With Us

“Give ‘er…Give ‘er” Cory shouted to me as I started up the layback. I fiddled in thin gear and wavered. “You got this!” He encouraged.

Pop. I was off.



I looked down to Cory in shock. His long, unruly, sun-kissed hair swayed with the wind. He chuckled. His smile eased my nerves.

We were in the southern Sierra, a place called the Needles. Granite spires, perched high along a ridge above Sequoia National Forest, created the skyline. This wasn’t your typical granite, it was glowing a fluorescent green that became even more radiant as the sun was setting, as if there was some sort of magic involved with this place. The spires had names like Sorcerer, Witch, and Warlock. The climbing was thin, perplexing, and hard to read …so was the gear. Magic. Pure magic.

Cory and I on Atlantis Photo Credit: Vitaliy

With Cory, the three mile approach felt like 5 minutes. He told me about his travels. He encouraged me to follow my dreams, many of which we shared - big walls in remote places, adventure, experiencing everything life has to offer.



“Cory, your shoes are wrecked…” He pulled out a well-worn Muira, delaminating along the sides with his toes nearly poking through. He laughed and continued to put them on with socks. I gave him a look of concern. “No really, you’re not going to wear those, are you?”

“Aye, these are perfectly good shoes…third resole. All of my shoes are old.” Cory laughed and began to tie into the rope. “I haven’t rock climbed in months. India got me weak and out of shape. This will be interesting.”

I was nervous and I had been climbing all fall. Atlantis, a four pitch 5.11c, was known for being a bold climb with thin gear.  Cory casually climbed the first pitch, protecting the pitch, but not the move. I struggled to muster up the courage to climb above my gear on the second pitch.

Up and down. Up and down, I climbed, back to the belay. He was so patient, insisting there was no place he’d rather be than there…in the moment. His words of encouragement pulsed through my veins as I felt the adrenaline rush of committing to face climbing. True to his words, I did not fall. 


After Atlantis, we decided to climb another spire via an easier route. The climbing was smooth, fast, and we summited just as the sun was starting to set. We sat in an evening glow with a slight breeze. Cory talked about his plans for the rest of his motorcycle trip. He told me about his sisters, his parents, growing up in New Brunswick, about crazy stories and people. That weekend, I never saw him frown. It was then, I realized that I wanted to live like Cory. His calm, optimistic demeanor, adventurous spirit, and on-the-fly problem solving skills were traits I really admired. He was a good listener, insightful and helpful. He laughed a lot- we laughed a lot that weekend.

Me following Cory up the crux pitch of Don Juan Wall

I was lucky enough to meet up with him in Bishop the following month. We bolt-clipped, stacked pads, and plugged cams together. He also taught me how to open a bottle of wine.

“Ok Alix, here we go. I’m going to put this bottle in the shoe and smash it on the ground.” Cory boasted, sure of himself.

“I don’t believe you.” I was skeptical, but he continued through with his plan.

He lifted the wine-filled shoe and hucked it down to it’s fate. SMASH …into a million little pieces.

“Aww Alix, I’m sorry. It’s worked in the past.”

“No worries, that’s why we have two bottles.” I smirked. We enjoyed the other bottle of wine and the starry night.

It’s been an emotional roller coaster following Cory’s death. First, it was sadness. Then, it was emptiness. I tried to put it past me. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t believe it. I wanted to believe so much I was going to see him in Patagonia or take him up on his offer to teach me to ice climb in Canada, but I knew, deep down, it would never happen. I tried to not think about it, but then, I wouldn’t be able to live on in his spirit - with intention, love, and gratitude. Instead, I’m learning to embrace his existence. I feel grateful to have shared a rope with him, a few moments in different places, and many long distance conversations.

***

After four days of rain, lightning, and thunderstorms, a day of splitter weather appeared. Jim and I decided to climb a route up Merriam Peak, just outside of Bishop. We longed for a big day in the mountains and in the spirit of Cory, we chose to do the route car to car. We hiked - 8 miles up, 9 miles back.

After we wrestled the talus to the base, we were forced to make a decision about our route options: climb behind a party of three on the route we planned or adventure up another route with a vague idea of where to go.

We chose the second. I knew that Cory would have enjoyed that. Jim and I embraced the situation with a new-route mentality, choosing a line that made sense. There was no chalk to be seen, loose blocks, crumbling footholds, stellar climbing, and even more stellar weather, no wind and sunshine. It was the epitome of a perfect day in the mountains.

We found glorious hiking through a creek-carved meadows. We found vast, open landscapes. We found beautiful, thought-provoking corners and a clean passage to the top of the peak. And I found a part of Cory’s spirit within me. Three of us summited that day - Jim, I, and Cory. I realized on the summit that he’d never be gone. In the mountains, his spirit would be with me. In scary situations, his boldness. And when things went wrong, his optimism.

I thought of the words he last said to me, “See you down South.” I will see you down there Cory, I will. 

Cory Hall Photo Credit: Rovert Wallshinback

Off-Balance

“Alix, remember that balance is the key to life,” Steve reminded me as he had many times before.

Yeah, Yeah, whatever Dad. I thought to myself.

It’s just too much fun to want to do anything else. Story of my life

Before climbing, I toured with a band, STS9, for 3-4 years, investing into over 50 concerts. Before that, I partied and raved non-stop for two years. And before that, I played competitive soccer for 10 years on three different teams simultaneously for a few of them.  If I’m passionate about something, it drives my life. It consumes my thoughts, my dreams, my ideas…everything. This isn’t the first time I’m feeling burnt out.  I didn’t think I’d start to feel this way about climbing…

And now, here I am, again, having ignored this idea of balance to chase dreams and feel-goods, and I am feeling weak, tired, and unstable.

