Webster Art

I got to Moab October 28, having left t-town the 27th. The free BLM camping above Moab now charges $15 a night. All they did was put up a few plastic outhouses and iron ranger self pay stations. It’s still just dirt roads through the sage brush with occasional wide spots. I’m guessing Moab ran out of funds to constantly clean up after careless campers. In the morning I was surprised to meet Handsome Dave at City Market. He was 5 days into his trip with his Smith buddy named Dragon and staying at Hamburger rock. I also met Maria, of Meatloaf the cat. She was in the same rebuilt popup camper on her Ford Ranger. I had met her and 3 of her friends with Fletch in Leavenworth. It’s funny how seasonal workers follow the good weather, just like us old retired guys.

Note: Names have been altered for privacy.

On the 29th I drove down through Creek Pasture and it was packed to overflowing. But Super Bowl campground, which is just across the road and one mile south, was deserted.

10-30: Morning of the 30th my Creek buddy Paul came walking up with a big smile.

Me: “So you couldn’t get a spot in the cool kids campground either!”

P: “It’s crazy over there! People are triple parked in every site. Even weirder is that I drove all the way down here from Canada and 8 of my hometown Squamish climbing friends are camped right there,” pointing at a nearby Kimbo camper.

It is so awesome to have friends who love this place and don’t need to be begged to show up.

It was raining that day so I drove back to town to do some shopping. I needed something to enable painting in my truck on rainy days. And that something was only sold in Grand Junction. But it was raining and snowing so driving was a practical way to spend the day.

On the way back to camp that night I stopped at the junction of Highway 191 to 211 towards Bears Ears. The first cattle guard is right there, signaling free range pastures. When you combine sixty miles an hour on a black road, a black night and black cows you have a disaster in the making. Already there were 5 dead cows on the shoulder in a 10 mile stretch. In the distance I saw the taillights of a Sprinter van heading towards the creek. I briefly considered catching up to them for a caravan but I didn’t want to race through a cow pasture at 80Mph.

5 minutes later a Subie drove past and I quickly pulled out behind them. With them leading 10 car lengths ahead I was able to combine the illumination of their lights and mine for a reasonably safe cow plow commute. I do this a lot at night or in fog on freeways. There is always someone bolder than me willing to lead the way.

We drove for 15 minutes until we suddenly saw blinking hazard lights up ahead. There was the Sprinter I’d almost tried to catch, slewed sideways across the road. Their $200,000 rig was totaled, a dead black cow laying feet away, the rest of the herd standing nervously on the shoulder. The two young climbers…looking about 27…were standing there unhurt but with expressions I can only describe as stunned. Both me and my cow plow drivers pulled over and walked back to see if we could help. They said they’d already called for help and were fine. But…they were far from fine.

Those van life people spend months and thousands of dollars building out those rigs. It’s a lifestyle choice with many of them pouring the money they normally would have put into saving for a house mortgage into their glossy apartments on wheels. Many insurers will only cover the vehicle. The build out labor and materials used converting it into a home made RV is usually not insurable because it’s not officially registered and classified as a commercial RV. So when you wreck your home, you’re screwed. Not only is your trip over, but your lifestyle is turned upside down.

This exact same thing happened to my friends Bill and Pam 2 years ago. His comment was: “We are van life people, it’s who we are! We climb, mountain bike, ski, river raft…everything hinges around the van. With it gone, who are we?” Bill, his wife and their 6 year old are lucky to own a house, and thankfully in both these cases the airbags and crash crumple zones protected everyone…except the cow of course.

There were a dozen similar shiny sprinters camped in the Pasture. They all have the same Starlink antenna on the roof. One pair I talked to had been there for months, working remotely full time, climbing when they could. And everything is gravy until something goes wrong with the vehicle. Loosing a transmission is bad enough. But when you total your apartment/office space hitting a cow…it’s a huge deal. Their expressions were very telling as they stood there in the cold November wind waiting for cops and a wrecker. Definitely not an Instagram moment.

I found out later that Paul saw the exact same wreck. He and Laura were a half hour behind me and saw all the emergency vehicles. It’s puzzling why the ranchers take the time to put tags on the ears but not a reflective collar. I’ve heard those cows are worth upwards of 800 dollars .

10-31: Laura wasn’t feeling well so Paul and I climbed at The Fin. He on sighted a 12 as he does most days. It was fun driving him to the crag. We both commented that it was “like old times!” As I always do, I asked him to please not squeeze my rubber chicken.

“But it’s a new one Mark, I have to squeeze it!”

11-1: Laura, Paul and I climbed at Habitado where I gasped my way up Lighting Bolt crack, hanging on every cam. Paul was kind, telling me that it was only day two and I just needed to “warm up and get your lead head back”. I followed the fun off width to the right of Mariposa. Great no hands Levitation style knee locks called Jojobean.

11-2: Hiked up to the Second Meat wall with 8 of Paul’s Squamish friends. Sharon came walking around to see Paul and mentioned Norma was leading an off width that no one wanted to follow. I perked up at that as they are one of my passions. The route was named  Low Cholesterol featuring a few number fives but mostly sixes. 

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/105877824/low-cholesterol

I told Norma, the young lady who led it not to expect much. And that I hoped I didn’t disappoint her because I was super rusty and out of shape.

“No worries, I’m just happy you’re willing to clean it for me! Go up as far as you want. I have zero expectations…have fun!”

I immediately got a solid hand fist stack and soon was high enough to do the Levitation knee lock. I took both hands out of the crack and chalked up to oohs and ahhs from below. When it opened up to double fists it got hard but I persevered and managed to wedge my fists just right. You have to be very deliberate with the positioning of the fists as they meet, but it will work. With the fists for a handhold, you unclench your thighs, swing your feet out and up then push down with heel toe action. This raises your core a few inches. You swing your thighs back into the crack and flex. With both knees locked as at Vertical World in Seattle I had a no hands rest, once again shaking out and chalking up. Reach higher, lock the fists and repeat. It’s a full body workout.

I heard a bunch of attaboys from the youngsters down below. It must have been startling seeing a white haired geezer easily following something they were avoiding. When I lowered off Norma said she had had zero expectations of me, but that I vastly exceeded her expectations by doing it with one hang. I got fist bumps all around from the kids.

Her fives and sixes were shoved far, far back in the crack. I realized as I cleaned them that placing deep allowed her to more easily shuffle past, while keeping the rope clear up to the pusher top rope cam. If I had 3 more green sixes I think I could lead it. That would be: three fives, four sixes, a green big bro and my valley giant.

Earlier I’d followed Paul’s hard ten which was mostly red #1’s. It was a very pure corner splitter on polished Wingate. I didn’t have the power to layback or jam the reds so ended up french freeing most of the route. I love LinkCam handholds when following 5.12 leaders.

While that shit show was happening I heard an increasingly loud argument from Paul and Laura down below. She had wanted more help doing her first tape job but Paul had told her she kind of needed to figure some of it out on her own. He had taped both hands for her, but only the thumbs. 

Anyhow it turned out to have upset her. When she lowered me off he was belaying another route and she was not happy. They are both super nice people and it was sad to see them fighting. Wiping her eyes, she said she hadn’t had a boyfriend in a long time and didn’t know how to do it anymore. When I told her that Paul was a great guy she said yes, he is usually so sweet, but not this time. 

I drove her to camp to start dinner while Paul got in another pitch, assuring us he had a ride. She walked over and invited me to join them for dinner. This raised obvious red flags but she was quite insistent. I asked her if Paul was ok with the idea. She said it was all good and she’d tell him that she had asked me over. I was kind of stressed over the whole thing so I lit my campfire and had a shot of whiskey to calm my nerves. 

Darkness brought them both over to my fire in great spirits holding a casserole dish. We started talking about relationship challenges. I told the old story about how Sue and I finally tied the knot after many misunderstandings. I mentioned that I knew she was my person after 6 months. 

L: How did you know she was your person?

Me: That’s a tough question. Sue knew I’d been a drugged out hippie just 3 years earlier with a dozen failed relationships. I’d waited 3 years to meet someone real, and Sue was definitely all of that. By that time we were spending all our time together while still keeping separate apartments a block apart. We were hiking every weekend. We had each others backs and there was no one I’d rather be with. 

I offered to tell one more story, the one about the seven year itch. Afterward I mentioned how I’ve never told Sue that story but had told everyone else. 

Paul: I know, I’ve heard it twice now!

Me: Yeah, I remember telling it to you.

Paul: Hell, I’d be happy to hear it a third time. It’s a great story!

Me: I feel like I’m talking too much, do you guys have any relationship stories?

Paul: We had only been on a two week trip to Skaha, driving our separate vans before I ventured the idea of a month long trip to Smith, The City and the Creek. She was back in Calgary by then and I was really sweating whether she would buy the plane ticket back to Squish to join me.

Paul: When she got in my car at the airport parking garage I was ready to drive, but was getting some strange looks because she immediately jumped in my lap. We started making out behind the steering wheel.  I knew then that we’d be alright. 

Paul: But dude, thanks for all the wisdom! 

Me: Aw jeez, I’m no shrink, just a guy with a lot of water under the bridge.

11-3: We had a great fire last night at Sharon and Larry’s camp. Larry is from England and was raised in a rarified community where they had mounted fox hunts Tuesdays and Thursdays. He said it was an ancient tradition to rid the farmlands of too many predatory foxes, or at least drive them away. Fox in the chicken house is a real thing. Everyone around the campfire was fascinated by this story. He was basically talking about the lifestyles of Lords and Earls in modern day England.

When asked if they got a fox every hunt he said that no, they only got one about a quarter of the time but it didn’t matter as it was so fun. When asked about the dogs he said they were a special breed and there was a guy whose full time job was raising and caring for the fox hounds.

