Webster Art

I’ve been playing a lot and decided to record some amateur music videos. I have real microphones but they can’t plug into an iPhone without an audio interface box. I use the Presonus AudioBox iTwo. Here are the two videos.

And here is the music video. I just got the Elvis mic and promptly poured Red Bull on it while babysitting my son’s two kids for two nights. There is a reason only young people have children. It’s a lot of work. Sue was there but we both got worked. On the plus side, they used the time to have a new baby.

There is a feel good article in the WaPo this morning about Jewish grandma’s setting up shop on the sidewalks of New York and offering free advice to random passerby’s. It reminded me of how much I miss my dad. At 32 we had a one year old and I was stuck in a dead end blue collar printing job.

I’d worked there 11 years running simple machines and needed a change. Imagine an oil change guy who wants to move up to repairing engines for more pay. The shop was so small there was no where to go up. It was a family run business and they had the administrative jobs. Not that I wanted them, I enjoyed working with my hands. But I knew I was capable of a lot more.

Through one of the visiting ink salesman I heard of a job 30 miles aways where I’d grown up and my parents still lived in the old family home. I knew the company was on shaky ground but it was a bigger machine and I desperately needed a change. I took the job and six months later they fired me and promptly went bankrupt.

I got let go at noon and went for a walk around my old teenage stomping grounds. I ended up at the State Supreme Court where dad worked as the bailiff, a job he’d had since ’65. When court wasn’t in session his job was pretty chill and he could take breaks whenever.

Ever since I was a stoned out hippy I knew he was always there and happy to see me. I could have easily dropped by to see mom up the hill, but I gravitated toward dad. He knew I was supposed to be at work and was surprised to see me walk into his office.

I got fired dad.

Ah, I’m sorry to hear that, I knew you had high hopes for your new job.

Yeah, they said I was too slow and I was hurting their profits.

Well I’m sure it was more than that. They have been in trouble for years.

Hey, did you know I got fired more than a dozen times?

What!! No way. I’ve never heard that. You only had two jobs in the last 30 years.

Yup, it’s true. Before I got that city desk job at the newspaper where you kids were born I bounced around reporting jobs for years. I’d work for a while, make the editor mad or the paper would close and I’d get fired. It happened over and over. The newspaper business is much more volatile than the printing trade. I had jobs at papers up and down the west coast from Sitka to San Francisco.

Geez dad, I had no idea. You were a rock as long as I can remember.

It took me years to learn how to keep a job. I reported on some hot button issues and would get all worked up.

Well, I feel better now. This is the first time I’ve been fired. I had that cushy job for 11 years. I was the foreman there and they loved me.

It won’t be your last if you are anything like me. There is always another job out there. You are a smart, honest young man with a lot of skills, you’ll be fine.

I walked out of there feeling much better and began pounding the pavement. I developed a routine where I’d hit as many print shops in day as possible. I even developed some subterfuges to get past the front desk. I quickly realized that I had to get past the desk to the foreman who could hire and fire. If I walked in and asked for the foreman the secretary would say he was busy.

I learned to call first and ask for the foreman’s name, saying I wanted to mail him a resume. Then I’d walk in the front door with a big smile and ask for Bob. Many times the desk lady thought I was a personal friend, otherwise why would I be smiling and know his name?

Other times I’d walk straight in the back entrance. Shops back then always kept the alley door open for ventilation and deliveries. Printing uses a lot of solvents and creates clouds of paper dust, air circulation is critical. I’d circulate in and talk shop with the pressmen, resume in hand. That particular time I got a job in ten days.

I found a shop up in Silverdale whose pressman had quit. The guy was desperate. I heard about the job from another boss nearby who didn’t need help but knew someone who did.

I meant this to be a blog post about grandmas. I’m married to one now. The kids and their kids come over regularly, or we drop by their houses. We just hang out. Sue does a lot of babysitting when they get in a pinch. Neither has a sitter. They both take turns with their spouses watching the kids, and rely on grandparents for un-avoidable complications. Both of my kids spouses have parents within an hours drive. Unlike a lot of people, our kids never left the state, or even the county, for college. So there is no need to ask advice of a bubbe on the sidewalk. They just come home. We are very fortunate.

I made my first YouTube short!

There have been bear warning signs up all summer at Squamish. They described an aggressive bear that was dragging packs away from climbers. We were joking about it on previous trips but this time it was no joke.

C. was top roping an 11 and had just arrived at the anchors when the bear ambled into view on the trail 30 feet away. We’d heard it was nearby from other climbers who had mentioned it was near but minding its own business.

Because I was belaying I had nowhere to go. I could have climbed up the rope with the grigri, but the bear would have easily caught me. Instead, like any self respecting tourist, I got out my phone and took pictures. It seemed to not see me or the other climber behind me. It couldn’t have missed us, it simply had no interest in us.

But C.’s pack clearly smelled tasty because it dragged it a few feet towards some bushes. C. saw her pack getting mauled from the anchors 60 feet up and threw a quickdraw. The bear was used to thrown things and did not react. I was told later that running toward it with bear spray would have been bad.

About 7 people were in the area (Free and Easy, Smoke Bluffs) and all were shouting “Hey Bear!” I kept shooting pictures. It was nerve-racking being trapped in a corner with the bear out front. An apex predator of that size is not part of my normal day. C. later said she wasn’t concerned about me at all. Rather she was worried about her new backpack.

Good duck hunting dogs are trained to swim out and retrieve ducks using a ‘soft mouth’ so they don’t damage the meat. The bear must have learned early on that human food is better when it isn’t mangled. Her pack was covered in bear slobber but no holes.

At camp that night I played Piano Man all the way through. I’ve mastered the harmonica parts and my guitar harp brace works great. I was dimly aware of some headlamps in the next campsite. C. was singing with me in her clear perfectly pitched soprano voice. At the finish we heard clapping and a loud: “That was awesome guys, holy shit!!”

C. later said that she’d never seen me so happy. I guess the neighbors applause was just what I needed. She asked me if I had ever wanted to be a performing artist and I admitted that I had.

My unicycle journey has been mixed. I have some residual cramping and popping going on in my right knee. I don’t know what it is, but it could be Long Covid PMR. It hurts a bit sometimes though it’s also prone to vanish. We’ve been driving to a local grade school where there is a long sidewalk along a cyclone fence. But that is only 50 meters.

I’ve been focusing on a perfect start off the fence. That means well balanced and in control as I start moving. But today I drove to where there is a sidewalk with a quarter mile of fence. It’s on an inlet into the harbor. Best of all it’s sort of a lost bike path, meaning most people don’t even know it’s there because the entrances aren’t obvious.

I got on that today and saw the fence and asphalt stretching out before me with no people anywhere, just some seagulls. I spent at least half an hour falling repeatedly, barely pedaling 40 feet. I couldn’t find my groove and considered giving up. But I remembered that speed is your friend.

But to get up to speed you can’t fall off during liftoff. So I thought, maybe a flawless start isn’t important. Maybe I need to start wildly and just fight for it, flailing arms and all. And that worked. I launched off the fence left side, which I hate, and just flailed chanting “fight for it, fight!!” Soon I was reaching cruising speed (a fast walk) and could relax a little.

There is a whole other set of skills involving cruising: things like balancing weight between pedals and seat, leaning forward, holding hands down to sides…and waiting for the groove. Sounds weird to say that but if you’ve ever pursued excellence in a tricky sport like windsurfing, speed skating, climbing, you’ll know what the groove is. It’s also called getting in the zone.

A few days ago I went out after the rains and rode the entire length of the boat house bike path several times, once without stopping. As I left I looked uphill toward the skybridge. I’ve never ridden uphill but gave it a shot. Surprisingly, uphill is more stable because you have to push hard on every pedal stroke. Who knew? On the level you have to balance forward and back pedaling, but uphill it’s all forward pushing. This means you can focus on leaning forward, pushing hard, while also going slower. It’s a win win. My 45 year old badly healed broken ankle complains after each long ride. It doesn’t like all the jumping off at speed. That pain is the same reason why I don’t like pickleball.

When I skate no one ever says anything to me. Skaters are common down there and there are some extremely graceful skaters. One young woman is a goddess on skates. I’m just a clumsy old man exercising. But on my unicycle I’m a one off. People stop me every time I go out. They exclaim that it looks really hard, I’m super brave, did I know I’m missing a wheel?

Yesterday, I rode past a woman in her 50’s. I got about 60 feet past her before doing a moving dismount. This means I stepped off at walking speed, running a few steps while the uni tumbled to a stop behind me.

“That was a great push there, nice effort!”

“Oh, thanks, it’s a scary sport!”

