Meet Finnomeno!

The update would not be complete without this--my household grew by one kitten this week. Turns out one of the guys I climbed with the last two weekends fosters kittens for the Denver Dumb Friends League. Turns out he and his wife were assigned a mama cat and her 7 kittens, which were then about 6 weeks old. He told me what they looked like, and I couldn't stop thinking about one in particular--a little black boy with a white-tipped tail. I've always wanted a black kitty, and... well, after the climb I asked if I could come and see them.

I went to play with 7 kittens last Thursday, knowing I would probably come home with one. Of course, I fell in love with my little black one immediately. And oh, it was so hard to not take two!!!

I met David at the shelter on Thursday as he was returning them to be adopted out, and took my little one home (David and his wife kept two of them also). They did such a wonderful job raising him he wasn't nervous or afraid at all. He and Zooey sniffed each other and he started playing immediately. She, of course was not at all sure she like this new arrangement. I laughed a little as I remembered bringing her home to Gibson and how she used to torment him so. Turnabout, I suppose. So far his favorite toy is her twitching tail, for which she's walloped him pretty good. I think he's learning.

After scrapping quite a bit this morning, they curled up on the couch together and slept the rest of the day away. She then gave him the mother of all baths. Hopefully, this is a turning point and all will be well.

I've decided to call him Finn, after the Irish legend. I think the name will turn out to fit.

You can see all the cute kitten pics here, and enjoy the bath vid below. Listen to the little man purr!

BMS Graduate!

Well, it seems trivial, and on most levels it is. But man, it was more of a commitment than it looks like on paper. Nearly 2.5 solid months of outings, lectures, tests, etc. I'm glad it's over, so I have my weekends back, but so glad I took it. I learned so much, and learned it well--it is an exceptionally run school let alone for only paying $200 and buying some gear. I invested in a mountaineering specific pack, the Osprey Variant 52 (which I totally LOVE), an ice ax (BD Raven Pro), helmet (Petzl Ecrin Rock--thought about a BD or Camp model but how can you resist a brand that means little boy penis in Yiddish? Exactly, you can't), plus sundries like a few lockers, a new belay device that could accomodate the fatty fat-fat 11 mil ropes we tend to use, a couple of new sewn slings, and a snow picket (I learned on soft snow day that if your pack wasn't anchored to a picket or an axe Frank WOULD kick it down the hill to teach you a valuable lesson!). James was kind enough to gift me an extra pair of brand new deluxe semi-rigid crampons he had lying around in his Garage Mahal, I already had a pair of new mountaineering boots, and I've been stockpiling different jackets, hats, and gloves since I got here and realized winter is a whole different shade of crazy out here than in SoCal (duh!).

Since I was on the river when my group climbed Citadel for Routefinding, I got to crash Steve Hughs' party up Bancroft. We met at the park 'n' ride at 4AM, and I immediately knew something was different from my group when I checked my watch which read 4:05 and we were still standing in the lot waiting for people to arrive. Frank would have blown the taco stand at 4:01, and if you were late tough titties. Given how unpredictable the weather is here and how important 15 minutes or so can be, I totally get it now. I think we left at 4:15. Someone asked me if Frank was a total hardass with my group. I smiled in the dark to myself and replied, "Yeah, but in a good way--I like that he won't let you get away with shit."

We jolted a few miles up a jeep road (had no idea how much crazier the ride down would be--a few times my head hit the ceiling and I contemplated putting on my helmet) past the first open gate (yay!) to the 2nd closed one. We gathered, organized, decided to shit can the snowshoes, and set off. Once at Loch Lomond we veered west and started climbing up benches to get onto the East Ridge Route. Once on it, it was fun class 3/4 scrambling for an hour or so that got progressively more knifey until we got to a feature called the Notch--a huge chunk that is lopped out of the ridgeline. Iain and David went on ahead to set up the rap and protect the climb out. By the time we reached them the wind was up (cold!) and clouds were beginning to come in. It seemed like it took forever to get everyone down and up the other side. I can't believe some guy actually free soloed it in his ski boots--it's not super hard, but it's plenty exposed and there aren't the greatest holds when you have bulky feet--if you fall you're going for a long and possibly deadly ride.

Once out of the Notch we still had to get up the 2nd crux of some very spicy class 4 scrambling, and then more scrambling just less exposed for another hour+ until we got to the saddle before the final scramble section before the false summit and easy ridge run to the top. By the time we got there it was after 11AM, and the clouds were socking in and the graupel was definitely falling. It was disappointing, especially as this pair of climbers behind us pushed on (they caught us at the bottom and said they'd summited in the knick of time but had an awesome glissade down), but we knew it was better to be safe. We traversed out onto the snow field in the cirque to our left, sat down, and had a fun ride all the way down to Lake Caroline. By the time we got to the cars we couldn't even see the mountain--it was a good call.

