such accidents are more prone to happen when folks go off seeking fame and glory with a cameraman in tow then the onus is upon them to proceed instead of saying FUCK THIS when conditions are sub-optimal or just downright suicidal. In this case as with the late great and woefully uninsured Alex Lowe climber(s) and cameraman were buried alike. Nobody of course thinks they are going to die except of course me who knows he's going to die any damn day all it would take would be a moment of inattentiveness on I25 and some crack-whore subdivision mom in her Honda Pilot yacking on her phone to her life-coach/yoga guru/colonic therapist will plow right into my Cooper forever snuffing out my cantankerousness.

Having had a bevy of tins of strong ale I wrote on his (MD's) page "holy shit dude yer dead..." as if from beyond the River Styx this person still sought fame and recognition. Mind you I had never even met or heard of this person before they requested me as a friend then I come to see what a famous personality they indeed are which is why I assume they befriended me in the first place. I should note that good men and women get killed nearly every day in those far-flung shit-holes Afghanistan and Iraq, for what purpose I cannot say. Yet they are fellow citizens some of whom I actually met while practicing down by Fort Carson soldiers there with families and worries off on 12-15 month deployments where they are not exactly always welcome yet they saddle up and go anyway from a sense of duty or out of a need to pay the mortgage.

The point being that if you walk around Boulder you'd think the wars existed on another planet everyone being so health conscious and self-absorbed. When there was a draft young men were conscripted and sent off to places like Vietnam which maybe cured them of the urge for subsequent adventure travel. Now that there is a privileged leisure class freed from such societal obligations with nothing better to do but recreate and go on luxury vacations by way of a profession we are supposed to feel a deep sense of grief when such a holiday goes awry.

If I actually knew these people that might be the case my own feeling that there is a certain amount of nose-rubbing into the fact that these folks have such a cool life being featured in one catalog or magazine or another aren't they just so amazing? Then there's the fact that I HAVE known some of these people although not this particular bloke which leads me to think to some extent that they might have got their comeuppance for a lifetime of questionable antics whilst being rather smug up until that point.

So we are all free to do, and write, whatever we wish. By inviting me to be his "friend" he invited me though unintentionally to comment upon his demise, the keepers of the flame may be offended by this and so they may but I too take umbrage with their insistence upon lock-step adulation. I can recognize the need to grieve as I have for parents and a lost child but revisionist deification I have little patience for.

For no one is getting out of this life alive, of this I can assure you all. Yesterday Susanne popped open a bottle of red wine we were saving, "for what?" she said and so we guzzled the warm drowsy red fluid in the last warm sun of 2009 a sun which soon slid behind the mountains with the ensuing autumnal chill seconds behind.

I must have slept soundly for just before 7 (a luxury to sleep in so late for me who is usually up before 5 out of the house before 6) I awoke to the dawn illuminating tall yellow grass on my property. A fresh day full of potential, all I ever really hope for...

The Buffalo Commons

The wolf is back, so much so that red-necks shoot them in Idaho for a fee, good...

The Buffalo cannot be far behind, supplanting European cattle once for all, pull up the fences, bulldoze the SuperTargets, every man women and child gets one buffalo per year, hippies can sell theirs if they wish only to eat green burritos, let them...

I foresee the plains as they were, wild, lost, uninhabitable as they again prove to be, the wolves among the herds, humans permitted to come and appropriate their own, they must. My dog LIKES Buffalo, Bison, the gristle I can't chew she inhales, that's what dogs evolved to do, not go to doggie-day-care, crikey...