The sound alarms at 3:20 am. Awesome, I’m pretty sure I just got woken up after my first real hour of sleep.

Bail. Bail. Bail.

Jim and I bike the chilly Yosemite loop to our car to get ready for Watkins.

“Jim, I didn’t sleep last night. Wanna bail?”

“Alix, you said you don’t bail if your partner’s psyched. I’M PSYCHED.”

We peddle on. Three hours later we arrive to the base of the climb…

I lead my pitches, bitching and whining through the first half of the climb, wishing I was on a beach surfing somewhere in South America. Yeah, that sounds good. Warm water, sunshine, and a surfboard.

We finish the climb 16 hours later and sleep on top of Watkins. Guess I’m earning every summit I get in Yosemite

“I’m tired Jim. This isn’t working…  I need a break from climbing so I can be psyched again.”

I started climbing 3.5 years ago, but until I discovered Yosemite two years ago, it wasn’t my passion. Since then, I have balanced school with climbing; traveling the past two summers, but always going back to school, another focus.

I graduated college in December and have been only rock climbing since then. When I’m not climbing, I work at a coffee shop in Bishop, the local climber hang out. I talk about climbing. I cruise the internet for blogs and videos. I fantasize about the Salathe headwall. I hang out with climbers.

There is no balance. I have become a monotonous drone enslaved to the big stone.

I’m ready for a change, even a small one. I don’t want to throw climbing away like I did with soccer or STS9. I need to balance out my obsessive habits. Lately, the ocean has been sounding more and more appealing. I grew up by the beach and I’m missing the warm, salty kisses the ocean gives me. I miss hula hooping and slack lining with my friends. I miss getting my lungs filled with salt water and feeling that temporary sharp pain that reminds me I’m a human. I miss my family, my little brother who’s almost two now, and all of my friends.

If a passion starts to fade, I loose direction and purpose. This rut is making me feel empty, incapable of empathizing and feeling compassion. I need something new to feel alive and a part of this ever-growing organism of Earth. I have to balance my climbing addiction with something else before the light goes out.

Two days go by and the suffering on Watkins was pushed out of my head. “Windfall to Windchill,” I suggested to Alan when we were sitting on the beach of the Merced. “11 pitches, 11a, shaded.”

“Hm, but I have plans with Lyla. They aren’t concrete… I’m interested.” He responded.

“Jim, you and David should come too! Party wall!” I interrupted his nap.

“Sure, we’re in.” Jim said, half asleep and unaware of what he signed up for.

“Ok, Alan. You’re in now right?” I was pushing it.

“Down.”

The next day we left Camp 5 at 6:30 am. We parked by Wawona and forgot a picture of the formation. We identified what could be the formation and went directly toward it up a steep scree field.

“Man, a beach sounds nice right now. I’m over hiking Jim”

“Yeah, I am, too.”

“David, we’re going to visit you in San Diego. Time for surfing!” I screamed ahead to him.

Nothing changed. There we were climbing a few days later, still fatigued. The clock was ticking and day by day, I realized I was just going through the motions. We rested the next day, and I spent most of the day reflecting by the Merced.

In the back of the North Pines campground, the river runs through it, shaded by the trees. It’s very shallow, maybe a foot deep with small stones blanketing the bed of the river and a fallen log spans the width of the river. I put my feet in the water, allowing myself feel the numbing sensation of the snow melt water. I walk to the center of the log and sit down.

I start to cry, uncontrollably. Thoughts are flowing and I feel alone. Suddenly, I feel guilty for climbing so much, for not being there for my mom when her brother died, for not spending more time with my brother, for not calling my friends. I feel guilty for being selfish. Pain is temporary. Soak it in. I keep thinking to myself.

Hours pass and I find myself back at Camp Five.

“Jim, let’s go for a walk.” My puffy, red eyes suggest it could be “the talk,” but it was far from that.

Jim looks at me like a puppy, afraid of getting scolded and unsure of what’s to come.

We walk toward the meadow between Curry Village and the Ahwahnee Hotel. A wooden board sidewalk separates the two locations and is surrounded by overgrown grass. To the east is Half Dome, a sheer face splits the dome. To the west is Yosemite Falls. The grass moves with the wind and the evening light accentuates the mystical face of Half Dome.

I am in the most beautiful place in the world and I can’t even stop to appreciate the beauty of the present because I’m so self-absorbed. Who is this girl? Where did she come from? I miss Alix.

“Jim, I’m not happy. I’m just not…” Tears form under my eyes. “I blamed Bishop for my lack of friends, lack of community. I blamed all of my problems on everything else…but really, it’s just me.” Shallow breaths start to form, tears are rolling. I can’t look at him. I’m ashamed.

Jim rubs my shoulders. “It’s ok Alix. You can cry.”

“I feel so alone. I feel empty. I have acquaintances, but very few friends. I miss my friends… I miss my family… I miss my mom.” I’m sobbing now.

“It’s ok.” Jim puts his arms around me.

“I’ve been so selfishly indulging in just rock climbing that I’ve lost sight of everything else important in my life. I hate myself, Jim. I don’t like me anymore. I haven’t felt this way since I was 18. I don’t care about anything. I don’t have feelings for people or emotions. I just exist.” I pause, trying to gather some composure, but can’t.