I also crashed Steve's High Peak climb, since my group did theirs up Lamb's Slide on Longs the day we climbed Bancroft. We climbed Citadel from the couloir, then traversed the ridge onto Pettingel, and would have climbed that too if not for the stupid weather.

We met lazy on Saturday afternoon in shorts and tank tops to backpack in the token 1.5 miles to make it an overnight. Weather began coming in and we set up camp at the last sheltered flat spot, and watched as lightning lit up the sky and clouds engulfed Pettingel. It alternatively rained and graupeled for a couple of hours. Lee built a fire, at dinner time I enjoyed my Mary Jane's Farm Bare Burrito while others ate their smooshed Subway sammiches. FINALLY it was late enough to justify going to bed, so into my bivvy I crawled. It wasn't so bad. Jen's bivvy has a hoop, which helps, and it's not the people who had schlepped tents got much sleep anyway. I got up at 4, put on boots, made sure my bento box was full and pack was arranged, and was ready for the 4:30AM leave time. Except that at 4:25 people were still boiling water for oatmeal. Yeah, we left about 4:45.

Fortunately we made good time to and up the couloir, despite 2 people veering way, WAY off route on the approach (routefinding, people!). It was a fun snow climb, and even though it was only 8AM or so it was an east-facing couloir and plenty soft and squishy--another reason to leave early.
We had some spicy scrambling along the ridge to get to the true summit, then a little bit further to reach the rappel. Once everyone was off the rap, more scrambling along the ridge until we were onto the flanks of Pettingel. The weather was rolling in fast, a few ghost turd pieces of graupel were beginning to float and swirl in the air around us, and we knew it was time to go. No more summits that day.

Lee volunteered to glissade down into the middle of the bowl and see how bad the post-holing would be. Fortunately, he took off walking easily once he reached to bottom of the glissade so we took off after him, me starting too far to the right and having to stop and adjust my course to avoid the tib/fib fracture of the rock band in the middle. We got SOOOOO lucky that our trek out was mostly easy walking--we were expecting to post-hole up to our waists, and were rueing our decision to leave the snowshoes in the car.


The rain hit by the time we got to camp, but it was a mostly quick and dirty (one tent group was trying to do a careful, artful pack job for some reason and one guy who insisted on camping on a snow slab took a bit to dig out his deadman, not that it was windy enough to need them oh well.) Again, happy to have only packed the bivvy, and happy we only had an easy 1.5 mile cruise down to the cars. Man those beers at Tommyknockers tasted good!

River Rat!

Jeez, I'm behind on this thing. It's been a busy 30 days, for sure. I finished hard snow day with no crampon mishaps, and even got to do some bona fide ice climbing up a short frozen waterfall up on Mt. Lincoln. Next season, Ouray for sure! I finished my exam, am STILL waiting on results (how long can it take to score exams for 7 people? Seriously.) I finished my high peak and routefinding trips and graduated from BMS. I got a new job up in Loveland 3 days/week. I got a new kitten who is so cute it makes my teeth hurt. I made some new climbing and riding friends. This post, however, will focus on the week I spent on the San Juan River around Memorial Day.

Jen and her brother Aubrey put their heads together last Christmas and decided to put their names in for permits to celebrate his graduation in the spring. Yampa was denied, which is a bummer 'cuz I hear it's a pretty awesome river. San Juan, however, was granted, for 20 people. We started with 17: Jen, Aubrey, my brother Craig, Jen's cousin Jess and her boyfriend Chris, Jen's friend Abbey, Jen's mum Mary and her friend Marguerite, plus various Outward Bound connections (Sara, Diana, Bayley and her partner Jeff) and family friends (Bakers and his friend Dave and his 7-year-old son Andy) and Craig's friend Nate from VLS who is doing an internship in Telluride this summer. Craig, Abbey, Chris, Jess, Sara, Jeff, and Nate took out on the 3rd day in Mexican Hat, the rest of us continued the adventure to the takeout at Clay Hills.

