Training Update October 16th.

Wed., October 15 (really--I somehow tweaked my dates, fixed now for recent entries...)

Savage workout. Limbed some trees, bucked them up, moved them to truck, unloaded. Helped out with some more bucking up of trees also. Eight hours of wrestling chunks of wood ranging from light to 150+ pounds, chainsawing like mad, wicked workout. I think this sort of thing is a real test of how "real world" fit you are; climbing fitness is very specific and that's great, but old-fashioned manual toil is just good for you.

A note on chainsaws: I have a "purse-sized" Stihl (my friend Margo loves to mock it), but it has a short bar and a thin chain that allows it to wail through wood as fast as many bigger saws. Keep the chain sharp and the saw in tune and there's not much that saw won't do with some creativity. I was cutting 24-inch spruce with it yesterday, kinda cool to get a big job done with a small saw. I'm just too cheap to spend $500 on a more manly saw when this one gets the job done well. Yeah, a bigger bar and more power might be nice, but I don't burn out on moving my saw around either, and mostly what I do is cut up logs up to about 12 inches in diameter, often in awkward positions, a small saw is just easier for that. Unless someone wants to send me a big old new saw, maybe I'll get into those timbersports comps, those people are nuts....

Tuesday, October 14th.
-Spoga between sets/exercises as usual.
-Warmup with easy movement.
-Climb up and down slightly overhanging wall locking off as low as possible on good holds, hold lockoff for a few seconds with the other hand over head before grabbing hold, repeat until flamed...
-Boulder with tools in cave, focus on accuracy and swings. Good deep pump several times.
-Tool pegboard, big offset pulls, one per side until can't do anymore. Wicked.

Monday October 13th
-Spoga as usual.
-Long traverses to warm up (cold!)
-Front lever training. Nasty and short but good. Getting better at these.
-Enduro training hanging on tool shafts, odd Figure 4 thrown in just to keep it interesting... 20 on, 20 off, you are pumped up! Let go with one hand occasionally if this is getting easy, and grab the tools above the grips so that you slide down onto them when you're too pumped to hang onto just the shafts anymore...

Sunday October 12th.

Good walk in the woods, nothing too major but good to get out.

Saturday October 11th.

All-time lousy workout. Got sucked into a boulder problem I couldn't do, tired, unmotivated, basically went through the motions but into mentally into the workout. Did my best.

Training Log: Body Tensions is not about situps!

First off, a quick rant about body tension.

I often watch people with saggy-ass syndrome (poor body tension) do endless situps. This does NOT solve the problem of keeping your feet on while climbing. "Core" strength or "body tension" in climbing means being able to hold on with your hands and keep your feet on an overhanging wall. Situps (or any ab-isolating exercise) are near-useless for this, it's all about making your shoulders, lats, and abs work together. Some version of front-lever, or whatever "curl up" exercise you can do, is the base of body tension on steep routes. Off-topic rant, but I hate to see good training time wasted. Of course, if the goal is pretty little stomach muscles then great, but that's not the reason I'm at the gym. And if you can do a front lever you'll have good abs, the difference is that you'll have functional strength, not poseur strength.


Wed. Oct 8th

Wrestled a wood stove most of the day in addition to video work, kid. Wood stove won the opening rounds but not the match. Nothing like trying to move 400+ pounds around... Crossfit style experience.

Rode bike to hill. Went up hill fast on foot. Knee good. 45 minutes.

Soundtrack: The world. I don't listen to music while I'm out in the hills, they sound great au naturel.

Thursday Oct. 9th.

I let life go sideways (Calgary, etc.) so I ended up in the gym at 8:15 in the evening, not my favorite time to train. Had to use chemical stimulants to get it going, yeah, those little cans of motivation. Felt like an ambushed owl for the opening 10 minutes but then got it moving. Warmed up well then got sucked into a boulder session with Big Frank. Super fun, big body-tension moves on decent holds so kinda what I wanted and sure fun. SPOGA between boulder problem goes.

Then about 15 minutes of movement with the tools in the mixed cave. Every time I drytool for the first time of the seasn I hate it. The tools move around too much, I'm terrified they will blow on every movement, and I wonder why I bother. Hell, it's a climbing gym, why not just use shoes and chalk? Then I start hucking small dynos, moving through the fear and it becomes fun, but those first few moves always destroy me. I need to pad the little finger of my Fusions already, forgot gloves the first day and my little finger is already swelling. I helped design these tools and wanted a positive little finger grip, what was I thinking? Well, not ideal for the gym but exactly what you need with gloves on for hard routes.

Then over to the drytool campus board. More vertical offset pulls but with a one-arm lock at the top of each pull, release lower tool for a few seconds. Only did three per side and didn't hold the lock long, but I feel them today for sure, a power movement. Then an exercise I've been doing for a few years to help my shoulder: hang from both tools, let go with one hand, and slowly, slowly, rotate about 150 degrees so you're facing out from the wall a bit, rotate back and grab the other tool. If it gets sloppy put your feet down right away. I think it's important to build all the little muscles and train them to work together for moves like this, seems to help me prevent shoulder problems. Drag your feet if you can't do this in control. Surprisingly hard to do in control, but if you build the coordination and strength to do this then you won't be doing it out of control on a route, and maybe won't rip your shoulder joint apart...

Then front lever (core) training. Getting better recruitment after only one session, could hold one leg out for a few seconds! So much of climbing is specific muscle fiber recruitment and coordination, not just "power."
Finished the evening out with some "pump you up" exercises of hanging onto just the tool shafts (no support from the bumps) on 20-second on, 20-second off intervals. Wicked pump in short order...

Maybe not the perfect workout, but far better than lying on the couch drinking scotch and doing fuck all, which is where I was headed at 8:00 p.m.

Soundtrack: Crystal Method was on in the gym. I always forget how good Crystal Method can be.

Friday October 10:

Passed wood stove inspection. Wrestled wood. Keyboard. Then blast on bike to hill, up hill to "lower rocks," back down. Under an hour. Stoked. Burned first load of wood in stove, house did not burn down. Cool.

Use Fedex, not UPS

I ship a lot of stuff back and forth to the US and around the world. I've just had the most incredible go-around with UPS, and still don't have some parts that were overnighted from Utah more than a week ago. The parts made it from Utah through Canadian customs in about 24 hours, then spent two days sitting on the ground while UPS's private contractor tried to figure out how to get a box across town in Nanaimo. They couldn't figure that out for more than 48 hours despite the "super priority" shipment status. I left town before they could figure it out, and called UPS three times to get the box forwarded to Canmore. Unfortunately they couldn't even tell me where it was until today. Yep, Nanaimo. UPS promises delivery tomorrow, we'll see. I really like my local UPS guy here in Canmore, but as far as actually delivering a package on time, well, UPS is not going to get any more of my business, and I'll urge everyone I work with to use Fedex, DHL, Purolator, donkey express or anyone but UPS. Fedex normally gets my packages back and forth to the US in well under 48 hours. UPS sucks.

Back to your mountain sports blog now.

WG

Winter is coming: Train.

Training

It's that time of year again when the nights are well below freezing, the snow is sticking up high and the leaves are committing suicide in a very beautiful way. Yep, winter climbing is coming and quickly. I'm coming off a decently strong fall of rock climbing (for me) so I've got a base in there somewhere, but in the last two weeks I've done nothing but drive (sit) and fly the paramotor (sit) with a few aerobic blasts but not much. Two weeks and my arms are smaller than their normal skeletal size, my ab muscles aren't looking too defined and my aerobic fitness is pretty pathetic. Time to get it on.

My goals are all over the place at the moment, but I have a couple of big ice/mixed trips coming up and one weird goal that I'll maybe share later. That goal would involve an insane amount of ice, so I need to have the power for decently hard mixed and the endurance to go hard for many hours of "easy" movement on steep ice... Totally contradictory physiological goals, what else is new.

I'm going to post my workouts and climbing efforts as they happen, both to amuse the reader and motivate me. Maybe some public pressure to get it done will help, and I'll take any scrap of motivation I can find. I have a 16-month old star of a daughter, work, a hole in the side of my house that needs fixing (love those renos) and a lot of other stuff that's competing for my time and energy. In short, I'm likely a lot like many of you who read these ramblings: over-committed, short on time and looking for all kinds of climbing action instead of specificity.

Tuesday, October 7th: Day One. Weather poor in general.

