Armchair mountaineer: such a condescending thing to say, so dismissive, so arrogant. Yet that's exactly how Paul described himself when we met. I had been roaming the cube-maze wasteland of modern corporate America, looking for a programmer with the answers to my questions (I still believed such a person existed back then). I noticed some mountaineering posters on a wall and dropped back for a look-see.
Paul is on the short side, with very long hippy hair, black going gray. He wears hiking boots to work, just like a good programmer should. I knocked and introduced myself. I learned that he had in fact done a bit of peak bagging, some caving and rock scrambling. Even been to a gym a few times (DARE say!). He's had a life long interest in the science of climbing and pursues it when he can. But for Paul, life's other commitments have always outweighed his need to be afraid. So climbing, for Paul, is probably a distant hobby, not a life long obsession as it is for me.
We always promised or threatened to go climbing together. Me to go with him to Ralph Stover or some other "local" Philly spot where our company was HQ' d, him to come out west and do some "real climbing" with me in California. My promise was never fulfilled. I was always too busy or our schedules too inflexible for me to go top roping with him during my few trips east. Then our company was sold and I moved on.
I'd all but forgotten about the other half of the promise; till I got an email from Paul that is. His family was about to commence their long planned Yosemite trip (well over two years in the making; budgeting, scheduling, etc.). If I was still game he had blocked out one day to go climbing.
I was honored! I'm serious. Here is a guy taking his family to one of America's most famous vacation spots. He's planned every last detail a couple of years in advance. When and where they will camp, reservations complete and cold 18 months before arrival. Hiking trips and family excursions to Glacier Point carefully choreographed well in advance. Setting aside a day of a 2-week "vacation of a lifetime" says more about Paul's opinion of our friendship than any words he ever uttered in my presence. I very much wished to do something memorable. I was grateful for the opportunity to demonstrate some Californian hospitality and to hopefully contribute to a great Yosemite vacation.
In the days and weeks preceding our climb I pondered our goal. What to climb? I didn't want to do anything too hard and make Paul miserable. I wasn 't out to burn a climbing buddy on a fun sandbag. But I didn't want to do just any old route, climbing some pile of dung amidst the golden granite of Yosemite. I was mindful of Paul's mountaineering heritage and his lack of substantial rock climbing experience. I had a definite route in mind. It would mean a lot more driving than any sane climber standing on the Valley floor would consider. It would make for a very long day for yours truly. But I hoped it would also make the "climb of a lifetime" for a "vacation of a lifetime." Tall order, eh? I took the responsibility very seriously!
I asked some friends, explained the situation. The recommendations came pouring in. Ironically, or probably not, the picks pretty much lined up with those I had considered. Without much exception the routes reflected some of the climbing history of Yosemite, some of the aesthetics of the granite wilderness, most of the pleasures and not a lot of the pains of the sport. I only had to narrow the field to one. I knew all along which route was best suited for Paul. I had only to allow myself to consider the broader world to know I had it right from the start.
Getting Religion
I have to get up early to make this work; very early. Several cups of coffee and a bit of predawn driving allows me to do the 7 am pickup at Curry Village. I'm late, but only by a few minutes. And there is Paul, right where he said he would be, pack in hand and programmer shoes, er, I mean, hiking boots on his feet.
Paul hasn't changed much since we last saw each other. Neither have I. Do we ever? He has perhaps a bit more salt than pepper, long hair still streaming down his back. He's still as quiet as ever. This is in itself a remarkable circumstance. I'm quite talkative with people I know, running on in a constant stream of commentary and discussion, often oblivious to my partner's need for quiet and solitude. Paul is silent to the point of distraction; a man of few words and fewer reactions. Paul does not wear his emotion on his sleeve or anywhere else in public view. A slight smile might be taken for a guffaw; a slight frown; burning rage. A quick handshake; consider that a long heartfelt hug between two old friends. A diminutive "hello" the only word spoken for the first 5 minutes!