“What made you want to try such an unusual sport? I’ve never seen a unicycle.”

“Oh, I guess it was because my brother was able to ride one when I was 10. But I couldn’t figure it out. I promised myself I’d try it eventually; like a bucket list thing. I’m retired now and have the time to try weird sports.”

“Well, congratulations! I’m sure by next summer you’ll have it in the bag and be cruising all over.”

James and I went to Squish for 10 days. We did a ton of routes with the highlight being 6 pitches on St. Vitus Dance. I led the crux pitch while James led the long hands to off width below. We had to climb in the shade a lot.

Cool shady crags are Shannon Springs wall to left of Shannon Falls, nice slabby 5.9 there. Octopus garden after 3PM. Crag X and Laughing Crack before 11.

Two weeks later I went to the City of Rocks with V. We started on Windance. I led the right friction start route in my brand new brown Scarpa shoes. Felt very rusty at 5pm after leaving T-town the previous night at 7:30 PM.

Carols Crack gave me trouble. I was having an off day and it felt harder than normal. At the crux I placed a half inch wired nut. Placing the nut made me even more tired. But while climbing above it my tank ran dry and I found myself airborne. V easily caught my fall. I climbed back up and sent. My best lead was the 9 right of Carols. It’s a lovely crack with sweet steep hands and bulging face moves on huge wacos.

I also led the 9 at Lost World. That is such a fantastic move. You step left to grab a side pull jug. Then step up on tippy toe holds. I matched feet then stretched right to the flake. Done! Such beautiful movement with super close bolts through the meat and potatoes.

When I climbed at the gym last week with Terry I was weak. I could barely get up the white 10B that used to be easy. Went downhill from there. Maybe tired from the trip to City? I was only 4 days home. Week later I went today with C L and was strong again. I led the 10B easily and even onsighted a blue 10C. I also easily led another 10+ that has stymied me in the past.

The day prior I rode my unicycle for the first time in 4 months. I got as far as 60 feet and was finding that sweet spot where my weight is balanced between my feet and my saddle. The uni flows at the point. Things fall away and it gets quiet, really magical how that works.

I’d forgotten how to ride, but not how to dismount. I was stepping off in perfect control, maybe a few quick running steps at the worst. It’s such a remarkable sport. So much better than bicycling or skating. As Sue commented, I used to be really good and could ride up to 4 miles. I so, so need to learn the free start. Leaning on fences is causing me endless frustration.

Rose promised Sue to hold my hand on our walk a few days ago. I didn’t trust her after our last walk where she ran off down the block. With these old knees I can’t chase her down. So I walked the bicycle. Rose in one hand, the bike in the other. She was really good and listened like a well trained dog. On the return walk she asked me why I brought the bike if I was just going to walk it.

”I didn’t trust you Rose.”

”But I promised Grandma not to run!”

It seems like such a simple thing, but to see her mind growing those essential logic chains like cause and effect, and the meaning of promises. Watching these grandkids grow up is…I don’t have words. If you know, you know.

I saw a silly article in the WaPo about relationships and the challenges of dating. This was my response:

This article complicates something very simple. Turn off your phones and computers. Pursue excellence in something outside that makes you sweat. You will find your future mate there doing the same thing. Active outside people are fit, beautiful, fun and friendly. For me, my wife, our kids and all of my friends our passion is rock climbing. Once you develop some skill and power you won’t be single for long. I’ve seen it happen over and over. It really is that simple. Now I gotta go pack for my next trip. By the way, my wife and I are 71.

I haven’t written in two months. This usually means I’ve been having lots of fun living life instead of writing about it. But life seems so short, and when I don’t write about it, did it really happen?

At the end of May my old buddy Cole and Taryn rolled in to Leavy and I drove over to meet them. I met Cole about 8 years ago up in Squamish. All of my partners had left (Marty, Chris, etc) so I had posted for partners on the Squamish climbers website. I was halfway to the border when Cole called me out of the blue. We climbed for 3 days and had a great time.

We’ve met every few years ever since in places like Vegas, Jtree, The Creek, Smith, etc. He and I climbed Midway Direct, Dog Leg and Classic. One evening I played guitar for the two of them on the deck of their Hotel room. There were very kind and cute, holding hands and clapping after every song. Cole also plays but didn’t that night. Taryn was very bubbly and a strong trad climber. Cole is a lucky guy.

I told them Paul’s Ice Cream truck joke one evening. They liked it.

Taryn: So let me ask you something 

Me: uh oh here it comes

What do you mean?

Oh, I thought I was in trouble after telling that ice cream truck joke.

No, no, the opposite. Have you always been this funny? I mean, you’re a riot to hang out with. Have you always been that way?

Me: Wow, tough question. I guess I learned it from my family. There were 20 of us cousins and aunts uncles. Everyone was always joking around and laughing. 

The kids used to decorate my unkle Ed’s bald head with lettuce. 

Maybe we didn’t take ourselves seriously, I don’t know

For sure we all loved to laugh. I guess I learned at the feet of masters.

Did you grow up with a large family? 

Taryn: No, not at all. 

Me: Huh. We were always laughing. For Presbyterians we knew how to let our hair down.

We would have ping pong tournaments at Thanksgiving starting in junior high all they way up into my forties. My Unkle Ed was a master, but gradually as he got older and I grew into adult hood I started to be his equal at the table. The entire family of up to 25 aunts, parents, siblings, cousins and grandparents would gather around to watch and cheer. There was plenty of trash talking too, though as Presbyterians we called it something else.

City of Rocks over 50 meet up

I drove to meet old friends in Idaho around June 5th and met Joan in the morning. We did Bath Time for our first climb. The rap anchors were gone so we walked off down the back side where there are iron rungs. I’ve always belayed it in the past but Joan promised to throw me a line if I got nervous.

Mark and family were there and he led me up the nine to the right of Carols. It’s lovely and eats gear. The crux is far shorter than Carols.

I led Fred Rasmussen early on and discovered my Creek head game was lost. The weather was extremely hot. We would have welcomed a little rain as in previous years. Toward the end it did rain once.

I kept jonesing to get down to Lost World but that never happened. We did spend a day at King of Throne where I led a 9. We did the usual ascents on Elephant Rock. Tim had a stark moment at the rap station. He is so solid on his bare feet that he scampers all over without a rope. Suzy and I had done our usual belayed traverse along the top to the anchors. But when it was Tims turn he just waltzed over unroped. I was so used to his antics that I didn’t think anything of it as he stood there with his back to the abyss fiddling around his harness for his rappel device.

Suzy and I were both anchored. I was probably anchored twice with my daisy and a sling. But not Tim. And he wasn’t going to lose his balance, the Wacos are huge up there. But that drop was right behind him. It’s not exactly flat. Not a hanging belay, but it’s on a doming over cliff edge.

But Suzy hasn’t been around Tim as much as I have. She reached out, bless her heart, and gently grabbed Tim by his sleeve. As soon as I saw that, I also reached out and grabbed a gear loop. No way was he dying on our watch. The next party inline for the rap saw what we’d done and nodded approval. Tim immediately claimed that he was perfectly safe, but he daisy’d in after that. Call us paranoid, and you’d be right. But no one died that day.

Memorable routes were Windance with Tim and Suzy. Also the epic on Theater of Shadows after Synocranium. Everyone else thought it was too hot, but it turned out to be warm with a nice breeze. My partner there was Mari from Squamish. Our two teams of Tim and his son Zack, plus me and Mari cruised through the 6 pitches with ease.

Back at the base it was heating up and Mari wisely decided to descend while Tim, Zack and I walked over to Theater of Shadows. When we arrived the heat was kicking in and we three took a short nap in the shade at the bottom of the route. We liked the idea of doing both routes in one day, but climbing in the heat is daunting. Finally Tim mustered up some energy and started up. At bolt number 6 he slipped and took what should have been a very safe 5 foot fall.

We were surprised to see him immediately grab his hand in pain.

“Fuck, Fuck!!!”

“You OK up there?”

“No, I’m not. Fuck, God Dammit!”

“What’s going on, did you get a road burn?”

“Fuck, you’d better lower me, I’m done.”

“Here, I’ve got to keep pressure on it, but I’ll show you guys just once.”

“Oh shit, that is bad!”

“Yeah, I’ve got to get to the car fast.”

Zack put me on belay and I quickly climbed up to leave a couple bail biners. Back on the ground I told them to hike down while I took care of the rope.

He’d hooked it on a sharp edge and ripped open a huge flapper…the kind that needs a hospital visit with what turned out to be 21 stitches.