“I don’t want to feel this way Jim. We live in a beautiful place. I have you. I get to experience nature first hand every day, and yet, I’m still not fulfilled. I’m disgusted with myself. I feel lonely and empty.”

 “Alix, I love you.” His eyes are watery, too. People pass us on the sidewalk, but we didn’t care at this point. 

“I know. You are so kind, so patient, and so loving. I’m still not happy with myself. I don’t know what to do Jim…something needs to change.”

“You’re right. We can figure this out.”

We sit in the meadow for some time holding each other, embracing the setting sun, the wind, the warmth, the love.

Balance. I’m off balance.

Over the Rainbow Wall

My triceps ache. My calves are tight. I have a lingering whole-body soreness; this soreness I’ve been craving all winter long, a reason to rest.

It was evening. The sun was setting and a light breeze made temperatures perfect; warm enough to wear shorts and a tank, but breezy enough to raise the goosebumps -  my favorite time of the day. I was making pasta for our big day and getting the rack together. Jim kindly dealt with spilled milk in the food container.

He turns to me, “I’m pretty intimidated by the route tomorrow.”

“I’m not. I’m gunna climb with it no expectations. My goal is to get to the top.” I responded.

Normally, I am intimidated by routes, and get anxiety when diving into an unknown outcome. I scrutinize the topo, read every report online, and find out as much information as I can for a long route, but today, I felt light. No concerns for the outcome, just stoke to enjoy something that would be hard for us.

Rainbow Wall, although checking in at 12a with sustained 5.11 and 5.11+ climbing for 14 pitches, had rappel stations at every pitch, making a descent or retreat with even a 60 meter rope casual. The noncommittal nature of the route put my mind at ease. Worst case-scenario, we bail. Best scenario, we onsight, but I doubted my abilities.

Two days prior, I onsighted my first 11c gear/mixed route Texas Hold ‘Em, and now we were jumping into a significantly more sustained climb. Jim has an impressive resume including an onsight of Astroman (11c) and the Roman Chimneys (11d) in  Squamish and an amazing ability for onsighting. I had no doubt that Jim could onsight the route. He knew this too. Me, on the other hand, I onsighted my first and only 11b on the Rostrum, and my first 11c two days before. This would be our biggest free climbing challenge yet.

We rock, paper, scissored for the pitches - one person would get the 12a and 11c while the other person got both 11ds. The rest of the pitches would be split evenly. I hoped to get the 11d pitches; they looked better than the 12a crux. Jim won the game and got the crux pitch. My wish was granted.

The alarm sounded at 5:00 am. We were rested, prepared, and psyched. We strolled to the gates 10 minutes early (6:00 am opening) and shoveled last nights leftovers into our mouths. The guidebook states that the hike was 1.5-3 hrs. We figured about 2 hours. Not fast, not slow, just steady.

We got to the base in an 1 hr and 45 minutes, exceeding our expectations. The Rainbow Wall looked much bigger the closer we got to the base. Accents of green, blue, and purple blended the adobe colored rock to make it’s namesake wall. The route was obvious - a long left facing corner to a ledge system to a beautiful red dihedral system up high.

My stomach churned. It’s going to be a long day.

I turned to Jim, “let’s split the 5.11 corners above the first 11d crux. I’m going to be too fried to lead the last 11b.” Suddenly, I wanted to change game plans. Leading the high 5.11 pitch sounded intimidating and I thought I’d be too gassed for it.

“You can’t lead every good pitch Alix.” Jim whined.

“Well, maybe we should just block lead then, and we won’t have to do two hard pitches in a row. People do it all the time. Most people do it on hard climbs.” I was making excuses for not wanting to lead that high pitch.

“Ok... you lead the first half. I lead the second.”

“Wait, but I wanna lead one of those mega-classic pitches up high!!” My voice raised. Those corners looked perfect.

“I want to lead the first crux pitch then. How about you lead the 11c off the deck? Then, you take over and link the 5.11 corners. I’ll lead the last 11b.”

“Deal.” I liked that idea. Unfortunately, I wanted to lose rock paper so I didn’t half to warm up my lead head on an 11c, and now here I was, leading at my limit first pitch of the day.

I started up the low angle, blocky corner for about 25 feet before I had to make a real move to get to the first bolt.

“Damnit Jim. There’s no pro and I have to step on small holds. I hate not having pro.” My mind started to clutter with fear, normally it’s irrational, but I felt justified this time.

“You can come down and I'll lead it or I'll clip the first bolt for you.”

“Ok, clip the first bolt. Thanks.” I ashamedly replied.

Jim scurried up the corner and clipped the first bolt with ease. I haven’t climbed with many people that are as confident about their abilities as Jim was. I could have easily made the clip, but I lose confidence if I think I’m putting myself in danger. I did have to make a couple of extra stem moves to get to the bolt, and was grateful that I had a princess top rope for it.

The rest of the pitch was sustained. Thin movements between face and corner climbing kept me on my toes. And at one point, I had to grab a jug, paste my feet against a blank wall, and just walk them up to get a high foot right near my face. My feet were sputtering and I was gripped. I barely got by, and that moment gnawed at my mind for the rest of the climb.

I like to make things feel easy and look easy. Climbing is a beautiful art and one of the reasons I love it so much is when things just flow like a well-choreographed dance, but done as improv with grace and beauty.

