Time Is Just Weakness Lingering In Your Body

 Wolverine…

…Not the character played by Hugh Jackman. It’s a line. On a boulder. Not my line. I did not do the first ascent. I’m pretty sure I did the second ascent right after the first. Or soon after. 

This is how I think it went—I’m reconstructing some memories of this event—but the important bits are sourced directly from memory.

My younger cousin—Dustin—and I had started intentionally bouldering during the last half of 1998. We’d climbed a few things at Emerald City with no crash pad. I’m sure we didn’t clean or only minimally cleaned anything. 

I’d been telling my new climbing friend Tony about Emerald City as well as our other bouldering exploits at Torrent Falls, Tower Rock, and The Heights. I was particularly proud of The Heights. There’s a five start V2 roof problem I called Sugar High there. 

Tony was finally in town with his crash pads (I believe he had already loaned me a pad we’d been using but had not used when we did the first stuff at Emerald), and he was willing to let us show him what we’d found and climbed. I was giddy to have gotten him to go with us to Emerald just to boulder. 

We started out near Yellow Brick Road. We’d already put up problems on the Black Magic Boulder, Solitaire, Skittles, and the Yellow Brick Toad. While I was showing them to Tony, Dustin wandered over the hill into the rhododendron and disappeared. 

The rest of us kept climbing near the cliff, but eventually Dustin came slogging back up the hill excited and demanded we come see what he’d found. 

Dustin was a mute. I mean, he could talk; he just chose not to most of the time. And he always had a deep voice, even when you weren’t sure where he could have kept such thick vocal cords in such a scrawny frame. So when he did talk it was hard to ignore. Somehow we did.

I can’t remember for sure, but he may have absconded with a crash pad, and when we started looking for it realized it was down in the rhododendron thicket with Dustin. So we went to investigate. 

He’d found a king line. Everyone agreed, even Tony. The downhill side of the boulder overhung a nice long bench which would yield even more nice boulders after we explored around. But that day we dropped everything under that prow and gawked. 

As soon as the rest of us arrived, Dustin jumped on the rock and showed us the moves he’d figured out. We started chucking shoes around like Mr. Rogers and took turns trying it all-the-while Dustin kept reminding us he’d found it, and it was his line. I believe the exact phrase he used was “Get off, you homo, it’s mine!” 

Everyone respected his find and he sent it. That day or the next session I can’t remember, but he got after that thing with a vengeance. For someone whose spirit animal is probably a sloth, that was a big deal. 

As being relatively new to formal bouldering, we cajoled Tony to give the problem a grade. It felt hard. We wanted to know how hard we’d just bouldered. I mean, that thing has some moves on it would blow your mind seventy feet up and a body length out from your last bolt. 

You step up onto the slab with two small, but good holds—left on the bottom of the prow and right on a good vertical incut—with decent feet.  Then you reach across with your right hand and palm the underside of the offset prow and rock into that to lock yourself into the space. Then it’s a high reach up to a severely small crimp with a thumb catch, bump feet, and grab a small but positive hold higher up on the prow with your right. Then it’s move feet again, another reach up to a nice handlebar with a positive lip for the left hand, and then move feet again and get a nice hold for the right and top out. 

When pinned down (I had two inches and thirty pounds on him) Tony said it was V1. 

Dustin and I hadn’t bouldered anywhere else beside the Gorge. We didn’t know what bouldering grades meant. And in fact, we had only been climbing a couple years when we shifted to a bouldering focus (much to the chagrin of every other climber in the Red in the Nineties) so we couldn’t even really make educated guesses about grades. Tony set the bar for us. After Wolverine we at least had a reference for V1. That influenced every line we put up over the next three years. 

Why Wolverine? I can’t remember now. I wasn’t an X-Men fan back then. Dustin named it—as was his right—and I’m sure it was either commonly understood or maybe he explicitly stated it was named after the X-Man. But after twenty seven years I’m not even sure of that anymore. The name is distinctly singular, not plural, therefore I’m certain it wasn’t a Red Dawn reference. 

I missed the twenty seventh anniversary of the first ascent by two days. Tonya (not Tony) and I went up last night. I wanted to get in a few problems, but most stuff needs some cleaning. And I need some conditioning. But I ended up standing at the base of it, chalking my hands, and putting sticky rubber to sandstone. After one false start, muscle memory kicked in. This one makes a little more sense…I have climbed Wolverine a lot in my lifetime. It’s an old standard for sure. I didn’t send, but I would have if I hadn’t been moaning like an old man. Like the old man that I am.

I haven’t talked to Dustin in years despite his mom and my dad being siblings. There’s no animosity. We drifted apart after he graduated high school, and I got married. 