I played guitar for the music lovers a couple of times. It was fun to see my friends both old and new gather around to hear my campfire music. And Zack is a master banjo player. Who knew that Blackbird could be played with guitar and banjo? The sound was indescribable.

Down at the BLM campground I got attacked by a large dog. I was walking to the restroom when it ran out and started making bluff charges. Nothing I did would calm it down. The owners were sitting calmly at their picnic table looking startled. They were nice looking climbers who should have known better.

When I picked up a rock the woman stood up. The dog kept attacking, snapping at my legs. I threw an intentional near miss, hoping to scare it off.

Immediately the owner was offended, like I’d threatened her small child:

“Don’t throw a rock at my dog!!”

“Call him off!” She did nothing.

Finally I picked up a larger rock, and this time I was truly angry.

“You want to fight? Come and get it” I was ready at that point to stop the problem. Finally the guy stood up and walked over, still making no move to grab his dog.

“Control your animal!!” I backed off, holding the large stone at the ready. I had no desire to hurt their disgusting pet, but if it came to a fight, I was ready.

When I got back to camp I was in a state. I told my mates how the woman made me feel like I was in the wrong, when it was clearly the dogs problem. They all agreed I was in the right. I normally get along great with dogs, it was frustrating to meet a bad one.

Zack led the 5.11 Interceptor route. Neither Meg nor I could get it clean on follow. Zack did great with just one hang. We also did a fun 5.8 in Hostess Gully at Castle, and some new moderates at Raticella rock.

My favorite climb was a route coming out of a cave at Boxtop. Joan struggled with it as I think she was having an off day. I got on it and found a bunch of stem moves on the back of cave. It’s a bit like a crevasse in a glacier, but it’s granite with a finger crack on one wall. She was mostly finger jamming it in a more pure fashion. But when I led it I said screw that and proceeded to stem the back wall for half the climb.

Later I drove home early to hang out with Sue then drove back with Craig and Andrew Berger to fletches reunion. Led pitch one of bale Kramer. We had a fair representation of the old gym crowd. Whiskey was involved.

Sue and I have been riding point for exercise. Often I will Bring my rollerblades and cruise Ruston afterward. I had to rebuild my handle bars on 1971 Sekai after brake cable housing broke. Those brake levers were original and sloppy with age. I picked up some used brake all metal levers that were much more modern with the shrouded cable exit. While I was in there I also got a newer (used) bar end shifter, plus related cables. 

Moving onto Sue’s old mountain bike, her V brakes have been bad for years. We went and looked at new “comfort” mountain bikes and they range from $700 to $1200. We were tempted but Craig pointed out that her current bike fits her well, it would be much simpler and cheaper to fix the brakes. On taking them apart I found her brakes were made with some cheap plastic tension adjuster bearings. I bought new cabling for front and rear, plus new all metal V brakes at $20 each. After I installed all of that the bike stops on a dime with two fingers. There is no need for the new hydraulic disc braking system of the thousand dollar bikes.

Sue went climbing!

Sue and I decided to explore a new crag at exit 34 called Solar Storm. As with most new crags, we wasted 2 hours hiking the up the wrong trail. I mean, it was good exercise, but the delay meant we ended up baking in the heat later.

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/126379572/solar-storm-direct

She cruised up the slab like the old uninjured Sue from days past. It was so great to see her come cruising up to the belay on pitch 2 and 3. She had zero problems climbing the thin slab. After all her talk about how she was done with climbing, then to see her climbing like the Sue I married was awesome. I’d thought I’d lost her as a climbing partner.

I skated today 3 laps at Ruston then climbed with Cris John at gym. Jamie’s asthma was acting up so she called Sue to watch Rose and Abby while she went to Urgent care.

Rose gave me a couple hugs and even sat on my lap while Clint worked on his bee hives. She seems to go in and out of liking me. She is an amazing little human being but I am completely lost on this whole grandpa business. That shit doesn’t come with an instruction manual. 

I climbed and skated strong. Still can’t lead a 10 on the prow, but the 2 ten minuses are nice.

Sat July 12, 2025

** and I went up to Solar Storm and did all seven pitches. The 5.8 pitch

https://www.mountainproject.com/route/126361978/velvet-elvis

was really lovely. You clip a bolt and then have to hold onto a horizontal dyke while placing a high cam. The rock is just sticky enough to allow the move. I had to do a mantle while reaching into the finger crack for a layback to finish the mantle. After that there are a couple blind placements followed by another layback to another mantle. It’s a bit like Lovers Leap movement. 

I felt nervous but safe and confident that I was making the right moves. I don’t want to say I’m warmed up because that might hex me. But jeez, I was climbing very strong all day.

** and I are a well oiled team. We watched a couple of relative beginners move very slowly up and down the wall while we were cruising everything. It’s fun to be experienced. 

Just returned from 4 days at Squamish with zz and **. We flew up Skywalker and Klahanie. The crux open book was a tiny bit scary but then I remembered the move and was rock solid. I also led Octopus Garden cleanly. Those green and red jams felt much more secure than normal. I wonder if it’s because of my new dumbbell workouts? I also led both of the offwidths but had to hang on the top crux of the right one. On both of them, the secret is to put a foot really, really high and lever up onto the foot.

Also of note is the Cold Comfort crag. It’s still cool and shady at 1 PM. I needed a wind shirt while people in the parking lot below were baking. The far left nine needs up to 6 blues and a small wired to be safe.

** and I got into one of our rare but classic arguments the last night. What would pass for just a thoughtless observation turns into a “You are the cause of 80 years of oppression against my people!” lecture complete with “I will never climb with you again!” She arranged a ride home for me with zz, due to hating my guts so much, but later changed her mind and was all sunshine and unicorns.

To be fair, people from other races and cultures, especially brown people, experience a tremendous amount of hardship in Amerika. And that leads to generational trauma, which makes for angry and bitter people. But I wasn’t the one who enslaved or discriminated against her family, and she knows that. But I got blamed. James is looking real good about now.

Sue has been whining that I never go hiking with her anymore so yesterday we drove up after dark to the horse camp to get a dawn gate entry at the mountain. I was at my painting spot by ten thirty. This led to painting the mountain with noon light. It’s still pretty but looks totally different. Then the clouds moved in and I was left with large patches of shade. I’m surprised I got anything remotely good.

But, all the hikers liked it. I take breaks from the work and try to sit far away from the easel so I can’t see the train wreck. As I was resting a mountaineer came walking up the trail. Several people had gathered around the painting taking photos and wondering who was the artist.

“Ok, who is responsible for this magnificent painting?”

I shook my head along with the dozen or so other people at the lookout.

“Really? No one here is the artist?”

Some of them knew each other so they knew who it wasn’t. I stood out a bit due to my white hair and neck handkerchief. A couple looked at me and pointed.

“So it’s you?”

“Maybe?”

“Well, it’s very beautiful! The colors are just perfect.” I heard that a lot. Now I have to decide whether to finish it with noon light or afternoon light. The shadows are in completely different places. I have so many afternoon paintings it might be worth experimenting with noon light.

For my seventy first birthday Sue and I drove to Seattle where I was astonished to find a pair of modern three wheel 110mm rollerblades that fit my Frankenstein feet right out of the box.

I skated while she bicycled the ship canal bike path for a few miles. I was very tentative. Crosswalks and bumpy pavement was terrifying but there were no falls. When I watch modern YouTube skaters I feel like I’m hopelessly, absurdly trying the wrong sport.

We skated and pedaled around Pt. Defiance. There are long hills and I was hopelessly inept at braking. Finally I realized we had good brakes with us already.

With no roller rink in our town anymore there is no place I’ve found yet where I can safely practice sliding brake tricks. When I ride chair lifts and approach the chair I cruise down at speed and quickly carved to a stop, both ski’s carving in parallel. Snow flies up as I brake to a hard stop. Skaters do that on rollerblades.

I’ve barely scratched the surface of that entire process. But being a total klutz I decided the solution was to add bicycle brakes to my rollerblades. There is one company that makes commercial brakes for $200 but they don’t get great reviews.

Putting bicycle brakes on rollerblades. DIY rollerblade brakes.

I am not going to spend that kind of money when I can make my own for thirty dollars. I bought some used bicycle brakes at second cycle. A day of fabrication out in the shop made these. I do need to refine them. They are currently rubber on rubber, which is bad and a bit grabby. It needs to be metal on rubber.

I enjoyed the invention creation project…working with my hands is relaxing. However, the results are ugly and stupid looking. No holes were drilled in the skates.

The final project, before making metal brake shoes means that I have to strap the brake handle to my hip. It’s supremely stupid looking. I’m so far beyond cool it’s sad. But, I am old, fragile and have no desire to break a hip.