I clipped the chains. I’ll take it. Desperate and thrutchy as it was, I onsighted my second 11c and I was elated. The next pitch was the first “hard” pitch of the route.

A wide layback off the anchor guarded the corner up high with the cruxes bolt protected. After Jim moved through the layback, he yelled down, “So this is what hard climbing looks like.” I couldn’t see anything, but I assumed the corner was desperate and thin.

Jim huffed and puffed his way up the pitch. He moved to the face and did one of those jug, foot paste, high feet scramble, that I did earlier as well, and then back into the corner. We realized that much of the climbing on this route required this.

When he clipped the chains, he let out a big howl. He was psyched. It was his second 11d trad/mixed onsight. I followed the pitch clean, not feeling as desperate as I did on the first pitch and climbed in control. It was a combination of burly lay-backing, precise smearing in the corner, stemming, and thin face climbing.

The early hard pitches were over. According to Yosemite and Red Rocks hardman, Dave Allfrey, who convinced us to climb this route, the middle 7 pitches were soft and could be done quickly. We swung leads and linked a couple of the pitches. The two 5.11 pitches were still thought provoking, but much less sustained than the first two pitches. After simuling through the 5.7 blocky ledge and chimney system, we were at Rainbow ledge.

One more pitch of 5.8 lead us to the base of the next two crux pitches of a beautiful red dihedral system. It was my lead. Off the anchors, there was powerful lay backing and stemming past a bolt to a large jug in the corner. After pulling myself up onto it, I was staring at a blank corner. Tiny crimps of nothing were chalked on the right wall. There were also large chalk stains on the blank face where people smear palms. In the corner were two tiny seams that you might be able to press a thumb on one wall, and crimp the other; there wasn’t much. The left wall had one garbanzo-bean-sized foothold chest height and nothing else. I couldn’t get my foot that high.

The bolt was at my chest, but I was still scared. Did I not want to fall because I was afraid of falling or did I not want to blow the onsight? Any fear associated with the fall was irrational. I was completely safe, but I still had to keep telling myself that. Despite the bolt right there, I was scared.

I climbed up and down, up and down, trying to find something that would work. Everything felt weird and awkward. The crimps on the right face were shit, and the ticked feet on that wall made no sense. The left wall didn’t have much for feet.

I convinced myself I was safe and that I should try a sequence, commit to something. I found a smear for my left foot, pressed my right palm on the right wall of the corner, used the seam as a thumb catch, and stood up on that foot. I stemmed between the two sides of the corner, and found myself statically reaching for the jug. The movement felt graceful and secure.

I was in disbelief. I yelled down to Jim, “Did that just happen?!”

My heart was racing and I had to calm myself before finishing the pitch. Even though the boulder problem was over, the rest of the pitch was still sustained. I moved up slowly, placing gear when available.

I hollered at the anchor, “WOOOOO!” 

I extended my anchor so I could watch Jim do the boulder problem. He tried the high left foot, but it was too high for him too. Then, he tried my beta. He followed it perfectly, and executed the crux sequence. He was at the anchors in no time.

Now, we sat under the last crux pitch of the route, and the hardest pitch -  another corner with a couple of bolts, and no feet. It was Jim’s turn to take over.

“I know you can do this Jim.” I assured him.

Getting past the first bolt was tricky. Both sides were mostly blank, but there was a tiny seam to use in the corner for your hands. Jim smeared his knee on the left wall, pushed his hand against the right wall, back stepped, and reached for a crimp to stem out. The first crux was over. He lay backed and stemmed, placing gear through strenuous incipient corner cracks to the last bolt. From there, desperate stemming on smears lead to a jug. He was through the crux. Jim let out another howl, unaware that the climbing wasn’t over.

There was more 5.11 climbing to the anchor, but Jim’s greatest strength is pulling out his reserves through endurance climbing. He finished the pitch clean, his first 12a onsight. We screamed like monkeys on the side of El Cap. I was proud of him.

I followed the pitch clean, but just barely. It was a strenuous lead and I fought for every layback and stem. I was grateful for the top rope.

Jim lead the final 11 pitch which was mostly face climbing, sometimes utilizing the cracks in the corner. I lead the last wandery face pitch to the top.

WE DID IT!! We howled to the setting sun. But when we topped out, there was a ting of numbness. That was it. I suddenly felt directionless like our purpose was lost. We just onsighted our hardest route, but my feelings were neutral. All of the adventure and excitement came to an end in that instant. I was sad it was over. I always thought I’d be overjoyed with stoke after climbing something epic in good style, but I was already longing for another challenge to focus my sights on. We took one more look out the beautiful expanse of Red Rocks and started the long, dark descent.

It was over.


*    *    *

In total, it was a 17 hour car to car clean ascent of Rainbow Wall. Rainbow Wall, although a big day, is very safe with almost all of the cruxes bolt protected and gear the whole way. A light rack of gear and draws with short pitches makes this route very friendly and I strongly recommend anyone breaking into the grade with all day endurance to try it! You might surprise yourself.


It was our first time to Red Rocks and we had four days. We drove out from Bishop and climbed Levitation 29 and Texas Hold Em the first two days, and then Rainbow Wall the fourth day. It was a good sampling of Red Rocks and we’re dreaming for another return! Maybe next weekend :)


That was by far my biggest endeavor and one of Jim’s as well. Maybe we’ve gotten stronger from sport climbing in Owen’s River Gorge all winter or maybe we were just lucky. I was lucky to get by. After single pitch cragging all winter, it was amazing to get high on beautiful cracks and face. So stoked for more trips to Red Rocks and our Yosemite season this Spring!