I run my suggestions by Paul one after the other. We'd discussed briefly by email the various choices that presented themselves. Other than confirming my suspicions about his climbing goals and motivations, Paul intends to leave the big decision in my hands. All well and good, but as my regular partners will attest, I refuse to make up other people's minds for them. Paul is a partner on this trip and as such will have an equal voice in any decision to be made whether he likes it or not! I outline both our options and the weather report.
I suggest a climb and why. Paul readily agrees. So we're off to Tuolumne Meadows. Why are we going to the Meadows when we're already in the Valley, center of the known granite universe? Well, it's going to be about 100 degrees today for starters. Also, there are very few lower grade routes in the Valley that yield the classic "Yosemite experience." Climbing some out of the way 5.7 on an obscure wall would be an insult. No, I believe it's better to seek out a classic elsewhere.
On the way out I point out some of the more famous lines. I avoid the opportunity to spray about the routes I have managed. He won't remember them or won't appreciate them in any meaningful way and I'm guessing the worm is already turning in his stomach. He doesn't need to hear a bunch of "There I was" stories from me.
Conversation is all over the place (and mostly coming from me), but we both seem to avoid talking about work. Could be Paul is uncomfortable about how the new management team treated my division. Could be that neither of us is so crass as to discuss vocation during vacation. Or more likely Paul is respectful of the fact that I just signed with a major competitor and that all of my questions about the old gang take on a new and sinister connotations. Probably all those things.
I do discuss a few of my more colorful climbing partners on our ride up to the Meadows. We're not really pressed for time and in fact I'm actually tying to kill some. We need a crack of noon start for our route to avoid the crowds. That says, "breakfast" in the clearest of terms. As we pull into the sack bar I've been spinning some yarns about the exploits of my pals. And there, sitting in lawn chairs in the parking lot next to their VW bus are Wild Bill and his girlfriend. He calls me a good for nothing SOB as we give each other a hug. Paul looks on with bemusement as two other old friends hail "Wassup Dingus?" as we make our way into the deli. Inside I'm laughing. Just because all four of the climbers I actually know are up here this weekend is total coincidence. I'm such a poser.
The John Manure trailhead is crowded as usual. Packing goes quickly. I'll carry the bulk of our stuff in deference to Paul's lowland heritage. We take lots of water, extra clothing and I sneak two headlamps into my pack without comment. No need to alarm the natives. Up the trail we go. Paul seems to be doing fine. I stress slow movement. I tell him there is plenty of time to do the route. Rushing will only make him feel sick. So slowly but surely we approach our chosen climb. And there it is, proudly jutting from the ridge up ahead.
Of course I keep up my running commentary on the state of the universe through out the approach. I regale Paul with the tales of the first ascent, how John Muir climbed this peak alone, a million miles from civilization, with a lump of bread in his coat pocket and a large sack of courage elsewhere. I describe the summit platform and the incredible granite. I point to some large feldspar crystals sticking out of a boulder and relate this to the "Crystal Range."
"Most of the route is done by climbing on crystals just like this." For the lack of anything more substantial to say, Paul responds with, "Cool." We are going to church today, just as Muir did so long ago. And our church is of course the same one he attended, Cathedral Peak. We intend to climb the broad southeast buttress, first ascended by Chuck Wilts and Spencer Austin in 1945. This is one of the classic High Sierra peak climbs, as evidenced by the praise it has received in not one but several guidebooks. Maybe that's why it's always crowded?
The base of the peak is littered with packs. Each one offers mute testimony to the number of climbers on the mountain above us. I give up counting after 10. I suggest to Paul our tactics: we climb in pitches with me leading the whole route. I'll turn the rack over to him at any point he wishes, but will assume that unless he asks, I'll be doing the leading. I estimate 5 to 6 pitches, but I'm not really sure. Yes, I have climbed this route before. This will be the first time however, that I've bothered to belay it in such a conventional fashion.