Back in the source of power, the Vsion. After two weeks totally off I wanted to start kinda slow, I've found that's a good way to prevent injury. I had one hour and 30 minutes to get it done, here's what felt right:

20 minutes of movement on the walls: Just moving, stretching on the wall (this is great for range of motion and feeling where my body is at), getting to the point where removing the sweatshirt is necessary. No movements that tax me, mellow but real pump.

First half of my 30-minute speed yoga (Spoga) thing (three A suns, three B, bunch of flow poses that I link, it works for me to keep my body from binding up too much). I used to care if I looked like a geek in the gym while doing this routine. Thankfully I've made peace with the fact that I am a geek in the gym, I need to do this Spoga thing or I start moving like a geriatric. Let the kids laugh, it's good for them and me.

-Four laps on "Yellow," about 30 moves on generally big holds, enough to get pumped and have to try a bit but no tweaky moves, with the rest of my Spoga done between intervals. No time in the gym should be wasted; either you're going at it, stretching, belaying or gasping. Sitting around is a waste of time.

-Dangle off tools in the mixed cave for about about 10 minutes. Make sure to release gently and fully onto each shoulder in one-handed hangs, keep it controlled and very smooth. Not really bouldering, just letting my shoulders and hands know that I'm going to be abusing them in the coming weeks--but not today.

-Three rounds of: vertical offset pullups (one per side, both sides, good form, no straining), front levers off tools (nowhere even close to front levers, rock climbing does NOTHING for my core compared to mixed. Just pull knees to chest, extend one leg, collapse, repeat until I can't get knees to chest).

-Mess about with a few figure 4s off tools focusing on smooth releases and catches, not going to failure at all, just remembering the motions and feeling my body move through the range of its joints.

Closed it out with a few minutes of light campusing, I still want to do a few rock climbs that require some degree of contact strength...

That's it, 90 minutes of near-constant motion of varying intensity. On a scale where "1" is my couch and "10" is all-out I'd rate this one about a 4.73. The emphasis is on waking my body up to the movement and stress, not building new strength. I'll be sore tomorrow because I haven't trained these movements but not painfully so. The worst mistake I could make right now would be to blast my muscles and joints so hard that things started to break down either suddenly (injury) or over time (injury).

Soundtrack: Buck 65:
"Sign of the times, choose a blind man to guide the blind,
We all try to find a good excuse to hide behind
Difficult isn't it? The point? there is none
Forget what you know, cause that's true wisdom

Chorus: Cop shades, falcon versus eagle
Cop shades, weapons and sex toys
Cop shades, falcon versus eagle
Cop shades, waepons and sex toys"

Strait Up called on account of wind

For the last 15 years I've flown at least 50 or 60 days a year in western North America, and watched the winds aloft for at least another 100 days a season. I do this through Navcanada's flight planning site, a useful tool for any pilot. I've always thought that I "knew" the winds in western North America pretty well; they blow out of some derivative of west most of the time, unless there is a big low, high or something whacky going on. Then they'll blow whatever direction for a day, maybe two, before settling back into a range of about 220-320 degrees.

For the week we were on Vancouver Island the winds as far east as Cranbrooke blew from between 90 and 200 degrees. Every day. My line over the strait depended on some version of west winds. I never once saw anything approaching 270. There are a lot of ways to fly over the Strait, but the safest plan is to use west winds and line up some possible landing features such as islands. We saw more east and southeast winds aloft than I've ever seen. It felt like groundhog day--check the updated winds aloft at night, predicted southeast. Morning, predicted stronger southeast. Actual: strong southeast aloft. Paramotor engines sometimes just don't work. Although sorely tempted, I was not willing to take off over the Strait with the winds against me. And even if I had made it over the strait there was no place to go on the mainland with the southeast winds....

I was reminded of the variable nature of paramotor engines on Tuesday while doing a flight from the Keenan farm. The winds on the ground were north, the sky perfectly blue, I just couldn't believe that the winds up high were southeast. I took off, climbed to about 1,000 feet, and sure enough the winds were southeast.... I was messing about shooting some stills and slowly descending when the engine stopped. Hmmm.... I tried to restart, nothing, primed, got gas, checked anything I could while looking at the engine over my shoulder, and then headed for a rocky beach. Fortunately I had more than enough altitude to glide to land and not end up in the water, but the beach I had as a "reserve" was really rocky. Stuck the landing fine, the Keenans's and my dad came up and got me, soon we had the head and cylinder off in the Keenan's field. Stewart was a real assist for that, I'm no two-stroke mechanic but he knew a lot. In the end the diagnosis was simple: there was a big hole in my piston, right above the spark plug. I called up RPM and they sent parts right away, then I took the engine into Walker's Saw shop in Nanaimo to to get a Walbro rebuild kit.

Walker's is a Naniamo institution, the kind of place where any man who ever ran a chain saw would recognize as a mecca of all things two-stroke. Don Walker is a second-generation two-stroke master; he raced Kart at a high level, and instantly diagnosed the engine problem and volunteered to fix it overnight. Problem was, UPS sent the parts to Africa... In the end we had to limp homeward with no parts, the wind still south and a broken engine in the truck bed. I'm going to send the motor back to Walker's though, it's just dead obvious when you meet someone with a world-class knowledge of something, thanks to him.

I had to push the dates of this trip back due to knee surgery; August would have been better. Other than that we just had winds against us. I still feel lucky that the motor didn't blow up over the ocean somewhere too far from the beach to glide to...

I'd like to say thanks to my dad, Ben, for support, Peter at Talon Helicopters for believing in the madness, Mark Miller with Discovery, Mark Johnson (who has the best bachelor life of about any man on the planet!), the Keenan clan (great people!) and everyone else who worked with us to try and make this happen. JK and Gabe at RB provided positive energy and support too, nothing would happen without them. I WILL be back, and will send this trip, it's a dream that won't go away. Resistance is natural in life; sometimes you gotta be the ocean and just wear the SOB down until you can get over it. Big goals have big problems; the trick is to just never give up.

WG

Strait Up

I'm on Vancouver island with a paramotor. The obvious thing to do from here is fly it back over to the mainland, and then maybe on home to Canmore. The strait isn't too wide, about 35-50K depending on where you went, but it's pretty wet and not a good place to land. The Vancouver airport also makes things more difficult due to all the airspace restrictions and heavy jet traffic.

My dad came along to help out with logistics and chase, and we've been in the Qualicum Beach area for the last three days. The reasons I haven't flown back over yet are varied, mainly that the wind has been warping out of the southeast for the last three days. I've also blown a hole in the top of my piston, we're going to rebuild today if the parts show up...

The best part of the trip so far has been the amazing help I've had from locals. Mark Johnson, a bud from back in the day, has been invaluable in helping to find launch locations and just generally being his positive self. The first real problem here was to find some kind of place to launch north of Nanaimo; the island has a lot of trees, and not many clearings...

We were driving around the Fanny Bay area looking for fields when we saw this absolute perfect farm; big fields, several possible launch directions, nice grass, just a very well-tended piece of Vancouver Island. So we drove up and knocked on the door, and had the great good fortune to meet the Keenan family. I can't thank them enough for all their help and enthusiasm. Yesterday when I blew a hole in my piston on a test flight they came and got me with their truck, then helped break down the engine on tailgate, diagnose the problem, and then feed us lunch. I think I would have thrown the motor into the ocean and gone home without the Keenan family, thanks. So much of flying for me is not just the flying but the opportunity to meet great people I might not meet otherwise.

Parts should be here today, Mark ("Yeah, I have all the bits necessary to do anything to a motor, bring it on over.") Johnson is on the situation. Thanks.

The weather is perfect, we just need wind other than southeast so I can fly northwest!

Last night we hiked up a peak around here to get rid of some stress. So much focus, intensity, desire and the general unknown of the situation had wrung me out. The sunset was fantastic, and on the hike I realized that having the piston blow in a place where I could land on a rocky beach was a lot better than having it blow in the middle of the strait. It was a lucky day.

WG

New Books from the Senior Gadds

I don't normally write about my family on here, but it's pretty much unavoidable at the moment.

As many readers may know, my dad is Ben Gadd, author of the Canadian Rockies "bible," the Handbook of the Canadian Rockies. The Handbook is definitely the most-consulted resource for anyone who needs to know about the plants, animals, geology and much more that is found in the Canadian Rockies. I expect there is a copy in the library if not in the pack of every naturalist, tour guide, hiking guide and "curious" Rockies inhabitant or visitor.