Up to twenty fox hounds would lead an equal number of mounted horsemen across the countryside in riotous gallops ending with the dogs eating the fox. The riders and horses would all be in high spirits, there is an infectious camaraderie that builds during the gallop across the moors. He said that sometimes a rider would wade into the slaughter to grab the foxes tail…sort of like a scalp…to prove they’d got one, before it got eaten. Guy had definitely won the birth lottery.

11-4-24: The entire Squamish contingent saw the incoming storm and bailed for Vegas. I drove to town for re-supply needing propane, gasoline, water and food. It was nice to catch up on the family news. Our daughter is trying to both buy and sell a house so she can be closer to civilization. Her job, and the kids schools are simply too far away.

I drove back in the twilight dodging cows and hung out by Ed’s fire. I’d met him in the morning when he’d walked up to Paul’s camp looking for partners. 

11-5: Ed and I climbed Bunny Slope at Critics Choice wall. Even on climbing day #5 I couldn’t climb the tight yellows. My technique was awful. I wasn’t focusing on jamming my toes so my arms quickly tired. I was getting jams, but the shallow non sinker jams…just barely bigger than red #1. I could not have led that climb, despite it’s reputation for being easy.

Ed had to haul a line as the rap is around 50 meters? He has smaller hands and led it with one hang.

Down below there was a brand new Overlander pop up camper on a sweet Tacoma. The guy worked for them and said they’d loaned him the rig as a demo. He said they weigh 300 to 400 and run $10,000 with a 3 month lead time. They sit on the bed rails, as opposed to the slide in models. It’s very much like the model M from 4Wh. He said the optional windows add a lot of weight. 

It started snowing on the way back to site 24 at Creek Pasture. I need to bring at least two green canisters. I can empty one during a day of painting. Because it was snowing outside I filled one canister inside the canopy. To avoid the obvious explosion risk I had the electricity off and the lift gate up…snow swirling in. I wore a glove  this time on my right hand to avoid the frostbite from my previous refilling.

With the main white tank valve off I was able to easily undo the collar and disconnect the one pound tank. The green Flame King refillable canister needs to be hanging down. This helps to ease the release. Also, after main white tank valve is closed, press spring handle to inject any remaining pressure into tank. Once tank is off, clear gas from pipe assembly with spring handle. Careful…there is a lot in that brass tube.

11-6-24: Election Day! Trump or Kamala? I occasionally listen to Joe Rogan . He’s rough around the edges, maybe a little crazy but always entertaining. I also admire Elon Musk and they both like trump. Before I’d left town I’d known trump would win so forced myself to watch Rogan’s 3 hour trump interview. There is so much bad press about him. A lot of it is true, the man is for sure not a saint.

But when the dems started calling him a Hitler I knew something was up. I wanted to know the man better. In the interview Rogan was laughing about how the democrats have painted trump as the end of democracy, maybe even another Adolf. That hyperbole does not serve Kamala well. Though both parties are slinging mud, I like Kamala more. But there is merit to trumps argument that she has had 4 years to fix things and didn’t, so why four more?

Anytime weather rolls in your climbing plans are shot for at least two days. As I looked around in the morning I saw the two women with matching $200,000 Sprinter vans standing talking quietly in the swirling snow. 

They had been living there for months working full time via StarLink and climbing on the weekends and   afternoons.

“Morning! So I assume you guys heard the results of the election?”

They nodded sadly. “Do you really want to know?”

“Ah Jeez. That bad huh?”

I had known T was going to win for months. Even some of my climbing friends were writing posts on social media endorsing him. And all the farms outside the cities were plastered with T signs.

When I got home a couple weeks later I decided to educate myself on who is coming into power. During the debates I’d been struck by how Vance seemed very polished, not at all like his boss. Joe Rogan interviews Vance for 3 hours here. Vance actually sounds quite smart. He’s not cocky, he admits what he doesn’t know and has a live and let live attitude. He seems like a guy I could drink a beer with. This is a democracy…they won…if you have the time, watch this. It seems all is not lost.

I walked over to Ed’s for breakfast. He and Ryan (pink haired girl) had a fire going and we jammed for an hour, burning through Ed’s wood as the snow fell softly around us. A few people gathered round to hear our live music. She is a singer songwriter with a great voice, perfect recall on her songs, and a smooth polished strumming style. Ed and Ryan both left that day for jobs. She teaches skiing. Ed has an interview for a job offering mid six figures. If he accepts it he will work remotely in Japan 3am to 11am to match US time. He designs and develops SSD hard drives along with server racks for the cloud. 

<!– begin Geek Alert –>

Ed has an encyclopedic memory for how bit storage works. Said that flash drive transistors have an on off switch at the one bit level. They can be on, meaning holding a bit of data (1 vs 0) or off. Newer SSDs lock or “freeze” the transistor switch to the on position.  But over time, if the computer is off, the switch leaks electrons and gradually moves toward neutral. 

This leakage leads to what is called “College student failure”. Kids come home for the summer and leave their laptops off. They go back to college in the fall, turn on their laptops and experience lost data. Moral of the story is turn on your laptop regularly so the “locked on” transistor stays firmly locked trapping those pesky electrons in place.

When I asked him what was the best long term storage solution he said there are two: (1.) Burned DVD discs stored in a cool, dry dark place. Like a vinyl record, they do not use electrons to store data. It’s all analog. They will last as long as the plastic. Whether there will be a DVD reader in 100 years is another question. (2.) Cloud Storage, which is his favorite. He says they spread out the data across up to 8 different locations. Even if 7 get destroyed, the 8th one can recover all the data.

Interesting side note: Ed worked most of his career in tech but burned out on the long hours. He switched to ski guiding in Japan where there is good money in winter on the great powder. But now he is being lured back to tech by the high dollars.

<!– // end Geek alert –>

Despite all our concerns over loosing our precious baby photos, I suspect our descendants 100 years from now will toss DVDs in the garbage. I recently tossed an entire family album of 150 year old tintypes. I had no idea who anyone was, they weren’t labeled. My Aunt might have known, but she is living in the moment and probably wouldn’t care either.

This is one reason why I love painting. A good painting will hang on peoples walls basically forever. It gets handed down through the generations. I’ve got a painting done by my grandma’s great aunt in 1910. She was a well known American artist in the late 1800’s. Her work is still cherished because it seems to have a life of its own.

In my own experience, there have been many times while I’m painting…usually a couple hours in…when a painting or drawing will suddenly change from just paint on canvas to a living thing. I like to say that it breathes. Maybe there is some kind of molecule transfer that happens between the artist and the pigments on the canvas…who knows? There are many things in life that can’t be explained…or maybe I just took too many mushrooms in my misguided youth. Anyway, if you don’t believe me, go to any large museum. By and large, they are filled with paintings and sculptures, not photographs.

11-7, written on my phone: It’s snowing outside again, I have the Buddy Heater running on low, a full belly of precooked mac and cheese. I’m going to work on Meatloaf’s portrait. Maria, his owner, is here at the creek. I showed her the pencil under drawing a couple days ago.

Pen drawing is done. I could stop here…probably should. But I have nothing better to do and there is a slim chance color might make it better.

Thursday 11-8 through Tuesday 11-12 were troubling days. All my partners, Paul, Ed and friends were gone. Each morning I’d do my normal walk around the campground, smiling at strangers and trying to make new friends. But for some odd reason, I was striking out. People would say they had a tight group and didn’t want to add a 4th to their threesome. Or, and this happened two days in a row, a guy would promise that I could join them, and then I’d see their car driving away. Straight up blew me off.

My neighbor next door had his hood up so I walked over to help, thinking I might make a friend.

“Car trouble?”

“Nah, I just left the light on all night during the rave over in site 7. It’s charging back up now. You going hiking in Canyon Lands?”

Now, the fact that he even asked me that indicated several things:

1. He clearly did not see me as climber.
2. I need to work on my presentation. Perhaps I should trade in my tundra for a beater Subaru.
3. My custom leather hat makes me look less like Alex Honnold and more like Crocodile Dundee, who doesn’t climb.

“No, I’m actually a climber…hoping to hook up with a partner.”

“Well, me and my girlfriend, we’re a pretty tight unit, we’d prefer not to bring a third. I had no idea you were a climber…maybe you should pile your rope and cams on the hood so people know?”

It’s funny that I don’t look like a climber. Maybe it’s the man boobs and the 15 extra pounds? Definitely I’d been painting in the truck too much, instead of mixing every night around the campfires. Other tricks I’ve used in the past are to set up my easel in the campground, or ride my unicycle around. Anything to claw my way out of the old man stereotype. It’s also quite likely that hitting 70 is some kind of critical age where you look so old to people in their twenties that you are just SOL.

I loaded up a rack and hiked solo up to Chocolate Corner. A nice 50-ish climbing guide was there with his wife and a friend. When they found I was solo they immediately offered me a top rope on Elephant Man, while the party on Chocolate said I could TR their route also. Now this was the friendly climber crew I know and love. I followed those routes and also Mr. Peanut.

There was a very charming couple at Mr. Peanut. He flies C-47s for the Air Force. She works as an Environmental Scientist.

Me: So you dump the jet fuel, and she cleans it up?

Her: Ha Ha! That’s pretty much it.

They didn’t know the area well, and he was a relative beginner, so would have made awesome longterm partners, but they were heading back to work.

I TR’d both climbs with very little effort, cleaner than I’d ever done them. Clearly following P. and Andy had built some power in my arms. I was ready to start leading creek routes if only I could snag a partner.

When Fletch heard I was struggling to find partners he offered to clear out a four day weekend at Joshua Tree evening of 11-13 to 11-17. When Samantha and Melanie got on board as well I knew my partner problems were finally over.

