Attempting to catalog the events of 2012 thus far proves to be somewhat of a challenge...I'm reminded that my occasional memory loss (of the sort commonly reserved for those who receive senior discounts at Wal-Mart) Is my passport to a state of ignorant bliss...Thanks genetics! - Best year yet I think?

Several minutes later, after reviewing the teetering stack of tick tacs equating my value as a human according to the 8a.nu, I'm fairly certain my mind was left somewhere in the Mojave desert. It's possible - I left my heart there two years ago and have failed to retrieve it since.

This all led to a relatively rash decision as of late that resulted in my learning to trad climb when hard crimping wasn't an option (thanks Greg!). Within two weeks, I managed to send my first three trad lines - Moondance 5.9, Wartley's Revenge 5.11a, and Sunshine Dihedral 5.12a. When granted 5 days off work, clearly a trip to Zion was the obvious choice for this sport climber who doesn't own - let alone know how to use - a daisy chain.

Apr 18

After several consecutive weeks of attempting to successfully sport climb, I opted for something a little different. I heard once that being a bolt-jockey wasn't cool anymore and in order to get in touch with my grassroots as a climber, I needed to do what they refer to as "plugging gear." Although I initially had difficulty wrapping my head around the concept of how exactly one off-sets quick draws into holes and cracks, I realized later that it was much easier with the use of these widget thingys.
Prior to my first real trad climb, I practiced my placements.

Solid

My first route was the 5.9 crack next to Heinous. It went ok (see, I did not die) so I decided that I'd hop on the 5.11 around the corner, Wartley's Revenge. For the record, I found Wartley's Revenge to be extremely run out. It took about a half an hour of nearly falling and working my Elvis leg up the route to find one of those silver clippy thingys. Oddly, there were two right next to each other at the top so I just lowered down.

The 5.9

In all seriousness, I was happy to pull off some trad sending on my first try. Placing gear is hard. That night…I dreamt about the route that made me want to learn to place gear in the first place — Palo Verde (5.12d/13a? Mixed route on the backside). Hopefully this means I'll be back there soon, or trying some harder cracks as well after lots of work. Next goal: Take some falls (how exciting!).

I used these guys instead.

I was also extremely lucky to be able to shoot some photos this weekend on a (dare I say it) NIKON. I typically am a Canon girl, however it was kind of fun to use a Nikon for the first time since my film days (Thanks Bruce!). Here are some photos:

Ooohh La La!

Greg prior to nearly pulling off Scarface, 5.14a.

Yep. Smith Rock.

There’s something I really appreciate about people who are stoked to climb in less than optimal conditions. In theory, my favorite climbing partners are the ones throwing in a backwards fist pump or two while quickdraws slam to the beat of a violent metal soundtrack below. Regardless, whichever way you see it, climbing in bad conditions is still better than working, blogging, or learning how to navigate 8a.nu. I seem to survive by implementing my favorite new ill-weather tactic: the fetal position rest. The unique aspect of the fetal position rest is that it can be used both on the wall (preferably after punting), or mid-siesta to increase your psyche. The way of the armadillo never seemed so practical… 

Saturday. The morning glory wall belonged to only 4 armadillos for a large chunk of the day.

Since August, I’d pretty much written off Churning in the Wake. Due to emotional problems, we sort of ‘broke up’ and have been talking shit about each other ever since. Jespy and Daniel recommended that, instead of blaming what was clearly communication and commitment issues, I try it again—only with slightly different beta. I surprised myself by falling in or around the dime edge four times this weekend.  In a way, I’m pretty excited to make a quick tick of what has been my white whale since it tore my hand and put me out for three months. In other ways I’m way more excited to try ‘prettier’ lines that I’m more attracted to, like Last Waltz. I’ll probably keep trying Churning here and there but I don’t see myself accepting a promise ring or prom date from it anytime soon.

POP! Goes the Tendon

In other news, while taking somewhat of a ‘resting’ weekend from Scarface in order to heal a skin injury, Greg put down three hard 5.13s in one day. On Sunday the Crusher sent Taco Chips, 5.13a, Aggro Monkey, 5.13b, and Rude Boys, 5.13c. This is super amazing, however, in true Smith fashion you’re only allowed to complete one hard route a season. Any more is foul play.

Today the morning sun crawled through my window and sat quietly on the floor of my apartment while I got dressed. As I left for work, I imagined it sauntering over the coffee table and up the wall only to loiter between shadows on the bookshelf for hours. Yesterday I caught it showing off near the coffee shop as it appeared satisfied by it's own unpredicted presence in the otherwise cold days of early February.  

