Righteous Dinero Brothers

I slipped out of Lexington an hour early from work. I didn’t rush and ended up at the pull off about the same time as if I had left at my normal time and stood on the gas pedal all the way. Tourist traffic. 

I changed clothes in the drivers seat. It’s warm again, so I go into the woods wearing only a pair of shorts. Trying to maximize my sun exposure early in the year. I poked my contacts in. 

No one around despite the hordes. I laid into the approach, one foot in front of the other, climbing the slope, rounding the undeveloped Outskirts Boulder. Pausing at the Broken Window Boulder to consider giving SimCity Planner another go. Decided to stick to the plan. 

I trudged up the distinct deer trail, found a nice approach line through the rubble above the limestone band, and dropped my stuff under the imposing southeast corner of the Samurai Boulder. The sun hid about the time I reached the CBD of Boulder City. 

First I clambered up on the Saul Goodman Boulder swept the leaves and sticks off. Mainly I’m trying to get ahead of any poison ivy that still wants to bud out. But there was no poison ivy on top of Goodman. 

Dropped a rope down the south face of Samurai. Snipped some rhodo and birch twigs. Swept off piles of leaves and dirt caught on ledges. It’s going to be epic. Kept looking over at the east face of Goodman—that distinct pillar feature on the top two thirds of the slab. The sun was dipping low. Other than walking out in the dark nothing compelled me to leave. 

So I threw brushes at the face—at that line. It took some time but I got it all cleaned up. I set the ladder aside—strapped my phone to it for video in fact—and dragged my crash pad over and plopped it at the base. Jammed my feet into climbing shoes (gonna need a resole soon), dipped my fingers in my chalk bag, and stepped up to the boulder. 

With a false start the problem went down as I expected it to. The moves were straightforward. The holds are all there. It’s high enough I didn’t want to blow the top out but not so tall as to melt my heart. I called it Better Call Saul. ‘S like a V1. Maybe. I don’t know grades anymore. Now I’m stoked to pull down the lines.

Past Tower Rock

To tell you about today I first have to tell you about a day probably thirty years ago. And I have to set the scene.

I think that day was before I started rock climbing. Or at least it was before my rock climbing obsession took off. So actually thirty-one or thirty-two years ago. Still with me?

Imma tell you a story. I drive through the Gorge. I cross the steel “arn” bridge and standing proudly over it on the north side is a rounded dome of rock poking above the trees. And if you try to recreate my day, be forewarned, that was thirty-two years of growing all the trees kept at it. It was especially visible in the winter. And would have been that day all those years ago. Across lightyears of time.

I drove past it that day and most likely paid it little mind. Oh, I would have seen it. I have neck pain now from fifty-two years of jerking my head around to see everything I could. It was winter. January or February. Back then…in the winter…on a weekday…there would have been nobody. I was king of the realm on those days. Driving my lightning blue four-banger Mustang like it was a fighter jet. I know those roads. I knew those roads. Almost in a biblical sense.

I cruised past Gladie Creek. Back then it was a visitor center in a single wide trailer and a caretaker and his wife in an RV. I knew “Click,” the caretaker but had no reason to stop.

The road coiled alongside the river like a rope. The river was not red like it had been in one of my childhood dreams, but emerald green so deep it was almost black, lined by near bleach boned trees lining earthly umber hillsides. It blurred past my mind, but I saw every atom. Past Cloudsplitter. Past Gladie Creek. Past Tower Rock. Almost to Hen’s Nest, around the dark, east side of a precipice astounding to see—and I’m compelled to turn around. Or to get out? My intentions dissipated in the next moment. I missed a pull off so without thinking I slid over on the next. Immediately I felt that the surface was not solid, but thick, deep mud. I mistakenly stopped, but then that rear-wheel-drive faux sports car had all the wrong torque and traction for off-roading.

I got out and looked. Stuck.

The sky had that thick glass blue hue of late in a low winter sky and I was a long way from shelter. A light, icy drizzle started. And I reluctantly began walking. I wasn’t certain, but I thought Gladie Creek was about two miles from where I got stuck. Surely, I could ask Click if he could radio the ranger station in Stanton and have someone there call my mom and ask her to come get me. I hoped I could make it there by dark.

I was younger. I’m sure I covered the two miles quickly. I hadn’t seen another soul since I’d left Stanton. Halfway to Gladie a car rolled past heading toward my car. They slowed and stared, and I stared back wondering if they were going to stop. There was more than one person in the car. I kept walking and they kept rolling. Eventually I reached Gladie, a little footsore, and walked across the winterscruff lawn to the RV. I knocked on the door.

After a moment I heard someone get up and walk to the door. It opened enough for me to see an eyeball and the corner of a mouth.

“Yes?” She said hesitantly.

“Hi, is Click home?”

She looked puzzled and then said: “he doesn’t work here anymore.”