I did the drive to Josh in a day and a half, staying once in the mountains half way to St. George. I always swear I’m not going to drive at night…but every trip I break that rule. By 9 o’clock I was tired. I’d passed a couple rest areas because I prefer quiet BLM camping. When I saw a “No Services” sign at a pitch black exit I pulled off. After a half a mile on dirt roads I saw a National Forest sign that said camping was allowed but no longer than 14 days. I pulled over halfway up a hill at the first fire pit. As I sat in the cab, still buzzing from all the coffee, I saw a dark shape appear above me on the hill, silhouetted against the rising moon. At first I thought it was a person which surprised me given the dark night, frigid temps and howling wind. But it quickly resolved into an elk with a huge rack of antlers. He saw my truck and stood quite still against the full moon…clearly wondering if I was a threat. Moments like these are magical.

The next day I easily made the Yucca Valley BLM lakebed where I cooked hash browns and eggs for dinner in the warm blustery winds. A dawn start had me driving up to an empty site right below Toe Jam. I grabbed that and immediately met my neighbors Carl and Bert (not their real names). Within 10 minutes they had invited me to climb but I was too jet lagged from the drive. I sketched the Egg Boulder and worked on a drawing of Olivia. 

Thursday I did the dawn patrol and found a better site with lots more privacy. Fletch and I used to have a band.

As I packed up to move I said good morning and they were once again very charming, telling me I was welcome to climb with them. This was a huge change from uppity Indian Creek. I was in a rush to get back and join them so I left my creek rack in the pack, thinking I could make it to True Hidden Valley and back, a decision I later came to regret. We hiked to true hidden valley to do a couple eights on the brown wall. Then Bert said we were hiking down to Leap Year. He took us deep to the north into country I’d never hiked before. At one point I was astonished to see a cliff resembling Lost Horse wall. Lost Horse is a wall we normally drive to because it’s quite far.

Me: “That looks like Dappled Mare!”

Bert: “No, That route is on the far side of that mountain to our left. I think you are looking at the back side of Dairy Queen.”

“Dude, I’ve climbed Dappled Mare a dozen times…that is definitely it!”

Bert held up the climbing topo and it matched exactly. He admitted something had gone wrong. Carl chimed in that this wasn’t the first time they’d been lost. We scrambled down the huge boulders to the road, took a sharp right turn back into the draw and began the long approach to Leap Year:

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/105725065/leap-year-flake

Bert did a clean and bold onsight lead. It’s only 5.7 but the crux is friction with very thin cams. We ended up hiking 6 miles cross country that day…me carrying a 50 pound creek rack. Carl even took pity on me for a few miles, offering to carry my pig. His pack felt like a feather.

I told them my friends Fletch and Samantha were coming in that night and invited them over. By the time I’d cooked dinner Carl and Bert came walking up out of the darkness carrying a bottle of wine. They were such cool fellows. Carl told a long, extremely moving and entertaining story about working 3 months straight as a Trauma 1 nurse during Covid in Minnesota. All the nurses with families had quit, fearing the infection. Only Carl and one other single 23 year old nurse kept working. He never left the hospital that entire time and would sleep in a computer chair every night, pager at the ready. And he did that 89 days in a row…for $22.50 an hour. He lost 260 patients to either Covid or Trauma.

Both he and Bert met and work in LA now at a ritzy hospital catering to the rich and famous. Hippa rules prevented him from talking about his patients…but he did quip that he wasn’t fond’a Jane Fonda. One of his best stories was of a guy who walked into the ER with no pants, shit stained underwear and an arrow embedded in his brain. I’d love to tell it here but I don’t want to get him in trouble.

Samantha came walking up out of the darkness right on time, man it was good to see her! Speaking of meeting partners, I met Samantha in November of 2021 at Indian Creek. I feel lucky to call her a friend. Fletch arrived not long after with another bottle of wine for the fire.

Friday November 8: Fletch, Sam and I hiked up to Popular Mechanics:

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/105723478/popular-mechanics

Fletch led that with both Sam and I falling at the low crux where it pinches off. The fix is to get your feet up high so you can reach past the pinched off lost arrow pin scar to a sinker finger lock.

Next I led Jack of Hearts:

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/105722713/jack-of-hearts

I hung once in the elbow locking chimney. That’s a hard move to commit to. A six would be handy because my big bro was wobbly. Both partners thought it was cool 3d climbing as it moves between multiple free standing flakes for a full 35 meters. Our old friend Melanie showed up that night. Fletch and I have known her for a good 15 years. She is a doctor now. I know she does autopsies among other things. Might be a pathologist?

Saturday November 9: We woke up to wind and decided on Indian Cove. Sam and I climbed the 5.7 bolted route while Fletch and Mel did the 10 thin fingers.

I led Duchess Right. It’s a 5 inch crack that rapidly enlarges to 9 inches. I had a 4, 5, 6 and Valley Giant 9. The VG and the six were the critical pusher cams. I had to rest once on the 6. My double fist has vastly improved after Low Cholesterol. No one wanted to follow it…this seems to be a pattern.

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/105721729/duchess-right

Sunday November 10,  Melanie, Fletch, Rob, Sam and I climbed Tip Toe along with a couple others at Trashcan – Quail Springs rock. Fletch and Melanie went back to work in Santa Barbara and San Diego while Sam led the Flake 5.8 on Intersection, finishing in the twilight. We had to use her phone’s flashlight to rap in the dark. In the first 40 feet you need a green 0.75, a 5 and a 3. Normal rack after that.

That night Michael, another seasonal ranger showed up. We were sitting around after dinner and there had been some loose talk about hiking in the moonlight. If you don’t know Josh…you have three choices when it gets dark in winter season:

1. drink;
2. burn wood;
3. go hiking. Often, we combine all 3.

“You guys still want to go, maybe do the Iron Door and Hobbit Hole?”

As we hiked, Michael told a great long form story about a Hinge date in LA with someone whose gender was unclear. He drew the story out through both the Iron Door cave and Hobbit Hole. In this photo, he is still going while inside the Iron Door cave.

Monday Nov 11: I woke up at dawn and packed. By the time Sam and Michael had got up all I had to do was sort the rack with Samantha. I packed up, then went over to Sams site. 

“So, you’re here to say goodbye?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” I said sadly.

She opened her arms and I gave her a big hug, saying: “I love how we keep putting these things together, meeting in the middle.”

I shook hands with Michael. 

“I was thinking about your story last night about the dating apps.”

Sam: “You have any parting advice for him?”

“Ah jeez. I’m sure you’ve read all the same books on relationships?”

He nodded affirmative.

“I can only offer my experience. I was a lonely single guy, 22, hated the bar scene. Beautiful women make me super nervous. I feel like they look at me approaching and think I’m hitting on them. I don’t want to be that guy.

So I took a 6 week, after work class on hiking and alpine travel, like how to do self arrest with an ice ax. They put on an overnight trip where they brought all the skills together and taught us how to build and sleep in a snow cave. 

My buddy said I needed to check out the amazing deep cave these two girls had dug next door.

I walked over and climbed up the 15 foot passageway. I still remember how blue the light was under 10 feet of snow. At the end was a startled girl shoveling the cave larger. She had huge dark eyes…eyes that I still love 50 years later. My buddies name was John, 3 years later he was our best man .”

Michael liked the story. Sam said: “You’re one of the lucky ones Mark. Sue is wonderful!”

“So she and I were sort of both on a journey, both walking down the same path, both frustrated and lonely. Dating is stressful, but in that group setting there was no pressure, they weren’t dates, they were classes we’d paid for that happened to be full of beautiful like minded young people.”

Truth is that even after the snow cave, I still didn’t really know Sue. But when the class ended my buddy asked Cindy to go hiking. She brought Sue, and he asked me to make a foursome. On the 3 mile hike out to the coastal digs…Cape Alava?…I played my harmonica as we hiked. We paired up after that: Sue and I, him and Cindy. One on one…in a romantic setting like the ocean…we both felt the beginnings of something.

After grabbing a breakfast burrito at the Park Headquarters I hit the road.

The drive home was the usual numbing mix of long hours of boredom spiced with short bursts of terror. It seems that the more tired I get the more I think other drivers, especially truckers, are veering into my lane. It’s an awful feeling to be passing between two trucks when you suddenly sense one of the trucks is crossing the lane divider toward you. It’s a side eye thing. I often wonder if it really happened or I was just imagining things. Long solo drives are not healthy.

It was so nice to drive up to my house and see Sue standing out in the yard. 24 days is too long.

November 14, 2024 Sue: “You want to take care of this before ping pong…we have half an hour.” 

“Well, sure. I won’t turn that down!”

Later, on the bench after a game, she sat right next to me…rubbing knees. We’re like a couple birds who haven’t seen their mate in months. We’re kinda’ broken when we’re apart. It was never my game plan to take long trips without her. She has had a long string of shoulder injuries keeping her out of the climbing game. As we walked back onto the court I put my arm around her, pulling her close as we walked to the ping pong table for some double trouble. 

“You guys ready to take on the Websters?”

Clint came over later with his two daughters. We slouched on the couch, feet up, while the grandkids played on the rug. We are planning to help Lisa with a fallen tree Saturday in Ashford. He and I seem to be so well bonded…like best friends who don’t need to talk  because everything has been said.

In Josh, where I’m supremely happy, I was telling Fletch and Samantha that I loved living the life down there. The climbing is always amazing and the camaraderie and friendships were top notch. It’s a great scene. I am blessed with the best friends in the world. But I have a really good scene at home too. And now that I’m home, I realize just how true that is. Clint, Lisa, the grandkids, Sue…wow. These people are my life. 