Paul pulls out his climbing boots. I'm blown away. He has an old pair of Boreal wall boots, fashioned on a Fire last. "Hah! Where'd ya get THOSE things?" Paul tells me he picked them up at a Philly Replay Sports for five bucks. Secretly I'm
...
"Dingus Milktoast" <none@yabis> wrote in message news: > Climbing With Paul > . . . > This place really is a church and it > welcomes all who come to worship here. > . . .
SUPERLATIVE!! I've stuck in a bit of a funk lately (family and job keeping me from climbing) and this perks me right up. I know you don't know me but as a fellow old(er) fart, I think it would be a blessing to share a rope with you some day.
Very Very Very inspiring post. Definitely makes you feel good I bet being up there on the climb and giving good advice. Great Read and a Well spent 10 minutes.
>Definitely makes you feel good I bet > being up there on the climb and giving good advice.
I don't know. I'd nearly forgotten all about it until Angus and I repeated the route a couple of weeks ago. It's not like I'm a goodwill ambassador or anything. I had simply been reflecting on my friend Paul's once in a lifetime opportunity to climb a rock peak. Being focused on someone else helped me to see things I normally miss.
In <uiofjdqo0dr...@corp.supernews.com> "Dingus Milktoast" <none@yabis> writes:
> It's not like I'm a goodwill ambassador or >anything. I had simply been reflecting on my friend Paul's once in a >lifetime opportunity to climb a rock peak. Being focused on someone else >helped me to see things I normally miss.
It was a great TR, as usual, Dingus.
Whenever I have someone for their first day ever in the Gunks, my regular partner asks me what I'm going to take them up first. We take these hosting duties very seriously, and help each other plan them very carefully.
It has to be a classic route, representative of the Gunks' unique features, and at least somewhat challenging. I think I've taken at least six rc'ers out for their first day. It's always a big responsibility -- you just want them to love the area as much as you do.
It's also a blast, you see the area through their eyes, and it feels new all over again. Thanks for describing that so well.
-steven- -- <ste...@panix.com> =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I think it was Kevin Bein, ... accidentally making the first free ascent of the Birdie Party ceiling while trying to climb MF. Somehow, the subtle abstractions embodied in the concepts of "left" and "right" eluded him, not to mention the concepts of "big ceiling" and "small ceiling." -- rg, gunks.com
"Dingus Milktoast" <none@yabis> wrote in message <news:uiofjdfd55uu52@corp.supernews.com>... > Bob Harrington once called me the Tolstoy of rec.climbing...
"Dingus Milktoast" <none@yabis> wrote in message <news:uiofjdfd55uu52@corp.supernews.com>... > Bob Harrington once called me the Tolstoy of rec.climbing...
> Bob Harrington once called me the Tolstoy of rec.climbing... > DMT
It makes sense to me. Tolstoy is another hero of mine because I heard that he ignored his teeth, on principle. Of course it wasn't so hard to do after age 30, when he had none left.
> Armchair mountaineer: such a condescending thing to say, so dismissive, so > arrogant. Yet that's exactly how Paul described himself when we met. I had > been roaming the cube-maze wasteland of modern corporate America, looking > for a programmer with the answers to my questions (I still believed such a > person existed back then). I noticed some mountaineering posters on a wall > and dropped back for a look-see.
> Paul is on the short side, with very long hippy hair, black going gray. He > wears hiking boots to work, just like a good programmer should. I knocked > and introduced myself. I learned that he had in fact done a bit of peak > bagging, some caving and rock scrambling. Even been to a gym a few times > (DARE say!). He's had a life long interest in the science of climbing and > pursues it when he can. But for Paul, life's other commitments have always > outweighed his need to be afraid. So climbing, for Paul, is probably a > distant hobby, not a life long obsession as it is for me.
> We always promised or threatened to go climbing together. Me to go with him > to Ralph Stover or some other "local" Philly spot where our company was HQ' > d, him to come out west and do some "real climbing" with me in California. > My promise was never fulfilled. I was always too busy or our schedules too > inflexible for me to go top roping with him during my few trips east. Then > our company was sold and I moved on.