“Oh,” I said, and then I quickly explained why I had come looking for him at Gladie and that I was hoping someone could radio Stanton and have them call my mom.

She told me there was no radio. I hated to ask, but I didn’t know what else to do and I didn’t feel like the woman would offer: “would you be able to drive me to the nearest phone?” There was a car parked by the RV.

“No,” she said.

I did not want to beg. The next closest house was five more miles of road. The sun was getting dangerously low in the sky, and it wasn’t sleeting but only just.

“Please! If you don’t, I’ll have to walk at least another five miles.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” She shut the door.

There’s a much longer version of this story where I explain why this is my super hero origin story and how I will not refuse if someone asks for a ride. We’ll leave it at that and continue down the original rabbit hole.

I trudged back up the lawn to the road. I sighed and turned left and gave the slowest ever chase to the setting sun. The aches in my feet picked right back up where they left off when I stepped toe to asphalt.

There was a high school teacher. David. I graduated before he got the job, but I had friends who had him as a teacher. Somehow, I was privy to the knowledge that he had bought a little cabin on Raven Rock Road. He’d bought the cabin that I had talked myself out of buying and then regretted it when it sold. Regret it to this day. I hoped he would be home at the end of my seven-mile road slog. And slog it was. The light and weak warmth faded out of the dusky sky. I steeled my mind. I didn’t think about what I would do if David wasn’t home. Then I’d have to walk up to and through Nada Tunnel. And what beyond that? You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It’s all different now, but back then it was not the kind of place you wanted to walk through in the dark. Alone. I prayed David would be home. Lips clutched in cold fingers as I uttered mercy to God. As I walked past the cabin on the paved road it was dark enough against the ridge I could see a light. Holy shit and hallelujah!

There was a light on inside. My heart thumped in my chest, but I was full of hope and relief. I knocked, trying not to sound alarming as I did. And the door opened showing a full, smiling pretty female face. She was maybe my age or a couple years older, no more than twenty-five, and I was hoping I wasn’t horrifying her for showing up on her doorstep in the dark and now steady freezing rain.

Quickly I explained I was looking for David—she interrupted to say he wasn’t home—and I then gave her the bullet list version of this whole story to this point. And then asked if she knew where the nearest phone was.

“We have a phone,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yes,” she laughed. “Do you want to use it?”

I stammered something and she stepped back and motioned me inside. She showed me the phone. I thanked her and called my mom. She said she could come and get me. I told her I would meet her on the paved road. She said okay.

When I hung up, David’s girlfriend said I could have waited there and had mom pick me up at the cabin. I thanked her and said I hadn’t wanted to impose. She laughed again. And I thanked her again. And I walked out to meet my mom.

But the point of this whole story is this…

During the chit chat at the cabin David’s girlfriend (I’m pissed at myself I can’t remember her name, she introduced herself) mentioned they had climbed up on “Pop n’ Top,” nudging out into the darkness toward that dome of rock above the bridge. Across from Raven Rock.

 

Again, this all happened before I became much of a rock climber. I was still boot scrambling around on whatever exposed rock I could get to. I was on the path to becoming a rock climber. They had “climbed” up on the dome of rock.

This is the heart of the story.

I decided to go up and “climb” up on Pop n’ Top myself. Maybe even run into the pretty woman again. I parked at the bridge. Locked my car. Took off up the gut-wrenching steep slope in my hiking rig.

Leather hiking boots, faded jeans, some black concert tee under a thick, wool army surplus shirt were my standard attire back then. I didn’t have a backpack; I used a military surplus Sam Browne belt with shoulder straps attached. I had a large pouch on the rear and two side pouches and in them I had food, fire starter, a collection of USGS topos for the entire area, and my trusty ten-dollar point-and-shoot camera. I also kept a rolled up wool army blanket on top of the large real pouch, but it was for show. I never slept out that way.

That slope is steep. Thankfully it was winter and not summer. I clawed and crawled up some and slogged up the rest. Finally, sweating I’m sure from the exertion despite the temperature, I gained a sandy bench at the base of the imposing cliff holding up the golden dome of rock above. The cliffs looked fiercely steep on the east and southeast side. Maybe they’d climbed up around the main corner of the cliff. It’s the southwest corner of the escarpment. And on around. But then there was a needle covered ramp up the steep side of the buttress, with rhododendron to use as hand and footholds at times. I climbed higher until I saw a crack between the big dome on my right and the main cliff to my left. And through the crack I could see light at the top of a dirty ramp. I walked inside and up toward the light came through the narrowest end of the crack at the uppermost point. The cold wind blew through my wool shirt in the dark crack. I got dust in my eyes. I always got dust in my eyes.