For the last five or so years my dad has been hard at work on not one but two new books. The first is an instructional guide on how to hike and backpack in Canada; it's a distillation of my dad's more than 40 years of strapping a pack on and getting out into the mountains. I experienced about 39 of those 40+ years and I survived so he must have some decent skills. While it's written specifically for Canada, it's a worthwhile book for anyone who would like to enjoy afternoons or multi-day trips on the trail. Our old family friend, Lonnie Springer, shot most of the excellent photos.

The second book is at the opposite end of the exertion spectrum; a guide to the geology found along (or at least within sight) of the roads of the Canadian Rockies. It's organized by mileage and also by GPS waypoints, so you just drive down the road, keep track of your mileage or GPS position and stop to have a look at the best geologic features along the way. I grew up with both mobile and stationary lectures on what was happening geologically out the car windows, so I'll vouch for the fact that my dad is both well-qualified and uniquely enthusiastic about all things geologic. I remember taking Geology 101 and thinking, "Yeah, that was covered when I was about six, somewhere up near the Icefields." There is a series of roadside geology guides for the US, this book is the solution for the Canadian Rockies. If you've ever driven the Trans-Can and wondered, "Why is all that rock falling onto the road?," Canadian Rockies Geology Road Tours has the answer.

It should also be pointed out that while my dad wrote the books, it was my mom who edited them, put up with my dad over the years in all sorts of foul weather in small tents, and also often served as the scale model in many of the shots in both books. My parents are dedicated pro-environment people, and love to share the mountains with both friends and the groups they take out into the Rockies. I think they have likely spent more time on foot in the Rockies than anyone since the aboriginal people who lived here first.

If you're looking for a Christmas present or some solid self-education please check these books out. Also know that you're supporting some good people who don't live large; while writing the geology tour book my parents camped and lived out of their aging Subaru for weeks at a time. These books are written for people like us who live to be outside and understand the natural world, not to make the author rich or to simply sit on a coffee table in Japan (although with any luck both scenarios might happen!).

So a big congratulations to Ben and Cia for their work!

A proud son,

wg

Canadian Sport Climbing

Yesterday I learned a few things about being a sport climber in Canada. That's what I am right now in terms of climbing; I go clip bolts. And I'm totally into it. My tendons are creaking, my feet are completely jacked from stuffing them into frozen shoes and my fingertips are raw like pounded beef. In Red Rocks or some other areas I can climb up to ten decently hard routes every other day and still have some skin, but Rockies limestone makes my skin feel pretty much like it did after I accidentally ran my fingers instead of a ski through the base grinder I worked with during college. But I have no complaints, it's right where I want to be. Sport climbing in Canada is mega, especially now that we have great fall temps. There were at least one or two hours this summer where it was almost too warm to climb, thank god those days are behind us. We're in the sending season now!

A friend at the crag yesterday suggested we write an article about being a sport climber in Canada, but it's more fun to blog about it 'cause, well, I can write whatever I want. Here is a list of things the crew at Acephale came up with yesterday:

You know you're a Canadian sport climber when:

1. The current temperature is zero and the forecast high is 12, but you still head to a high, windswept north-facing cliff anyhow 'cause that's where your project is, and conditions will be "perfect!"

2. You smell like a hippie tree planter despite living in an apartment. And you would rather breathe smoke while climbing than freeze while resting.

3. You heat small rocks near the fire to put in your chalkbag, and are happy to trade the weight for the warmth.

4. You change the metric units on the forecast into imperial units 'cause a high of "50" sounds so much better than "10." And -2C is depressing, but how bad can "28" be? Might even be too warm!

5. You scrape frost from the car in the morning but are excited when the car seat is slightly heated from the sun. Never mind that you're going someplace that never sees sun, and is 1500 feet higher than your car.

6. Even though the overnight low was -3 and the forecast high is 10 you still go to the shady crag 'cause you're saving the sunny crags, "Until it gets really cold."

7. You suddenly realize that the temps are really warm compared to what you normally mixed climb in, and this convoluted reasoning somehow cheers you up.

8. You break a sweat on a route despite the near-freezing temps and then seriously complain about the "humidity."

9. You're thankful that the wet pocket on your project is just wet; you were worried on the hike up that there would be ice in it, which is harder to get rid of.

10. You take the fact that most of the snow on the sunny approach has melted off as somehow indicative that conditions are "improving."

10. You ponder heading south to Rifle or someplace, but don't want to miss the "crisp fall conditions!" at home.

11. You rip a huge flapper off your finger but keep climbing to the top of the pitch despite leaving a trail of blood like a wounded rabbit. It just doesn't matter 'cause your hands are numb anyhow, and the rock is cold enough to act as an antiseptic.

12. You seriously eye the "climbing cut" of a huge insulated jacket.

13. Bacon, eggs, steak, beer and bowls of pasta bigger than your head are absolutely part of a high-performance sport climbing diet. You'll need the calories to stay warm.

14. You confuse the gender of other climbers at the crag due to all the clothing, then wonder if you're gay.

15. You breathe in and out of your climbing shoes to warm them up before putting them on. This is something you would ordinarily only do after losing a bet.

16. The most dangerous part of the day is gathering dead wood for the fire.

17. "Warming up" takes most of the day, but "cooling down" is taken care of on the lower off the route.

18. You don't want to go mountain biking or hiking 'cause it will be too cold, but climbing seems like a good idea.

And, despite nothing in the forecast that indicates pleasurable temps or even good weather in the foreseeable future, you've still got plans to go climbing every chance you can for the next two weeks. And will go.

Thanks to the Acephale crew for a fun afternoon, let's do it again Thursday. The forecast looks pretty good, a high of 50! It'll be tropical, we might want to go early to beat the heat.

Climbing, and "Rules"

For the first time in 18 months I don't have any serious injuries, and I'm loving it! Yeah, I still hobble a little on my left knee, but I'm climbing full-speed for the first time in a very long time. Pumped silly, hanging on by single cuticle and doing my absolute best to succeed without even knowing that I am until I either get to the top or don't. Only climbing gives me that feeling, and I am damn happy to have it back in my life. Everything else in life works better when I'm climbing enough.

Rules

Climbing has a whole slew of rules. The rules used to be quite simple: "Thou shalt not fall" covered most situations. Then the rules got more and more explicit. "Thou shalt not hang on the rope and call it a free ascent. Except when you're working the route to get a free ascent." The rules today are more nuanced and fine than ever, and as a result people are arguing more and more about what constitutes a flash or an onsight or even an ascent. Sometimes the "infractions" are blatantly obvious; there are at least two Everest "climbers" who claim summits they likely never set foot on. This has of course been going on for a long time, but I've seen some examples at the crag where a "bend" in the rules is becoming a common tactic.

I'd like to think we all, in our hearts, know when what we've done matches up to the "rules" of whatever game we're playing. The dissonance comes when any climber claims to have done something by a certain set of rules when he or she didn't. Or changed the rules in a subtle way. Sport climbing, which I've been doing a lot of lately, has lots of rules, and I've seen a lot of rule "bending." In one way this doesn't bother me at all--nothing anyone is doing is hurting the rock beyond what any other ascent does, so why care? But this summer I've seen a lot of rule-bending and it does grate on me. Why? I don't have a clear answer to this question, and the lack of an answer bothers me. It's just intellectually lazy to be bothered by something and not be able to figure out why.

So here are some situations I've seen at the crag of late:

Adding long draws to the anchor to skip moves. The anchor was put in a certain place to clip; the route ends when you clip that anchor. Occasionally a hold will break or the anchor is put into some sort of retarded place, but if a route has been climbed for 10 years with the same holds then there's no reason to remove a move or two, especially if the last move is the crux. I have fallen off dozens of routes while staring at the anchor. If I could have clipped one move lower I would have done 'em...

Clipping the third or higher bolt. Climbing is not meant to be totally risk-free, but it's also not meant to be ridiculously dangerous. I will stick-clip high if the fall is horrible, and if I know I'm not strong enough to try the route safely. Some routes are designed to be done with the third bolt clipped, but most are not. I would not call an ascent where I started with the third draw clipped a "redpoint" in general, and specifically not if the first 50 ascents of the route didn't clip the third draw from the ground on a six-bolt route. Action Direct might be a little easier if you just stick-clipped that tricky clip from the ground...

Having the rope stop a serious swing and still claiming a redpoint. Sometimes this doesn't matter at all (you've got a handlebar in both hands and the belayer shortropes you a bit, so what). But often it makes all the difference in the world. I once watched a very good climber get short roped on a swing and continue to the top. The route was at his limit, and at the time it was among the world's hardest. He came down, pulled the rope and tried another few times before giving up for the day. I respect that, and his eventual send all the more knowing that a slight cheat many people would be happy with wasn't good enough for him. He did his best. I shortroped a friend the other day, he just jumped off. My error, respect to him.

