Climb like a girl!

In other news, climbing season is officially in full swing. We haven't been to the rock gym since April, and Jim and I are both proudly sporting the battle scars of climbing on real rock. I look a bit like a kid who's just started to run - my knees and shins are all bruised and scabbed from my recent ascents/attempts of several climbs featuring burly roof problems.

Historically, roof climbs were the source of much angst for me. Jim loves them, and being that when he has a reach of close to 8 feet, rarely finds himself unable to reach a hold. I, on the other hand, can reach about 6 1/2 feet, which often leaves me "short" [pun intended]. As such, I have to figure out another way to get through the crux, often making several more energy burning moves along the way. On hard climbs [5.10+ and up for me] I find that I pretty much get one shot to pull the move and if I hesitate or get the sequence wrong, I'm done - subsequent attempts, even after hang dogging and resting my arms are completely futile.

But I have been successful lately on some pretty spicy routes, and that seems to be feeding a new passion for the once dreaded roof climb. I am especially a fan of routes that require at least as much finesse and technique as they do brawn to get through. Sometimes my small stature proves to be an advantage as I can walk my feet way up so that I'm pretty much crouching under the roof, rest, then lean out or over and stand up to reach the next hold. This is far less strenuous than just trying to grab the next hand hold and pull myself over with just my arms, not to mention the fact that I often cannot reach the "next" hold. The best part is that occasionally it will get me through something that will shut down climbers much taller and stronger than myself. Those moments, combined with the huge confidence boost in my climbing ability combine to form the candy that keeps me coming back for more.

"You wanted diesel, right?"

The adventuras never stop. The morning was supposed to be a quick stop to buy empanadas and gas up the car before high-tailing it out of El Chalten. However, the gas station attendant filled up the truck with ½ a tank of diesel. We were pretty much screwed for a working vehicle after that, and in this town, which has little going on besides a 3 hour dirt road to the next town; we were marooned by a “maroon”. Blame it on the fact that it was early, or that here green means unleaded gas and all other colors are diesel (I didn’t line up the car correctly). Whatever, we pushed the truck to the back of the lot and sat around for a bit. I thought about going on another hike.


The “gas station” attendant returned from his little room. He makes it all good by jacking up the truck, disconnecting the gas tank, and siphoning the entire tank by mouth into an assortment of buckets, jars, and cups. I watch him wipe the hose clean with an oily rag, wondering which is cleaner. He spits and gags each time he has to restart the siphon, and we all look away like we’re witnessing a tiny train wreck. I try to distract myself from the situation by petting the dog, then notice the dog is a walking shop rag. I look down at my hands and resign myself to the fact that the filth is inescapable. Han takes notice and rummages around in the vehicle, which is still jacked up and bleeding diesel, and hands me a pack of handi-wipes.


Twenty gallons and two hours later, with a fresh full tank of free gas, we crossed the little bridge and got on the road. Rentals cars can be a nightmare when they break (see our post about tires), but sometimes you just have to laugh.

I shudder to think about all the crazy stuff this truck has been through before we received it. It’s certainly just barely surviving now. The windshield is cracked in several places. The doors have been blown open by the wind so fiercely they are dented around the hinges. The tires have only a memory of tread, mostly of plugs and patches. The alignment is not to be mentioned. But overall, the truck is great – it runs like a champ. It goes forwards and backwards, and if you turn the wheel enough, you will end up where you like.

Originally written: 29 December 2007 by Jim

Poisoned!

Somewhere along the trip, Hanmi caught some poison oak. It began on her knee and slowly spread around, then to the other knee, then torso, then even a minute amount to her face. Yuck. I didn’t catch it, but I’ve had it badly in the past. She went through all the standard phases of frustration about the spreading, washing everything, restless sleep and a myriad of creams and ointments to ease the itching.

Then one morning, I woke up and she was grumbling and I took a look at her knees. Holy shit they were aggravated! So after a bit of haggling about “one more day” to see if the attack would turn the corner and ease up, we went to the local clinic and she got a shot and some oral prednisone. Voila! The swelling is down and everyone’s demeanor is better. We think it’s on her shoes and shoelaces because that’s what seems to trigger it. Funny enough, we both walked through the same meadow of it in CA, but I haven’t caught it. Oh well. It’s on the way out now, but for several days now, it’s been a bunch of Mr. Yuck faces.

all decked out... and no where to go!