Even better, I finally realized there is smooth painted asphalt on my normal bike path down town. I need to head down there on a shady evening and practice some t stops. They say the secret to all stopping techniques is to learn to skate on one foot. Everything follows that.

Update in June: I took the skate brakes off. As someone pointed out on reddit “Do you really believe those designers at Bauer, K2 and Rollerblade can’t put a better brake on a skate?”

The facts are: The built in heel brake is all you need until you master the various rollerblade hockey stops. Until then, skate responsibly. Like driving a car, never exceed your stopping distance.

Health Scare or if you prefer: (skip to climbing)

Before I left town I fell off my 1972 ten speed twice in 3 days. Once I was zig zagging up a steep hill. My tire slipped and down I went. Another time I was pressing a crosswalk button. Both times I’d expected my foot to come out of the toeclip and it didn’t. I need to go back to flat pedals since I never pull up anymore. Or remake my bike shoes. I need to have the shoe metal embedded, instead of protruding.

Unbeknownst to me, I bruised the inside of my lower leg in the calf muscle, up against the bone. I swelled up a third bigger than normal. (took a month to heal) Clint said I should get it looked at. “You could get a clot that could travel to your lungs and kill you.”

I went to Urgent Care. They did an Ultrasound and said the baby looked fine but they were still looking at the X-ray. Finally the doctor came in and asked: “Have you ever had cancer?” When I said no he said he’d seen something that looked like evidence of cancer in the bone and that I needed to have it looked at further.

“It might be cancer, or it might not. I don’t have enough information since I can only see the one leg x-ray.”

I was supposed to leave on this climbing trip on the eighth but they were able to schedule an MRI on the ninth. I got the MRI on my still swollen (hematoma) left calf at 7AM then left for Utah at 10AM. I was like fuck it, if I’m going to die, at least I’ll get some climbing in first. Or, as Fletch put it: “First things first, priorities.”

By the morning of the 10th I was driving somewhere north of Salt Lake City when I saw a new My Chart message come in. It was the MRI report from the radiologist. Our doctor left the practice so we’ve been seeing a variety of stand in people: PA’s, new rotating doctors, phone visits. Seeing a real doctor in the flesh is like scheduling a visit with the Pope.

Fortunately I am friends or related to 4 different doctors and a dozen nurses, including my kids. I texted the MRI report to several of them from a windy gas station and waited. They all confirmed what I had concluded: I was fine, case closed.

I pulled into Creek Pasture to find Fletch in site 21. It is a very quiet site far from the noisy party areas. We began to meet his Santa Barbara friend Peggy every morning at the Meat Basin outhouse. This has become the informal meeting place for folks camped up the basin, or really anywhere. It reminds me of the Camp 4 bulletin board, and without cell service it is the only way to communicate for many climbers. NOTE: AT&T has weak service at both Super Bowl and Creek Pasture campgrounds, and the Donelly parking lot.

Peggy, Fletch and I all know Julian and Maria from last summer in Leavy. Through him we met the rest of his Access Fund trail crew: Adam, James and crew leader Jeff. They all like small hands cracks, which began my week of frustration. Every crag we went to featured cracks that fit them, but not me.

4-11-2025 Fern Gully on day 1. Peggy took us to this new crag. I think you park at Fist Fight then walk North. When you are at Fern Gully, you are looking directly across to the North at Hot Sex 5.9 on Nuclear Wall. Fletch led a red splitter called Got you Cornered.

I led – aided a fist crack to the right. It has a name but I don’t have the new book and it’s not on Mountain Project. There is a bigger than fist overhang at the top which Fletch had to finish for me. I aided it twice this trip. The second time I took four number fours and found the French freeing easier.

4-12-2025 Fist Fight Wall. As it was only day 2 I was very hesitant to lead the name sake route called Fist Fight crack. There had been no time to build creek power. But there I was standing at the base of a crack almost as pretty as Super Crack. It was definitely my size and we had a dozen blues and plenty of yellows. I knew it was perfectly safe. There was no compelling reason not to climb it. But still, day 2!

Fletch: We’re right here looking at it. It’s your size, we have the gear. You kind of have to climb it.

Me: I know, it’s obviously got my name on it. Will you rescue me if I can’t finish it?

I fought the good fight up about 50 feet and ran out of juice. It was blue cups with a couple yellows and number 4’s. I lowered off and Fletch bravely went up and finished it for me. Neither of us got it clean. It’s eleven blues arcing up and left. Your right foot is useless. The crack doesn’t see much traffic and is very sharp. Both Fletch and I had some bad road rash scars for the next month. I need to invent leather climbing gauntlets, or just tape my wrists and forearms.

4-13-2025 was a rest day. We found some cool petroglyphs North? of Newspaper rock at the square rock above the creek where you can bathe. In town we shopped and took showers.

4-14-2025 Trick or Treat wall was better on this, my third visit. I bailed on the Pony Crack right of Horse. I just ran out of rattly finger jam power. It didn’t help that I wasn’t jamming my left toe. Adam followed it nicely jamming both toes in like a real crack climber.

I passed on TR laps on Horse and Zits. My bicep injury needed a break from red hauling. Adam led the hands to off width right of Zits. A five will fit at the top. I got up it with a couple falls.

A note on Top Roping
On my previous trip in 2023 where I hooked up with a Squamish guide and friends, not only were they climbing 5.11 tight hands, they were getting on twelves. Naturally, I did a lot of top roping, more than on this trip. It’s not a coincidence that I became much stronger on that trip than this one. OK, possibly it’s because that was pre long covid (PMR) and I was only 67 instead of 71? For example I could have easily top roped Horse, and some elevens at Sparks. Fletch was grabbing all kinds of top ropes. I need to loose some pride and gain some power.

To the left of Horse is a lovely fist crack that I followed. It starts with a few reds that are easily avoided with great feet. You could place a 5 at the top plus a bunch of yellows and blues and a 4 or two. I’d like to lead this. I also followed a nice but vertical hand crack around the corner to the left. It starts with a bouldery move on a rectangular block. I need to lead that on a strong day.

At the car, Peggy, Fletch, Julian, Adam and I sat around in that companionable mood one gets after a long fun day of climbing. We were sitting in the gravel and dirt of the shoulder. Occasional cars would whiz by but we paid them no mind, enjoying the perfection of the moment. I could tell a couple of us thought about leaving to make dinner but the vibe was so perfect none of us made the move.

It’s magical when a group of friends is so well tuned into the same wavelength. I vividly remember that happening with Paul, Sue, Kathy and Lemon back in 1978 almost fifty years ago. No one has any cares about being elsewhere or regrets about the day. It’s perfection in the moment and seems to transcend time. Like a bunch of cavemen who just feasted on a juicy buffalo after a long hunt. But the climber version.

4-15-2025 Sparks wall was another matter entirely.  I tried to lead a ten minus called Sparkling Zygote. It is listed as a warmup but starts with a Bombay chimney into 5 feet of reds that I could not climb. I could have aided through, maybe should have, but chose to descend.

Fletch took over and promptly French freed the fuck out of the same section before getting to some nice hands. Red climbers should be required to wear a red badge on their shirt. This would serve to warn us yellow and blue climber not to follow them to their favorite crags. It’s not that the creek is all reds, it’s just that red climbers go to red crags. And sometimes those crags are predominantly, even exclusively reds or tighter. 

Fletch got on a bunch of TR’s and had fun. He does’t have to worry about a strained bicep. We bailed at 3:30 and just had time to move camp from 21 to 26 where there is room for 3 cars. Lisa and Brian are rolling in today or tomorrow unless they divert to red rocks like Joan. We are looking at some sketchy weather in the next few days. 

When we first arrived at Peggy’s 15 year old Bridger Jacks campsite it was just her doing yoga on the slick rock. In half an hour Adam pulled up in a Subie with James and Julian. Peggy was quizzing them about all the cool climbs they’d led. There were ropes on everything, including Go Sparky Go, Scenic View and Jupiter  Crack which Mike led and Jeff followed. Jeff is the trail crew boss.

Jeff talked about how the Access Fund used to hire couples like Kyle and Lauryn for the season  but that caused trouble when they broke up half way through (K & L are fine). Kind of like hiring married lighthouse workers who didn’t get along. 

They have recently gone to a system more universal to other Forest and Park services where they have a crew boss (Jeff) and a small crew of workers: James, Julian and Adam. Instead of giving them a badged Van, they give them a badged Ford pickup and a large tent. They’ve been on the job since February. Julian said they’ve seen all kinds of weather from snow to a hailstorm that cracked his windshield. 