Finally, claiming to have climbed at a certain grade when you haven't. Many years ago I once put on a resume that I could climb, "Up to 5.14." I had climbed a route rated 13d (it was feather-bed soft for the grade and obscure, but it said 13d in the guide...), so in a way I'd climbed "up to" but not 5.14, yeah? Wrong. It was lame. I still haven't climbed a 5.14, or even "up to" one... I've come pretty close (an extendo draw might have helped), but a little word dance using the words "up to" was just that. I changed my resume to reflect reality and not my ego, but I hear a lot of, "I've climbed X route" when in fact the person never did without hanging on the rope. Wait, I have climbed 5.14, that was just a few moments on the rope... My face is still red from the slap my hand just gave it. So far I haven't slapped anyone else, but I've considered it.

So why I do I care? If I'm going to be happy with what I've done then I need to play by the rules I've set out for myself. These rules generally have some sort of historic precedent, or make me feel like I've done my best. I know when I haven't given my best even if my ego sometimes gets in the way. I'm still annoyed at myself for "doing" Genesis (Eldo canyon) when I actually fell off the crux, went back to the no-hands rest at the mid-point lower off anchor and then sent it. It would have been a finer effort to go from the ground to the top, even though others have claimed ascents of Genesis with this rules bend. I never did. Well, maybe once. And that weakness is what bothers me; I hate it in myself. It's like the old battle with annoying friends; generally the characteristics we dislike in them are the same as those that we dislike in ourselves. When I see climbers celebrating after climbing on a route with the third bolt clipped, a swing stopped at the crux and an extendo draw on the anchor I think they have short-changed their success and their integrity. And when I do that it really bothers me... It's unsporting, it's dishonest and it's weak--or at least it is for me in my climbing.

If I have invested meaning to the rules and others don't see that meaning then does that mean my rules are meaningless, or that I don't have to keep them quite so strict? Why not just extend that draw 20M from the anchor and clip it from the ground? Which shouldn't matter in some ways as all climbing is meaningless by any objective measure, but is that really an ascent? Which leaves me right back where I started this commentary from. I either have to get some longer draws to get rid of the last move on a few routes I can't do, or not care when someone else does. Anything else is just pissing into the wind. And I would rather climb 'cause, even if I may disagree with some people about what a send is, I'd still much rather be out there with them and having some fun together than not. I do reserve the old-timer's right to heckle.

So there's my answer: Pull down, shut up, do your best. Or don't, but only the climber really knows what that means in the end. And, like my "ascent" of Genesis 20+ years ago, the truth is always with us even if we don't want to admit it at the time. Looks like I'm going to have to go climb Genesis (not again, but really climb it for the first time) to get that monkey out of my mind. I'll take any motivation I can find to train.

WG

PS-To quote Robert Frost, ""Poetry without rhyme is like tennis without a net" Is climbing without rules like tennis without a net? Wait, I've read some damn good poetry that didn't rhyme... Frost was a wuss anyhow, he should have started bushwhacking when the two roads diverged in a yellow wood. There are fewer rules out there.

Kootenay Flying

On Sunday we drove from Chelan, WA to the Nelson area. The sky was perfect the whole way, just insane! I so wanted to get into the air, but we needed to work it home to stay on the schedule. We hooked up with some friends in Winlaw Sunday night, and after checking the weather and winds forecasts I had to change the schedule, Monday just looked too epic to miss...

Thanks to Jason at Kootenay paragliding for the information on the Slocan Ridge, which is a hang gliding site basically just above Winlaw. He warned me to get off early because of strong conditions in mid-day, but due to some 4wd escapades we didn't make it to launch until about 1:30. Then the problems started--launch was a flat patch of dirt in front of a radio tower with a steep hillside to fall down after the dirt patch ended. The lines on my comp glider are so long that with my feet only a few feet from the edge my glider was right up against the shed/tower, which put the glider firmly into the rotor. I can't drag my comp lines through the rocks like I could with a lower-performance glider, it has to come up sorta clean or the lines will just break. I tried for an hour, then finally moved down the hillside to a snag-infested little hummock. I'd almost given up getting off the hill when the perfect cycle came through, and with some Santacroce-inspired glider dancing I was able to lift the wing out of the junk without snapping any lines and get into the air. Despite the strong cycles I sunk down about 1,000 feet before getting absolutely beamed out in a solid 6m/s climb to base. Yeah!

I flew toward the Valhallas just 'cause they looked so cool. Spires everywhere! I gotta go climbing there! The Slocan ridge was pumping to the end and even out over the valley so just kept flying toward the Valhallas. Eventually I got a great view of these amazing granite faces from the next ridge to the north (west?). I considered flying right into the Vallhallas, but there was about 20K of headwind, I didn't want to beat into that anymore. I ran back to the Slocan Ridge, and got just beamed back out to base again. I love XC flying in new areas--it's a real test to figure out what's going to work where, and it's a joy to plan the game and have it work cleanly.

I wanted to tour the whole Nelson area, and from 3500M the options were pretty wide open. I flew out toward Castlegar for a bit until I could see it clearly and check that area out, then headed back toward Nelson over Bluet (sp). It was about 4:30 by this time and and the sky was starting to dry up a bit as a new airmass moved in, but the lee thermals were still working well. Just bomb it into a logging cut, "BOOM" back up, mega fun flying. The Kootenays are in general pretty "round" mountains; it would be hard to glide out from several of the summits, the small valleys don't slope enough. There's usually a logging cut down there somewhere, but some caution is in order. I got a little concerned about the glide when I was deep in the mountains southwest of Nelson, gliding out into the wind could have been challenging. But it was working really well, just glide downwind of the sunny windward slopes and latch a rowdy lee climb out. It seemed a bit odd that the climbs were so far downwind of their sources given that the wind was only about 20K, but that's how it was.

I kept it pretty deep and headed up toward Ymir and Salmo. I'm not at all familiar with this area (I couldn't find the road to Ymir until I got low enough to see some pavement, figured that valley had to to go to Ymir and Salmo--but which town was first in the valley exactly? No map...), cool to be just making it up. The sky seemed to so expansive and the possibilities endless; it suddenly hit me that this was what I loved about flying, the sheer unconstrained sense of openness and possibility. I could see literally dozens of potential launches, hundreds of things to climb, about a dozen rivers worth paddling, and so many little nooks and crannies that really ought to be explored... My friends from Winlaw loved being up at launch; it was the first time they really figured out how their valley doglegged, and where the drainages were. I hope to take them flying sometime there; it's just fantastic to tie all the ground-based features together into a coherent whole. Anyhow, it sure was fun to see Nelson (stayed well out of the way due to air traffic concerns) and all the valleys spread out.

I worked up the west side of the Nelson/Ymir valley with adequate but not exactly endless landing possibilities until I could see a small town below me, and then suddenly two gliders popped out of a mining/logging cut. Yeah! I figured this was likely to be Ymir, home to Kootenay paragliding. That's right, a full-fledged school and tandem operation! I still wasn't totally sure if this was Ymir (no GPS with a map in it, no map), and headed farther along the valley toward the next town to be sure. Eventually I was able to recognize Salmo from the small ski hill I'd driven by ten days earlier on the way to Chelan, and headed back to Ymir. The ridge was still working, so I did a few more climb and glides in the late afternoon light before setting up for a pretty tight landing along the river. Whatever doubt I had about where I had flown to was quickly dispelled by the sign on the building 50 feet in front of my wing: Ymir Hotel. There is a more wide-open LZ, but it had gone into shade and I didn't want to be trying to find powerlines and such in it, better to land in the sun where I could see everything.

Jason, from Kootenay Paragliding, came out and let me use his phone to call the crew back in Winlaw (no cell), and then his student, Douglas, gave me a lift back into Nelson. The ride was surprisingly long--from the air everything around Nelson looks pretty close, but the valleys curve and meander so much that it takes a relatively long time to drive anywhere. I could probably fly from the Slocan Ridge to Ymir in lesss time than it would take to drive if I went at it.

This was my first flight in the Nelson area, and all I've got say is, "MORE!!!" There are so many potential launches, so many great flights to do, it's just wide open to exploration and adventure flying. Apparently the season hasn't been great this year, but the forecast for the next week is epic, I might have to go back. If you're ever in the area it's well worth a stop. I'd recommend some other launch than the Slocan Ridge if you're on a PG, it's gnarly, but there have got to be better launches elsewhere. And when I was climbing out from the Slocan Ridge I saw some small meadows basically straight down from launch that looked really nice.