> I'd all but forgotten about the other half of the promise; till I got an > email from Paul that is. His family was about to commence their long planned > Yosemite trip (well over two years in the making; budgeting, scheduling, > etc.). If I was still game he had blocked out one day to go climbing.
> I was honored! I'm serious. Here is a guy taking his family to one of > America's most famous vacation spots. He's planned every last detail a > couple of years in advance. When and where they will camp, reservations > complete and cold 18 months before arrival. Hiking trips and family > excursions to Glacier Point carefully choreographed well in advance. Setting > aside a day of a 2-week "vacation of a lifetime" says more about Paul's > opinion of our friendship than any words he ever uttered in my presence. I > very much wished to do something memorable. I was grateful for the > opportunity to demonstrate some Californian hospitality and to hopefully > contribute to a great Yosemite vacation.
> In the days and weeks preceding our climb I pondered our goal. What to > climb? I didn't want to do anything too hard and make Paul miserable. I wasn > 't out to burn a climbing buddy on a fun sandbag. But I didn't want to do > just any old route, climbing some pile of dung amidst the golden granite of > Yosemite. I was mindful of Paul's mountaineering heritage and his lack of > substantial rock climbing experience. I had a definite route in mind. It > would mean a lot more driving than any sane climber standing on the Valley > floor would consider. It would make for a very long day for yours truly. > But I hoped it would also make the "climb of a lifetime" for a "vacation of > a lifetime." Tall order, eh? I took the responsibility very seriously!
> I asked some friends, explained the situation. The recommendations came > pouring in. Ironically, or probably not, the picks pretty much lined up with > those I had considered. Without much exception the routes reflected some of > the climbing history of Yosemite, some of the aesthetics of the granite > wilderness, most of the pleasures and not a lot of the pains of the sport. I > only had to narrow the field to one. I knew all along which route was best > suited for Paul. I had only to allow myself to consider the broader world to > know I had it right from the start.
> Getting Religion
> I have to get up early to make this work; very early. Several cups of coffee > and a bit of predawn driving allows me to do the 7 am pickup at Curry > Village. I'm late, but only by a few minutes. And there is Paul, right where > he said he would be, pack in hand and programmer shoes, er, I mean, hiking > boots on his feet.
> Paul hasn't changed much since we last saw each other. Neither have I. Do > we ever? He has perhaps a bit more salt than pepper, long hair still > streaming down his back. He's still as quiet as ever. This is in itself a > remarkable circumstance. I'm quite talkative with people I know, running on > in a constant stream of commentary and discussion, often oblivious to my > partner's need for quiet and solitude. Paul is silent to the point of > distraction; a man of few words and fewer reactions. Paul does not wear his > emotion on his sleeve or anywhere else in public view. A slight smile might > be taken for a guffaw; a slight frown; burning rage. A quick handshake; > consider that a long heartfelt hug between two old friends. A diminutive > "hello" the only word spoken for the first 5 minutes!
> I run my suggestions by Paul one after the other. We'd discussed briefly by > email the various choices that presented themselves. Other than confirming > my suspicions about his climbing goals and motivations, Paul intends to > leave the big decision in my hands. All well and good, but as my regular > partners will attest, I refuse to make up other people's minds for them. > Paul is a partner on this trip and as such will have an equal voice in any > decision to be made whether he likes it or not! I outline both our options > and the weather report.
> I suggest a climb and why. Paul readily agrees. So we're off to Tuolumne > Meadows. Why are we going to the Meadows when we're already in the Valley, > center of the known granite universe? Well, it's going to be about 100 > degrees today for starters. Also, there are very few lower grade routes in > the Valley that yield the classic "Yosemite experience." Climbing some out > of the way 5.7 on an obscure wall would be an insult. No, I believe it's > better to seek out a classic elsewhere.