The crack narrowed. The left wall became smooth and steep. The right wall had a couple of angling and horizontal cracks where the space was tightest. It was only so wide as to let me sit, legs splayed and feet against the wall in front and my hips against the wall behind. I reached up to grab the lip of one of the cracks above my head and as my arm stretched up to reach it I thought what if there’s a wasp in the crack? and before my fingers could feel stone a wasp stung the middle finger of my left hand. I jerked it out in shock. I looked up and saw the wasp tumble out.

It couldn’t have been more than thirty degrees in that crack. And that factoring windchill.

The crack wasn’t really the size or shape or even normal texture for that kind of wasp nest. But it was winter. And cold.

She and I sat up there today. It was hot even though it’s March. Maybe ninety they say. The crack I reached into and conjured the wasp was dry and vacant. It was still hard to put my hand in it today. But I did.

I’m glad she was with me. I’m glad she laughed when I told her the story about conjuring the wasp. I’m glad she was with me when I didn’t find a wasp.

I like to visit hard to get to places to tell the stories. And I like to share the hard to get to places with the people of my heart. I’d lost her before I magicked a wicked winged mite and got the stab for it. We found each other again not so long ago. More than thirty years have passed.

Today we spent together. It’s what you do when you love someone like that. We decided to call it “Wasper Dome.”

First ascent of Follow You to Virgie

Auld Lang Syne Again

"Anyone who lives too much in the past will end up having no present to remember." ~ Paulo Coehlo

What can I say about 2025? So much. On paper it seems less of an adventure than 2024 was. I didn’t visit any new state high points or take any really big trips. In fact, I didn’t tick off any of my goals for 2025. Not a single one.

Early on my daughter—Jay—turned eighteen and then graduated high school in the spring. My son came home for the summer from college and didn’t go back. So, I’ve found myself with my two adult children living with me.  

Mental health? I started seeing a therapist again. While I don’t see hardline results from that so far, I have to admit that I’ve gone a long stretch without being depressed or worrying about becoming depressed. I had an epiphany earlier in the fall that most of the things that had kept me confined in an endless cycle of depression are gone from my life. I have almost no reasons to be depressed anymore. My physical state is one of them.

I weigh exactly the same as I did at the beginning of the year. My diet is marginally better but nothing to write home about or that would satisfy even the weakest criteria for New Year’s resolutions. I made efforts.

First, at the end of the summer I tried to hire a physical trainer to work on my general lack of strength and my climbing fitness. She did an assessment and gave me a training plan, but she didn’t have the time to work with me one-on-one, so that wasn’t as effective as I had hoped. I will say I had kept to the plan mostly up until a couple weeks ago.

Then I hired a climbing Physical Therapist I found through Instagram. I foolishly paid him $1,000 for a PT plan to strength and stabilize my shoulder(s). That’s been fairly effective, but I feel like I overpaid, and then again, there has been no checking back in from the guy (I paid for access to a PT plan in an app) and never any one-on-one. It was an option, but I said I could probably work on my own. I thought he would at least check in every week or so. Nada.

I finally got fed up with my chronic back pain, so I went to the doctor and said, “my back hurts.” He prescribed a muscle relaxer, ordered an x-ray, and referred me to physical therapy. This week is my third week of that. And then this morning I read an article about ischemia. It sounds like it could explain my chronic pain and stiffness. And it seems like my theory about losing my cardio fitness resulting in my chronic pain and weakness is supported by what I read, too.

We saw a couple of concerts this year. Billy Gibbons played at the Kentucky Theatre, and we saw the Avett Brothers at Rupp Arena. Then Jay and I went to New York last week and saw Heathers – the Musical and All Out with Eric Andre, Abbi Johnson, Ike Barinholtz, and Jon Stewart. Then there was the summer classics at the Kentucky Threatre. We saw Raising Arizona, Close Encounters, Blade Runner, The Big Lebowski, and screened for its 50^th anniversary: Jaws.

"He thought of the many roads he had traveled, and of the strange way God had chosen to show him his treasure." ~ Paulo Coehlo, The Alchemist

I made an attempt to read more this year. The hardest hitting was The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo, but I also read Dharma Bums and On the Road by Jack Keroauc, The Parable of the Talents and The Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler, Revelations by Jerry Moffatt, Make Room! Make Room! by Harry Harrison, The Pearl by John Steinbeck, The Sheep Look Up by John Brunner and Altered Carbon by Richard Morgan. I’m currently reading The Body Keeps the Score and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.

"...there's nowhere to go but everywhere." ~ Jack Kerouac, On the Road 

While I didn’t visit any new to me state highpoints, Tonya and I revisited a number of places from my past. We took a trip and hiked to Mount Rogers, Virginia. Then we paddled the Nantahala River with Tony. On the return trip home we cut through the Smokies and I can finally say I can remember visiting Kuwohi. We also went to Grandfather Mountain on that trip.

