Crackshot Cabin Music

[Camie Fons]

Wewere climbing at Mayhem Cove in Tahoe, a crag of zebra-striped granite, back in the summer of 2005. It was the first clear day after several rainy ones, and we were eager to get out on the rock. At the time, I had just turned 25, and Alex was about to be 20.

To be fair, Alex was always the most eager to climb of anyone in our circle. I had started climbing in college in Bloomington, Indiana. After graduation, when I moved across the country to Sacramento to take a job at Intel as an SAP systems analyst, it took me a few years to find a crew of climbers as psyched as I was.

At the gym, Coach Charlie had been training a lot of the younger kids (including Alex and his friends Claire and Doug). Charlie also offered a three-month class that took me and my older friends from 5.9 toproping to 5.11c leading, and he introduced me to bouldering outdoors. I was hooked.

The hardest climb in the gym was built into the natural features, rated 5.13a perhaps. Alex had it so dialed that he started climbing it blindfolded. There was a long traverse problem in the bouldering room. When a new woody was put up across the room from the traverse wall, Alex extended the traverse by launching himself like an ape from the top of the old wall onto the woody, where he continued climbing. No one else would think of that.

We soon became weekend-warrior climbing buddies. If Alex drove, we listened to his horrendous heavy metal, bands like System of a Down. If I drove, it was lyric-twisting hip-hop or catchy dance music, which he tolerated with eye rolls. We spent so much time in the car together that I was there when he was pulled over for speeding, and he was there when I got pulled over another time for the same thing. Whoops!

After that, we moved to a more vertical wall around the corner. Alex picked a 5.12b called India Ink, onsighting it easily while hanging the draws and setting up a slingshot toprope for me. The route was only 50 feet tall, with the crux close to the top. The lower part of the route was more straightforward, though a bit runout since it was easier climbing.

I shrieked and started sobbing, and this time Alex made zero protest when I asked to be lowered. As I landed back on terra firma, Alex ran over to check on me. I untied as fast as humanly possible and sprinted away from the untrustworthy wall. The kindness and empathy Alex showed me in that moment is why I imagine he will be a good dad. He recognized how scared and shocked I was, and he patiently waited beside me until I calmed down in my own time.

However, we never found the first quickdraw, which had been clipped to a bolt drilled into the refrigerator-sized block. Meanwhile, a large chunk was missing from my approach shoe, cut clean off by the falling stone. If Alex had not moved when the first smaller piece of rock fell, I have no doubt he would have been killed by the later, larger rockfall.

When we talk about that day now, Alex always mentions how we went out for ice cream afterward. He said he thinks of this story every time he visits that ice-cream shop in Tahoe. While we climbed in Tahoe many more times after that, I only returned to the family cabin briefly years later to quickly clean up, when he asked me to be his guest at an event after a long day of climbing. He was between girlfriends and needed a plus-one to receive the Golden Piton in 2010.

Rene E Ross currently lives in Salt Lake City and works remotely as a manager at Apple in the Developer Tools software engineering group. She still loves climbing, hip-hop, and long books. She wishes her old friend Alex only climbed on ropes, but she respects that he has made a good life doing what he loves.

Uncle Joe was ten foot tall and bulletproof in my opinion! I miss him already! He has joined Helen for eternity. He was one of the Best.. I have so many good memories of being at the ranch, branding, cabin dances, and just visiting. Rest in peace pJoe, your hard work is over.

Sandy and Family

My deepest sympathy and condolences for your loss. Both in in a month. Loved having coffee with Joe and Helen, just great to be around. took some walks around the corrals looking at cows and sheep. going to miss the music at the cabin.

Prayers . Your parents are back together, with internal Love

I FEEL PRIVLEGED TO BE ABLE TO CALL JOE MY BROTHER IN LAW. I ALWAYS SAW AS A PLEASANT, NICE MAN.

HE WILL BE MISSED BY SO MANY PEOPLE, NOW JOE AND SIT AND RECALL ALL THOSE GOOD DAYS WITH HIS WIFE HELEN; HIS BROTHERS AND SISTER, GOD BLESS YOU ALL.

We were anle to meet Joe snd Helen thru our daughter and son in law Mr. and Mrs. Jim Wells. The Currans were always super cordial and had us out to the cabin for New Years several times. Rosebud Creek has lost two fine people.