I haven’t published a post in 7 weeks. When I feel like writing I’ve gotten in a habit of writing privately on my MacBook in the Notes application. Notes is my replacement for the more expensive Evernote…which I used for 15 years and loved. But like Photoshop, I don’t have the funds for expensive software.

A ton has happened over those 7 weeks. I’ll start with the most recent and work backwards. Today Sue and I drove up to babysit our grandkkids while Lisa had their potential new house inspected. Dan was working so she had asked us to help out. This was the first time Lisa had been involved in a house purchase. Dan owned a house when they got married.

She was understandably nervous. It is lot of money. The house they are selling is less expensive so their payments will take a big jump. But it will get them out of the sticks and into a decent town where everyday life will be much easier.

Working backward, our 24 year old gas water heater needed replacement. Sure, it might have run another 10 years, but Sue said the temperature was getting wonky, and common wisdom said a replacement was overdue.

Lowes ball parked it over $2000, and that was on the phone and without seeing our old pipes. And for a $500 heater? They said that a gas plumber had to come out first for an inspection, then more people had to come for the installation and removal.

I thanked him and hung up. I’ve installed two electric water heaters at our old house. But I was nervous about capping the gas line. However, I’ve been using propane campfires and camp stoves for decades and had some comfort level with gas. I called our gas company and explained I wanted to keep our gas fireplace but disconnect the gas water heater. He agreed that it was a simple diy job to cap a gas line. Turns out it’s just some yellow gas tape and a brass screw on cap. Plus, there is the original red shut off valve. It’s in the off position, and if for some crazy reason it gets knocked into “on”, the cap is there to seal off the gas. I did the standard test with soapy water…several times…and all is good.

Getting the gas tank out was really hard. The vent-chimney was two layers of 1mm 7 inch steel pipe enclosing an inner tube of 3 inch 2mm thick walled steel pipe. I spent at least two hours cutting that out with an angle grinder.

The heater is squeezed into a slot between the wall, the door and the washing machine, with a thick galvanized pipe directly in front blocking its exit. That pipe is the overflow drain and dumps excess pressure outside. It was a nightmare getting the damn thing cut out, drained, and hand trucked down the porch steps to the back yard.

Plumbing Nightmare

Unlike the original install, I wanted to install an expansion tank per current code, as I’d done at our last house. But the torque of the tank on the new galvanized steel plumbing created leaks.

After failing twice, both times with brand new steel I went back to youtube. After some research I realized an entire generation of plumbing had come and gone while I wasn’t paying attention. Copper had become the new standard, replacing galvanized steel. After 15 years, copper became yesterdays news in favor of the new latest greatest standard called PEX.

I’d seen it while Chad was rebuilding his Index cabin, I was like, “What the hell is that plastic junk? It looks like aquarium plumbing”. We took another trip to Home Depot. The ladies in the hardware aisle knew our story by then and were happy to assist us as we spent another $200 in PEX tools, piping and fittings.

But the fun wasn’t over. I had a tee joint exiting the wall in 40 year old galvanized pipe. I wanted to start the PEX there but the 10 inch steel pipe coming up out of there was frozen at the joint. Nothing would loosen that 1980’s joint. Not force, not a heat gun, nothing. I was deathly afraid of breaking the pipe down inside the wall. It would have cost us upwards of fifteen grand if that broke. Because at that point Sue would have called a plumber for a complete house re-plumbing job.

More internet searching found a youboob video of a guy heating a steel pipe glowing red hot with a torch. Looked like a great way to light the house on fire. I built a heat shield from aluminum sheet metal and a turkey roasting pan. After heating that thing red hot, Sue standing by with a fire extinguisher, it finally broke free. I put a steel to brass PEX fitting in using my best dope over tape joint and plumbed the water heater. This time I supported the expansion tank properly on the wall to studs. So there was no tension on the joints.

In my new plumbing job #3 there were only two non PEX joints: wall to the PEX and exp. tank to the pex. The wall joint weeped. I cut the first section of PEX out and discovered that joint was not tight. It had been tight when I installed it…but it got loose. I used a new fitting, only 3 wraps of tape and a new brand of dope over the tape. And I reefed that sucker down like a mofo. I’m talking 95% of everything I’ve got. I put it all back together and no leaks after a week.

I bought a leak detector from Amazon and installed a floor drain. One of the detectors is under the house to detect both fresh water leaks and drain leaks.

We had a little trouble with hooking up the power. That is a lot of wire to pack into a tiny cavity on top of the heater. I won’t go into detail…but we called our electrician back and he got it hooked up in no time

Chris and I went up and did GM to Heart of the Country. I was feeling weak and she had to lead every pitch. Against doctors orders, I’d lowered my PMR medication to the point where my knees hurt.

While all this was going on I spent a couple weeks tinkering with a portrait of Rose. While building a frame for it I realized my son’s Rigid miter saw had a bent fence. I got a new DeWalt and it is flawless.

My old cast iron frame clamps were causing me trouble. I’d been hearing about people using ratchet frame clamps so took a break from plumbing to drive up to Rockler and buy their clamp.

My portrait of Rose was very troublesome. It kept looking like a doll and I couldn’t see the problem. Lisa immediately saw that the chin and cheek were too long. Finally, since I seemed to be blind, I brought the painting in to Affinity (like Photoshop but cheaper). I set the painting above the reference photo layer and made the painting layer semi transparent. This allowed me to see where my drawing errors were. I noticed that her right eye was completely wrong…almost anime wrong. Note the guide grids I’ve drawn over the photo defining eyes, nose and mouth. I drew those guides with the pen tool.

Below is one of my many failures. Note how the portrait of the face doesn’t match the grid I built over the photo, errors shown in red. Affinity is great for this. It replaces Photoshop and it’s super cheap. Like a one time purchase of $70? In an ideal world I’d be able to see these errors without technology. To that end I bought some artist calipers. Sculptors have used these for a thousand years.

After several more hours over a couple days she began to look real. Not perfect…but so close that more tinkering was irrelevant.

Going even further back in history I had fun trip with Chris to a new 4 pitch route called Cloud Flare at Look Out Point. My knees were pain free and strong on the way up. Only one rest break above the idaho turn off. The climbing was fun 5.7 though I grabbed a cam 15 feet up. i should have gone right. Pitch one has a senior citizens style crack, very sticky and shorter. Bring 15 slings and long sling any sharp corners. Pitch two has a Klahanie crack capped by a undercling traverse on sticky slab. At the end of that you have to pass a bulge with great pro and the crux move. I stepped right on steep slab which worked on follow.

Pitch 3 goes thru what they call choss, but I found moderately good gear. No loose rock, just steep water polished gully style stemming. Gear is minimal and not inspiring but not truly dangerous. l was glad I’d recently done front 180 to have my friction feet dialed. 

At the bottom of pitch 4 we were looking up from the shade at the flagpole 70 feet away blowing in the sunlight. Chris didn’t have summit fever and wanted to rappel. I kept thinking we were so close and I’d never seen the summit. I wanted to summit  but knew she wanted to rap. There was no need to summit that day, I could always come back.

Plus, to summit, we’d have to climb right by or over the two huge 4 foot stacked blocks 40 feet directly above us. They were completely undercut and the worst one was only held in place where a 3 inch corner was jammed precariously against an overhanging wall. Draped over the two blocks was a stiff and crusty handline. 

I was trying to be a good partner by agreeing to rap, even though I wanted to summit. She was aware of this and offered to summit, but only if I led the pitch. It was an interesting dialog where we were both trying to be good partners despite differing desires. Neither wanted to be a dick. Finally we checked the time and realized that at 3, we had up to four hours to summit and deal with any stuck ropes on the 4 rappels to the ground. 

I led up, using knots in the cheesy handline for protection since there was minimal gear. There were two lovely splitters on the summit block. One needed two 4’s and a 5, which we didn’t have. The other was a steep hand crack, overhung at the bottom. Both looked fun for a later trip with more time and gear.

The raps were uneventful, there are anchors all over Lookout Point. As we started hiking down there were some shockingly exposed sections of cliff directly above Private Idaho. It was “one slip and you’re dead” trail. Fortunately the route developers have done a ton of trail work involving huge trees shoring up the exposed sections.

My left knee got some kind of a fluky crap out syndrome. My right has been doing that lately, but it was fine. The left let loose a burst of pain and collapsed, causing me to sink down into a crack between boulders. It was extremely painful and completely unexpected. That kind of bullshit 40 minutes up a climber trail can be very bad.

Chris was a hundred feet downhill and saw me having trouble. She offered to take the rope, despite already having the rack. I realized that was smart and sat on a boulder during the changeover and took a couple ibuprofen. Prior to that, back in mid September:

Squamish with Craig

We did 9 pitches of super fun bolt clipping on Front 180. I easily navigated each crux. The worst one was where the face is streaked with rising thin finger cracks. You have to step off right to get a reliable side pull on the cracks. Other cruxes were simply tucking my toe into thin pockets on the vertical seams. Bolts are always close.

Craig needed more exercise so I drove him to the top of Mamquam road, a 3000 foot hill. He mountain biked down and back up 3 times – not electric, just muscle power. And pedaled to Saveon where I was waiting.

We bought a burger from Flipside. Eating out in the dark with the firepit warming us we talked about our shared interests. He is my son’s oldest friend. We all used to climb together so our memories go back 30 years.

In the car, Craig said: “You want to go do Penny Lane by moonlight?”

“Ah, shit, I can’t say no. This is a thing we do, repeatedly, going back decades. If I say no it means I’ve gotten old.”

“Yupp, can’t have that.”

When we arrived at Penny Lane in the darkness we found a couple dudes drinking beers by headlamp. They had been there all afternoon and had just finished working on the route to the left of Crime of the Century, in the dark.