Grayson Highlands, Virginia

We rode the Dawkins Trail and the Brighton Trail. We visited Black Mountain, Kentucky. We went to Kingdom Come State Park and hiked Bad Branch to the falls and then to High Rock on Pine Mountain.

The new took a long weekend and went to New River Gorge. We had planned to go out west, but the wheel bearings were going out of my car and that bumped us out of the longer trip. No climbing or mountain biking was threatened by our trip to West Virginia, but it was a great trip, with us staying two nights at the Hawks Nest State Park lodge and hiking around and seeing the sights.

Eating my feelings

Lower Chimney Top Falls

Red Byrd Arch

Top of Sky Bridge

Then there was the aforementioned trip to New York. Tonya was going to go, but her dad has not been doing well and she didn’t want to get too far away. If I hadn’t already booked a hotel and we’d gotten past the full cancellation date I probably wouldn’t have gone myself. But I’m glad Jay and I did. It was a good trip for the both of us.

Times Square

Maybe the most sobering moment was losing my friend Rick after reconnecting with him only a month before. We had a good conversation about getting older and losing our mobility and energy. And then he was gone—fell and hit his head because of some stupid medication he was on. He wasn’t even sixty years old. It woke me up. Rick’s death has motivated me more this past year to move than anything for a long time.

"If I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die." ~ The Avett Brothers

For a long time I’ve tried to return to bouldering. Most of my efforts have been weak and inconsistent. Last winter after New Years I started seriously developing Schoolhouse Rocks. Within three months I had put up 54 new first ascents. Summer put a damper on my progress, but over the fall and in the last few days I’ve added about ten more. I’m sitting at 63 or 64 new first ascents in 2025.

Still attempting Balaclava Lover Boogie

Conjunction Junction, a return to V2

Attempting Judy is a Punk

Survival of the Fattest V2

When I had been working out for a bit and seeing the first positive benefits of my efforts, I decided I would work and send The Pearl at Sky Bridge Ridge. I had worked it years ago but gave up on it due to debilitating tendinitis. It’s an iconic V5 put up by Rennak in the late ‘90s. While working that I recleaned and tried to resend a lot of other problems there. All of that activity kick started the bug in me. Since then I’ve been shifting my thoughts more and more to bouldering. Yesterday felt like a decent step up in progress.

I revisited Lumpy Wall and the Junkyard, but lost my window of opportunity when the Forest Service gated Indian Creek for the winter right before Christmas. I’m going to throw everything at Schoolhouse/Boulder City, Group W Boulders, and reestablishing and expanding Trenchtown and Tower Rock this winter that way in the spring and early summer I can fill in a bunch of gaps at Lumpy and reestablish the Junkyard and a couple of satellite areas in the general vicinity.

I didn’t send The Pearl. Yet. I got to a high point and then couldn’t get back there. I felt like I was losing ground. Then I watched a Power Company Climbing video with Kris Hampton about Eric Horst’s grade pyramid. I realized I need to rebuild a base before I will ever be able to get close to sending that hard. So that’s what I’ve been trying to do. So much keeps thwarting me.

But then I began compiling and editing a comprehensive bouldering guide for the Gorge. I’ve documented over 1,000 problems from my own records and three other sources. There are problems up to V13. It’s time to get this information out there for historic purposes as well as to more firmly establish the existing areas. I know, I have regretted my development efforts over the years. And there’s a good chance I’ll regret this as well. But life is short, and I want to live.

So, what is in store for 2026? Honestly, I’m leery to make any predictions. Let’s leave those bones uncast for now.

Suffice it to say, I have five state highpoints I am determined to get this year. I want to finally…FINALLY get back into some kind of active shape. I want to climb more. I want to hike more. I want to take more photos with intention. And write.

There are changes coming in my life that I won’t write about here, but there is a distinct positivity about my prospects. Life is good and continues to be good. I’m fortunate to be able to say that.

I wrote all of that...and contradicted myself. "Didn't take any really big trips"?! I hauled my stress-related fatness to a new high point on the Grand Teton! Obviously, I didn't summit or that would have been the main headline for this post: LOCAL BOY SUMMITS THE GRAND. FINALLY. 

Looking down from my high point

Looking up from my high point

I did return to the Grand. I did not summit. I learned a lot. I was okay with the failure, though I wasn't sure if I really should be. Some of it was out of my control. Some of it wasn't. So what happens now? I'm not sure. 

That's the 2025 recap. And basically i told you very little about my year. 

"Ultimately, we want to realize the best version of ourselves." ~ Chris Sharma

Thrutching Uglies

When I got to the gym last Tuesday night they’d just finished setting a section of the bouldering area and opened it up.

There was a cool looking V2-V4 problem with some sloper pockets, so I tried it but came off. It went up, then hard right, then up and back hard left to finish. Kind of a crescent. 