I have been hesitant to write lately. This due in part to a general lack of my own personal progression in climbing, but also in hopes of avoiding the obvious topic of unexpected change in my heart as of late. Alas, I'm overwhelmed with the freshly painted blue backdrop of my home town in Bend. In the past, I've causally opted to brave uninspiring forecasts for even a few simple pitches at the Morning Glory wall. Last weekend, and the many before have left me speechless. The walls of Smith materialize as a pop-up mud playground that gives the impression of an intricate cardboard cut out. 

What better way to put life into perspective then by taking a handful of its certainties and hucking them into the air like a deck of playing cards. As they fall and reposition themselves, I'm able to tactically re-arrange my life.  

As far as climbing continues, I have been watching myself fail on moves that require fitness, not technique as I work myself on Times Up. I've been up it only five times so far which seems ridiculous if I actually want to finish in victory, like the end of a Mortal Combat game. For me, my passion for climbing is a sure thing. Like smearing honey on a baby and tossing it in the woods. Time to remind myself that I love this.  

Last weekend as I mindfully walked my feet into the layback of Times Up's 25ft runout, I heard a choir of shutter closures coming from the gully. Bruce Adams had sneaked into the rocks above and snapped this shot of me entering the crux — shortly before my first of many falls. Thank you Bruce :)  

So, here's to inspiring each other, and enjoying the community of friends and faces that keep it real. 

In other news, I'm fairly certain my cat has been plotting my ultimate demise. It's rare that on film I catch her, but as seen here she is attempting to gnaw a core shot into my new Sterling 9.2. I'll continue to document her murder attempts as time goes on. I hope to make it through the spring unscathed.  

Today the morning sun crawled through my window and sat quietly on the floor of my apartment while I got dressed. As I left for work, I imagined it sauntering over the coffee table and up the wall only to loiter between shadows on the bookshelf for hours. Yesterday I caught it showing off near the coffee shop as it appeared satisfied by it's own unpredicted presence in the otherwise cold days of early February.  

I have been hesitant to write lately. This due in part to a general lack of my own personal progression in climbing, but also in hopes of avoiding the obvious topic of unexpected change in my heart as of late. Alas, I'm overwhelmed with the freshly painted blue backdrop of my home town in Bend. In the past, I've causally opted to brave uninspiring forecasts for even a few simple pitches at the Morning Glory wall. Last weekend, and the many before have left me speechless. The walls of Smith materialize as a pop-up mud playground that gives the impression of an intricate cardboard cut out. 

What better way to put life into perspective then by taking a handful of its certainties and hucking them into the air like a deck of playing cards. As they fall and reposition themselves, I'm able to tactically re-arrange my life.  

As far as climbing continues, I have been watching myself fail on moves that require fitness, not technique as I work myself on Times Up. I've been up it only five times so far which seems ridiculous if I actually want to finish in victory, like the end of a Mortal Combat game. For me, my passion for climbing is a sure thing. Like smearing honey on a baby and tossing it in the woods. Time to remind myself that I love this.  

Last weekend as I mindfully walked my feet into the layback of Times Up's 25ft runout, I heard a choir of shutter closures coming from the gully. Bruce Adams had sneaked into the rocks above and snapped this shot of me entering the crux — shortly before my first of many falls. Thank you Bruce :)  

So, here's to inspiring each other, and enjoying the community of friends and faces that keep it real. 

In other news, I'm fairly certain my cat has been plotting my ultimate demise. It's rare that on film I catch her, but as seen here she is attempting to gnaw a core shot into my new Sterling 9.2. I'll continue to document her murder attempts as time goes on. I hope to make it through the spring unscathed.  

With little desire to indulge in the feeding frenzy that is the holiday season, I decided to head south to climb. Often I think about my life and feel half crazy for what I do. I work full time at a real job and cram a full time passion for climbing into two days a week every weekend. Alas, with careful planning I turned four days off work for Christmas into 10 full days of climbing my way around my distinct lack of holiday cheer. With no real agenda, clipping some bolts in Vegas seemed like a reasonable option to start. 

Bend to Vegas in one day started to feel extreme when Sara and I began hallucinating around hour 13. With some creative sightings of squirrel-bunnies, pavement-sting rays, and roadside bison, our sleep deprivation amplified the last two hours into a grueling test of mental endurance. And because every road trip has its deficiency in convenience at some point, my expectations didn’t fall short. Sara and I drove many, many hours with a window that was stuck rolled part of the way down and a stereo that would only actively respond to physical abuse. One roll of duct tape later and hours of talking/laughing all minor issues seemed to cure themselves. 