If you climb, and you hear the word 'decked'... it is not, as Martha would say, a good thing. Essentially, it means you fell, and you hit the ground. This past weekend, while climbing at Smith Rock with Jim, I did just that.

It was a stellar day--beautiful weather, great friends, and uncrowded routes.


We started the day at the dihedrals, scaling cinnamon slab's 2 pitches before rapping down the backside to climb Spiderman.

The first pitch there was dull, but the second pitch rocked. just past the first belay anchor was a tough spot where I really had to wrestle with a nut to get it out. after that I climbed back down to a good foothold to rest up before attempting a layback. Then I took a deep breath, gripped the left side of the crack and used the entire right side of my body in unison with my hands and feet to shimmy up and over the bulge. that felt amazing. The next interesting part was a roof with an undercling that took you out to this bizarre layback move. it took some thinking and
some arms to get around, but I managed to do it smoothly on my first shot.

I was super stoked because I finally felt like I was climbing efficiently. at no point were my arms pumped out or my legs shaky... I didn't hesitate or spend a lot of time looking for the right move. I was just having fun!

Once I got over the crux, Jim told me he'd saved me ‘a little’. I noted that he'd built a trad anchor and left about 15 ft to the bolted anchor at the top of the route. I already had all the ‘big’ gear from cleaning the route below; so after taking a swig of water I took off on my very first trad lead. I placed 2 cams and the biggest hex in the rack before clipping the anchors and belaying Jim the rest of the way.

I was on top of the world!

We did some 4th class scrambling around the top of the buttress before making our way back to the anchors above cinnamon slab and rappelling down to our gear. there were people all over most of the routes there, but one remained empty. I asked Jim to let me lead what turned out to be 'easy reader'. Rated at 5.6, it was a very easy sport climb. it was almost disappointingly easy... at this point we had a little more than an hour of daylight left, and after a bit of discussion, we decided to go to Lion's Jaw.

Now mind you, I was feeling VERY confident... okay, 'over' confident... at first I said I couldn't lead lion's jaw, as it is a trad route. Jim said I could, so I said okay without giving it another thought... had I been thinking, I would have realized that I probably wasn't at the top of my game--tired, hungry, feet sore... but I wasn't thinking. I was jonesing like an addict.

I tied in, placed a cam at the bottom as a directional, and started up the smooth dihedral. at the first solid footing, I placed a second cam and gave it a good yank in every direction. satisfied that it wasn't going anywhere, I clipped the rope and headed up. this is when I first sensed I might be in trouble. it took a while to get the cam into a good spot and my right foot was especially fatigued from holding the position. Jim, concerned that I maintain a good level of protection, was instructing me to place gear. I get a bit literal when I’m tired, so I started trying to place a nut right where I was... my footing was crappy, though, and I knew I wouldn't be able to last there long. I pulled off a 1" nut and tried to slot it in the crack... it was too small... I put it back on the ‘biner… at this point Jim suggested I take the whole carabiner off my gear sling and try slotting until I found one that fit... I started to take the ‘biner off, but realized my foot was going to pop at any minute, so I down climbed to the ledge next to my last piece of gear.

I rested there for a minute then headed back up, but stupidly stopped in the exact same place I was in before... finally, I realized I need to climb up, that I just couldn't stop where I was... unfortunately, I realized it a little too late... sensing my feet were about to go, I jammed both hands into the opposing cracks and scrambled around with my feet looking for anything to stand on... the wall to my left was impossibly smooth--I couldn't even get traction smearing. and then my left foot slipped off the wall entirely. the jolt caused my right foot to pop off the tiny nubbin. the crack was too smoothed out from years of climbing and all at once I was sliding straight down the wall... I don't know when my hands came out of the crack. I do know that I looked down between my feet at one point and saw what looked like high-speed film running backwards... truly bizarre. I waited for Jim to catch me at the second piece, but I don't even remember slowing down. Chances are good I actually kicked the 2nd cam out on my way down... I don't even remember hitting the ground. I remember, albeit vaguely, sitting down. Jim kept telling me I was all right and had his arms around me... I thought, 'what is that sound? who's screaming?'... then, as if waking from a dream, I realized that I was the one screaming bloody murder... and then the full brunt of the pain in my left foot took over... I screamed to have him take the shoe off. I knew in another minute or two the swelling would be so bad that they'd have to cut the shoe off... of course, the slightest touch made me scream louder.