A gaggle of broccoli-headed pinpricks walked up and were talking about it while I tried it. One got on it and tried to go straight up on long moves and avoided the out right. He fell off. Then the next two managed to do it the way he had tried but kicking feet, sloppy hands, and just barely got it and only because they’re as strong as tape worms.

So I stepped up and sent it the way they had but like I had climbed it a hundred times, no thrutching, no flailing, and without expending a lot of energy.

I didn’t feel so old suddenly.

I worked out for an hour in the fitness room and then I bouldered for an hour. Most of the problems I got on were V2 or harder and even the ones I couldn’t do felt good.

Tonya and I made a visit to Schoolhouse Rocks on Friday. It was disappointing; I was still dragging after my intense Tuesday gym session. I didn’t clean up a bunch of unsent problems like I thought I would. It still feels like Blitzkrieg Bop is waaay over my head. But…I did feel stronger. I guess the lessons is: progress isn’t defined by reaching a goal, just moving closer to it. 

I got on Judy is a Punk and actually made significant progress. If I can get one or two more moves I think it’ll go. Same can be said for Balaclava Lover Boogie. I managed to get my feet up above the lip of the overhang. One more bump up with my left hand and it’ll have went.

Attempting Judy is a Punk

I need more upper body strength/power to get off the ground on Blitzkrieg and Naked and Famous/Afraid. I think once I can pull off those first moves those problems will go easier. 

Then we hiked around to Downtown and then out. I was wrecked the rest of the weekend. Sore and stiff all over. I spent some time soaking in the cold tub. I think I needed more rest after last Tuesday. That’s nuts. But I did a lot and felt good doing it. So I’m paying the price. I need to dial back my efforts. Build slower. And that’s what I’ll do.

I was disappointed with my efforts at Schoolhouse on Saturday, but really I did pretty good. I was sure Balaclava would go easily and it didn’t. But otherwise I posted up a solid effort. I did really good on Judy is a Punk and felt good. I opted to stop so I wouldn’t hurt myself trying it. But obviously it took a bit out of me and kept me from sending Balaclava. And that’s okay. I’ll flip flop my efforts next time. 

My Sunday visit to The Pearl was even more disappointing, but that seems to be the pattern: one week strong and making progress and the next week regression. Repeat.

I should be able to reshape myself inside and out. People do all the time. People go from weak to strong—people who have faced much worse health and injuries than me—people who start from much lower down the mountain than me. I have to unbreak myself and break the cycle of gloom and fatness. I am making progress. I am impatient. 

Attempting Balaclava Lover Boogie

Dawn Patrol: Pearl Edition

Me: Can we get Pusher on the way home?

Mom: We have Pusher at home.

The Pusher at home:

Dragging my feet, I still got to Sky Bridge Ridge by 8:30am on Saturday morning. I was warmer than I expected it to be. I changed into shorts when I got to the crag. Then I set up my pad (I have to tie it to a small tree to keep it from sliding down the slope). The warmup routine is set.

I wasn’t expecting much. My previous high point seemed like a wall I just couldn’t surmount. But without much ado, I cranked my left heel onto the rail, grabbed the starting holds, and fired all the way through to my highpoint. As I choked up to make the lunge for the gaston I popped off.

On my second attempt I managed to match and tag the gaston before coming off, but after watching the video of that attempt, I realized I’m coming off as I’m lunging for the hold. It’s not my success at landing the gaston that’s inhibiting progress—it’s the setup for the move that’s causing me to come off. I also realized after those first two attempts that I have gotten stronger since I started this process, and for each move leading up to my lunge from the match I am more solid and in control. That’s distinct progress.

As frustrating as it can be, I love the process of working out hard boulder problems. I gave The Pearl nine burns on Saturday. On four or five I was able to tag the gaston before coming off, but on all of those attempts I was sagging away as I slapped up with my right hand. My next goal is to make the move to the gaston in complete control. This will take some core strength and body tension control.

My progress is slow and incremental. I’m only getting out there once a week to try. That’s mainly because the days are too short this time of year. The other factor is that I’m committed to going to the gym (workout/climbing) on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and the other days I’m either resting or trying the problem or hiking or whatever. I’ve been ignoring my ongoing development of the new area. I’d intended to have at least a hundred new problems this year, but I’m holding at around fifty. I need to get back there and knock out a bunch of unclimbed lines. Of course, all this strengthening going on will make my efforts more successful when I do get back up there.  

I feel pretty good about sending this problem by the end of the year. I haven’t gotten on Dreams yet, but I will soon. I had a good session at the gym last week as well. I watched a tiny little girl working a V2-V4 graded problem (why such a range?) while being coached by my fitness guru. Once they moved on, I got on it and did much better than expected. I’m making it my goal for this week to send that one (assuming they don’t strip it and set something else in its place). I am a curmudgeon at the gym. I’m a curmudgeon at the crag.