“You guys here to do a lap of Penny Lane in the moon light?”

“Yeah, we were sitting in the tavern drinking a beer and eating a hamburger. I was looking forward to sleeping when Craig asked if I wanted to do Penny Lane by moonlight”

“Oh man, we all need someone in our life to ask us that! You’re a lucky man!”

There was no moon light yet on Penny Lane, plus it’s a built anchor with a traverse to the rap station. That was too many red flags for me so he led Quarry Man which has aligned top rope anchors. I had just led it with Joan a week previously and found it very do-able in the dark.

There is more, but I’ve covered the major stuff. Keeping a blog is a lot of work. I’ll add more photos later.

My son has three egg laying chickens, a dog, and three towers of bees. He and his wife sell their honey to friends at work. During the bee harvest he stacks up two cubic yards of jars of honey in the living room.

I’ve been fascinated by his animals. I’ve drawn his dog several times and now I’ve started in on his chickens. I also have a great photo of Rose, which I plan to do in oils.

After my disastrous experience trying to place my big paintings in the gallery I’ve switched to drawing whimsical things just for fun. It’s much more relaxing knowing I don’t have worry about whether they will sell. Like Van Gogh, who sold two paintings his whole life, I paint because it’s an itch I have to scatch.

I photographed the birds with my full frame Canon. The details up close are dramatic and were super fun to paint.

After I finished the birds I made another cowboy hat. This is my fourth one and it’s getting easier. I wore my first one for 5 years. And while it’s still going strong, it’s heavy. My second one worked, but I used the wrong leather and made the brim too short. I gave the third one to Clint and liked it so much I made another one for myself.

Part of the success of the last two hats is using the right leather. I bought a half skin from Tandy for $120. It’s got a hard polished finish but isn’t anywhere close to full grain. They measure leather thickness weirdly. I have no idea what I’ve got, other than it’s about 2mm thick. Fortunately, I can walk into Tandy, hand them the leather and they show me where there is more.

Buying leather is a very hands on experience. It’s something that must be felt. I always feel bad for the cows, but that’s a story for another day.

I recently enlarged a 12 x 16 plein air oil to a 24 x 36 inch painting. I liked the unhurried studio experience so much I painted it again on canvas, but with a palette knife. It’s so nice to work at my leisure in the studio. There’s time to sort out form, lighting, and color choices. Painting plein air is lovely, the views are captivating and being outdoors is wonderful. And capturing that view over the course of 3 hours is very satisfying.

Tourists are always hiking by and taking photos of me working. I may be deluded…but from my perspective, cameras are cheating. Nevertheless, there are always problems working plein air due to the sun racing across the sky and the resulting movement of shadows.

In the studio, I can take the flawed plein air painting and fix it’s problems. I have my iPhone photos of where the shadows were, and my painting showing my interpretation of the colors. Cameras can’t begin to capture the colors my eye sees and imagines. I choose colors almost randomly. For example, my thought process might go like this:

Hmm, the drawing looks accurate, now what color am I going to paint all that white snow? It can’t all be shades of light blue or grey, that doesn’t look right. There is blown dirt on that snow, and some of the brown gray rock is wet from snow drainage, while some is bone dry and sand polished. If I can’t mix that exact color, would another color of the same value work?

An old saying in portraiture is: “Any color will work if the value is correct”. An example is a portrait painted with very wild colors. Meaning the flesh tones are barely seen, having been replaced with purples, greens,blues, you name it. But when you take a photo and convert it to gray scale (black and white), the portrait looks like normal skin. The values are correct, just not the hues. And this is where the art comes in. I have, on a good day, a gift for color.

I finished the two 36 inch mountain paintings and then faced the challenge of framing. I’d never framed anything that big. They were not only large “over the fireplace” style paintings, but they were on two inch deep canvas stretcher bars. My moulding from home depot is 3/4 inch deep. I needed moulding 2.5 inches deep.

Off to Lowes I went to get 24 feet of .75 x 2.5″ pine. I built the frame but my son’s borrowed miter saw is out of adjustment. I had up to 0.125 inch gaps at the joints. That meant week joints so I put triangles in the corners, along with the strainer pieces. The strainer is what the painting sits on, or “floats” in the frame.

The painting fit with a relatively accurate 0.25 inch gap all the way around. But then I began the nightmare of varnishing the frame. On my smaller frames I simply paint them with acrylic paint and gold leaf. But these deserved a piano gloss varnish…being so large and hopefully expensive. I got some Minwax Polyshades Stain + Poly in Satin – Espresso color. OMG, that stuff is a nightmare!

I painted it on very carefully, wiping down the drips and oozes repeatedly as it dried. Two hours later, the paint film had experienced some kind of weird gravity ooze. Forming ugly drips. It looked like a 7 year old had varnished the frame.

I sanded the bad paint off. But my 21 year old sander wasn’t cutting it. I bought a new velcro style corded Dewalt. So much faster and better! I painted it again even more carefully and it dripped again. I sanded it off again. For my third coat I used a rub on Danish Oil. That went on nicely, no drips. But it was’t the “coffee” stain color I wanted, even after two coats. For the third coat, I mixed in a bunch of black artist oil paint. I used about a 3 inch bead of Ivory Black in one quarter cup.

Finally I got the shade and varnish I wanted, but it dried like an oil painting…as in slow. Plus the darn thing was super heavy since this first one is painted on a canvas glued to a cradled board, not just canvas alone. Before starting the next frame I looked at youtube and found other frame makers were using half inch board, and they glued the strainer to the frame before cutting it in the miter saw. In theory this makes a strong frame since you are chopping through an “L” shape and it gets glued + nailed, in two dimensions…the side, and the bottom strainer piece. But the saw was still out of alignment and my miters were awful. I was able to patch it with putty…but jeez, I am such a bad carpenter.

To wrap up this overly long blog entry…I took the two framed monsters up to my gallery at the mountain. I thought he’d flip over this new work. I was so excited after two weeks of full time artist labor. I was like, rah, rah, this is going to be awesome! I was dreaming about them selling for a grand each.

But when I walked in and asked him if he wanted to see some new work, he replied that he had no more wall space and hadn’t sold my last oil painting. It was still hanging on his wall. Basically…”nah, I’m good, but keep painting, those are great”. He did give me some good feedback, preferring the knife painting the most, and said my frames were just right. He likes the floater style.

After that I realized I’d been taking my art too seriously. At the end of the day, it’s just a hobby, like Sue and her perfect yard. She loves to tinker out there, watering and pulling weeds. She doesn’t try to sell her hobby. It gives her satisfaction and that is enough. So I started making leather hats. I’ve made four so far using a youtube tutorial. I’m not a bad hat maker.

I have a long history with a climb called Battered Sandwich. I sent Alex up it on one of his first trips to Index. I’ve done it with my niece Pam and her friend Kena. My daughter got a cam stuck on it while following. When she lowered me down to retrieve the cam, I rubbed the knot in the chimney and core shot our brand new bicolor rope. I’ve hung all over the route in the 3 unique cruxes. One is off fists in the first 40 feet. At 50 feet it goes from fists to a body slot, but the body slot is smooth with nothing to grab. You’ve got pro at your feet, but nothing above you as you try and rock up into the bottom of the 8″ body slot. It’s extremely insecure.

Then the 8 inch slot gradually widens over the next 50 feet. You can walk a four and a 5 if you still have them. I only had a 5 yesterday. It’s a no fall situation. When you are walking your only cam for 30 feet you are risking a 60 foot whipper. So the move was: flex, push the cam up, unflex, wonk your way up above the cam, flex, reach down and move the cam up, repeat.

Eventually the slot opens up into a left facing flared chimney with hands in the back. It’s imminently climbable for 30 feet but then the hands turn into reds and greens. Which for my big mitts mean insecure again and I have to press my back against the flaring chimney since the hands are so strenuous. The chimney meanwhile is arching over towards less than vertical. At a certain point, right when the green cam sized crack becomes ring locks, you realize that you can sort of stand on the bottom of the chimney wall by pressing upward with your back. It’s steep friction, but just barely works.

A couple moves of that on increasing less steep footing, one more maxed out green or purple cam and you can reach a good hand hold and stand up. So for my hand size, it’s three cruxes: the off fists, the body slot, and the off hands at the top.

With all those challenges, I avoid it like the plague. Many people just top rope it. The party before us led up from the top of Wild Turkey and got a top rope on it. But Lisa G and I have some climbing chops and decided to give it a go. She got it clean with only minimal grunting. I was super nervous at the bottom, thinking all the worst case scenarios, including down climbing and going home.

But the terror starts slowly. After the runout start (bring extra reds just for that) it’s very solid hands leading into friendly blues. Just when you are getting comfortable (love my big hands) it gets bigger than steepled hands but not big enough for fists. So I was doing diagonal fists which is both painful and insecure. Right about then all the face holds on the left vanish into a blank vertical wall. But by committing both feet to the crack splitter style I was able to grunt my way past the bomb bay bulge in the crack. I slammed in one of my fours and the crack, even though it was bigger inside than fists, tapers at the outside to make perfect fists.

I happily walked my four up 10 feet and then arrived at the body slot…where there is nothing to grab but a rounded one by four inch ledge. I put my five in at the bottom of the slot, which was great. But then I had to climb above it into the body slot. I’m an old chicken and do not like climbing above my gear, but I manned up and made it work with a tipped out blue for a top rope piece.

A week later I did it again with Julia but brought three fours, so I had a much safer top rope piece at the body slot. A few days later Chris and I did Rattletale and Peanuts to serve you. I hung all over Rattletale pitch two. I’m blaming it on the heat. My hands were greasing out of what should have been secure yellows. She also had trouble on pitch three, so maybe it was just low tide. Couldn’t be that we are getting older.