There are six pilots in Ymir and another dozen or so in Nelson; given the size of these towns (Ymir must be under 1,000 people?) this is just incredible. But I can see the Nelson area becoming one of the epicentres of flying in Canada, the potential just so obviously excellent. I often check the winds aloft for most of western Canada, and they are usually much lighter in the Nelson area than in the Rockies. The weather probably isn't as good on average, but I'll bet that in a given season you can do a lot more flying in Nelson than in Golden, and have a lot more choice for wind direction. I'm contemplating a move west--climb in the Valhallas, ski, paddle, so much to do!

Thanks to Kim, Warren and Margo for the ride to launch and patience.

Last Chelan Task

The last two days of flying have been off the charts fun, just epic!

The last day of the Chelan comp was fantastic--a 120K triangle with absolutely rocking conditions. If there was wind I was planning to blow the task off and try my luck chasing down the Washington state record, but with minimal wind (maybe 10-20K) the task just looked like too much fun not to do... I went out hard and led to the first turnpoint, where I broke my speed bar. We were headed crosswind to the next turnpoint so a bar would be nice to have--I spent some time tying the bits back together as the lead gaggle caught me and then flew by while I tied knots, but I got back into the game to the second turnpoint until the cord broke again. I was having a bit of a hard time tying knots as I had forgotten my gloves on launch and had pretty cold hands, and the course was now taking us back into the headwind. The lead gaggle went right, I went left under some better clouds so I could try and glide straight while tying knots. Eventually I rigged up a full junk show system with my speed bar line coming straight out of my pod to the risers. This required holding the riser with one hand while pushing bar, but it worked enough to get moving again. I wasn't racing for any sort of lead in the comp as I had sucked the first two days, so I got stinking high and stayed there, just enjoying the conditions over the flats. As usual I flew almost the entire day on my own, I just like that better than gaggle flying. I like flying with my friends, but the gaggles just annoy the hell out of me, it doesn't feel "free." The smart "comp" thing to do was push it hard to goal, but I tanked up super high on the rim and flew over the goal on the moon so I could tag launch on top of Chelan Butte and close out the triangle totally. This added maybe 10K to the overall flight but was well worth it--so much fun to burn it back into launch after flying a big task!

I'm pretty sure I'm done with paragliding comps. I just do not make a good herd animal--I want to fly the air, not other gliders. There's too much waiting around on launch, too much circling, just too much in the way of FLYING for me. I like seeing friends and the whole scene, but the part of flying done in the air is for me fundamentally about the experience of the atmosphere and my very small slice of it. There's a joy in being all alone or with a couple of friends way out in the middle of nowhere that I just don't find in comps very often. It was great to see Bernard, Nate and some of my other friends out on course, but turning circles before the start with so many gliders just doesn't fill me with joy--in fact, it pisses me right off. That's not how I want to feel in the air. One of the hardest things in life to do is recognize when you have changed; I could keep going back to comps, which have taught me a lot over the years and I highly recommend for any pilot, or seek out what truly lights my mind up today: XC flying, preferably with a huge goal or in a new place where simple exploration makes me happy. I need equal measures of what I feel as meaning and uncertainty to truly get into flying; I love winning, but that doesn't pull as much as the thought of, "What's over that ridge over there?" Yeah! Paragliding is one fantastic sport with so many different possibilities, and a great community. If we could have a comp without the comp that would be great--fly with friends, come up with interesting goals and celebrate flight without having to mess about I'd be in.

Congratulations to Keith MacCullough, who defended his Canadian National Paragliding Champion title successfully. Keith has gone from a talented pilot who would generally do random things in about half the tasks to a focused competitor. He wants results in comps, and has matured enough to get 'em. Well done.

Chelan Ice Caves and Bouldering

Yesterday was blown out for flying so pilots started searching out other adventures. Mini-golf, mountain biking and "toasting" (Franglish for tanning) were all popular. James and Pam suggested that we check out some "ice caves" near Chelan. The problem was that the entrance to the caves was dynamited in the sixties because the local government figured they were a hazard. This is despite the fact that the the local fruit growers used to store their fruit over the summer in the caves. The caves were popular enough to have been a state park at one time... They must have been big, there is a lot of fruit around here. A local pilot, Brad, thought he might know where they were because every time he rides his motorcycle through a small canyon the air temperature drops very noticeably. Pam and James went to the Chelan museum, checked out Google Earth, and we were off. We found where the cave used to be--the air blowing out between the boulders was frigid. I went on a bit of a hike up the hill side (first one with my knee, feeling good!) in search of other entrances but couldn't find any unfortunately. But from my perch up on the hillside I could see what looked like a decent boulder field across the canyon. Our ice cave expedition turned into a boulder recon mission in short order.

I think somebody at some time must have climbed a little on these boulders as there were some rocks stacked up in strategic places, but there had been no cleaning, no chalk, just a collection of decent boulders. I did a half dozen good problems in my running shoes before the expedition was called due to hunger. It's not Bishop, but it's a worthwhile spot given that there doesn't seem to be much in the way of climbing close to Chelan. The wind finally died this morning so we might get to fly today, but if not I'm pretty fired up to go back and get amongst the Ice Cave boulders. Anyone who knows about these boulders might drop me a line, I'd be a curious on their history if any.

Chelan

We've only had two days of flying at the Chelan XC open/Canadian Nationals. Both days have been relatively weak and low, with short tasks. Very challenging flying. I'm doing my usual thing, which is to head off on my own plan. This isn't working, but I dislike gaggle flying enough that I'm resigned to it. It's not the strategy to pull a result on weak days, but I'd rather finish last doing my own thing than gaggle fly for a place other than first. Right now I'm working on finishing last, grin... Keith is doing well for Team Canada, currently winning our Nationals and third overall, which if he can hold onto it will be his best finish in a major meet yet. Keep with it Keith!

Tomorrow looks OK, but if it's not on we're going to head north and check out the Nelson/Slocan area and do some flying there. The knee is feeling pretty healed despite falling off a bicycle a couple of nights ago when a little kid challenged me to do a wheelie. How can you resit, "Hey, old guy, can you do a wheelie? Just try!" I did and busted out a decent wheelie but came off the bike with less than perfect coordination. It was all worth it to hear the kid say with the supreme confidence of a ten-year old, "Hey, you got skills."

Time to hit the taco cart up in downtown Chelan. That cart is one of the very best things about Chelan.

Knee Surgery

When I was about 27 or so I jumped off a fence wearing a 50-pound paragliding bag. Yeah, real smart. My left knee hurt like hell for a month or so but got better, my right knee healed faster. In the last 13 years I've put more miles on my body than long distance trucker, and that knee never really felt great. I just dealt with it. Then last November I was kite skiing and ambitiously hucked a pretty good air that unfortunately greatly exceeded my ability to successfully land it... I was also on a frozen lake with less than 10cm of snow. That really hurt my knee, but I sucked it up, only pussies need knee surgery. I then tore my oblique after walking, or rather hobbling, into an ice climb. I had to "hip kip" every step to make my knee work, and the oblique was just worn out from the effort. The walk out sucked as the entire left side of my body was a mess. Anyhow, long story short, I finally got into have the meniscus sorted out.

6:00 a.m.: Arrive at the Banff Hospital without any coffee or other stimulants in my blood stream. A tremendous waste of a nice morning for sure, how does anyone live without caffeine?

6:30: Fill out all the paperwork. Get given a bed to wait on. Fall asleep.

8:30: Wake up, my room now has two other patients. They see me asleep in the bed and assume that I've already had surgery. I'm grumpy and surly due to the lack of morning java and feed them horror stories about it until I give in and admit I'm waiting too. We joke about it all but everyone is nervous. Someone is shortly going to stick huge tent stakes into our knees... I spend five minutes scrubbing my leg with a disinfectant sponge that smells like the stuff I used to put under my tape to make it stick better. I have flashbacks of climbing in Joshua Tree, all that morning coffee before we went out and cranked...

9:00 a.m. I'm on the table, and Dr. B and his team are attaching various monitors etc. The anesthesiologist asks if I want some happy juice in my IV before they stick a monster needle attached to roughly a can of Red Bull full of anesthetic into my knee. I decline, I want to watch this action and be fully with the program.

9:01 a.m. There's a med student sticking the needle in. She's looking worried. I try and get her psyched and relaxed by joking with her. She gets more nervous until I tell her I'm just joking, I won't yell if she does it wrong. The mood lightens up, and she does a great job. I want everyone in that room psyched and into working the game. I know I'll get better results if they see this all matters to me. It does.