GAHHHH, I love rock climbing.

The Joy in Failure

Everyone enjoys success - the feeling of accomplishment, pride, adoration from others, praise. What's not to like about success? Whether it's onsighting a hard route or acing a final in college, we can all relate to the pride and joy that comes with success.

The other day while I was trying my "project" Green Wall Center (V6), by far the hardest thing I've put time into,  I realized that I didn't like bouldering because of failure. One day, I get on Green Wall and feel so good - even reach a new high point. And another day, I can't even get off the ground. I want to give up, to quit, move on to something else to feel success.

Unknown climber on Green Wall Center. Such an aesthetic climb!

I'm tormenting myself inside and negative comments fill my mind.

Why can't I do something that felt so good just days before?

What's going on with me?

I left the bouldering field, broken and discouraged.

I'm never going back to Green Wall. 

As a trad climber, I give everything to onsight climbing. In order to do a long route, it's important to feel comfortable at that grade so you don't get be-nighted (having to climb through the dark).  I give one try-hard attempt to most routes for the onsight and I often never go back to the route. Having had Yosemite as my crag the past two years, I have repeated routes, but rarely more than 3-4 times.

When you're bouldering, you try and try ....and try again. I've tried Green Wall around 25 times, still with no success. So. Much. Failure. 

What I'm starting to learn is to find joy in failure because let's face it, we all fail as much as we succeed and if we're not failing, we're not trying hard enough. And if we're not trying hard enough, we're not reaching out maximum potential. So I can either embrace failure or never push myself and with four more months of bouldering ahead of me, I need to deal with failure.

Failure is good for the character. It keeps me grounded and humble. Just when I think I'm starting to figure things out, I get smacked down. And when you finally reach that goal, send the problem, get into graduate school, it means so much more because you took the time and gave the effort and attention it required to achieve that goal.

I guess I am starting to view failure as a means to success. I just like climbing, the movement and the technique, the attention it requires.  Sending a problem/route is definitely important, but not the means to success. Success should be derived by the path taken and the effort given. Success is trying really hard. Success is consciously working on something you're bad at. Success is having fun.

Ryan on Rubber Tester (v0). Holdless climbing, PSYCHED.

So the next time I get frustrated with a climb, I just gotta remember that the journey is what really matters. Those brief moments of clarity in the mountains. The countless hours of suffering and pushing past your comfort zone. This is how we grow. This is my success.

Easy living in the Buttermilk Country

You might have already come to this realization, cheers to you! Cheers to trying hard! Cheers to failing and having a damn good time! Because at the end of the day, having a good time is what makes us happy, and a happy person gives off good vibes and good vibes are infectious. 

And remember,

"The best climber is the one that's having the most fun." - The Late and great Alex Lowe

Summer Travels III - Squamish Days

Toby in Squamish 

Squamish moments- when people and ideas collide to create spontaneous awesomeness! Squamish moments happen all the time. For example, you're walking down the street and seeing your friends driving by. They flag you over, and then you're headed to a friend's house for a random movie and dinner night, a quintessential Squamish moment!

Here are a few of my favorite experiences I've had while in Squamish over the past six weeks.

Booby-Trapping Banana Peel

A barefoot banana peel booby trap night ascent! Marc-Andre, a Squamish local, and I climbed a route called Banana Peel (5.7) up the Apron at night and barefoot (because I lost my climbing shoes earlier that day...typical). Not that exciting, right? Think again! We put banana peels all over the climb after baking a bunch of banana bread. How fun would it be to climb banana peel with banana peels all over the climb, in the cracks and on the ledges! A few friends climbed banana peel over the next few days and said that other random parties enjoyed the pleasant surprises on route. TOTAL SUCCESS.

Party Wall of 'The Wonderful Thing About Tiggers'

Drew came up with the idea of bringing as many people as we could to climb a long lost ultra classic on Mt. Haybrick just behind the Chief and escape into a semi-alpine environment for the day. Drew, Jim, Ryan, Gwen, Clinton and I headed out there to party wall this hidden gem! This day was filled with lots of laughter and Jim's rendition of 'The wonderful thing about tiggers' song.

Too many people on the rope bridge

Ryan following one of the awesome pitches!

Blackberry Pancake Night

Inspired by Cody and Celene's blackberry pancake breakfast one morning and with a rest day ahead of us, Jim, Clinton, and I decided to go blackberry picking to make pancakes for dinner! For those of you who haven't been to Squamish, one of the many perks of care-free Squamish living is the massive abundance of wild blackberries in August- along the streets, by the crags, skirting the train tracks. We were able to fill two big containers and a large sand pail full of blackberries. Next, we got enough ingredients from the store to make 60 pancakes so everyone at camp could enjoy a pancake or two. Finally, the crux of the situation was making all of these pancakes. Not only did we add too many blackberries making the batter super runny, but we also decided to make a proper (full) PAN cake (get it?). Its pretty hard to turn over giant pancakes, I must admit. We aborted the massive pancake mission after about an hour, added more ingredients to make batter instead of soup, and were finally in business. After a pancake or two, we noticed that things were moving in them.

"Are those worms?" someone asked.

We didn't care. The heat would kill them and we'd get added protein. All the batter was used after a few hours of flipping, and the campground was stoked on the awesome blackberry pancakes! Squamish awesomeness.