The next day was my nephew John’s wedding, and then we followed Lisa and family to Leavy for Levi’s first birthday at 8 Mile campground. In the morning I led Lisa up Classic Crack. That thing is not getting easier as I get older. Maybe fresh from Indian Creek it would be a cruise, but I found I really had to focus on technique to get it clean, and that was just barely. The feet felt insecure, the good jams were over long reaches and I could feel my power ebbing. When I finally got up to the secure fists at the top I was breathing like a cart horse.

It was great to hang out as a family. As we walked from the campground to Classic, Lisa said she was having deja vu moments, remembering walking there with my parents, me holding her 5 year old hand. Now she was holding her own daughters hand, while I was the grandpa. It’s funny how age gives you this grand perspective back through time, looking down through the generations.

Speaking of grandparents, yesterday Clint had to work an unplanned shift. Sue went over at 6 to babysit. I pedaled over at noon to help. Rose was bouncing off the walls with Abby crawling under her. It was an accident waiting to happen. I asked Rose if she wanted to go for a walk. We walked down to the park together. I’d never taken her for a walk by myself. But there I was, an old white haired grandpa walking a three year old girl in a little white princess dress. Who saw that coming?

She reminded me of Wyatt, meandering along, stopping at every point of interest. But unlike Wyatt the dog, Rose could talk lucidly about the pretty yards, the fine old elegant brick houses. And she was so well trained, grabbing my hand at each street crossing, watching for cars. Getting old sucks, but there are these neat things that happen, like grandchildren.

I’ve been meaning to write up my last Utah trip. But I’ve delayed so long that it seems pointless. I’ll probably just post up a bunch of the photos. Part of my problem is that I’ve stopped subscribing to Photoshop. Gimp and or Affinity is a lot slower at processing photos.

On the plus side, I have been busy. In no particular order, I’ve complete a long list of projects.

• Invented a new ultralight wet painting carrier…on the third try
• Redesigned and cut the weight of my Upright Panel Holder (UPH) to 12 ounces down from 32oz.
• Sewed a new zippered brain for my rock pack. Zippers are so fragile!
• Finally learned the picking and singing for More to This (after two months)
• Changed the oil in RAV4 and on the Tundra: swapped out studs and greased ball joints
• Tightened my shoulders with exercises so I can play decent ping pong again.
• Painted Rainier twice plein air and twice in studio
• Climbed at City of Rocks, Leavenworth and Squamish
• Replaced an exterior door, who knew it was so much work!

Going back to the beginning, I got there in a day and a half. Meg showed up that night. I know Meg from the City of Rocks group and had climbed with her and Jill for a couple days. It was nice to have a partner show up. Not that I’m opposed to making new friends and partners face to face…that works great, it’s just less convenient for us bashful types.

We started out dead easy on a couple 5.8’s: Twin Cracks  and Triple Jeapardy. Meg didn’t think the stacked blocks on Triple were safe. She may be right. But they don’t move at all and I’ve climbed past them probably a dozen times now. People say the Creek starts at 5.10, but it’s not true if you hunt around. I never lead tens the first few days.

I saved a life Wednesday. We were packing up at the end of the day, no one around. We heard a shout from Twin Cracks 5.8. S. had her knee stuck 50 feet up and was hanging below, suspended from the knee. She’d been there for 15 minutes and was in tremendous pain. I climbed up and over her body to the anchor, then lowered down with a knife, water and lotion. I built her some aiders to stand in on my cams. After a scary 30 minutes we were getting nowhere, pouring water just made it worse. She kept saying that her knee needed to come out going down but it wasn’t working.

“Just grab my tights and pull!”

“Are you sure, they might rip and it could make it worse.”

“I don’t care, just yank on them, I have to get out of here!”

I grabbed her tights below her knee and yanked. I felt the fabric tearing but suddenly there was movement and her knee came free. We took some photos at the base, feeling very happy to have completed the rescue.

She started coming by our camp each night and became a quick friend. She joined us at Lighting Bolt crack and lent me her 6 and 7 for the offwidth.

We were climbing a 5.9 called Binous crack when we saw a 30 year old couple walking toward us with lost expression. They were looking at the wall, then down at their open guidebook. We all do it at new climbing areas. It’s one reason why I like repeating routes. You waste less time looking for stuff.

“You guys looking for something?”

“Oh, thanks. Yeah, we are looking for Chocolate Corner?”

“It’s about two rope lengths to climbers right.”

As they got closer they saw our line.

“What is that route that you’re on?”

“It’s a 5.9.”

“That looks pretty good.  We just got in last night, never been here before.”

“Ah, creek virgins!”

“Yupp, everything looks pretty hard. We are primarily boulderers but we do trad climb.”

“Would you like us to haul your rope up for you? Meg is about to clean this one. She could hang a top rope for you?”

“Oh man, that would be awesome, you don’t mind?”

“No, it’s the least we can do. I know what it’s like to walk up to these walls and get intimidated. Happy to help.”

Liam went first as we packed up our gear. He floated up it with no problem at all. We talked with his lovely girlfriend Chelsea as he climbed. She told us they were towards the end of an eight month road trip and had both taken sabaticals from their jobs near Squamish, Canada. He was a carpenter and she was something white collar?

They followed us over to Chocolate Corner where I had, again, backed off and handed the lead over to Meg. I have a complicated relationship with that climb. I’ve probably climbed it a dozen times, but only once clean. It’s red #1 Camalots, and my hands are two big to get secure jams.

Stronger, usually younger big handed climbers can stick their hands as deep as they will go…up to the start of the palm…and simply flex. With enough forearm power they can make their hands stick and climb up. The feet are fine. It’s a tight corner, less than 90 degrees so shoes are decent. It’s the hands though that have to hold on long enough to place gear.    

Meg got up Chocolate Corner just fine. I followed it with no problem, even finding some kneebar rests. 

The next day Chelsea and Liam joined us at the Blue Grama crag. I’d been hearing about it for years. But had avoided it because new crags often involve lots of searching.

Turns out it’s a very nice crag with a nine I flashed.

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/105717487/unnamed-9-aka-mexican-unicorn

A new easy nine at the creek is a rare bird.

Liam led a hard right facing corner.

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/105886695/unnamed-10-steep-thin-hands-dihedral-to-pod

It looked like too much work but later I wished I had taken the top rope. Pride has no place at the creek. One needs to be constantly building stamina and any top rope is a good top rope.

Meg led Petrilli Motors and I did TR that one, falling a couple times at a corner transition and at the crux. Kelsey flew through the crux. We were all watching and Cass said: “Yup, she is a gymnast!”

Cass showed up for the second week. Meg, Cass and I had a fun few days, including a rain rest day up at the ruins. I told them about my vision up there and we looked around. Meg left soon and Cass and I had a slow morning. It was her birthday so I offered to draw her portrait. Then in the afternoon I flailed my way up Generic Crack. Technically I have no problem with the moves. It’s the stamina issue that keeps me from getting it clean. I must have hung 4 times. Each time after a rest I climbed strongly before petering out again. Cass was so hot from belaying in the afternoon sun that she had to take a long rest in the shade before gamely cleaning my route. Not surprisingly, there was no one else up there, and this on a route that normally has parties waiting.

Cass left at the end of the second week. I spent two days painting at both Horseshoe Bend two hours south, and at the green river before picking up Chris at the airport.

We climbed at Donnelly where I led The Incredible Hand Crack almost cleanly: I grabbed one cam to clip the rope rather than taking a runout whipper on the roof. I’m calling it 98% clean. Chris also led it but didn’t get it clean due to it not being her hand size. We also climbed Horse Crack, Zits and Soulfire. For those that don’t know, that means two long approaches in one day. The second one, up to Optimator crag was a grueling sufferfest in broiling sun. That was the day we decided to never do two crags in one day…and to come down two weeks earlier next year.

On the last day she led Cave Route. One of my last memories from that day was her looking at Quarter of a Man. Christine and Julia were looking at 150 feet of reds and greens in a 90 degree corner. That encapsulates my last trip to the creek. Having just led Cave Crack, and it being our last day she was seriously considering Quarter of a Man. I’d not done it…it being light years out of my league…even in my prime…and not my size anyway. But it would have fit her. The determining factor was we were all tired from 4 days of climbing (her and Julia) and 3 weeks for me. Plus she didn’t have enough greens and reds. Her last word on the subject was: “I saw that really good German guy hanging on a green.”

I flailed on the easy 9 by railroad cracks. We were looking at Binous crack, and I was thinking it looked like too much trouble when I was saved by a rainstorm.  It rained all the way back to Salt Lake City airport. That night, our last at the creek, we played sad lonely cowboy songs around the campfire as the rained drummed down on the tarp overhead. At one point, as I chose another song about broken hearts she commented: “It’s weird you and I singing love songs together.”

“Ah yeah,” I replied. “We’re both thinking of our loved ones, who we miss very much and who are so far away.”

“And who I’ll be seeing tomorrow!”

“I know. It’ll take me 2 days to drive all the way home. You’re lucky to be catching a flight.”

Our last song, cast into the rainy desert night was “House of the rising sun”. We sang that song in perfect harmony. She really does have perfect pitch, and it was a joy to hear that flawless harmony blast out into the empty desert night.

Since Indian Creek I’ve now gone to Leavenworth, The City and Squamish.

In the midst of that I painted Rainier plein air twice. I liked the paintings so much I decided to upscale them to a studio version but much larger at 24 x 36. I’ve painted the mountain 22 x 30 before, and sold it to a friend. But this is the first time I’ve done it in oil.

Usually I try to finish plein air pieces in the studio. They often have rough edges that need refinement: passages that were hurried due to changing light. But I’d forgotten how relaxing it can be to take my time on a large painting in studio over multiple days. 