The trip began in the rain. I left Denver in the rain, drove all the way to Bluff, UT in the pouring rain trying not to be killed by insane truckers and stupid people trying to make good time to Moab. I arrived in rain, set up my tent in the rain, etc. The morning was overcast but dry until we shoved off, and then it rained/poured the rest of the day until we set up camp in the evening. Blessedly, it stayed dry until the middle of the night when it rained again. It made the first day kind of a bummer, cold and shivery, not conducive to hanging out. At least I was on Diana's boat with the Gay Pride Umbrella! We set up the shelter tarp to eat lunch, and continued to huddle under it or the umbrella for at least an hour after we were ready to go, waiting for the rain to abate. 'Cuz that's how it's supposed to rain in the desert, right? Short, fierce, and sweet.

We gave up and moved on. We stopped to see these cool petroglyphs.

Later on we stopped to see these house ruins. What a view they had!

Once we got to camp I began to get the full sense of what a river trip is like. Since the boats were largely loaded and rigged by the time I got there, I had no idea how much we actually had until it came time to unload in camp. Everyone's dry bags, kitchen dry box, giant stove, propane bomb, several jugs of water, the groover, the food and beer coolers, etc. Plus, I got the full idea of just how well we were going to eat on this trip--fresh food just about every meal, lots of stuff, even wine and Diana's gin and tonics. Yes it was kind of a shit show, but it was an awesomely enjoyable shit show.

And the beer--I don't think I've ever seen so much beer in one place outside a liquor store. Coolers full, and mesh bags full dragged behind the boats in the water. I think we started drinking at about 10AM every day and didn't really stop until bedtime. After the first day the weather behaved and we felt more like drinking them in the intense, hot sun. We got a couple of afternoon thundershowers with spectacular lighting shows. The day we stayed at Lime Creek a couple of hours afterward we heard a strange kind of roar, and then suddenly a current of dark brown water filled with what looked like small bits of log came rushing down the practically stagnant Lime Creek--a flash flood, started miles away.

As the sun was coming up on our 4th day, Jen got us up early to hike the Honecker Trail to the rim. We got up there just as the sun was rising and the light golden-orange. You could see all the way to Monument Valley, AZ (read: hundreds of miles). Someone had built a tiny Stonehenge. The trail blends into the canyon wall perfectly--unless you knew about it you'd never know about it. We got down and Dave (who used to be a chef before he retired) and Bakers and Mary got to work making an awesome breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, coffee, fruit, etc. I think we finally got on the water close to noon.

I had been in the ducky with the kayakers and Bakers in his canoe the day before, but I chose to ride with Diana this day so she could start teaching me how to oar. I started getting how to move the boat, but still have no clue how to go through rougher water or water with lots of obstacles--this trip the water was so high all the rocks were covered and it was easy. Of course, so were the sandbars, which make it a little treacherous toward the end where the river is so silted up and backing up from Lake Powell. It gave me a new appreciation for Edward Abbey, that part.

When we got to a big class 2 rapid called Government, we eddied out to scout. Dave ran it in his kayak while we watched. Bakers showed me how to find the tongue and just follow it around to ride the wave train through the rest. He and I hiked down to run it while the others watched. I got into the ducky and followed his line into the tongue, and sure enough I really didn't have to brace or steer much of anything--the current took me, swung me through the curve and then spat me into a really killer wave train with big haystacks that were a super fun up and down ride all the way to the end. I found Dave and Bakers and we eddied out to watch the rafts come through. Then we continued on to my favorite camp of the whole trip at the side canyon Slickhorn.

As we were pulling up to our beach, I noticed a guy on the other side of the river, in jeans and a green shirt and cowboy hat, and what appeared to be a bandana over his face and gold mirrored sunglasses (later when we got on shore Bakers pulled out his binocs and that's exactly what he was wearing). He seemed to be acting strangely--downclimbing and then scrambling up this ledge, pushing large babyhead boulders off down the bank, dancing around like he was on something that looked like it could have been fun or could have been terrifying. We noticed a kid around the corner from him messing about near the bank of the river. Tried to ignore them while we set up a shower made from a water jug baked all day in the hot sun and tried to scrub all the river sludge off of ourselves (the water was the color and consistency of cafe au lait--my day in the ducky yielded a dappled sunburn from where water splash washed away my protective coating of silt). As we were drying off we saw a man come from upriver and collect them, and realized it must have been some kind of solo experience, and those poor kids had probably been out all day.

Chef Dave helped us make the perfect garlic shrimp to go with fresh corn and black bean salsa in tacos. We sat around the beach in chairs drinking wine and watching the fire in the pan, while Andy experimented with the flammability of various materials found around camp. Jen warned us to enjoy our gorgeous camp, because the next night would be none to nice. Oh, she had no idea!