The Crew 

Me heading up the Split Pillar

Sam on Astrologger, the coolest flare chimney!

I have been in Squamish for nearly six weeks now and it seems as if I was driving up the coast of Canada with Drew yesterday. Where does the time go? Slowly, we are all migrating to different places- some of us back to work for a few months, others heading to school, and many, including myself, are headed to the alpine, the Bugaboos. Another great adventure to be had!

My time in Squamish has been nothing short of amazing. I've been able to get on most of the routes I've wanted to do this season. I've had some success, some days where I was in way over my head, and other days of being completely terrified on apron slab climbs, but overall, I've had a blast on every route I've gotten on. My goal this summer was to become a well-rounded climber so I've spent time slab and offwidth climbing to learn and improve my technique, and I have noticed these improvements. What I've cherished more than the climbing here is the community of Squamish. Most of my favorite memories on this leg of the trip have been derived from random adventures, lazy days, and rest days. I hope to spend many more summers in Squamish crushing the gnar (lol), laughing a lot, and eating good food. Cheers to another incredible summer!!

Summer Travels Part II - Moments Frozen in Time

Trout Creek - Good Company
Sitting at a picnic table in a campsite at Trout Creek with the Dechutes River roaring a few yards from us, I sat there...exhausted, sunburnt, and scraped from a vicious offwidth attack. A slight breeze saved us from the sweltering afternoon heat, and the shade was our savior. We decided to collaborate on dinner. Ryan put porkchops on the table. I rummaged for eggs, tortillas, and a variety of vegetables. Drew brought the spices, and of course, avocados! (what meal is complete without them!). I sat there, theraputically chopping the vegetables and savoring the smell of garlic. Ryan sizzled the Pork Chops, and Drew prepared the avocados. We talked about life, music, culture, anything but climbing. The soothing sound of flowing water and Ryan's music created a blissful atmosphere. I sat there thinking, I feel so alive right now.

"This is the life, the good life," one of us mentioned.

I couldn't have been more content at that moment in time, a memory I will always cherish. The simplicity of good company and a beautiful setting.

Index - Nature
The ground is a dark, earthy brown, moist and fertile. Trees with wild, winding roots are covered with vibrant, green moss. Slugs move liesurely along the forest floor, and the snow melt pounds down the river. I sit on a rock with my feet in the water, watching the water flow in awe at something so powerful. I think about water, its beauty and importance for all creatures on Earth. My mind drifts to the mountain above me, Mt. Index, and the challenge a summit on it would provide. How humbling and inspiring nature is. My appreciation for all things wild continues to grow immensly.

Washington Pass - Freedom
The sun was tucked behind the Cascades and an evening glow illuminated the fields that were scattered with barns and horses. Windows were rolled down and a warm breeze kissed my cheeks. Angus and Julia Stone's "The Beast" was serenading my friend Drew and I as we headed to Washington Pass. This moment in time has been one of my favorite of my trip on the road. We spontaneously made plans earlier that day to do an alpine climb in the pass, and headed there with our friends Mark and Lauren. This moment defined the immense freedom that I felt as we drove to climb in the mountains.


It's been nearly three weeks since I've left Yosemite, and I am now in Canada. I've climbed some outstanding rocks over these past few weeks, but what I'm learning more is that the journey and these quiet moments are what I savor the most. Cheers to good company, the planet, and freedom.

Summer Travels Part I- Yosemite Valley and the Salathe Wall

I can't get enough of this place, really. After fall, winter, and spring in the Yosemite, I find myself right back there as soon as school ended, May 18th.

After a few days of live music, good company, and lots of laughter, I pack my things in a frenzy, per usual, for the summer. Two backpacks, a bike, and some crates of food. The next morning I'm sitting in the Camp Four line, making coffee, and catching up with my other friends in line. I am home.

The following day I got on Moratorium, 4 pitches, 11b, a beautiful corner system with lie-backing and stemming, my favorite. And to make the day even better, my partner, Owen and I were going to link it into East Buttress of El Capitan for a full day of epic climbing, 17 pitches in total. This grand day ended in a shattering heartbreak when I heard my elbow pop on the second pitch of the Moratorium and I took the whip.

This was day two of my summer vacation, and with so much psyche leading up to this, I was feeling so anxious about this injury and didn't want to stop climbing. I had a brilliant idea (as all of my ideas are brilliant) ...the Salathe Wall. I told myself over and over again that jugging wouldn't hurt my elbow, aiding would feel cruiser, and all of the wide pitches would be using other muscles. Perfect. I'd still be climbing without actually aggravating the injury, and climbing El Cap at that! Life is good.

Beginning of the Salathe- a long way to go

I texted my friend Elliot, "Salathe Wall!" We had climbed half a day together prior to the wall at the Cookie cliff, and the last time I saw him was at Indian Creek where we camped together for a few days, and now we were getting on the Salathe. Typical Alix style, always down to climb with anyone. Elliot, shredder of the powder and crusher of the rock, is stoked on climbing and down for anything so I knew he'd be in. He convinced me to take one more day of rest before pre-hauling to Heart Ledges (which I considered a rest day, ha!)

This procedure felt very familiar given that I did the first twenty two pitches of the Salathe Wall two weeks prior. We pre-hauled to Heart Ledges on Wednesday, and what a day it was. As we walked up to the fixed lines, there was a porta-ledge hanging from the first set of anchors, what looked like 5 haul bags, three people, and another  dude aiding up the base of La Cosita right. I stood there, perplexed, amazed, and slightly annoyed that there was such a traffic jam.