It does tend to drag on like work, but I enjoy the process and sense of purpose a multi day painting brings. Being retired gets boring, there are days when I almost miss work. But the opposite is true also. On my 3 day trip to Squamish with Dave we were doing up to 7 pitches a day followed by long walk offs or 4 pitch rappels, plus a walk off. Incidentally, you can do four 30 meter raps from 100 feet below Karen’s Math to a short trail down to the car. It’s vastly superior to the Broadway Decent.

Anyway, after three days of doing either new routes (Welcome to the Jungle and Long time no See) or 7 pitch routes (St. Vitus to Karens to Memorial), I needed a rest day. Dave doesn’t tolerate rest days and left. I could have tried to get a spot and a partner at the Chief campground but was more in the mood to hang with Sue and paint, so I left too. 

I liked the big 24 x 36 inch studio painting so much I painted a copy of it same size, but this time I used palette knife. Knife painting is fun because the colors are so bright, but jeez it’s labor intensive! The first one is on canvas glued (Miracle Muck) to a cradled board. The whole cradled board concept is fine up to a point. Yes, the paintings are well protected, and glue is archival and reversible. But what I didn’t know is that a cradled board that big is very heavy…and that’s before you add the frame.

In researching it on youtube, I’m finding that artists have traditionally painted on canvas because at the end of the day it’s easier for the artist. It’s true that the painting is much more vulnerable to damage. I know it sounds harsh, but once it’s sold it’s not my problem if you poke a hole through it.

If the painting doesn’t sell, a cradled painting has to be stacked like furniture. Large paintings on canvas can be unstapled from the stretcher bars and rolled up. Van Gogh sold one painting during his life. But he always worked on canvas for convenience. When he died, his family found a shed full of rolled up, unsold canvases, stacked like cordwood.

Large canvases are surprisingly light. Sure, they are fragile…it’s just cloth. But museums are full of large paintings on canvas, and many are 200 years old.

Anyway, long story short, I’m getting tired of working in the studio. It feels too much like a job. Aren’t I supposed to be retired? I tried to make a frame for the first thirty six incher. Not only was it confusing and delicate carpentry to make my first floating frame, but varnishing is awful. How in the hell do people learn that stuff? Mine looks like a 6 year old was finger-painting. And the float leaves a huge gap where light can come through the frame. How do I fill that…paper?

In any un-curated blog there will be gems and boring stuff. It’s the nature of writing. You have to get past the choss to get to the good stuff. If you don’t write the choss, the good stuff never sees the light of day. Without further ado, here are some of my favorites, organized by most recent. I will add to this list as time goes on:

• Solo at the Creek spring 2023
• I had a vision at Indian Creek fall 2022
• Seven year itch or the nature of marriage
• Playing guitar
• Humble Creek fall 21
• Crampons and wildfires
• My daughter’s wedding
• Marty, off belay
• My son’s wedding
• River runs through it, snow at Josh
• Fletch and I put on a concert
• Hippie days and the girl from Venice Beach 1973
• A link into my main, not WordPress, website for portrait paintings
• Directory of my favorite campfire songs in pdf form
• Alphabetical listing of posts from my old website, not mobile friendly

I love my little purple .5 Linkcam. It’s the perfect panic cam for finger cracks. But I broke the trigger wire two years ago and then Omega went out of business. I also had a booty BD Ultralight with a broken trigger wire. Normal cams are easy. I can do them at the picnic table with weed wacker plastic string. All I need is a stove to melt the plastic. That solution has been around for 10 years.

But Linkcams and Ultralights are much harder due to proprietary connectors and ultra thin wires. I bought some 1/24″ stainless braided wire and a crimper tool with assorted crimping sleeves.

I also bought some specialty wire:

I did the Ultralight first because it was easier. First step was to put the old crimps in the vice and grind them off with my rasp file. The solid wire that pins into the cam lobes is half the thickness of the normal cams…which is why they had to wrap it in rubber…but they break just as easy.

I tried to simply bend a bight and stick it into the trigger bar, but I’d used thicker more durable braided cable and it wouldn’t fit into the retaining pinch. So I had to manually weave one end at a time into the trigger bar…that worked great.

You can see the skinny solid wires here. Notice how I’ve carefully guessed at where in the ‘throw travel’ the trigger bar needs to be buttoned down, then cut the wires with enough overlap for the crimp sleeve.

Crimping the swage.

I had a really hard time holding the squirrely wires, swages (sleeves) and braided cable in alignment with the cam lobes and trigger bar. Later my wife gave me a second pair of hands, but this ‘third hand’ soldering tool helped hold it all in place for the crimping.

The linkcam was a bugger. They use proprietary pressed in connectors. I was unable to press out the pins in the lobes. Instead I used Dremel wheel to grind off the old eyebolt style cable connector. Then I fabricated a new one using a drill and a metal hole puncher…and some jewelers files. I put a tapering slot into it like you find on the back of smoke alarms that need to be mounted on a flat head screw on the wall. I figured I could simply crimp the “arm” on my new eyebolt to the new cable, then crimp the new cable to the original cable. My work is never pretty. If I can get it functional it’s a good day.

Because the cam lobes need spring tension, it was difficult to guess at how many turns I needed to rotate the cam lobe to get it back to manufacturers spec. I went with two turns from the relaxed state and compared that with the working side. The tension seems to be holding my slotted eyebolt in place so far.

I’ve been slacking on regular entries. I do like to write, but I’m often too disorganized to post up through WordPress. Truth is I forgot my password and digging it out of my password manager is a pain. Why are browsers so intent on forgetting passwords?

Lately I’ve been doing random writing in my Notes app, which I used to replace Evernote. Evernote was essential when I was working, but now it’s not worth the price…same story with Photoshop.

Anyway, here is a month of random writing:

March 10

Handsome Dave and I sat on the Air Guitar ledge in the warm afternoon sunlight pondering our next move. On a lot of trips, it’s go go go all day long. But after the long cold and wet winter that desert sun felt amazing. And we had been climbing steady since leaving the parking lot at 9AM. 

I also love the view out over the Columbia River gorge. From our ledge on the cliff we could see for at least 20 miles. It’s completely wild with no sign of civilization in sight, other than the distant abandoned highway leading down to the river.

So far that day I’d led Party in Your Pants 5.8.

Dave had led George and Martha 10a, to start his day off easy. I’d followed like a fish out of water, complaining at every missed jam and side pull.

Next I’d led Clip ‘em or Skip ‘em….barely. My power drain was ugly. All those sessions at the gym were for nothing. Looking up at the bolt spacing…twice the gym spacing, was scary. My eyes kept locking onto the razor sharp dinner plate flakes waiting to cut my rope in a fall.

But I managed to cop a few one hand shakeout rests. And the thin spots are thankfully short, always followed by huge jugs.

Next Dave led Stroken the Chicken. I was surprised to find it to be very similar to Pony Keg, but with better rock. I’m thinking it could be safe with 3 yellows, 5 blues and 4 fours, plus a normal single rack down to half inch. Those were some stellar moves above the chockstone. Practically offwidth stacked hands. 

Speaking of the chockstone, our rope got stuck. And it was only a 50 meter, so our options were limited. Dan Kerns was there: “Looks like you guys could be done by dark?”

I was very uneasy about rescuing the rope. We needed to lead Whipsaw 5.9 in order to get above the chockstone, then swing down and over-around an arete. I’d barely got up the much easier Clip ‘Em route. Dave got the rope down and then it was my lead.

The temps were perfect. Shirt sleeve weather, 6 knots of wind. The views out across the desert were lovely in the alpen glow. We were sitting at the base of Pony Keg 5.9, which Matt had just led. I lead it every trip to Vantage, often using it as a warm up. 

But I was tired, and I didn’t know why. PMR is always with me, but I’d also taken ibuprofen, so that wasn’t the real reason for not leading it. I started talking out loud, trying to sort through my conflicting feelings. Climbing is dangerous, and attitude is huge. 

I don’t like gear at the bottom, the rock is really shattered. But those shattered edges are good hand and foot holds. 

There is a good purple, green and red in the bottom 25 feet. After that, there is a stem rest, followed by a short section of “go” before a sketchy yellow, quickly followed by even better edges mixed with the beginnings of hand jams. 

After that the jams and gear get much better because there is less shattering. 

Plus there is that lovely line of solid bolts protecting Whip Saw. I can reach out and clip or lower on them at any time.

And you are down here to rescue me if I blow out and can’t finish it.

I should just do it. What’s the worst that could happen?

Now Mark, you should never ask your climbing partner that question.

Alright. I’m not feeling it but I’ll start up and have a look see.

In the event, I mostly kept my cool. We won’t mention the 3 bolts I clipped because I didn’t trust my cams. I found a bunch of thin but workable stem rests due to wearing my newly resoled custom built green and yellow shoes. When I got to the fist section, I endured the painful jams long enough to walk my blues up. There are always more hand jams even though it’s fists. You just have to reach farther in where it narrows.

I kept finding stem rests, even as I was fighting the sections where it was too big for hands, but too small for fists. Those diagonal fists are awful. I kept going past the Whip Saw anchors and found it harder than described. It was fists in semi shattered rock. And it didn’t lean over as promised. There is 20 new feet up there now for which I had no muscle memory. But the new bolted anchor is awesome. 

I’m still trying to figure out my calorie needs for climbing days vs days in the city. Starting with lunch and dinner the day I left town, I ate normally. Though my dinner was a Fred Meyer Super Salad and three chicken breasts. Way back in the day when we were mountain climbing we were taught that pizza was the best dinner for the night before. Ton’s of carbs and protein.

Anyway, in the frigid 25 degree morning I had two yogurts before Dave rolled in. I ate a chicken burrito for lunch and was hungry for more but didn’t have anything.