We hiked up Slickhorn Canyon a bit in the morning, with Diana pointing out various fossils and layers (she's a geologist!) and Andy challenging anyone who would humor him to race twigs and leaves down the trickle of water still running down the canyon.
We stopped again at another called Grand Gulch for a hike as well--super cool arch in this one, lots of desert varnish, humongous boulders that had obviously been rolled down quite a ways in the last big flood.

Back in the water, we were clearly hitting the slackwater portion. Lots of rowing to reach camp at the not so reasonable hour of 7:30PM. We got to the official site (saw that the last one upriver had been completely destroyed by a flood that produced a huge alluvial fan feature over the former site). Marguerite and Bakers had gone ashore ahead of us and came running out of the trees thrashing their arms like mad--mossies were EVERYWHERE. As soon as we got to shore they were all over us, too.
We debated whether or not to try and make it to the takeout, at least 2 hours away and hard to spot in the dark (and a big scary dangerous huge waterfall blocks the way into Powell) and decided to stay on the rock bench above the eddy we grabbed next to the Mosquito Swamp.

We covered ourselves in clothes and bug spray as best we could--Bayley and I had nets for our heads, the rest of the grrlz made hijabs of their sarongs. We unpacked hurriedly and tried to set a fire in the pan while Bayley and Jen made dinner. By the time we ate it was just about dark and they were nearly gone, but the air still hung heavy, muggy, and hot. No breeze at all, for the first time on the trip. We cleaned up and basically got ready to go as soon as we got up, early, hopefully before the mosquitos knew we were about.

We shoved off right as they were getting bad again. Bayley started cooking breakfast on the boat named Patches while Aubrey rowed. Breakfast sammies of veggie patties, leftover tater tots from last night's dinner, cheese, grilled onion I believe. Oh, and fresh brewed coffee too. Unbelievable. We got to eat soon before we hit the takeout, which fortunately because it was early was empty.

After that it was just work--unloading everything, breaking down the boats, sorting which gear needed to be returned to which rental facility and therefore would go in which car, etc. Aubrey, Bakers, Dave, Mary and I ran the shuttle to retrieve the rest of the cars, we finished loading while Andy played in the mud (that kid is unbelievably cool, not to mention a great boater of all craft) and hit the road. It was a long trip back to Denver with all the stops: return gear in Moab and Fruita, drop off Bayley in Grand Junction (Jeff made us some killer coffee--thanks guys!) and finally Diana's place in Silt. Totally worth missing my routefinding trip (and by extension high peak). I can't wait to do another one!

I'm So High

Or I was, yesterday. About 2000 feet off the valley floor, suspended by 2 9.4 mm ropes anchored by webbing slings attached to a bolt drilled into the rock by some porch swing hardware. Simultaneously beautiful, and quiet, and terrifying.

Yesterday was our 3rd Rock Day--the culmination of all the rock skillz we've been learning. We set off from NCAR early--about 6:30AM, in order to avoid traffic jams at the rock. It looked much like it looked a year ago out there--the snow finally gone, the grass temporarily green, super pretty, remembering how I got so taken by this place so quickly.

Kevin was out with some nasty sinus infection, and our fearless senior leader Deb got rear-ended the day before and could barely extend or rotate her neck, so she came in with us and made sure we got off the ground ok and bid us adieu. I was bummed, because I really like Deb and she loves to teach rock and she's a fantastic climber, but she offered to go out with us after the class was over--said she trusted our skills enough, which is a huge compliment.

Frank and Jason led us up in teams of 4 and 3, respectively. The leaders got to wear rock shoes, while we got to wear our clunky mountaineering boots. We were, to be fair, only following, and didn't really need them. But trying to climb in them was an experience all the same. Good thing the crack route up Seal isn't too vertical. Frank figured out a masterful scheme of rope management whereby we all got to try cleaning routes and anchors but we never had to untie from our initial tie-ins. Oh wait, Tim and Cindy had to switch places at the end of Frank's rope, but that was it. We also learned how helpful it could be to have radios at the top of the 3rd pitch, after Frank and Tim had climbed up to the top of the 4th and final pitch. The pitch was about the full length of the rope, and because of the way the rock curved you couldn't see or hear above or below you. There was so much drag on the rope you couldn't feel rope drag either. Apparently Tim (belaying me from the top) and I (waiting patiently at the bottom for him to pull up all the slack and signal that he was ready to have me on belay so I could climb) were yanking on either end of the ropes like ringing a church bell but neither of us could feel it. Finally they heard me scream "Climbing!!!" and two climbers waiting patiently behind us confirmed they heard "Climb on, Laura!" so up I went. About halfway up I found a nut someone had left in the crack--obviously left because they couldn't get it out, and I had no cleaning tool, but I thought I'd try anyway. It worked! I thought I scored a piece to begin building my rack. Turned out it was Frank's, and Tim wasn't able to get it out. Oh well.