This is going to be a long day, I thought to myself.

That day ended up being super fun and Patrick, the dude aiding up La Cosita to retrieve some lost gear and his partner, ended up sharing the route with us and it was so much fun with them!

The next day we blasted up Freeblast which ended up being wicked cold and windy. Elliot linked one and two; I linked three and four, and then we swapped to the top. Aiding through the slabs took some trickery and for the love of god, that half dollar pitch pwned me. I lead this pitch the first time I got on the Salathe and fell once coming around the corner coming into an insecure and slick flare. This time, I fell twice and ended up aiding through the crux. We made it to Heart with some time to spare and Elliot fixed a pitch off of Heart that evening. Heart ledges is a plush bivy for four with an incredible view of Ribbon Falls and the Cathedrals and it even has an accommodating toilet on the far right end. The fresh scent of urine is a dead giveaway.

The sun doesn't hit us in the morning, but it's radiant enough to awaken us from our deep slumber 1200 ft off the deck. As we were packing up, an in a day party passed us, and to my surprise, one of the individuals was Brad, a Valley crusher I see often in Yosemite. Brad lead the pitch off of heart faster than I jugged the thing. Needless to say, it was super inspiring to see two individuals move with such fluidity and efficiency on this massive sea of granite. They ended up topping out in under ten hours, I later found out ...like a boss.

That day I lead the hollow flake which was exhausting and a little spooky and I even had a Valley giant for protection. I deeply admire everyone who does this without protection, it's effing scary. I had a bit of a breakdown on the following pitch the first time I got in it.

Picture this: 5.7 flaring chimney, not too bad, right? Especially after the hollow flake. I chimney up this about 25 ft with a wall rack, including a 4, 5, 6, and a valley giant and I didn't even end up placing any of them because you can't protect it. I suddenly can't move anymore. My eyes swell up with tears, I think I'm going to die. There are some flakes on the outside of the chimney, but they are marked with X's and when I try to step around it, I move another block. I'm really in trouble now. I try to inch up some more, but no progress is made. I scream down to Daniel and eventually we find out that the haul line was caught under a rock. Once that problem was solved, I moved around the flake, placed good protection, and felt at ease once more.

5.7 Death Flare

I know this sounds very dramatic, but that pitch really scared me, and my belayer, too. I had no intention of leading that pitch this time around. No-sir-ree, not me! It was all Elliot's pitch.

After the hollow flake, I handed him the gear and sent him off into this chasm. Now, a background on Elliot, he has very little wide experience and hadn't climbed in six months, and I just sandbagged him into what I thought was the scariest pitch on the route. When he got on it, he felt the same way, too. After idling in the chimney for a while, he decided to come down. Annoyed and slightly terrified to do it again, I went up and finished it with some whimpering. It was still scary.

I turn the lead over to him for the next pitch, and then I lead the following 10c pitch that I french-aid-free climbed and the infamous Ear, which I was super stoked to do. I aided through the 10+ crux, beautiful steep thin hands, which felt like a sin because I'd totally lead it on the ground, but the wall rack was weighing me down (excuses!).

So much exposure!

The Ear was fantastic. I found the crux to be getting into the horizontal chimney and unashamedly, I pulled on a number four to get established. After that, it was super enjoyable. Just imagine, you're very high off the ground chimneying horizontally with in-cut edges for feet, so freaking cool. This is where we caught up with the party in front of us. This is where I waited for 2-3 hours before I could fix Elliot (which was awesome because Patrick and his friend were super cool), and this is where I found out I was missing one of my Guide Tennis Shoes. Facepalm.

I spent around 5 hours at that belay, chatting with Patrick and his friend above us, cracking jokes, keeping moral high, and belaying Elliot as he lead the C1+ with one four and one set of offset cams. Not ideal. Elliot had to back clean most of the gear and when most people use two number fours to cam jug (meaning placing and pulling a certain cam size because the crack is parallel and only fits that size), he had to use a very tipped out three and a four to make it work.

Gazing out at the Meadow

 [Gear Explanation: When I refer to number sizes, I am referring to the size of the crack based off the Black Diamond Camalot size. Cams are used as protection in cracks. They are spring loaded and can contract and expand. When you put them in cracks, you pull a trigger and contract the cam and once the cam is inside you let go of the trigger and the cam expands. When placed correctly in good rock, these cams are bomb proof and can protect you from falling into oblivion.]

I finished cleaning the pitch as the sun was setting. We had one more pitch before we reached our bivouac for the evening, El Cap Spire. This last pitch was also Elliot's lead, but the team ahead of us were kind enough to let us jug their fixed ropes so we could get to the spire in good time. We had settled on top of the spire around 10 pm. This was probably the most taxing day as a whole for me, but also the most fun. Patrick and his partner whose name I forgot were so stoked to be on El Capitan that they were full of joy and laughter which was very infectious. Elliot is also super fun, hooting and hollering and cracking jokes the whole time. It was a BLAST. This is why I am hopelessly devoted to the Captain now, days like this.