Driving back I ate a wine sausage and some popcorn. I coudn’t stop for better food because there was already too much solo driving in the dark to get home for Sue’s stupid Will appt. the next day. You don’t get to enjoy your new will until you’re dead, so that was not a fun way to spend $650. She ponied up the funds.

I waited a day to weigh and found that I hadn’t undone all my progress. I was still at 168.  We did our usual routine of playing ping pong and pedaling the hills while I continued on with my intermittent fasting mostly vegan diet.

Yesterday, I got really hungry at noon. I sort of hit a wall and had to break my fast, snacking on some peanut butter and a banana. Then a mid afternoon snack of almonds and I even broke down and had a slice of bread and butter. The body wants what it wants.

So this morning I was afraid I’d be up to 170 again…since I’d broken my fast early and all. But I saw 166 on the scale. I guess that punching through the 168 plateau wasn’t a fluke. Instead of sitting on the couch I rode my Schwinn Aerodyne while watching the State of the Union rebuttal speech. That woman was an alarmingly bad speaker. And her facts were scrambled. Politics in general suffers from a lack of integrity. I miss Obama, or even the Bushes. They had charisma and could speak well without sounding over the top. 

So Mister 166 pedaled to the gym today. I was there until 5:30, still fasting. But more surprising: I climbed strong. I got up the hard white on the left with the sculpted door knob holds. Craig got it onsight clean and we talked about why I have to work up to that kind of power while he climbs off the couch. Youth and natural ability is remarkable. I also onsighted the new black in the SE corner, and the ten plus red in the SW corner. It’s the stem box with the big gaston holds. It’s very tenuous making the moves on half inch hands and feet.

March 24

I just got off my unicycle at Cheney Stadium. This is my third ride of the year, having cut back due to my ongoing issues with long covid – joint inflammation – PMR – old age…what ever you want to call it. I still have some grace…but it gets overwritten by sheer terror. The damn uni is so unstable it feels like I’m going to tumble off and break a hip any second. I’m bullheaded enough to keep trying, which is both brave and stupid at the same time.

I’ve given up on the unassisted standing start, but it’s in my future. I need to study some tutorials again.

I met Dave at Smith Friday through Monday. He had up to 6 Bend locals joining us every day. He says they all met through Cass, who has dropped off the radar. And I think I introduced him to Cass, which is weird. 

We started with Dragon, Mandy, Chris and a few others at the Cinnamon Slab 5.easy routes. That was a perfect way to get up to speed on the welded tuff nubbins.

We started at Phoenix buttress on Hissing Lamas:

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/105822353/hissing-llamas

I hung twice on this thin 5.8. Chris and Carly were a lot of fun.

Then I led did Wannabe Llamas with one hang.

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/108166810/wannabe-llamas

I recently discovered the Vertical World North climbing gym because we were looking to practice offwidth crack climbing. We used to go to their southerly location back before our local gym expanded. It was a fun way to get out of town and climb taller walls. Plus the South gym did have some nice cracks, though nothing was true offwidth.

This new North location has all the normal stuff as far as bouldering, toproping and leading steep sport routes. Plus it has the usual well equipped exercise area with free weights and aerobic machines like stair steppers and ellipticals. 

And unlike many gyms they still have the (semi) dangerous auto-belays. These seat belt retractor style devices aren’t dangerous in and of themselves, they’re well engineered. But complacent, some might say spacey climbers, and the lack of buddy checks have led to many tragic auto belay accidents.  If you’re smart, focused and constantly vigilant, auto belays are awesome due to the fact that you don’t need to bring a partner. 

But what really makes this gym special, and worth the trip, even if you don’t live in Seattle…is the cracks. To our great surprise, we were the only ones climbing the cracks. Everyone else was pulling on plastic. 

Starting with the smallest, they have a ring lock crack that varies in width from half an inch to three quarters of an inch. That means rattly fingers if you have small hands, and lockers if you have extra large hands like me. 

Next is a standard yellow number 2 camalot sized crack. This is perfect hands for most people. If  you like Classic Crack in Leavenworth, you’ll like this crack. And it has an auto-belay, so you can cruise up and down it without a partner. 

Next up are two variations on a blue number 3 camalot crack. With my XL sized hands, I was able to get easy steeples or tight fists in both of them. My friend with small hands really struggled with these two number 3 cracks. She had to do elbow jams or shaky butterfly jams to make progress.

But the best crack of all, especially if you are training for Moab’s  Indian Creek is the number 5 crack. Even my huge fists didn’t fit. I stuck them in hoping for at least a marginal fist jam…but it was nothing but air on both sides of my hand. It was the proverbial hotdog in a hallway scenario.  This crack is also in a corner, with one of the fist cracks nearby if you need to cheat. Anyway, it’s a fantastic size for learning your worst case off-width skills. It wasn’t big enough for double fists for either of us. It was hand fist stacking. 

But the crack is too wide to get any kind of heel toe jam. Initially neither of us could make uphill progress. We were completely shut down. After much struggle we found that we could get a secure no hands jam by sticking our left leg in up to the thigh. Then by contorting our hips we jammed our right leg in up to the knee doing a toe-knee bar. With both legs deep in the crack and sort of opposing each other, we could let go with our hand fist stacks long enough to slide them up. Once my hands were secure, I’d pull my legs out, do an insecure right leg heel toe to step up, then jam my left thigh back in and lock my lower body in place with some knee to toe opposition on my right leg. With my lower body locked into the crack, the only way to reach my hands higher was a sit up. We need to shoot video of this.

This was a full body, heart pounding workout. I couldn’t climb more than about 15 feet before hanging on the toprope to rest. But wow, such good practice! This comes very close to some of the 5.11 offwidth nightmares at Indian Creek. 

Beyond that, they had the usual wide selection of cubbies and lockers. They also had some really cool free electronic lockers for phones, keys and wallets. You stick your things in the little 7 inch steel cubes, press a button, program your personal code and shut the door. That was so cool to know that my valuables were safe without having to bring a lock.

Vertical World was the first climbing gym in America. I remember going there in 1988. I’m really glad to see they are still running a tight ship!

At Thanksgiving I stepped on the scale and was shocked to see my highest number ever: 176. This is partly because of the prednisone I’m taking to treat PMR (Polymyalgia Rheumatica). That started in April, 2023 with my last (second) bout of Covid. I got really stiff joints during my week of Covid symptoms. But the stiff joints, and a cough stayed for months. In my mind it was just Long Covid. But by August I was concerned enough to bail on a Squamish trip and drop into our local clinic. I could barely climb, and some days barely get out of bed because my knees, shoulders, neck, hips and elbows were locked up.

The PA, for lack of a better idea, prescribed a 9 day dose of Prednisone, which cured my symptoms overnight. She sent me to a Rheumatologist a month later who prescribed a smaller dose of prednisone in a year long declining dose called a taper. I’m six months in and have the dose down to 4mg a day. Some people online are saying that you shouldn’t lower your dose below your pain level. But I’m willing to accept some pain because this drug is all kinds of bad.

After my yearly physical a couple weeks ago I was warned about high Cholesterol. She advised another drug for that. But I didn’t want to add more pharmaceuticals. I’ve been down this road before. You go to a physical feeling great, and all you get is gloom and doom. That’s why I waited 3 years since my last one.

Years ago I found I could lower my cholesterol and improve other numbers by going on what is basically a vegan diet. No red meat, flour or sugar. And especially stay away from the delicious $9 a pound hot bar at Metro Market. That had become a regular thing. I’d load up on mac and cheese, cheesy lasagna, meatballs, basically anything that looked delicious. And this was typically after Sue and I had exercised on the hills. We had a “we earned it” attitude. And the pounds packed on.

One of the reasons I don’t get too worked up about Cholesterol reports is because of my grandma. When she was 97 she was still living alone, with her dog, in her old house on the West Side. This would have been around 1990. Dad was doing for grandma what Sue is now doing for her mom, taking her groceries, helping out whenever needed. Anyway, dad took her for her yearly physical. They told grandma that her cholesterol was high and she should change her diet, or maybe even get on some pills to reduce her cholesterol.

Grandma asked the doctor what cholesterol was. The doctor told her it was something they had just invented. It was a way to measure, or predict your predisposition towards heart attacks and strokes. Grandma just laughed and told the doctor that she had got to 97 just fine and wasn’t about to make any changes. She lived another 2 years before old age finally got her.

She used to tell me that she wasn’t having very much fun anymore. She had out lived all of her friends and siblings. She had her vinyl talking books, church every Sunday, and the occasional visits from family on holidays. But other than that it was a lonely life. I went down and drew her portrait once. She loved that and we talked a lot about art and getting older.

Huh. I just looked and I don’t seem to have any photos online of my two drawings of Grandma. I’ll have to look into that.

I do have friends who have died from heart attacks though. I mean, I’m not oblivious of the dangers of clogged arteries. A couple weeks ago I combined intermittent fasting with the vegan diet. I have the occasional slab of salmon or chicken, but only between 5pm and 10pm. Sometimes I breakdown at 3pm if I’m really hungry. My motto is: “Hunger is not a problem I need to fix.” I know it sounds elitist, very first world…but this is where I live. I also like the clarity that comes with fasting. It’s like my body is on high alert, constantly looking for food. I’ll catch a whiff of someone eating food and my senses light up. That doesn’t happen when you eat normally.

So anyway, I was very pleased to see 166 pounds on the scale this morning, down from 176 at Thanksgiving. Now to go get some exercise, and skip the reward afterward. I was just perusing some old journal entries and I found one from May 21, 1999. In it, I complain about 165 being fat. Jeez, I’ve really slipped up in the last 30 years.