The whole climb was super fun--technical enough that you could practice different moves and techniques but not so steep it was impossible for newbs like us. I climbed better than I thought I would, even not considering the boots--I felt like I was problem solving better than I ever had, and not nervous at all. Of course, I was trying not to think of the rap at the end.

Ah, the rap down. Most that I've done start with some sort of flat ground at the top, with a horizontal lip over which you have to hang your butt into space so your legs are about 90º to the rock and you just kind of walk them down as you lower yourself through your belay device. This one was different. You don't start from the tippy-top of the rock, but rather about 20 feet below it. You scooch yourself through a narrow cleft between slabs until the whole rock drops away in a sheer (except for the overhung section!) face. When you get there, you clip into the anchor at then reach one leg around the corner (like around a corner in a hallway) only there's no floor. Then you hop out with the other one and let your autoblock hold you while you get situated. Now you are hanging completely out in the void, only your face is so right up against the rock you could kiss it, and your legs are hanging straight down. Somehow you have to lower yourself a little while kicking yourself away from the rock to get in that sitting position, which you figure out how to do, and then down you go. Except there is so much rope drag it isn't a smooth or even a fast ride at all, a lot of bouncy-bouncy (at least for me). But it was very controlled.

Then I saw beneath my feet that the overhang was approaching. I lowered over it, and then... I was in space! I continued to inch down, and then I began to spin slowly around to face out from the rock. I was only about halfway down, and I realized as I gazed out onto the foothills and Boulder and the plains in the 200 or so degree view before me, I am so very, very high. Hanging by two strands of nylon. It felt surreal. I even stopped for a minute to let my arms rest--that's how difficult it was to feed rope through with all that drag. It was just quiet, and everything felt far, far away. Even my classmates below me were still far away--all I could hear was a gentle wind. Just me dangling in space.

I kept lowering, lowering, lowering, finally got back to rock against my feet, and then I was down on the ground, and that was it. Cindy came down, it looked like she nearly flipped upside down when she hit the free rappel section, but she went fast and righted herself. Then came Frank, who said he nearly tipped upside down too from the weight of all his gear. Then it was time to pull down the ropes, coil them, and hike out to the cars in time to hit Southern Sun for beers and food.

I wish James were there. I can't wait for him to get here in June and take me climbing in the Flatirons. I think I finally, 15 years after starting, get climbing. I wish I had gotten a picture from the rappel, but I wasn't thinking and my camera pretty much stayed buried in my pack. Stay tuned for hard snow day next week, wherein we try not to slash our ropes, our clothes, or ourselves by mis-stepping while wearing crampons. And then I race to the airport and maybe have to courier Jamie's cat Agnes to LA. And try to pass my NBAO exam in spite of waiting until the last possible moment to study. Should be exciting!

Climbing Continued

I have been meaning to put up some kind of climbing imitates life imitates climbing post and how the theme of this year is going to be Finally Conquering Shit You're Sure You Can't Do, but I don't have the time or imagination space right now. But we have two rock days under our, um, harnesses so I figured I should at least post an update on that.

Rock Day #1: Castlewood Canyon

Getting to the King Sooper's was really the worst part for me. When I popped out of bed, grabbed my coffee and jumped into my little blue marvel the roads were slushy but more wet than ice, and I thought--yay!--since I'm a little late already. I wasn't too far south before the wet slush became frozen slush and bonafide ice, and oh, what fun that was. I even got to go for a little slip and slide myself--I've never been so happy I bought an AWD car AND that I paid attention the day they taught us you steer into a skid to get out of it.

We sorted ourselves into the higher clearance vehicles and headed down to Castlewood, and the doubletrack of snow got deeper and deeper. We rubbed our eyes in disbelief when Frank, who was leading, stopped up at the entrance station and got out to put $6 in the little yellow envelope for the fee. Would rangers seriously be checking today? But I guess that's how we roll at CMC--we do the right thing.

Once we found our spot, Frank and Chris headed up to the top to set anchors and throw ropes while Deb helped up put up a tarp for shelter against the constant, wet melty snow and we burrito-wrapped our packs in more tarps since we couldn't all cram under there. Once the anchors were set, we paired up and practiced our fallen climber tie-offs. This involves (once the climber manages to get far enough up the rope to fall on it, a challenge since the rock was so crumbly and wet Frank said he was sure it was just a fossilized dinosaur turd) putting in a big mule knot with safety, then fixing that line to the anchor so you can take yourself and your belay device out of the system, then figuring out how to reverse the whole process with a minimum of dropping or lowering your climber.