He had recently badly bruised his finger when a boulder rolled the wrong way. I suggested armored gloves like knights in shining armor. I sketched out a metal three sided cave for each finger joint. Probably there is already something on Amazon.

Anyway, while  all that was going on I walked up to Julian and held my Meatloaf painting out. Everyone there knows and loves Meatloaf. Peggy was there when Maria decided to buy a kitten for her thirtieth. 

Both Maria and Julian had left when the rain started. That was when I got this laptop in Grand Junction and started in on the painting. I didn’t have Maria’s number then so I sent Julian the pen underdrawing. Later I sent the full painting to Maria as a printable Tiff.

But yesterday, Julian hadn’t seen the finished full color painting. As his eyes came down to my little color sketch they lit up in recognition and wonder. 

Several of them commented on the perfection of the eyes and the mouth.

“That looks just like Meatloaf!!”

I also showed them my oil portrait of Clint. Who isn’t proud of their son? I am supremely lucky to have the gift of portrait painting. Fletch stared at it in wide eyed wonder. He has met Clint may times back when Craig and Clint were actively climbing together.

But to see him now at 40, painted in exquisite oils must have been startling. 

“Do you recognize him?”

“Absolutely I do!”

“Meatloaf was a training exercise for these family portraits.”

The smokey campfire of a dozen trail workers and friends of Peggy had been noisy as we played a few instrumentals like Beiber and Brazilian Swing. Folks expect campfire players to be mediocre and primarily background noise, like an iphone speaker.

I suggested Carolina to Fletch and he said sure.

As I put the harp brace on my neck Aiden (leads twelves: Moonlight Buttress) asked: “Is that a harp holder, like Bob Dylan? Wow, is that magnetic?”

I explained to Adam that we’d do two instrumental verses before starting in on the words, then another instrumental after the first chorus. I said nothing to Fletch as we’ve been playing this for 10 years. 

As I started in on the first verse, blowing the harp while fingerpicking the chords, accompanied by Fletch and Adam I heard the voices around the campfire quickly die down. The silence of the star filled desert sky seemed to welcome our melody.

Like the ancient Anasazi Indians we sang to the beauty of a simple life full of love and wonder. The song is about Ryan Adams trying find meaning on the road while missing family at home. I couldn’t take my eyes from the music, but I sensed a great stillness around the campfire as they lost interest in their conversations and began to focus on the words and melody of the beautiful song.  Performers can read an audience intuitively and I saw that they were with us. 

After the chorus, with both Fletch and Adam backing me I launched into an instrumental verse with our 3 guitars  while my harp sang out in perfect tune to the soul searching melody. I played single notes and up to 3 at a time reveling in the mysterious diatonic harmony chasing the melody through the chords.   

At the end there was silence.  I think we were all a little shocked at what we had created. Peggy the birthday girl asked: “Did you write that Mark?”

“No, that’s Ryan Adams”

“Huh, I’ve never heard of him.”

“It’s a 20 year old song. I can’t write for shit.”

We played a few more after that. Both Fletch and Adam played a solo song. It was lovely to hear their voices. Because I’m deaf in one ear (thanks to Menieres) it’s hard to hear my fellow musicians. My own sound fills up what little hearing I have. I have IEM’s but rarely get them out around campfire jams.

It was getting late after a full day of climbing so the party began winding down. As I was carrying my guitar away from the still smoking campfire, Nathan waved me down:

“Thank you so much for playing! That completed everything I’d dreamed an Indian Creek trip should be. This great day of climbing couldn’t have been any better and your music was the perfect end to my day.”

4-17-25 Pregnant Woman Cliff. I found a nice unnamed 5.9 at the top of the trail. We started from a wide parking spot where a washout has almost taken out the road. It’s the only bad spot on the Pistol Whipped end. I pulled the Tundra in to the pullout on the left where a few cars can fit. From the 5.9, we had to walk at least 40 minutes left along the cliff base to get to Lichen Vacation. It would be better to park at the T intersection at the Willows campground. Then walk right a block and take the trail directly up to LV, which is a lovely 10 that requires either an 80meter or two ropes. It’s all hands except a couple short red sections.

When Fletch and I got back to camp the wind was blowing crazy. It knocked down Fletches tent so we took it apart as he can sleep in his Prius. The rain started that night. 

We were snacking on chips and wine in the front of my Tundra while the rain poured out of a black sky. Wind gusted curtains of sand down the road. Not a soul was moving so I was surprised to see a dark Tacoma driving the lower loop by site seven. Because it looked gray I didn’t think it was Lisa and Brian. But it quickly looped around the end and headed directly  toward us. As it got closer it resolved into a blue Tacoma just like Lisa’s. When I saw the Washington license plates I said: “That’s Lisa!” Fletch said: “It can’t be, they won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

But then we both saw Lisa waving in the passenger seat. We jumped out for a warm reunion. Lisa is one of Fletches ex’s. Fletch helped her set up her Match profile. She brought Brian to our guitarbcue and he immediately fit right in with his refined trumpet riffs. Lately he has been my climbing gym partner at Edgeworks. Lisa and Brian had joined me and Fletch there in 2021.

We pointed Lisa’s open tailgate to leeward and all 4 squeezed in for chips, salsa and beer. I’m not sure how it happened but Brian started telling stories about his life long career as a firefighter. His tone was very matter of fact as he described some of his more horrific calls. I would have felt very fortunate to have Captain Brian and his crew at my house or car wreck. We sat there for a couple hours as the wind and rain lashed the desert outside her little Tacoma  canopy. It was four good friends going back at least 15 years, sitting out a storm in a tiny pickup bed. Another timeless moment.

Friday was clearly a rest day so we carpooled in the Prius to Moab and got showers and a pizza at the food truck court. 

Saturday 4-19-2025. Sadly Fletch had to go back to work and left at dawn. Brian, Lisa and I had a lazy morning and drove to Donnelly. There were a few people walking up toward cave route but the lot was mostly deserted with a handwritten sign saying the rock is too wet to climb. 

I could have easily taken another day off but Lisa and Brian only had Friday to Wednesday. By noon the parking lot dirt was looking much drier so we drove to Blue Gamma which was packed with at least a dozen cars. They were running a crack climbing clinic with 10 clients at $700 each for 3 days. It’s normally 1500 each but they had a corporate sponsor (BD?).

They had ropes on every route so we jumped on something that looked seven-ish but turned out to be nine. Lisa tried the boulder start but backed off. I pulled on a cam to get my knee up and was off to the races. 

After we’d all climbed it I walked down to the #3 open book called Mexican Unicorn. There was a static line for a jumaring ‘crack advisor’ and several students top roping . 

“Hey, we were hoping to lead this at some point today. Are you all going to be a couple more hours?”

One of the guides immediately realized they’d been monopolizing the crag and apologized.

“We have no right to take over this crag for the whole day. It’s meant to be for everyone. Give us five minutes and we’ll pull our ropes off to the side so you guys can lead it.” I was surprised to hear that. I wish more guides were this courteous.

She and I started talking after that and it turned out she lived in Moab (formerly from Brazil) and knew my old friend Ammon McNeely (may he rest in peace). They were running a top notch show and giving excellent instruction. Later as we were walking out the lead guide offered to let Lisa TR a left facing finger dihedral. He even offered 5 minutes of tips. Those guys rocked! We had the often repeated conversation about how Indian Creek was the best crack climbing in the world. Several people agreed but their main guide countered with American Fork. He said it’s very slick there, unlike this sticky sandstone.

Joan and Meg arrived that day. They are friends I met through the Over Fifty group on Mountain project.

Sunday Easter 4-20 we went to Chocolate corner where we waited almost two hours for an idiotic female guide to finish coaching two beginners. They had no business tying up such a popular route. When the two beginners finally finished she said they were headed towards Generic which is an equally popular route they had no business climbing. I think I avoided being a dick about the guides bad choices but geez! She should have taken them to some out of the way crag where they would’t get in anyones way. It’s common sense. Blue Gamma is a great example. It’s not a highly desirable crag and hence a good choice for large groups of students. 

Sunday 4-20-2025 we went to Twin Cracks where Joan backed off at the stuck knee section. Lisa finished it and I also led it for my first clean creak lead. We also did Christines little nine, which Joan didn’t like. Meg finished that one. I felt bad about Joan getting shut down. I’d promised her cracks she would fall in love with but kept striking out.

I led Amaretto corner again, not clean. For 5.9 that top #5 finish is just impossible. Too small for butterfly and too big for fists, plus it flares and overhangs. The girls were very brave and kind. They insisted they didn’t mind me leading something that clearly didn’t fit them.