9:15 The camera on the end of one tent stake shows the operating room, then dark redness, then it's exactly like watching one of those TV shows where the sub is thousands of meters below the surface and searching for some nightmarish creature. My femur, patella and various tree trunks of ligaments float by. It's surreal, almost like the old TV show where a bunch of people are miniaturized and dropped into someone's blood stream. Who knew there was a universe inside my knee?

9:16. Dr. B goes to work. The only thing that tells me that the image on the screen is inside my knee is that the various yanks and snaps correspond to movements I feel only as dull forces. It's dentistry meets carving a turkey in a tent at night. Dr. B. does an excellent job of telling me what he sees and is doing, and I'm glad I looked at a bunch of photos so I could follow along reasonably well

9:30 Dr. B finishes up with the medial meniscus and gives me a tour of the rest of my knee. I have to say that was one of the coolest things I've ever seen. It's also enjoyable because my ACL and the rest of the bits are in good shape considering how much I have abused them over the years. The tent stakes come out of my leg, the room relaxes, the team starts breaking down and I'm wheeled out. Very professional, very smooth, thanks.

9:45 Because I've refused the happy juice I go directly back to my earlier room and not the recovery room. I get handed the single worst turkey sandwich I've ever experienced in my life. What is it with hospital food???! I eat the first half of it anyhow 'cause I'm really hungry. The second half wins, and I back down.

10:30 I hobble out. My knee is still totally numb, but apparently this is OK. My ride shows, we head for coffee and painkillers immediately.

Monday Afternoon. My body knows something is really wrong, but can't figure out what. Amazingly, the anesthetic lasts until 2:00 a.m. Tuesday morning. I know it fully wore off at 2:18 a.m. 'cause that's when I woke up. My knee actually hurt less than it often did before the surgery, and I'm too lazy to get up and find the pain pills so I go back to sleep. I am pretty certain that I'm not going to be able to compete in the Canadian Paragliding Nationals, which start a week from today.

Tueday: Pretty much the same as Monday but now I can at least feel my knee. I didn't want to do much on Monday because I figured that I needed to be able to feel my knee to know if what I was doing was too much. I don't do much but ice and walk to the fridge for more food. Pain pills still not necessary.

Wed: Feel better. Walk slowly, get some work done, the meniscus actually doesn't hurt too much but my range of motion is pretty limited and slow to move through.

Thur: I feel pretty darn good until I walk more than 30m. The problem isn't the meniscus but all the supporting muscles firing in weird ways.

Today: I'm packing for the Canadian Nationals as I can walk more or less normally if not fast. Flying seems like the logical thing to do because I can't really walk, can't ride a bike, can't kayak (water in wound not good), can't climb, can't even go swimming. I might have to get my friends to help me get off the hill, but that will be pretty funny too. My knee didn't hurt at all last night for the first time in about four months. Amazing. I haven't taken any of the big pain pills as it simply hurts less than it often did over the last couple of months. I don't know if this means if the pain isn't too bad or that I have adapted to a lot of pain in my knee. In either case I have a nice big bottle of industrial pain kills to stick in the first aid kit.

Thanks to Dr. B and the team at the Banff hospital, I really hope the rest of this goes as well as it has for the first five days.

See ya in Chelan!

WG

17,990 feet Over Boulder: Serious hypoxia and?

A few weeks ago I had the good fortune to enjoy some truly epic flying conditions off of Lookout Mountain, near Golden, Colorado. Those conditions took me to 14,500 feet. I've flown off of Lookout hundreds of times, but only reached that altitude maybe a half-dozen times. Today I flew at over 16,000 feet for far too long, and hit the FAA ceiling of 18,000 feet. This was an interesting experience, one of the top three "weird" things I've ever had happen on a paraglider. Here's the story, pounded out fast about July 15th but forgot to post it up.

The morning started out with a nice hike up Green Mountain. Despite a meniscus tear I can still hike on trails, I just can't walk around Home Depot on the cement floors for more than 15 minutes without starting to hobble like, well, a guy with a torn meniscus. At 10:00 in the morning the temperature was already hot, and the morning thermal cycles were strong enough to move the trees around on top of Green. All other plans were canceled, time to go fly.

By about 1:00 I was on launch in Golden with MR and a few other pilots. It was great to see MR and Rusty were still at it! But conditions seemed rather weak, with a few pilots sinking out. For whatever reason the day just wasn't on there yet. Eventually MR and I launched, and climbed out slowly out to about 9500 feet (my vario is in meters so feet are an approximation). The rest of the pilots soon joined in, and we bounced of the inversion for a while. There was a guy on a yellow Advance already heading north, but the Boom 5 with bar made catching up pretty simple. I passed under him and headed on before hitting a 5m/s thermal, which was about double what we had gotten so far. BOOM! Soon I was climbing through 15,000 feet, a new record for flying over the Front Range for me, and I decided to start gliding north as 15,000 feet is, ah, plenty high. Yeah!

That's when the first jet went by overhead. Not super close, but close enough to have a good look. My heart rate went up a little, but the sky is big. It's not uncommon to have jets fly overheard, that one was just a little bit closer than I like. I'd like to know what the guy on the yellow Advance got up to--the last time I saw him he was many thousands of feet below me and still heading north. (Edit--you can read Sam's account and see his excellent photos here, what a day! Glad Sam took some photos 'cause I didn't.)

Denver International Airport is about 30 miles east of Lookout, and it's normal for the jets heading west to overfly us as we head north to Boulder. No big deal, I continued gliding north. Strangely, I was still climbing despite having some bar on and flying straight. 16,000 feet is when I started to get pretty excited and notice the symptoms of hypoxia (slow thinking, less than prompt reactions, the usual). But a perfect cloud street was popping in front of me toward Boulder, and I wanted to be out of the area where the jets were so I stayed on bar, and kept slowly climbing.

At about 16,500 I hit the west winds and started to drift east a bit, but made sure to crab so that I was nowhere near DIA airspace (I stayed west of the Boulder-Golden road to be sure). 17,000 feet is when I pulled big ears, and the second and third jets went by. Again, not close enough to file an incident report, but a jet looks pretty big when you're a butterfly. My heart rate accelerated dramatically.
By this time I was high enough to have a clear visual on DIA, and I kept a very sharp eye to the east. I didn't want to fly back through the lift I'd just been in as that would have put me above 18,000 for sure (base looked to be about 20,000), and the clouds to my west looked even harder. Clouds with flat hard bases mean stronger lift, something I did not need. I couldn't really go east as that would put me more toward DIA. I pondered spiral diving, but would that put me back into the altitude range of the jets coming out of DIA?

So I kept heading north. By now I was well north of DIA and right at the FAA ceiling for hang and paragliders, 18,000 feet. I let myself drift a bit farther east, still cautious of the Denver airspace, and flew east of Boulder. There's a very active drop zone in Boulder, I didn't want any part of that. Then another jet flew right under me, and my heart rate really went ballistic. I also noticed that I couldn't relax my hands anymore, my lips were tingling and my thinking process very, very slow. I was also frozen--I'd launched expecting to maybe hit 10,000, now I was near 18,000 and cold.

There was a perfect line of clouds heading east, but I was feeling pretty concerned about the air traffic, was noticeably hypoxic and had generally had enough. I flew north toward a big blue hole, which normally means sinking air. At this point my hands and forearms were cramped clubs. I was not losing altitude, clouds kept popping above me... Normally when you get beamed to 17,000 feet plus you fly out of the lift and plummet back to a much more reasonable altitude where it's possible to recover from the oxygen deprivation. I'd now been above 15,000 feet for close to an hour, and decided that I would just glide until I was below 9,000. The ground out north of Longmont is probably at about 5,000, so if I felt like continuing I could from that altitude. But I still wasn't losing altitude. I'd been watching the sky carefully for signs of serious over development (or jets) and there just weren't any so I wasn't concerned about that, but my body was in full revolt. I was as near puking as I've ever been in the air, and had all the fun symptoms of both normal old paragliding hypoxia and also the ever-fun altitude sickness more familiar from climbing too high too fast on mountains. As hypoxic as I was, I didn't want to start spiral diving to lose altitude and add more stress to my body, but with non-functional hands and a seriously messed up mind the situation was not what I like when flying. If I continued to gain altitude I would be in controlled airspace. But that might be the least of the immediate problems--what if this got so bad that I blacked out? I've been to near 20,000 feet+ over Telluride and about 18,000 feet a lot in Aspen, but I was well-acclimated at the time. At a site where 11,000 feet is considered high I'd just flown high enough for long enough to encounter a new physiological wall, something I'd never experienced anywhere else in flying.