Once we had taken turns through that a few times and were thoroughly soaked, it was time to clamber up to the anchors for some raps. The route was super short (maybe 15 feet?) but enough to give you the idea--the worst part of any rap is hanging your ass out into space over the edge and getting started anyway, right? A couple of double rope laps and a fake simul-rap on singles, and it was time to pack it in and call it a day. Blessedly it never got colder than 36º and the wind never came.

Rock Day #2: Castlewood Canyon Redux

This time we were racing other groups to get out to the wall and snake the best routes, so the meetup was considerably earlier. But, no snow or rain or wind--I'll take it! There was one group that beat us there, but we still got 4 ropes up in decent placements. Lots and lots of BFT anchors. Somehow I kept ending up on rope #4 which had not one but two little overhangs and ledges that made getting the prussik slings past them...interesting, on the way back up.

The first rap was straightforward. Then, on with the prussiks and back up we went--again, straightforward until I got to the second overhang/ledge at the top. Prussik slings are nifty little loops of cord that you wrap and knot around the climbing rope so that when you hang your weight off of it, the knot tensions and holds you on the rope, but when you unweight it you can easily loosen it to slide it up or down on the rope, depending on what you are doing. You use two--one hooked to you at your waist, and another tied onto the rope for your foot, and you sort of inchworm yourself up or down the rope. Which is simple enough when the rope is not stretched taut against the rock. When it is, like at the end of a route, somehow you have to kick your body and the weighted rope away from the rock long enough to slide your chest prussik up a few inches before it slaps back down against the rock. This is harder to do when there the ledge is an overhang, i.e. the rock for your non-prussik leg to brace against while kicking your body away is further away. Plus you are wearing clunky mountaineering boots that aren't really smearing for shit. It was tough, but I figured it out and clambered inelegantly over the ledge to clip my safety into the anchor and take a deep breath. Oh, but the fun was just beginning!

Next was a 2-fer of rapping down on your off-hand while wearing your pack (and by extension chest harness, just for kicks and giggles!). It was a little more cumbersome, but not too bad. The worse part was having to prussik back up with the pack and chest harness on. I tried, but I'm so short-waisted that my foot prussik could only be moved up about 4 inches at a time before it ran into the biner of my chest harness. I decided instead to try Frank's suggestion of lashing a sling to my pack and dangling it from my harness and hauling it up that way. This worked much better until I got to that same damn 2nd overhang, and while I finally managed to get up and over to the top, I kept tugging on the pack but it wasn't budging. Turns out it was a little snagged under the lip of the overhand, but since it wasn't a big one I was able to haul it up eventually, even with my weak girly arms.

The most awesome exercise of all was passing the knot. If you're not wearing a bunch of crap, it's not a big deal--just a lot of procedures that have to be done in the right sequence so you stay tied into the system and are safe at all times. Frank made a deal with us--go down with your packs on and you only have to do it once. Of course everyone went for that!

I started down, stopped above the knot to let my autoblock hold me, and lo--a traffic jam of epic proportions bristled at my waist. Between the chest harness/biner, big biner and belay device, double rope rap AND safety belay line all in super fatty-fat-fat 11-mil rope, I couldn't see a damn thing, let alone figure out how to get what out of where. My 2nd locker was too small to get around my loaded harness, then it was a bitch getting both rap lines out of the device in all that mess, I clipped my safety knot on the wrong side of me which made management even more of a headache (but not in that order!) etc. I was pretty exhausted but thought I finally had it, and I was prussiking down to load up the autoblock, take off the safeties and finish the damn exercise when... I realized I forgot my chest harness! It was sitting on the knot, I couldn't go anywhere but back up a bit to try to get it off and back in below the knot. Which was really, REALLY hard for me because I'm weak to begin with, plus now I'm fatigued, plus the stupid pack is constantly pulling me backwards and loading the chest biner against the rope. I figured out how to wrap my straight left arm around the rap line and step up long enough to undo the chest biner with my right hand, but it took at least 6 tries, each one costing precious muscle strength. Once that was done, I STILL had to stand up and get the chest prussiks down to load the autoblock, which took another 5 or 6 attempts before my shaking, sweating, exhausted, cursing body finally got it. All I can say is if I needed motivation to keep going to Crossfit, well...