Monday 4-21 … or was it Tuesday? I may have lost a day. We went to Fern Gully for the second time this trip. Peggy had taken me and Fletch there a week earlier. I hung dog my way up the fist crack. At the roof I had four fours and managed to aid through. I also led-aided Devin Fin’s new fist crack called Soul. It was fat steeples, too tight for fists until halfway when it turned into perfect fists. It was Chocolate Corner for fists and super fun for the last half. 

The 3 girls had teamed up to climb a red corner that I’d already done. That worked well. They got their hand size and Brian and I teamed up on the fist crack.

Wednesday 4-23-25 Lisa, Brian, Meg and Joan all left at noon. I tried to get excited about painting but after 4 days of climbing it felt like work. I had a beer at 2 and napped in the baking truck until 5. 

Thursday 4-24-25 painted badly at Scarface looking west. Halfway through I broke for lunch. I got partway through a nine dollar package of smoked salmon and decided to eat it at my easel, out of sight and down a hill. The sun and wind must have baked my brain because when I gave up on the train wreck a few hours later and walked back to the truck the gate was wide open. My expensive full frame camera was sitting easy to grab as well as everything not locked down, like my guitar, sleeping cooking  stuff and all of Chris and Julia’s gear. There were only 4 cars in the lot, including Devin and Mike . Mike is a twelve leader and friends with Jeff the trail boss.

Thursday pm I drove to GearHeads and bought a nine liter gas can for $89. It’s totally leak proof and based off the famous ultra durable Jerry can invented by the Germans in WW2. I slept that night above Moab at the formerly free BLM road…willow springs? It’s now a Park with a new entrance and visitor center called dinosaur something. 

Friday 4-25 I came in late at twilight and left at dawn arriving at Islands in the Sky 7 AM where I took a 2 hour nap. I hiked 2Km up to Window Arch where I painted until 5. I started with monotone brown. It’s a great base color and similar to pencil in that there is no scary color decisions. Some tourists said it was gorgeous. I should have stopped but instead added color. The wind began whipping at 40 knots which tossed my turpentine can off the 300 foot cliff. My hat followed but stopped right at the edge. I carefully crept down the sloping sandy cliff top and rescued my hand built leather cowboy hat. Felt silly risking my life for a hat. 

The sand got all up in my palette, brushes and painting. I guess it’s now a sand painting. My nice new Rosemary brushes felt like wire brushes due to all the sand. With my solvent gone I couldn’t clean the brushes until Beef Basin two hours later. 

Saturday 4-26 I knew that I’d climb 5 days in a row starting Monday, so I decided to climb Saturday with Sunday off. I drove to climber coffee hosted by Kaitlyn and Elum (prefers she pronouns). Kaitlyn is a perfect host, well, they both are, but she has the more vivacious personality. They both loved my sandy painting. 

She was curious when I walked up with my cup and a board. I watched her eyes glance down at the board several times. She didn’t know what it was but could tell it was important. She was kind to be so enthusiastic about it even though it probably sucked. I was frustrated at depicting all the complex browns. Painting the desert is a bit like portraiture of a very wrinkled face. It’s all shades of brown and tan and I struggle to make them pretty. 

At 11 and again 12 Peggy showed up, second time with Travis and Gus, they on mountain bikes. They beat me to Optimator parking lot where 24 vehicles were packed in like sardines. I had to drive up to the top which was super sketchy. Gus led Mudslide after a party of 3 finished. There were at least a dozen or more dogs running everywhere. None were mean but that’s just ridiculous. What is wrong with all these humans who require dogs to make life worth living? Or put another way, what is wrong with me that I don’t want a dog?

Travis easily led Soulfire which they all topped. I passed. Reds suck. Eight years ago I followed Daphne and mostly got it clean except the green top. I led the 5.8 flake off right of Mudslide. My chest got stuck repeatedly in the flake to chimney transfer move. I had to blow out a hard breath and shimmy into the tunnel. I could only take shallow breaths because of the constriction. Meanwhile I was desperately trying to shimmy up and left to where it opened up to a normal body slot. But I couldn’t move or breath. No one could have reached me for a rescue. I felt like I was going die in there. Man, never again!!!

Peggy wisely chose not to follow so I met a guy on a nearby route who said his buddy Noah would clean it for me. Noah, 19, loved the route. He was young and slender.

After my new friend Noah rapped down I tossed my rope and followed. We were talking about about how tight the squeeze chimney was at the sideways transfer. I mentioned that I thought my man boobs were half the problem. After some laughter the girl Ella said: “So I wonder if there is an optimal boob size for the squeeze?”

I looked down at my old man boobs and said: “Smaller than these!!”

Sunday rest day, April 27. 5 months later the side effects of 15 months on prednisone are finally wearing off. Also my hematoma bruise is almost all gone. Damn that was a month long shit show, cancer scare, MRI and all.

Super Bowl site 25 has spotty voice service but very weak data. Talked to Sue for an hour. It was nice to hear her rambling on about all the shit she has to deal with regarding grandkids, kids and her mom. Me being gone for a month is not helping. 

Massive grey clouds with an angry wind is threatening climbing tomorrow, Julia’s first day. Shit weather can be the death knell of these 5 day Alaska Airline trips the girls are booking. Being down here a month means a few days of rain is kind of fun. It’s some pleasant drama instead of the endless baking blue sky, chasing shade and spankings on red cracks. 

I’m stuffed with a concoction of rice, tuna, brocoli Alfredo sauce and cheese. It’s dark and howling outside but my little Tundra shell is cozy and dry. I got the lights on and this new MacBook is the cat’s meow.

Monday April 28 was Julia’s first day. We hiked out to Habitado where I hung dog my way up Lightning Crack and the 8 to its’ left. I had been too lazy to carry out all my big cams. A couple nice girls towed our rope up so we could top rope Mariposa. We had planned on doing that ourselves but they had been on it for several hours doing multiple hangdog leads and repeated laps. No one was there but us, but still…it seemed bad form to monopolize a route. Not that anyone cares what I think. I’m clearly in the minority with my traditional views from last century.

Julia had the usual problems off width newbies have there. When I got on it I finally found the solution to the 4 foot tall 11 inch pod. On lead I place either the green big bro or valley giant there, very insecure. On TR I was able to experiment and found a wonderful right arm chicken wing. It was the classic elbow high chicken wing and locked in tight. With that holding me in I was able to maneuver my feet into some marginal heel toe jams. This let me push with my legs and slide up my chicken wing. A couple repetitions of that got me up into first hand fist stack. On lead this is a #5 placement.

Yarding my out of the pod felt great. Soon I had a levitation jam and a no hands rest. I did have to lower my knee pad. It makes my knee too fat. Julia and some bystanders were impressed as I chalked up both hands. Higher up it got wider but I was still getting at least good double fists. There was a 4 foot section where I was thrashing a bit with my heel toe technique. As I fell out, I felt the rope go tight.

An honest man would have told Julia to give me slack. That would have forced me to sort out the feet. However, I calmly let her hold me as I moved up the double fist. Someday I’ll get that clean, at least on top rope.

Tuesday April 29 We climbed Triple Jeopardy. It’s really fun tunnel problem. While there we talked with a gregarious 75 year old former climber. He was there with his 19 year old son and some other family and friends. With his extensive knowledge of the Creek I could tell he was SomeBody. Us old dudes are thin on the ground and I’ve either met or heard of all the old climbers on this side of the continent. Finally I asked him his name and he said it was Jimmy Dunn.

Me: Holy shit dude, you’re a legend!

Jimmy: Nah, I’m just an old dirt bag. I did do a lot of first ascents though. I did the first ascent of Generic Crack in 1976. That was long before cams so I had to runout the entire second pitch. At the last move over the edge I was so far above my last piece I would have decked. I put in a one quarter inch bolt. As I pulled the last move my partner hollered up that my new bolt had just hit him in the lap.

We talked about jobs and he said he’d never been good at working. Climbing was the only thing he’d ever been good at.

Jimmy: We called ourselves the Conquistadores of the Useless! I did run a contracting business for a while and made some good money. I sold all my climbing gear and didn’t climb for 10 years. But I hated that job and went back to climbing.

When I mentioned that I had worked blue collar most of my life and raised a couple nurses he was duly impressed.

Jimmy: Dude, you’re somebody. I can tell. You say you’re nobody as a climber but I can tell you got it going on. I don’t climb much anymore, my shoulder hurts. But you, look at you, you’re still getting after it!

When he mentioned his wife was a sculptor I showed him some of my work on my phone. He loved my portraits of Sue and the cow.