Upon arrival, Red Rocks was taking a rest day - it had rained that night before. So after contemplating a forced rest day, we met up with Tori and Zephyr and hoped back behind the wheel. With every intention of heading to the Virgin River Gorge seeking dry rock, we just kept driving until we reached the bright red walls of St. George, Utah. A road trip within a road trip and two states later we were back in Vegas with a perfect forecast.

To reflect, almost two years ago I visited Red Rocks and fell in love with sport climbing. I returned a year later with a serious deficiency in my lead climbing ability and confidence due to self-indulgent top roping sessions at Smith. Six months ago I badly tore my hand and decided to completely change the way I approached climbing. Suddenly not having a sport like climbing in my life put new goals into perspective: Hang the draws, take the falls, and suck it up. Since July I've never looked back, leaving my top rope habit behind like the wet blanket it was. Being back in Red Rocks again was refreshing not only because I was there with two amazing women whom I love to climb with, but also because the way I approached climbing had changed completely and for the better. 

Climbing with Sara and Tori was rad. The three of us together set off a mind numbing echo of giggles and laughing through the canyons and over bottles of wine. Truly an unforgettable trip climbing with two of my favorite partners.  Sara is an extremely talented boulder, sport, and trad climber. Watching her achieve her first 12c on Sound of Power was impressive to say the least seeing as she did it second try after hanging the draws. This route is no gimmie for the grade and features a low stopper crux at the second bolt. Good Job Sara!

I have tried Sound of Power for the last two trips and although I hate giving up, sometimes it needs to be done. With the exception of a single move, I could seemingly climb through the top with ease. Again and again however I failed to execute the move at the second and eventually pulled my draws down with hope of maybe next time?

After long exhausting days on overhung sandstone, Sara headed north for the Holidays and Tori and I found some rocks in Bishop. Surprise! I loved it. It's weird; I've been there several times but have never fallen in love like I did on this trip. I could spend months there and it would never get old. There's something in the air there...it's so awesome. Who would have thought I liked bouldering? 

So back to Bend. Back to work. And back to waiting to climb for 5 days every week... I learned that I definitely have some weaknesses within my bouldering strength and steep climbing endurance. Something fun to work on when we get snowed out of Smith...when/if that ever happens. 

Unique by experience or pursuit, the drive we gain from what we do and why we do it will continue to challenge us, mold us, and define who we are. There’s a line that gets swaggered by many as they choose to only dabble in what they love. Then there are those who willingly let a personal drive within, guide what they do, and who they become. I distinctly remember walking out of Smith Rock state park two years ago and knowing that my life would never be the same – I found something I truly loved. The earth shifted just slightly and over the line I went, crashing violently into an obsession that I now proudly call my passion. We all fall over the line for different reasons, it’s more what motivates and inspires us to keep going that is the most noteworthy.

Almost Two Years ago on my first project - Vomit Launch 5.11b
Photo: Matthew Battarbee

Unique by experience or pursuit, the drive we gain from what we do and why we do it will continue to challenge us, mold us, and define who we are. There’s a line that gets swaggered by many as they choose to only dabble in what they love. Then there are those who willingly let a personal drive within, guide what they do, and who they become. I distinctly remember walking out of Smith Rock state park two years ago and knowing that my life would never be the same – I found something I truly loved. The earth shifted just slightly and over the line I went, crashing violently into an obsession that I now proudly call my passion. We all fall over the line for different reasons, it’s more what motivates and inspires us to keep going that is the most noteworthy.

Almost Two Years ago on my first project - Vomit Launch 5.11b
Photo: Matthew Battarbee

Even though the climbing community can widely be referred to as a dirty group of mostly white people who seem to have more time than they know what to do with, we seem to have one thing down - passion. Climbers: Where passion crawls along the fine line of obsession and we find ourselves jobless, eating honey packets outside of our car-hotel. 

Are we driven by progression, passion, or perpetual self-deprecation? Wait…Let’s back pedal here. Something I see far too little of in this world is passion, which to me is one of the true keys to happiness. A recent observation in a COCC class showed that over half of the students seemed offended by the simple question of “do you have a passion”. What is a seemingly preposterous assumption to my fellow classmates is the lifeblood that I thrive off of to remain happy. This alone suggesting there will only ever be a fair few that I can really understand. These are the people I can build off of and how with simple relationship building we become better people from simply being a part of each others' lives.