I mulled the options in my mind while sucking huge lung fulls of air in. I know from being high in the mountains that even while at relative rest my pulse and respiration often at least doubles, but this was much, much more intense. I wasn't panicked, but I was sure as hell stressed out. Jets, altitude, something was really going wrong...

I literally could not open my hands, and my glider inputs were reduced to moving my arms with my biceps and lats. I fly like that a lot when cold, but I just wasn't that cold... As my vision narrowed I decided I was extremely hypoxic and near systems shut down. I contemplated throwing my reserve, but throwing my reserve at just under 18,000 feet didn't seem like a good idea. I figured that if I were to pass out I would likely wake up before I hit the ground as I was at least two miles above it, plus I wasn't sure if I could make my hands work well enough to throw the reserve anyhow. Like I said, new physiological and mental ground... I focused intensely on staying with the program and continuing to breathe as more and more of my body cramped up. I have never had anything like this happen in flying, it was kinda traumatic.

Eventually the sink alarm went off, and feeling started to return to my arms and face as I continued to glide northeast. By the time I was down to 10,000 feet I felt pretty good, but went through the most excruciating "screaming barfies" I've had in years as I windmilled my arms to pump blood back through them. I don't think the barfies were just from the cold as I was reasonably warm, it was the cramps that kept my blood from circulating. I flew straight through some decent lift while sorting my hands out, I just didn't want to take it high again.

By 8,000 feet I realized I'd flown myself into a large shaded area, and there was likely no getting back up. This really didn't both me too much. The west winds had pushed me well north and east toward Greeley, not sure where exactly as I didn't bother to put a waypoint into my GPS for launch. Eventually the west winds turned to east winds and I landed smoothly next to a gigantic green lawn perfect for folding my glider up on. The lawn's owner came up, real friendly guy, and we talked as I folded. I still had my balaclava on, which must have seemed a bit odd in the heat (102 according to my host), but he rolled with it. A liter of water and some food put the situation more or less right, but in retrospect I find it somewhere between humorous and frightening that I forgot to ask Mr. Lawn where I was--and that I didn’t think to take my balaclava off... My mind still wasn't all there. I knew I had to go east and south to get my truck back at launch, and my host told me it was about 50 or 60 miles away as the crow flies. Not an epic flight in terms of distance, but epic in lots of other ways.

The hitchhiking went pretty well; a solid guy named Jim picked me up and drove me into Longmont, where we did a friendly cash deal that found me back at my truck in reasonably short order. As always, I enjoyed the ride and talking to a random guy about life, politics and whatever else was going on. If Jim finds this scribble, thanks for the ride, absolutely worth it in many ways, hope to hear from you in the future!

Tonight I started to research the effects of hypoxia to try and understand my experience. Hypoxia/altitude sickness certainly explains the muddled mind, urge to vomit and so on, but cramped hands and tingling are not the usual course of the experience, at least according to the ten minutes I spent on the web tonight. Those symptoms fit much better with hyperventilation, where the calcium levels in your body can get seriously whacked. I had consciously been breathing deeply and smoothly while high, I've found that really helps me with altitude while climbing. Had I done too much of it? Had the stress from the jets sent me over the edge? Does hyperventilation cause cramps and tingling faster at high altitude de to some combination of lower partial pressures and oxygen saturation? Who knows, I'll do some more research and find somebody who does, 'cause that was an experience I don't want to repeat. Lookout mountain sure delivered the goods...

July 23rd note: I'm more certain now that, while I was certainly hypoxic, the situation was likely compounded through hyperventilation-induced problems.

I've also checked a sectional for the airspace rules around DIA, I was not in controlled airspace at any point. It's just that neither were the jets, and they move a lot faster than I do. I would suggest staying below 15,000 feet anywhere along the Front Range, I did not enjoy the experience of so much air traffic even if it was relatively far away. It's not something to gamble with in my opinion.

Tour de France

I've been writing about movement, flying and of course training some, but with another rider busted in the Tour de France today my thoughts are on that event.

I used to really like watching the Tour de France. When Floyd Landis was busted for doping in the Tour I was pissed at Floyd. I had reveled in his stunning comeback, his guts, and his general down-home attitude. Then it turned out that he had doped (no real surprise for any Tour rider), and I felt betrayed despite feeling I should have known better. I followed Floyd's appeals and legal maneuvering as the case went through the courts, and at one point I became convinced that he hadn't been busted so much as framed by bad evidence. Then I read some more, and the reality is that nobody but Floyd will ever know exactly what happened. I expect that maybe in ten or 20 years the "real" evidence will come out as it often does. This year I followed the Tour a bit, but it's the same old game of doping violations. I've now just lost interest in the Tour; what does it mean to win an event that's so obviously drug-fueled? What it really boils down to for me is that the Tour is simply nothing more than a bad joke no matter what happened with Floyd and others. Either Floyd is lying like mad or the Tour is incompetent at drug testing. Either way my response is the same: I'm not interested anymore. My opinion matters little, but I suspect there are a lot of people out there who feel the same. Maybe drug testing is a dead end for athletics, maybe there are ways to test effectively, but the real problem is that high-end aerobic and strength events have big stakes, and someone will always try to cheat in that environment. It's human nature.

I've lived and worked with amateur and professional bike racers over the years and deeply respect the dedication and effort they put into their sport, but I can't respect the Tour as an event, nor can I find the confidence to trust any of the athletic performances I see on that asphalt stage. Football, baseball, hockey, any "huge" event has basically the same set of temptations and will likely produce the same behavior.

I do not know of one climber, kayaker or paraglider pilot who has ever doped to win a contest of any kind. I've heard vague accusations, but despite being involved in the high end of those sports at various points I have no solid, factual information that anyone has doped to perform at a higher level than any other competitor in any event. And even if someone had then I seriously doubt the podium reflected the doping effort; it's seldom the strongest who wins in any the sports I compete in. When someone wins a climbing or paragliding comp I can see the training, see the effort, and balance those factors against the luck everyone needs occasionally. I've had luck when I needed it and not had it when I would have liked some. I've seen competitors screwed by the "rules," and also given a break by the officials, but that's competing. Perhaps there just aren't enough rewards in my sports to inspire serious doping? That's OK with me, and I can look at the accomplishments of my friends and know that the results came from them, and not from who could avoid the drug tests the best.

Walking

I clearly remember the first time I saw someone who could truly walk well in the mountains. I was in Mexico, basically lost deep in Copper Canyon. A friend and I were carrying our kayaks on our heads and staggering around the trail like a couple of drunks in search of a bar. We never did find the river, but we did find a bar eventually, but that's another story. The locals in Copper Canyon are the Tarahumara indians. Being kinda ignorant (hence not finding the river) we didn't know much about these people, and my first sight of one came when an older woman with a huge stack of stuff floated past me up the trail. I can still remember the way her feet flowed around and through the rocks and mud, and the supple ease she displayed despite both her age, load and the tough going. It was as impressive to me at the time as watching Sharma boulder when I saw that for the first time many years later. She just knew how to move on a trail.

Over the years I've spent a lot of time beating around in the mountains while climbing, kayaking and paragliding. Often the walk to the "sport" takes far more time than the sport, and the success of many days in the mountains has often hinged more on the success of the approach and descent than the climbing or whatever. Some of my partners are very fast in all kinds of terrain, others slower despite being much stronger aerobically or physically. Of course, some people just plain kick my ass in terms of speed on about any type of terrain, I'm not claiming mastery here, just that I've put some time in and seen enough people in enough terrain to notice the differences in skills. Even those who have spent a fair amount of time on trails often fall apart when traversing some rubble fest on the side of a peak, and even fewer can move smoothly up a river bed or over a talus field. Given the importance of being able to walk well in the mountains no matter what our choice of sport in the mountains is, how do the people who do it well approach the movements, and what do they do that others don't?

Some time ago I wrote a short piece for a running magazine about how to trail run, and while that piece is still relevant to running I've had the chance to think more about moving well in the mountains over the years. I've also had a few situations in the last month that have really prompted me to think about moving in mountain terrain, so of course I'm now going to write about it 'cause that's what I do when I want to figure something out. If you have to teach something you have to understand it. So take the following posts on here as my attempt to understand something we all see as "basic," but that in my opinion isn't. I'm going to divide this writing up into three broad sections: Trails, Drainages/Talus and Steep Rubble. Look for the "trails" effort shortly, I'm pounding on it now. I'll welcome people's thoughts on the rough drafts about whether this makes sense or not, the final drafts of this writing will be used for a couple of projects I'm involved with, thanks.