Joe I just heard about your passing. My heart is broken that I never got to say goodbye. Thank you for everything you did for me. Thank you for always letting my family hunt on your land. You and Helen were so wonderful to me. I will miss you so much. Love you.

Entering the town of Oakley, he decided to stop at a second-hand book store and, further down the street, a thrift shop he had always intended to visit. However, he was disappointed. It was a pointless exercise since everything just looked wan and overpriced.

Walking around the corner to a convenience store, he picked up a few groceries, a six-pack of Fat Tire amber ale, and a bag of ice. Pulling out of the parking space on Main Street, he punched the accelerator and made straight for the Sand Mound Marina.

Ten minutes out of town, he saw the typical mix of people along the levee road. Some had set up folding chairs and picnic tables with coolers as they fished for catfish, striped bass, and sturgeon. This melting pot was a microcosm of society. People who fished for recreation, throwing back everything they caught, fished side by side with those who depended on their catch to help feed their families. He began to relax as he entered familiar territory.

Firing up the inline six-cylinder engine, dock lines free and coiled near their cleats, he eased Big Medicine into reverse and backed it out of the slip. The honey-colored mahogany wood interior of the cabin glowed in the late afternoon sun as he headed towards Bacon Island, which was bordered on the south by an old train trestle.

Jason mused over this kindred spirit as he angled his boat into position. With a gentle feathering of the transmission and throttle levers, he maneuvered the boat skillfully up to the dock and cut the engine. Moving deliberately, he winced at the pain radiating from his injury. He tossed a stern line to the man, stepped onto the decomposing dock with a bow line and together they secured the boat.

The dock swayed gently as they ate spicy catfish and drank ice cold beer. The leaves of the cottonwood trees rustled and the tule reeds bent to the velvety breezes gently blowing from the west. Conversation revealed a shared love for the Delta.

Jason watched as Les walked into the shack and reemerged with a scratched old guitar. He sat on a milk crate and strummed softly. Les played the kind of music that transported you to a simpler time and place. A slower pace and cadence.

Jason listened transfixed, looking past the open shack door at the fire in the wood stove. At that moment, his problems seemed insignificant. He yielded to the swelling emotion and wept quietly as the mellow sounds of the nylon stringed guitar washed over him.

Marian Hartley, 82, passed away Wednesday, July 4, 2007, at Kennewick General Hospital, after a long battle with Alzheimers. She was born in Terra Alta, West Virginia on July 16, 1924. She grew up and attended school there and married Lewis Bud Hartley on June 10, 1943.

Together they traveled to Richland, WA in 1948 where they have resided ever since. They had two daughters and Marian was a stay-at-home mom as were so many in those days. She did go to work outside the home in the late 1960s and worked a short time for ITT Services and then retired from Exxon Nuclear in 1984. She was a senior technician working in the Emission Spectrometry Laboratory. She had fond memories of her working days and made many close friends from Exxon. Following retirement, Marian and Bud spent many wonderful years traveling in their RV, at their cabin outside Cle Elum, WA, or their getaway in Naches, WA. They made many great friends and were always thankful for having that time together to enjoy life.

As her disease progressed, Bud became Marians care giver. Although she couldnt say so, we know she felt so blessed and grateful to have had such a loving husband and friend. She was a wonderful wife, sister, mom, gram, and great-grandma Mick, and we will all miss her so much. Her daughters and granddaughters have lasting memories of the cabin, camping/fishing excursions, and many sing-a-longs, as she loved music and singing. She was the life of the party and enjoyed life to the fullest as long as she could. She loved the outdoors and her passion was fishing. Of course, the fishing stories were never ending!

Marian is survived by her daughters Glenda Ackerman Fred, of Kennewick, Diane Hartley of Richland; her granddaughters, Dionne Anderson Todd Spitzer of Los Angeles, CA, Michelle Breier Scott of Vancouver, WA, and three great-grandchildren, Tyler, McKinsey and Kennedy Breier. Also, her sister Jean Morey of Richland and long time family friend, Angie McCullough, who has supported the family in so many ways.

A service will be held for Marian on Tuesday, July 10, 2007 at 10:00 am at Central United Protestant Church, 1124 Stevens Drive, Richland and followed by a short graveside service at Sunset Memorial Gardens, also in Richland.

The family would like to extend their sincere thanks and appreciation to Callaway Gardens in Kennewick and also Eagle Assisted Living in Richland for the exceptional care given to Marian the last two years.

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