He was seventeen when he found and climbed that line. Sure, it’s a lowly V1. But Dustin’s discovery of what would become this iconic line, and his insistence that I come and check it out, led to the further exploration of the rhodo-covered bench which inspired the ensuing intensive development of Emerald City that occurred and is still ongoing. Last night I spied another couple of unclimbed lines I want to get on. And I still think there’s a variation of Wolverine that could be significantly harder. From the severe crimp, just imagine going left and up onto the blank headwall. I’ve always thought a strong enough climber could do it. I have yet to be that climber.

Reaching for the severe, small crimp

Pulling up on the small, but positive
hold on the prow before the handlebar.

Blu-eyed Boulder Gai

I sent Blue Eye Samurai. I got home from work last night but hadn’t planned to boulder. But conditions were perfect, so I asked Jay to go. We took two pads and our shoes and chalk bags. 

She tried Better Call Saul, and I should have gotten on it again, but instead I threw the pads down under that prow. No day but today. 

Two pads gave me confidence, and it got a boost when Jay moved the pads for me as I moved out the prow. I sent it first try. I didn’t cut feet. 

It’s funny; the crux of the route was the 5.3 exit slab move above a twelve foot 5.9 overhanging prow. It’s not hard; it’s just high.

It was the perfect mix of steep and slab, hands and feet, comfort and tension. Yeah. Perfect. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about that line. I looked at that five or six years ago and saw the possibility. I didn’t really think I’d ever do it. And here I am. Author of a classic. 

It’s the perfect bouldering story: Long lost problem. Rediscovered. Delayed return. Pondered. Doubt. Then I cleaned it. Then I cleaned it some more. Put hands on it. I might just do it. Threw a pad down. Swung such cool moves. Enough to know it would go. Squatter in my blotter. Not in dread but in drive. All came together. Spotter Jay. Temps were fine. My energy was high. Stoke followed. 

Hands to stone, feet placed, and I flowed upward. Controlled reaches. Confident pulls. Gunksian position. Finally onto the shelf. I did it!

I am the wizard of slab. Upward I dance. Pause at the 5.3 crux twenty feet off the ground. Grab the ridge and heave over. Blue Eye Samurai.

I dabbled in creating images in Copilot until I realized
how detrimental creating AI imagery is. These are relics... 

Surf Slade

At 4:02pm, I set my cruise at 82 mph. It’s strategic. Traffic on I-64 out of Lexington was lighter than usual. Fayette County spring break is a needed respite. I was pleasantly surprised to find the access road gate open at North Fork. I pulled up on the reins and took the shot.

That’s where all the traffic ended up. I avoided Stanton and Slade both with my little exit maneuver but ended up passing half a dozen cars coming out of the western realm on North Fork. And more heading out later. GPS mapping is ruining my outdoor experiences. 

My goal was to improve and possible attempt the marquee line on the Samurai Boulder. Mainly it needed the remainder of loose detritus and dead leaves swiped off the upper slab. That went pretty quickly. Then I threw my old worn out pad under the line and shoved my gnarled old feet into brand new shoes. Old wine in new wineskins and all…

I surprised myself on my first attempt of Blue Eye Samurai by getting all the way to the move that transitions from overhanging to the upper slab.  I wanted a second crash pad or a spotter. I’m sure I can do the move. 

It’s going to be a classic moderate highball boulder problem. I foresee it being the common starting point when people start visiting Boulder City. 

I FAed three other easy problems. One was the obvious line in the uphill side of the Outskirts Boulder. It’s the first (and large) boulder on the center approach. Just below Broken Window Boulder. Called it Tourist Traffic. Wonder why?

I did two problems on Samurai after attempting Blue Eye. I did the obvious easy scramble on the left side of the south face. I called it Electric Balalaika in reference to the movie “Six String Samurai.” And to wrap up a good quick session I sent the slab problem to the left of the southwest arete. I called it Surfing in Siberia. It’s hard V0 or maybe V1. The moves are fun and once I clean it up it should be a pretty good problem. 

I’ve slipped back into the life I’ve pined for all these years. I’m living the life I want. At least in the kind of balance I can accept. I’d rather have more free time, but I’m stealing as much as I can and maintaining equilibrium. 

Saul Goodman Boulder from the top of Samurai Boulder

I’m feeling the same kind of drive and motivation and excitement as I did when I was full-on developing Lower Small Wall, Area 51, and Muscle Beach. It’s satisfying to identify, clean, develop, and tick off line after line after line. And not only for the climbs but also for the trails and top outs and bases. I have considerably more experience trail building and doing rock work. I envision a fully developed area that will draw people to boulder there. 

I know I’ve said this before, but I've realized bouldering is my creative urge and creative outlet. It's looking at a piece of rock and envisioning how I can move over it. It’s crafting a line, naming it, creating some kind of history to go with it. The documentation through photos and writing about the experiences enhances it even more. Maybe I’ll be the only person who ever enjoys my art, but it is my art. 

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