WG

Eldo

I keep having these Boulder flashbacks... Over 20 years ago I drove an ancient, even for then, van into the Eldorado parking lot for the first time. I was blown away by the rock walls, and the climbing beat the hell out of me. I've climbed in Eldo hundreds of days since then, the place always fires me up despite it's "old school" vibe. A roaring river, epic quantities of rock, yeah!

One of the first routes I did (or tried?) back then was T2, a six or so pitch 5.9 that starts with an overhanging, poorly protected 5.11 high-ball boulder problem with a really bad landing. I remember my 18-year old hands sweaty hands sketching on the holds as my partner decided spotting was a waste of time and ran away before I could fall on him. Smart move.

Yesterday I was back early in the morning with an old friend, and despite the hour my hands were sweating on the first holds. It is possible to stick-clip a pin to protect the boulder start, but shit, a stick clip in Eldo is just wrong if you're from my generation of climbers. I could vividly remember my feet blowing, the resulting endless swing and time-creeping battle to hang on years ago, but if 20 years of climbing hasn't made me any smarter it has at least made me slightly stronger, and it all flowed. The rest of the route did too, setting belays, cruising, watching the birds circle in the morning thermals, Eldo is, to use the phrase from back in the day, "Mega!" We were back at our shoes in under two hours, about the same time it took me to lead the first pitch over 20 years ago, but just as happy to have had a great time of it.

We even had the obligatory, "I think the easy way to solo off the last bit is just over here" experience at the top to keep it spicy, but it sure is nice to climb rock that is generally solid instead of my normal Canadian Rockies diet that's generally not anywhere near solid, and even the solid bits are best treated with suspicion bordering on hostility as they often aren't solidly attached to the earth (at least on the trad routes in the Rockies, we do have some super solid sport climbing).

If you haven't done T2 you gotta go do it! Maybe bring a stick clip if you're not burdened by history... Thanks to the Punter for a good day of it.

14,000 feet in Boulder

Edit--thanks to Chris Webster for the photo, taken shortly after launch at Lookout. That's the Coors plant and the source of the beer thermals directly "under" me in the photo.
I started flying about 15 years ago in response to a serious case of climbing burnout. I was sick of being cloistered in a small cave hanging by my fingers; I wanted the big picture, to feel something so totally new and fresh that it fired me up the way climbing used to. In retrospect, I should have just gone into a different form of climbing, but I didn't think of that and flying was everything I wanted it to be and then some. Hanging high in space and truly seeing the geography of the land at a bird's pace (well, a really slow bird) is about as good as it gets. After doing nothing but flying for a year I got back into climbing, and balancing the two sports since then has been a constant battle of love.

On Saturday I'd made plans to go climbing, but all of a sudden these perfect clouds started forming and I flaked to head for Golden, Colorado. I learned to fly in both Golden, Colorado, and Golden, BC. Both are great sites, but totally different. Golden BC is a big-air, big glide, big place to fly. Golden, Colorado (also called Lookout) is a little site with a big attitude. When I started learning to fly at Lookout the landing zone had a powerline across half of it; it's still one of the trickiest places I know to land in. But the flying is worse--you're flying on the wrong side of the Rocky Mountains so you're always in the lee. The mountains heat up and draw the air west onto the east-facing slopes, but the entire front side of the Rockies is generally a mass of down-flowing air. There is also always a sheer layer somewhere between the top of the hill and the clouds that will toss your glider around in an engaging manner, and all you have to do is make one little mistake and you're on the ground. But it's kind of like learning to ski at an area with really bad snow; if you can survive your local skiing disaster then you can likely ski anywhere. When I got to launch on Saturday there were only a few pilots left, everybody else had headed off on about a 40K task to North Boulder. Conditions were a bit strong, but not too bad, and I got into the air uneventfully off of the Lookout launch for the first time in almost a decade.

I found my first real thermal by following the classic Lookout rule--if it starts smelling like beer in the air turn and follow the smell! The Coors plant is upwind of the hill, and the yeasty-smelling"beer thermals" are a great indicator of rising air. I had a huge smell-induced memory and was turning to core the brewery lift before I even realized it. Thanks Coors!

I first went south about 10K, and remembered all the "fun" that Lookout has to offer. Scrappy thermals that move in random directions at different altitudes, climbs that go from 1 to 5 and back on the vario with no notice, and glides that were atrocious. I loved it, it was a ten-year old flashback. Little-remembered skills kicked in almost sub-consciously; move with the thermals even if the direction seems "wrong," never leave any shitty lift, conserve every foot of altitude with a passion bordering on neurotic... Then I headed back north to try and intersect any pilots coming south from Boulder, but didn't see many. The strong east wind down low soon turned northeast, and I found myself going only 25K an hour on glide, but the sink was even worse. Normally paragliders sink at a meter or two a second on glide in air between thermals, but not at Lookout. I was hitting 5 and 6 meter sink consistently, with thermals only in the 2-4 range. Ah, Lookout! I was only hitting about 2900M for the first hour, but about 20K north the magic happened and I was suddenly at 4300M, or over 14,000 feet. I've only been at this altitude maybe ten times in hundreds of flights from Lookout, it was a sweet moment to look west and see the snowy peaks of the divide, south all the way to Pike's Peak and out onto the flat plains extending seemingly forever. I really like that combination, few sites I've flown offer it.

I was due back home to kid-sit early that evening and didn't want to have an epic with getting my truck back at launch, so just short of Eldorado Canyon I turned and ran back south to launch and my vehicle. Flying my Boomerang 5 at Lookout felt like cheating compared to the old days; with half bar I was going 65K, and was able to fly well out over the town of Golden, tour the Coors plant and still have more than enough altitude to make it back to launch, all on one glide. My mind remembered fighting to glide even a few K, but the new gear makes things so very nice!

I'm hoping for some more good days at Lookout while here in Boulder, it's the best lousy site I've ever flown. I hope to see some more pilots from back in the day while I'm launch or in the air too. The local crew at Lookout likely saved me from killing myself several times, often with very direct and effective commentary such as, "Well, shit, that was about the dumbest thing I've ever seen anyone do--if you want to crash why not just fly straight at the hill and crash closer to the road so the rescue will be easier? Do that again and you'll likely end up dead, can't believe you haven't killed yourself yet. Can I have your truck when you die?" It was all meant in the best way, and the ideas behind the words absolutely stuck with me over the years. A good local crew is as important as the school lessons for a pilot, maybe more. Thanks to the Lookout crew of all those years ago, and thanks to Lookout for the stellar flight on Saturday, yeah!

Boulder

I'm in Boulder, Colorado. Just mention the name and most people have an idea of the place and the societal meaning. Hippies, athletes, the University, lots of tech, and of course the odd bit of climbing. No, make that a whole lot of climbing and even more climbers. Boulder is one of the world centres for climbers, right up there with Yosemite or Sheffield; the number of climbers here is just insane compared to any other place in North America, and maybe the world. The variety of climbers is also astounding; trad, seven bumpers, sport, boulderers, ethical satirists, ethical hard-liners, poets and of course an unlimited supply of posers, which, come to think of it, covers pretty much all of us who call ourselves climbers. But the climbers are relatively tame in their posing compared to some of the other athlete groups in Boulder. The cyclists are the most obvious; is it really necessary to walk around the mall in a Lycra outfit with your cleated cycling shoes on? I had to buy a new battery for my computer the other day and was surrounded by the click-click of cleats in the computer shop. My chalked hands couldn't compete.

It's hot here, which for me is like Kryptonite to my climbing. So I've been going to the gym and jumping in the river in my boat, and getting little morning boulder sessions on before the temperature dial goes to "pasty white guy can't hang onto a pull-up bar anymore." I have spent hundres of hours in the gyms of Boulder, and for me it's like going back to an old local crag. The Spot has savage bouldering, and the Boulder Rock Club still has the best route-setting of any gym I've ever climbed in (Thanks Chris). What amazed me were how many of the same people I used to train with were still in the gym. We're all ten years older, but it was great to see so many of the old faces pulling harder than ever and loving it. Boulder has a lot of "lifers,' my favorite kind of climber because they will be pulling until they simply can't reach the holds anymore. That's what it's all about.

Stay cool.

One Truth: Skin is temporary, climbing is forever.