After I finished working on The Pearl Saturday, I spent a little time cleaning up the No Inhibitions Boulder for future ascents. A couple of climbers hiked up to The Inhibitor. One of them looked over and asked what the problem I was cleaning went at. I looked it—a V0 problem called Gratuitous Crotch Grab—and replied: “It’s really easy.” The guy was like “oh, okay…” and then proceeded to walk down behind the Inhibitor (Pearl) Boulder and piss at the corner where the iconic problem starts. And he did it in full view of me on top of the other boulder.

I decided anytime I’m up there and need to piss I’m going to start going under The Inhibitor. Should I be so...pissy? I mean, Rennak said he had to clean up under the boulder before he could do the FA. But now there's chalk and it's obvious bouldering activity. Anyone with half a brain could see that. Anyone. 

Did I mention that I hate people? It’s leaf gawking season. It’s “prime climbing weather.” It’s all BS. I miss the old days when I mostly had the whole place to myself. I miss my dirtbag days. My goal in life is to figure out how to live that life again. Before I’m too old to enjoy it. 

Current high point

Third Pizza Party of the Apocalypse

 

Sometimes a shape inspires you. Sometimes a physical structure defines the shape of your soul. The 45° striated face of The Pearl does all that and more. It’s punk. It’s soul. It’s ethereal. Am I climbing out of a clamshell? Am I racing starlines through hyperspace? Are my tendons tearing away from my muscles and bones?  

What progress have I made on sending The Pearl? Zilch. In fact, I’ve lost a little ground, I can’t even get back to matching on the sloper/crimp hold before the gaston.

At the same time, I’m trying to send the classic V5 problem at Sky Bridge Ridge I am also beginning a new workout regime. It’s kicking my butt, too. And then my damned shoulder…the one I wrecked when I wrecked my bike on the Coors railroad spur leaving Golden, Colorado on my way home from work in the rain back in July of 2011…is still weak and painful. I deeply regret not doing the PT exercises they sent home with me that day.

Anyway, I went up there on Sunday to try the problem again, but due to some left index finger pain I opted not to push beyond two weak attempts. Then I set about cleaning up the Double Helix, Detox, and Fonz Boulders some more. I also tried the problem Detox for the first time in a couple decades. I remember it being hard back when I was strong and in shape, but it felt near impossible at my current levels. Then I tried a new problem I think may clock in at V1 and quickly lost interest when I struggled to get off the ground on that. It was demoralizing.

What I think happened Sunday is that I hadn’t rested and recovered enough after my two workout sessions last week. Recovery takes longer now. I’m trying to do too much too fast. I really need to focus on getting strong and in good condition before I start pushing limits, I think. Maybe I need to delay the Pearl quest until I make some distinct improvements. But my restless passions don’t allow me to consider that normally. I have negligible discipline. My bandwidth is narrow. The deluge of information is apocalyptic most days. I just can’t focus. I just can’t maintain a good sense of priority.

I know that the only things that will have a significant impact on my future self are drastic changes. I simply can’t keep moving forward on the same narrow path I’ve been trammeling my whole life. I have to step far outside my comfort zone.

I look at a recent photo of me attempting The Pearl. I’m heel hooking the sculptured rail, my right hand is on the starting rib, my left hand is crossed over and crimping hard on the small, but positive edge, and I’m eyeing the next right-hand sloper, ready to slap and choke up on it. To date, slapping that one and matching my left hand to the upper crimpy edge of it is as far as I’ve progressed.

The photo has a timeless feel to me. It could be twenty-something me working the problem years ago when I was so much stronger and closer to sending it. I gave up because my elbows were eaten up with tendinitis. Not only did I give up on The Pearl back then, but I gave up on bouldering altogether.

Today it’s not tendinitis; it’s a fourteen year old shoulder injury from a bicycle crash and late-presenting rotator cuff issues. It’s thirty pounds of stress-related weight gain. It’s decades of betrayal, failure, and disaster. Oh, and a heaping helping of self-doubt.

I’ve been on a self-guided healing journey for the past twenty months. Deep in the winter of 2024 I finally found the depths of what I will tolerate against myself. I was so overwhelmed with social anxiety and crushing depression that I burst up out of the shelf ice that had been holding me down, and I began warming the troposphere of my life with a slow burning ire.

It's been a complex quest hunting down the demons that have poisoned my mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing for as long as I can remember. There are still stragglers out there, but I know their faces; I will find them and eradicate them.

When I first threw out sending The Pearl by the end of the year as a goal, it seemed innocuous enough. After all, it was just another climbing tick on another list I’ve made. It’s arbitrary. It’s not important in the scheme of things. But then I remembered why I stopped working on the problem—the tendinitis. That abruptly ended my climbing career.