We traded numbers and he said I had to stay at his house if I came to Colorado. He was very impressed with Julia and what he called “Your harem of young ladies!” It is puzzling why I rarely climb with guys. I’ve got guy partners, but they’re always working. Julia, Meg, Joan, Lisa G, Christine…they are all either retired or able to take time off. Seems like my guy friends are either working full time (Chad) or taking vacations with their families and not me (Alex).

Anyway it was super cool to hang out with a legend like Jimmy Dunn. It was like running into Chouinard. And the guy was so gregarious….just a super friendly older climber.

Afterward we walked over to Twin Cracks but there was a Steph Davis crack clinic going on. One of the leaders looked a bit familiar in his nice straw cowboy hat. When he said they’d be a while with many people TR’ing I said I’d just do the next route to the left, meaning the one to the left of Triple Jeopardy. He gave me a funny look as I walked away.

That route is called No Name crack. Some refer to it as 4AM crack.

I really liked No Name. I had about 7 blues, 5 yellows and two reds for the top. It’s never unclimbable. But it’s long. As she lowered me off we both had to anchor into a cam 5 feet up when the rope ended. I climbed it strongly but kept running out of juice. Must have hung 4 times. That’s the thing about leading at the creek with white hair. I’ve got the skills and technique but the stamina of an old man. If I could just force myself to do 20 pull-ups every day I might change that. But pull-ups hurt my shoulders. It’s a catch 22. Every time I’d take to catch my breath the crack was perfect hands.

Me: I feel so bad hanging here, the crack is perfect but I’m so tired!

Julia: No worries, it’s hot down here too. Take your time.

Julia was a real trooper cleaning my lead. The girl can get up anything. That was definitely not her hand size but she got to the anchor just fine.

After rapping down I kept hearing a very familiar voice coaching the students in the Steph Davis clinic. I scrambled up to where I could see his face.

Me: You sound very familiar but I don’t recognize your face. Have we met…or are you SomeBody?

Chris Kalous: Yeah, I get that a lot. I run a couple podcasts called Enormocast and “The Runout” with Andrew Bisharat. Everyone knows my voice.

Me: Oh yeah, I’ve listened to both of those. Is running podcasts your only job?

Chris: Well mostly, but I do a little of this and that. My main income stream is that I knocked up a lawyer.

After we packed up he congratulated me on leading No Name.

Chris: Dude, when you saw we had Twin Cracks booked up you surprised me. You said you’d “Just do the next one to the left”. But that route is a huge step up in difficulty from Twin Cracks. It’s hands to big hands, overhanging in places and has some brutal flaring pods. Great job getting up it!

Me: Oh, it wasn’t clean. I was way over my head. I’m 71 and nothing is easy anymore. But it was fun, felt very safe.

Chris: Well great job. It was good for our students to see an old guy pulling down hard.

Wednesday April 29 Both me leading and Julia belaying No Name baked us badly. End of April is way too hot. We dragged our tired carcasses up to Chocolate Corner. Julia had been psyching herself up to lead and got up with the usual hangdoggery common at the Creek. It’d been a minute since she has led so I was happy she put a route up, and I was overdue for a top rope.

I followed cleanly but with a lot of huffing and puffing. There is no way I can lead that cleanly anymore. I seem to have aged out of it. We were clearly overdue for a rest day. But we stumbled down to Binous. She racked up then backed off. I’d removed my small cams a couple weeks previously because we were using Fletches and it looked dangerous without some point threes. I probably could have led it by staying in the six inch section, but sanity and tiredness led to us calling it a day around 3pm. So, half a rest day is how it worked out.

Thursday April 30 We felt better after our partial rest day and hiked up to Way Rambo. The river is much lower this spring. The Meat Basin crossing is bone dry. Still the Willows crossing is up to the bumpers. At the parking lot I hit pretty hard and almost high centered. I crawled under to look for damage.

Me: Oh shit I think we hit the gas tank on that last bump. I feel wetness and see active dripping, but it doesn’t smell like gasoline or transmission fluid. Weird, it’s wet all the way up to the springs!

Julia: Mark we just drove through a creek.

Me: That’s called Short Term Memory Loss. Don’t ever get old. It’s not worth it.

I led Blue Sun with two hangs…which was what we call an “UnSend”. Meaning, I’d onsighted it a few years ago and had now climbed it worse. Sending a climb is good, UnSending is…well…not. She ran a couple laps on it. I never top rope, but figured what the hell, no one was there, and at least I “Sent” the TR. I can see how TR’ing can build power and endurance. I need to do more of that and not be such a stick.

I also hung my way up Rochambeau 5.9. It is a lovely corner with a ton of rests. The overhang is intimidating as hell, but I kept convincing myself to “just climb another 4 feet and see”. There is always gear and comforting stem box rests. A great hand jam is never far away.

I left Friday morning at 11:30AM from Moab, arriving home Saturday at 6PM. The big city driving I’d been so worried about passed with little trouble. In the worst of it there was stop and go which is at least slow and controlled. Crazies can’t dart in and out at 80 when everyone is crawling at walking speed. Much of it passed in a blur. Salt Lake city is one very long metropolis. LIke if you squeezed Portland, Olympia, Tacoma, Seattle, Everett and Bellingham all into one metro. Just goes on forever.

Since getting home I spent one day reading my Kindle, moving as little as possible. Today I tried to ride but felt very weak on the single hill. 

I spent 4 days working on a portrait of my son. Sue acted as my chief consultant, checking on it twice a day as she visited out in my studio / shop. Towards the end I sensed there were problems but couldn’t see them. I was taking breaks at night, hoping I’d see clearly in the morning but that didn’t work.

Back in the day I’d look at ‘from life’ paintings in a mirror, but now I take a photo and layer the photo on top of my photo reference. I reduce opacity of the painting layer and see all the errors. I had the chin way to short, the lips too high, both eyes were wrong for various reasons: Pupils were too large, left eye was too wide, right eyelid was too thick. The nose wasn’t tilted enough, lips were tilted too much, forehead was too tall and hair was too long. Other than that it was quite close.

Here are some notes I made for todays corrections:

• make darker on left forehead 
• Eyelid too thick right 
• Correct lip tilt
• Refine curve on cheek wrinkle  right side
• Mustache, left more contrast
• Left lip darker
• Define forehead muscles
• Rite hairline curves in more
• Tilt of nose is off
• Right mustache too dark
• Squint!!

I texted the painting to Craig and Jamie. They both said the eyes were wrong. Craig thought it couldn’t be fixed. He clearly doesn’t paint in oils. The first major change I made was to move the lips down a quarter inch. To get them to move I had to scrub them down to white gesso with solvent and then repaint in the right place. This was after agonizing over them for hours: refining the wrinkles, the shading, the hue, the chroma, the dark lip line, the shadow under the lip on the chin. And all in the wrong place, too close to the nose.

As I got closer to a likeness it began to breath. I’d make a few small corrections to the lips, nose or eyes and I’d hear him say: “Yeah dad, that’s it, you got it right there.” Hearing these imaginary conversations in my mind made me smile and helped the work continue. Which was incredibly frustrating at times. If this sounds like I’m crazy, hearing voices in my head. I probably am, or maybe it was the turpentine fumes. Anyway, what happens in the studio stays in the studio. No one reads this damn blog anyway. Except future me.

During the worst of it I questioned not only my skill, but my sanity in even trying something so far above my pay grade. I’m a total hack of a painter. Don’t have a clue how to use color correctly. I knew his beard was brown hair on tan skin, but those colors were intolerably boring. When I tried green though, it sparkled.

Sue: “Why do you use such stupid color? His beard isn’t green?”

Me: “I’m a retard! If you took as much acid back in the day you’d paint crazy too”

Sue: “You could tone it down a little. You have the skill to do that. I see it in your pencil work. You should work more in pencil, those are awesome!”

Me: “But I like color!”

We dropped by Clint’s after our walk today. He knew something was going on when I walked in with my wet painting carrier box.

“Got a new painting to show you.”

“Oh, you painted me! That’s not bad.”

I looked over at Rose who was bouncing off the walls.

“Hey Rose! Do you know who this is?”

Her attention slowly wandered over to me and the painting I was holding under the light. Her face opened up in wonder, her mouth forming an “O” shape.

“Daddy! You painted my daddy!!”

She reminded me of a dog who is super excited to see you. Tail wagging furiously, jumping up and down. But in a 4 year old human kind of way.

A small starved part of me wants to share it on social media, see how many likes I can get. I’ve been off FB and Insta for months now and don’t miss it at all. When I think about likes in the abstract, what are they really? Someone sees your work on a screen and presses a heart button. How is that real in any meaningful way?