Then Frank surprised us all by making us go again so we got the practice, but he relented and let us go without packs/chest harnesses. It was a totally different ride--smooth, easy, fast--took about half the time without all that additional crap getting in the way.

The rest of the day was spent simulating multi-pitch climbs, which will be our next rock day in 2 weeks out at Seal Rock, which I'm told sports a rappel of 200 feet or so. I remember the rap at Balance Bar 2001 was close to 300 feet, but the start was so gradual it didn't seem that gnarly or scary, 'cuz you couldn't see the bottom anyway. I am getting a little less fraidy of being up though, and it feels like everything is coming together. Which is a good thing since I have to go leave for our final!

Ciao. Someday I'll take pictures, I swear.

The Miles, They Pass Quickly, and the Days Seem to Be Hours

Wow! Tomorrow turned into a week and a couple of days! Holy crap, how does that happen?

How does one spend a week in New York and have no energy to do anything? By not only shifting the time 2 hours forward by by also shifting that an additional 2 hours forward by requiring one to be in clinic ready to put needles in people's ears at 7:30 AM sharp, which means getting up at 6:30AM which is really 4:30AM to me which is really, really rude since I don't have to be in clinic before 9 or 10, normally.

I did go to MOMA, only they close early and there wasn't much time. Brian and I then roamed around Times Square area, then headed over to Greenwich Village and wandered around some more before he had to leave me for a bit to meet a friend for a business dinner thingey and I ate some grubby Japanese and amused myself in the bookstore across the street until it was time to meet back up an go for gelato and grappa. Nice.

Thursday was beautiful and I did manage to drag myself out for the obligatory jog around the inner perimeter of Central Park. Can I just say that running at sea level is awesome? Jeez, I felt fucking invincible, and I am most definitely NOT (as I found out when I got back to town and had my first Crossfit workout session--oy!) New York was interesting, and a fun place to visit, but I could never ever live there. I was happy to come home after only a week! People are not only tightly wound but strangely wound. Again, crazy and enjoyable, but not my tasse de thé at all. That being said, staying with Brian was absolutely great--super cool guy, very funny, interesting, smart, kind, etc. plus adorable kitties. I can never thank him enough, really, but I'll try!

I got back to grey and drizzle, which is pretty much what I left, except for Thursday! The week was a little mellower, and yesterday it rained, which was nice. Then today--boom! All hell breaks loose and we have almost a foot of snow on the ground by the time it's quittin' time at work. Everyone had been saying what a nightmare the roads were, that the 25 was closed south of Lincoln (I live one exit south of there) etc. It was slow moving, but only because most people were being cautious on account of how slushy and snowy it was. Flakes the size of toonies, I tell you!

It is nearly one, and even though our climbing exercise outing was amended to meet much, much closer to town and at a much, much more civilized hour I still have to get up in about 6 hours in order to pack and make it down there in time. So, I will sum up the rest: 2 patients this week (yay!), awesome biz coach continues, joined BNI and really like them, started Crossfit and totally abjectly LOVE them even as they push me so hard I puke (I really did, the first day!), and signed up for a 4-week aerial dance class starting next week.

Wish me luck climbing out in Castlewood tomorrow, and rejoice with me that it is not Stoney Pass instead!

New York Fuggin' City

I've been here since Sunday afternoon. I kind of wish I had had more time to plan stuff, on the other hand I feel so tired because clinic starts at 7:30AM here, which is 5:30AM my time and let's just say that other than Saturday for BMS I haven't gotten up at 5:30 in a long, long time.

I'm staying in Harlem at the northeast corner of Central Park, where my former stepbrother Brian has been kind enough to put me up for the week with his two awesome kitties Jax and Cleo. I am happy that it is at least a quick easy train ride into the Bronx at the recovery center where we are being trained and certified in the NADA protocol. I didn't realize it at the time but apparently Michael Smith, who runs the program at Lincoln was one of the originators of NADA? Anyway, I'm loving being able to take trains wherever I want to go, as I always do. They make commuting SO much nicer than driving. And handier when you're from out of town and don't want to bother renting a car.

So far it's all pretty mellow, except for the Trader Joe's here, where I shopped today to get groceries for the week. The place is a complete zoo, longest lines I've ever seen, overcrowded, etc. Why there is only one open in NY I can't figure out. I did discover, by the by, that they open stores based on where they have warehouses, and so until they open a warehouse more accessible to Denver/Colorado, we ain't gettin' any, no matter how friendly the booze laws get. Ha!