Back then, I didn’t have the resources to address the root causes and find the healing I needed. There were deficiencies and holes in my life. I never had a lot of money. I never had a lot of sound, reasonable support for my deepest needs from those close to me. Hardly anyone was giving me good advice on how to handle those kinds of issues. Or any kinds of issues. I went years ignoring the yammering devils that were chasing me as they wore me down, chewed up my mind and body, and delighted in my ruin. That’s all behind me.

Working The Pearl isn’t exactly picking up where I left off. It’s maybe more like going into a long disused room in my mind, turning on the light, sweeping up the dust of years, and starting to reorganize and mend things. The Pearl is finally making me focus on things I have avoided making eye contact with forever.

When I first decided on this as a goal, I was satisfied that it’s harder—even if only by one grade—than anything else I had ever climbed. I didn’t exactly understand at first, but now I do. By throwing down a challenge that is beyond anything else I had ever succeeded at I have forced myself to evaluate the entire system and plug the leaks. For whatever reason, the goal of summiting the Grand Teton has never struck such a deep chord in me.

It's possible I may never send The Pearl. I’m going to give it my best effort. I’m not going to give up until it’s obvious there is no path forward. I believe I can heal and strengthen my injuries and weaknesses. I’ve already made the first steps to do so.

In a related vein, I have also been cleaning up the other established problems at Sky Bridge Ridge. I’m rehabbing the whole area to be conducive to bouldering again. I’ve not stopped my development of Boulder City. That’s still ongoing with a brief pause while chiggers overrun the land. My hope is to throw down a few more new first ascents there before the end of the year. Maybe with this clarity of focus I can surprise myself with what’s possible there as well.

More to come…

Diving for Problems

They’re words on a screen. I make yearly goals, and I put them in a note on my phone. I used to write them in a notebook or in my journal. Some of those goals still exist in ink or graphite twenty years gone. Occasionally, I’ll go back through old lists and cross stuff off, or I’ll decide if they’re goals I still want to pursue. Sometimes I make new lists. Infrequently, I find my lists have worked themselves out.

At the beginning of 2025 I tried to make a list of attainable goals. Toward the end of summer, when I was in my pre-August panic—August being the normal annual low point in my cycle of moods—I realized I hadn’t reached any of my yearly goals. More than half the year had passed. What was wrong with me? These were all goals I could reach. This was a list that should have faded in its predicted due time.

I’m still chipping away. I will cross off fewer of those items during the 2025 calendar than I had intended. Two lines are troubling me at this point:

Resend Dreams, and

Send The Pearl

Dreams—as I’ve written about extensively elsewhere—was one of my proudest sends. It is the most well-known boulder problem I’ve developed. It’s a hard V3 at the end of a long walk. It takes some compression power and some mental conditioning for the top out. I know I can do it. I’ve just not tried it since I wrote it in my yearly tick list. That will change asap. I have less time to complete this item because the Forest Service will close the Indian Creek gates sometime within the next three months which will increase the approach significantly and prohibitively.

Standing under Dreams in 2022

The Pearl on the other hand…

I never sent that problem. It was a Scott Rennak discovery at Sky Bridge Ridge ages ago on the big boulder that had come out of the Inhibitor dihedral. It has good DNA. And it’s as iconic as Dreams. It has sort of an architectural elegance with its upward arcing offset on a smooth, clean face to a sloping, blank top out. It’s sculptural. Aesthetic.

So twentysomething years ago I worked it. I was able to do the initial moves after a couple sessions. Then I went back and worked the top out moves, because I couldn’t climb into them and sort them out. After another session I was able to do the top out. I just never followed through and pieced it all together. I was close. At V5, it wasn’t beyond my capabilities; though V5 was the hardest grade I ever sent.

Would I have dedicated more time and energy to these two goals if I hadn’t gotten caught up in developing Schoolhouse Rocks this year? Yeah, probably. So, what’s changed? Chiggers, I guess. The last two times I’ve gone up to Schoolhouse to clean and send more problems, I’ve ended up with more and more itchy bumps. It’s made me think of less buggy options. Dreams and The Pearl came to mind.

The Pearl a couple of years ago

Yesterday evening, I almost asked my girlfriend if she wanted to hike up and look at the Pearl. She doesn’t climb, so I felt like it would be a little bit of an imposition. That’s the conditioning that’s still held over from my manipulative relationships. She’s not like that. So why didn’t I ask?

I think I want a private moment to contemplate the problem. I’m sure the top out needs to be cleaned. I’m sure I’ll want to clean up some other problems in the area to have as warm-ups and as a potential circuit. Three years ago, I explored the crag a little more and found a little bonus potential that I want to develop. So, I can put some time into it for sure. It’s just been hard to tear myself away from the naked potential of Schoolhouse and the greater Boulder City development.

If I can do The Pearl…

Trip Report: Fifth Time is Apparently Not the Charm

“…you need to make peace with failure. It isn't enough merely to tolerate it; you need to appreciate failure and use of it.”