Compare that to the huge smile on my son’s face, and the excitement of my grand daughter, and Jamie saying “Wow, that’s a huge improvement on the one you texted me!”

As I worked longer and longer on it I became increasingly sure that I had a likeness, that it was truly him I’d created with my brushes, oils and turpentine. Sure, the colors are all wrong, some would call it a train wreck. But there is something real there, bad colors and all. It didn’t exist before I put paint to canvas, and at the end of the day that’s a good day of work.

I especially like how I’ve carved out an attitude that allows me to work on stuff that is totally pointless, doesn’t have a chance of ever selling and is not intended to.

I’ll post it later. I like the purity of English. Van Gogh would write letters to his brother about his paintings. He didn’t need photos to express his feelings and neither do I.

And now is later. Here is Rose, his daughter:

And this is Olivia, my daughter’s daughter:

I also painted his chickens and his dog. They can be found over in my portraits gallery on my hand built website.

This is not a story about painting, climbing, or family. Rather this is a story about an 11 year old kid, new to town, on his first day in a new school. His dad had got a new job. All his friends were left behind 30 miles west.

As he stood there bewildered by the new buildings, wondering which way to go, a small voice popped up beside him: “Hey there, are you new here?”.

The new kid was me, and Ted became my first friend in town. 59 years later we’re still friends through thick and thin. We got in so much trouble in high school, it was almost a right of passage to break as many laws as possible. We weren’t criminals or anything, we had our morals and sense of honor…but if a law didn’t make sense, was it really even a law?

If you lived thorough those times I need say no more. But we were there for each other through boy scouts, our first crushes, girlfriends and the inevitable heartbreaks. They were wild times but we soldiered through together.

He was there when I first picked up a guitar. He was in a band that played gigs around town, and I was invited to practices. A gang of 5 of us had our own garage band complete with some cute girls who liked our sound and the beer. His band later won a competition in Seattle and toured Europe.

I was working full-time then but still joined the band at house parties as the harp player. We jammed today for an hour, playing both old and new songs. It’s hard for me to remember the old harp riffs because I play them so seldom.

Going back to 1966 he and I and a few other friends played ping pong downstairs at my folk’s house. If you have kids, get them a ping pong table! It’s safe harmless fun and endlessly entertaining to kids of all ages. Plus it keeps them off the streets.

My dad took Ted and I on some hikes in high school, and we continued hiking afterward. Ted took this photo of me and Sue hiking and being silly in 1980:

After jamming today we wheeled his table outside and played for another couple hours. He raised his kids with a table and has some chops, especially considering he only plays every few months. Though I play up to 3 times a week, he still had me running around the table. I could not let my guard down at all or he’d be on me.

I finally painted my second grand child. I did my sons kid almost a year ago and finally got a good photo from which to paint my daughter’s kid. They are going to see it tomorrow. I hung it on the wall by the first portrait. I hope they like it. I look at it and see problems. But everyone else (Sue, Ted, Carol) all think it’s great and problem free. I’ve already spent 4 days on it and it’s in danger of getting overworked.

We’ve had the usual bout of spring colds. It’s hardest on Lisa as she is stuck so far from help. She drove up here while Levi had a fever. Nothing could make him happy and being unable to talk yet all he could do was make annoying Ahh, Ahh sounds. It was driving us all crazy but she was on day 4 of it and at wits end. Sue was right there with her. She gets on the same wavelength and the two of them are drama queens.

I played ping pong Wednesday and we had a great crowd. Randy and Bob showed up which would have been plenty, but then Lamson and his friend showed up. Lamson is the guy I took a lesson from. According to Kenny Lamson used to clean up at regional tournaments. Seeing him at our local gym was like a visit from royalty. His forehand smash is a thing of beauty. The movement of his arm as he flows through the punch reminds me of how Tiger Woods swings a golf club.

I need to work out and then start in on a portrait of Clint. He sat for me once before he had kids, but I’m afraid that window has closed. Many of my artist heros including Richard Schmid work from photos when necessary. And both of my grandkid paintings were definitely done from photos. 3 year olds don’t sit and neither do solo parents babysitting two kids under 4 years old.

I was 20 feet up the cliff and had no protection. I’d seen the bolt from ground and knew the hangar had been removed. What I didn’t know was it had been removed the previous fall and was now severely rusted. I attached the spare hangar from my little pouch and screwed down the nut, but because of the rust it cross threaded.

My power was fading fast as I frantically looked around for protection. I saw a crack over to the right that might take a small nut. I carefully weighted the cross threaded hangar, using it as a handhold while I tried to place the nut.

The rusty nut popped off the bolt. Time slowed down and I just had time to realize I was airborne with a useless rope coiling below. I fell 15 feet and hit the sloping ground at the base of the 5.9 route called The Knobs. It’s to the left of “A Crack” and the 5.4 gully route at the Peshastin Pinnacles.

Because of the slope my catlike landing posture was for naught and I broke my damn ankle. Will offered his shoulder as we hobbled down to the car half a mile away. The ER doctor loaded me up with pain killers and I caught a Greyhound to Tacoma. Will, Paul and Lemon had decided to continue the weekend of climbing. It was our first weekend of the year and I’d gotten overconfident. Sue wasn’t answering, probably at work, so dad drove half an hour up to the bus station and taxied me to our apartment.

Sue answered the door, shocked to see me home early from the weekend. She was wearing a cast on her forearm from wrist surgery a week before. She’d tried to crawl through an open window to clandestinely visit a friend. It broke, and she severed a tendon.

“Why are you home early? Oh no, you’re on crutches…what’s wrong with your ankle, what happened!”

A week later, we had just pedaled around Vashon Island. At the ferry, the dock worker noticed the plaster casts on Sue’s wrist and my ankle and told us we should stop fighting. Halfway across Puget Sound we heard a boom and saw the smoke cloud when Mount St. Helens blew up. That was May 18, 1980.

My ankle has never been the same, but it is usually just an annoyance, not a deal breaker. However, at Wednesday ping pong I was playing Randy and Bob. They are tournament level players and I get severely worked when I play them. Normally I love the challenge. They wipe the floor with me but I put up a brave fight and it’s a ton of fun. But my ankle started twinging with severe pain.

I bailed early but my suffering wasn’t over. I still had to walk a mile back to the house. Sue was out helping her 98 year old mom at the hospital. Limping home with my ankle getting worse and worse was ugly. Now I’ve been sitting on the couch for 2 full days hoping it will heal up. Without exercise my weight has ballooned up to 175. When I’m healthy I was already struggling to get under 170 so it’s frustrating not being able to work out.

It’s Monday and I’m able to walk slowly around the house without pain. There are occasional minor twinges of pain but it’s generally much better. I was able to climb at the gym Friday while loaded up on Ibuprofen so that’s a plus.

It’s possible that the Prednisone of the last 15 months has been masking the ankle inflammation. And now that I’ve been off the drug for a full month my ankle is alerting me to the fact that I have a problem. I do get occasional twinges of pain in my knees and I still have a few lingering side effects from the drug. I’ve read that it can take more than a month to “get back” after quitting cold turkey. Glad to report that I just rode my Schwinn Aerodyne for 50 minutes. I had the rear of my foot on the pedal without any pain.

On a side note, I just de-activated Instagram and Facebook for a while…needed a break from the doom scroll syndrome. So much of Social Media is a bad joke these days. Jeez.

Newspapers

I subscribe to the New York Times. It’s important to support Journalism…especially when it’s under attack both from the government and dropping circulation numbers. Occasionally I see something worthy and feel like writing a letter to the editor, or, as they call it now: adding a comment. Today they had a great article about aging and I was prompted to submit a comment, shown below:

Nice article about aging! Everyone gets a chance to be young and pretty. If you’re lucky, you get a chance to be old and wrinkled. That’s me now at 70. Young people are so pretty. They’re like fresh roses, they sparkle. 

I never wanted to be this old…couldn’t imagine it when I was young. Every year it seems like more is taken from me. I’ve had a few annoying diseases come and go, always taking something. Lost my hearing in one ear, for example.  And Long Covid wasn’t pretty. Unlike many people I know, I’m blessed with a lovely woman, my long suffering wife, plus two nearby kids and 4 grandkids. I shouldn’t complain, but it’s hard not to look back at who I used to be as a young man. 

I still do the activities of my youth, but I can’t do them as hard, or as long, or as often. Thankfully I can still rock climb, both at the gym and outside in places like Yosemite. And I treasure my back up activities like landscape painting, for when I need something less active. The years are winding down for sure. None of us get out of here alive. Carpe diem!