> On the way out I point out some of the more famous lines. I avoid the > opportunity to spray about the routes I have managed. He won't remember them > or won't appreciate them in any meaningful way and I'm guessing the worm is > already turning in his stomach. He doesn't need to hear a bunch of "There I > was" stories from me.
> Conversation is all over the place (and mostly coming from me), but we both > seem to avoid talking about work. Could be Paul is uncomfortable about how > the new management team treated my division. Could be that neither of us is > so crass as to discuss vocation during vacation. Or more likely Paul is > respectful of the fact that I just signed with a major competitor and that > all of my questions about the old gang take on a new and sinister > connotations. Probably all those things.
> I do discuss a few of my more colorful climbing partners on our ride up to > the Meadows. We're not really pressed for time and in fact I'm actually > tying to kill some. We need a crack of noon start for our route to avoid the > crowds. That says, "breakfast" in the clearest of terms. As we pull into the > sack bar I've been spinning some yarns about the exploits of my pals. And > there, sitting in lawn chairs in the parking lot next to their VW bus are > Wild Bill and his girlfriend. He calls me a good for nothing SOB as we give > each other a hug. Paul looks on with bemusement as two other old friends > hail "Wassup Dingus?" as we make our way into the deli. Inside I'm laughing. > Just because all four of the climbers I actually know are up here this > weekend is total coincidence. I'm such a poser.
> The John Manure trailhead is crowded as usual. Packing goes quickly. I'll > carry the bulk of our stuff in deference to Paul's lowland heritage. We take > lots of water, extra clothing and I sneak two headlamps into my pack without > comment. No need to alarm the natives. Up the trail we go. Paul seems to be > doing fine. I stress slow movement. I tell him there is plenty of time to do > the route. Rushing will only make him feel sick. So slowly but surely we > approach our chosen climb. And there it is, proudly jutting from the ridge > up ahead.
> Of course I keep up my running commentary on the state of the universe > through out the approach. I regale Paul with the tales of the first ascent, > how John Muir climbed this peak alone, a million miles from civilization, > with a lump of bread in his coat pocket and a large sack of courage > elsewhere. I describe the summit platform and the incredible granite. I > point to some large feldspar crystals sticking out of a boulder and relate > this to the "Crystal Range."
> "Most of the route is done by climbing on crystals just like this." For the > lack of anything more substantial to say, Paul responds with, "Cool." We are > going to church today, just as Muir did so long ago. And our church is of > course the same one he attended, Cathedral Peak. We intend to climb the > broad southeast buttress, first ascended by Chuck Wilts and Spencer Austin > in 1945. This is one of the classic High Sierra peak climbs, as evidenced by > the praise it has received in not one but several guidebooks. Maybe that's > why it's always crowded?
> The base of the peak is littered with packs. Each one offers mute testimony > to the number of climbers on the mountain above us. I give up counting after > 10. I suggest to Paul our tactics: we climb in pitches with me leading the > whole route. I'll turn the rack over to him at any point he wishes, but will > assume that unless he asks, I'll be doing the leading. I estimate 5 to
> I was honored! I'm serious. Here is a guy taking his family to one of > America's most famous vacation spots. He's planned every last detail a > couple of years in advance.
And I'd say he did well including you as part of it all!
> In the days and weeks preceding our climb I pondered our goal. ... I had a
definite route in mind. It
> would mean a lot more driving than any sane climber standing on the Valley > floor would consider. It would make for a very long day for yours truly. > But I hoped it would also make the "climb of a lifetime" for a "vacation of > a lifetime." Tall order, eh? I took the responsibility very seriously!
. . . >I reflected on the day and
> the climb. I wasn't gloating, but I was very pleased nevertheless. I took a > good friend to my church today. He came away smiling and without so much as > a scratch. I wanted to offer him a climbing memory to treasure and really, > it went off without a hitch.
> DMT
Bravo!
A lot of us feel this way about taking others climbing. I work especially hard at it when taking someone climbing for their first time. Of course you've written about it about as well as it can be done as far as I'm concerened.