~ Dan Millman, Body Mind Master

I was not going to fail this time. 2025 was going to be the year I finally summited the Grand Teton, settling a nearly thirty year obsession with the Teton Range that morphed into an unhealthy summit fever. When I read that Dan Millman quote last winter I applied it to the 2023 attempt that got me above the fixed ropes at the Lower Saddle but no further. Fear and doubt were the anchors that held me back then. I would not let them stop me again. And they didn’t. Something else did. I didn’t expect to reevaluate my 2025 efforts through the lens of that quote.

All I can say is: there is no bitterness or regret in me. I am grateful for the chance to be in the mountains and experiencing life mostly on my own terms. I might have sacrificed a chance at my main bucket list item to give someone else an opportunity to share in that experience, but it resulted in another failed attempt. At some point I need to shove everything else aside and chase my own selfish summit. Otherwise I’m never going to get there.

For the most part I did things right. I swapped out my heavier gear for lighter. I eliminated much from my pack. We had a slightly better strategy than in ‘23. I wasn’t in the best shape, but I was in better shape than in the past. Despite doubts on summit eve, I woke up feeling sound of mind and heart. I went up determined to approach the summit with a pure heart.

Of course we deviated from the strategy just enough to derail the attempt. We woke at 4am instead of leaving camp at the Meadows at 4am. Knowing there were thunderstorms forecast for 3pm we still made an attempt that day instead of waiting til the next day despite building in the third day as a backup in case of inclement weather. Those two factors alone wouldn’t have totally thwarted us except this: two of our party were moving too slow to maximize our narrower weather window. The third was doing too much and being too antsy. And at least one of us was in way over their head and not really ready for such a big climb.

Despite all that we got to about 12,000’ at 9:00am. Reading back that last sentence…we might have made it anyway. Dylan was basing us being behind schedule on the guidebook stating the summit was six hours from the Lower Saddle via the Upper Exum. While we were going slow, we still might have made it once we got on the technical route. Oh well.

I had an epiphany at 12,000’: I didn’t fall in love with the Grand Teton; I fell in love with the Teton Range. The number-chasing, life-lister, peakbagger in me had let myself become obsessed with the highest point in the range to the exclusion of everything else. I’ve not summited a single lower peak in the Tetons, but I keep going back to “climb the Grand.” I’ve missed out on so many great experiences to bag a single peak. That’s misguided.

We didn’t summit. I finally made it high enough to see the upper mountain. It felt within reach. I could see the rest of the route above me piercing the sky. So close…

It was a great experience. I’m thankful to have gotten so far. I’m thankful to have felt so good. It’s definitely helped my confidence even more. Confidence is something I’ve lacked my whole life. So this process to climb the Grand Teton has mainly been a journey to overcome my impoverished sense of capability. 

It rained. There were thunderstorms that afternoon. It wasn’t the wrong decision to turn back. There were other decisions made which thwarted us. Those have been noted.

Bookending time in the Tetons we climbed at Vedauwoo and the Needles of Mount Rushmore. Both were enjoyable. I could definitely be an eastern Wyoming rock climber. Buffalo still looks like a good place to be.

I’m fifty-one. I’m not too old to climb mountains. I won’t be for a long time, evidenced by the seventy-eight year old we passed coming down from summiting the day before. But north of fifty there are considerations. I’m slower than I used to be. This is a hard truth. I was always the fastest hiker. No one out hiked me until recently. Overall stamina is much harder to build and maintain. Again, I used to have such a deeper well of energy than I do now. It’s humbling and tough to accept.

I am alive. I am relatively healthy. All of that seems less sure than it used to. I recently lost an old friend. A month before his sudden passing we ran into each other at random and reconnected. We exchanged numbers—we hadn’t really climbed together since before cellphones were so prevalent—and before we could really get together again he was gone.

At Rick’s visitation Dave and I looked at the framed photos of Rick climbing in the Gorge, visiting places like Mount Washington, New Hampshire and the summit of the Grand Teton.

When I stood up from our high point above the Lower Saddle, I thought of Rick. He had been in that exact place at some point. He’d shared the view I had in that moment. I was grateful to be in such a grand place. I felt a deep and abiding joy just being alive on that mountain. No matter what else, I have been high on the Grand Teton.

While still on the trip I decided instead of a second attempt in September I would do a big state highpoint trip out west. I have a plan that would take me to nine highpoints in eight days. If I could pull that off and sneak in a visit to Mount Washington I could claim ten more state highpoints in 2025 bringing my total to forty.

I’ll close this post with three quotes from The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo:

• "the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself" 
• "I've discovered things along the way that I never would have seen had I not had the courage to try things that seemed impossible for a shepherd to achieve." 
• "...before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we've learned as we've moved toward that dream."