Gear cluster on El Cap Spire

The next morning I woke up very sore, but we had to keep going. This is right around where we bailed on the previous attempt on the Salathe.  I had lead to the base of the chimney twice before so I was familiar with the pitch and decided to lead it for efficiency. The first time nearing dusk on our first attempt, but I came down, tired, scared, and without wide gear. The second time, when we were pulling our ropes to bail, it got stuck, so I re-aided to the base of the chimney to get it out. I linked the two pitches off the spire with a lot of grunting and thrutching in the 5.9 squeeze. It felt VERY demanding for a 5.9 squeeze, which I typically like. The fatigue must have been setting in, my excuse.

Elliot followed the up, and then we let our new friends jug our lines to return their favor yesterday. I lead the following pitch as well, the Teflon Corner which was pretty casual. This led Elliot to lead the infamous Sewer pitch, and in fact, it was a mess of sewage slew.

The Sewer- 10c or C2

He linked this into the next which brought us to the Block, a super cool sloping bivy that could fit three and possibly four with some tetris action. Because our friends allowed us to pass and the Block wouldn't be ideal for four, we decided to push to Long's Ledge which would be a very LONG day (lol!) given that there were six pitches of C2.

Elliot was such a champion this day. He lead three more C2 pitches to get us to the base of the roof right around sunset. I took over, leading the roof, and headwall pitches to Long's Ledge. The full moon illuminated El Cap as I slugged up the Headwall. The roof pitch was wild. There was a ton of a fixed gear that littered the series of roofs I had to aid through. I was dangling in space with 2000 ft below me...wild. Patrick and his friend cheered me on as I slothed upward.

The C2 on the roof pitch was not bad at all if you have offset cams, and there were some fixed nuts as well. Elliot took some whips following the roof which made me very glad to have lead it. He reached the anchors around 10:30 pm, and we still had one mega-pitch to our next bivy (if you link the two together). The headwall proper was utterly breathtaking, steep and splitter forever, very easy to aid, but I back cleaned the hell out of it placing 3-4 pieces the whole pitch and clipping a few fixed pieces. It felt like a crime to aid something so beautiful, probably the most beautiful crack I have seen.

The short C2 pitch is what really shook me up. Some thin gear leads you to a shitty flare that would have been easier to free/aid, but I had NO interest in free climbing so I made things very difficult by placing pro in the back of the flare. The flare caused me much grief as I watched my feathers float effortlessly out of my puffy jacket as I went into a frenzy trying to get through this thing. A few more thin aid placement and clipping some fixed gear got me to one more placement before I reached the ledge. No nuts or cams fit in this place. I spent some time trying to fiddle in gear, and had no success.

I yelled down to Elliot, This seam is too thin. Cams and nuts don't work in here and I have NO idea what to do.


His response, Cam Hooks!

I have never placed a cam hook before, but I've heard that you'll never forget your first cam hook placement so I was in for a treat. I pulled out the two cam hooks we had, placed one, and gingerly stepped on it. Pop! I fell a foot onto my daisy. I tried the other cam hook and the same thing happened. It was pretty spooky. I fiddled with the gear a bit longer and found myself stepping high on it, and grabbing the glory fixed line.

I was so tired at this point that I was almost becoming delirious. Hauling felt incredibly hard given the state of fatigue I was in when it should have been easy. Very steep and a light load. When I finished hauling and docked, I moved over onto the ledge which was about two feet wide and just collapsed. Elliot reached the belay at 2 am. We ate some food, and I passed out very quickly.

Long's Ledge

The next morning was slow moving. We slept in knowing that there were just four pitches to the summit and all straight forward. A party of three rapped in from the top to stash water for their attempt at Freerider. They were super psyched and a pleasure to talk to. Coincidently, I ran into them at the El Cap Bridge bear boxes and they had found my dropped shoe on the Hollow Flake Ledge. Score! I didn't need to buy a new pair of shoes anymore.

We got a very alpine start of 11 am and summited around 4 pm. We climbed THE SALATHE WALL! ZOMG. I thought the Salathe was definitely a step up from the Nose. There is more mandatory free climbing, harder aid, and the climbing itself was just more burly. This is the proudest moment I've had rock climbing and its definitely my favorite route. The Nose is PURE fun, but the Salathe really makes you work for it and I enjoyed that. I'm also one of those masochistic people that enjoy wide climbing so I was thrilled on the wide pitches.

Almost to the top- PSYCHED

Overall, I couldn't have asked for a better time. Elliot was super positive, supportive, and pulled his weight. Patrick and his friend that we hung out with as well had more psyche than anyone else I've met, and the parties that rapped the Salathe to store water were super inspiring. Oh, and HUGE props to Luke Stefurak for lending us the Valley Giant twice. I wouldn't have climbed the Hollow Flake without it.

I'm dreaming big. One day I'd like to free it, but so far away...

The rest of the time spent in Yosemite was very relaxing given that I had these nagging elbow injuries. I did manage to climb Half Dome with a good friend, David Gealy, in 11.5 hours which I was super stoked on. I hiked from the Valley to Tuolumne, 21 miles in 7.5 hours and finally lead Butterballs for the first time and pleasantly surprised myself with a few falls. Other than that, I biked around, enjoyed the sunsets, laughed for days, swam in the Merced, and spent way too much time shooting the shit at the Curry bear boxes. Life can be so simple and fulfilling.

Hidden Falls

David on the summit of Half Dome

View of Cathedral and Mathes Crest on my power hike

Leaving Yosemite is always emotional for me because it's where I most feel at home, but it was time for a change. I'm eager to return in the fall with more goals than I will ever have time for and enough psyche to fuel many seasons there.

Oh Yosemite, I love you so.