Rosa Reyes runs the acupuncture clinic/program, and she is as good an example you will ever see of how to be gentle and generous and filled with lovingkindess but not get taken advantage of for a minute. I kind of wish I were able to stay next week and do my 2nd week of training and get it overwith, but oh well. It will give me a chance to do New York a little more right as a tourist, I guess. Hopefully I will see some museums with Brian tomorrow, and maybe finally get over to the trapeze school and/or a run around the park before I go home.

More tomorrow, totally knackered now.

Navigation Macht Spaß

Regretfully I don't have any pictures for this one. Yes, I brought the camera, no I didn't feel like taking it out and taking pictures, since at least half the time we were out I was on point with my partner. I will try with words, then.

Up at 4AM, out the door at 4:30 to make it over icy roads to the park n' ride by 5:15 to meet the BMS crew for our nav party up at Stoney Pass. Made it, got my map plots verified by Deb, aka one of the most awesome instructors evah, and piled into a 4x4 with some teammates and we caravanned in the dark up to Bailey and then for several miles up a snowy dirt road to the drop-off point. I won the packweight contest at 47lbs--I swear to Maude Frank said our packs should weigh 45lbs with all our crap, and that 10 essentials should be at least 25. They told me to go and take out all but my 10 essentials after that, and in retrospect I was happy with that decision. Tim and I were tapped to lead us to the first point, and as we headed away from the cars in the quickly falling snow none of us had any idea we wouldn't be seeing them again for nearly 11 hours.

The deal was we were not allowed to use altimeters--just map and compass. Which is difficult on a clear day but when you can't see for shit the features around you because they are all socked in by clouds and blowing snow, well, it ups the challenge factor considerably. Oh, and add to that no roads or trails--which would have been covered in snow and unidentifiable anyway, so wev I guess.

Frank avowed once we finally found the first point nearly 2 hours later that point #1 was the hardest. He was totally lying, we found out later, when I was tapped along with Cindy to nav from point#2 to point#6. Point#1 was only the second hardest to find! But we finally did get it, and it was nice to hand off the reins to someone else for a while and just follow. The weather acted like it was going to cooperate a few times, but it never really did--just kept snowing. I am grateful we were enough in the trees that it was not too windy!

Getting to point#6 was tough--it was at least 3 miles from our start point, with no straight lines to follow and only one feature to line up with to keep yourself on point to follow the due south bearing to the final location. We conferred with our teachers and decided to follow a course of contouring, or following the sidehill around and around until we could see a knoll and a saddle from which we would head south, cross a creek and continue into a wide open meadow. The travel was arduous--snow up to the knees in spots, and all off-trail so we were slipping and sliding on rocks and logs and deadfall thick enough that you had to weave a complicated path in and out of it to get past. At a spot where we thought we were close to the saddle, we stopped for lunch, and I discovered my water bottles were at least half slush--surprising since it didn't seem that cold, but then we were pretty much on the move the whole time.

Frank, who could find his way aound with his eyes closed he's done the course so many times, tipped us off that we actually stayed so high that we passed above and beyond the saddle when the clouds completely obscured the knoll we were looking for. It was nice to know we had traveled further than thought, but frustrating because now we didn't know exactly where we were, and other than knowing we needed to go generally south it felt like every move was potentially multiplying errors. I have been doing this long enough to know how easy it is to do and it was tough to stay focused. Lunch helped considerably though. Frank helped guide us the last 1/4 mile by "breaking trail", and once in the meadow it was obvious. I know that technology can fail, devices can be lost/forgotten, etc. but it underscores how important it is when in unfamiliar [winter!] terrain to have your altimeter and your GPS. I calibrated my altimeter on leaving home, but because of the wonky weather it was about 300 ft off by the end of the day!

We got back to the cars around 6PM, and from there it was another 2.5 hours until I got home. We saw a couple of cars that had gone completely off the road from all the snow and ice. The slow trip was ok.

The next day Frank was kind enough to send out the GPS track of where we actually wandered so we could see how off course we got, and we actually did pretty well all things considered. Our route-finding and high peak trips are going to be outings to be reckoned with, however. Just remember to increase however long you think it will take by a factor of at least two, maybe three!

On the Other Hand

Bellingham has a Trader Joe's, a Crossfit, an Outrigger club and adventure races. This could be very dangerous.

Bragging

Not only did my awesome brother make the Water Law Review at DU this semester, he also scored first place in the Bluebooking section. W00t!!! I love my brother, and not just because he's such a Smarty-Pants™. Congrats, Craigo-- you deserve it and more!

Saxon Mountain and One Step Closer to BMS

Saturday was a ridiculously beautiful day here. It dawned a little cold, but the winds never really picked up and the skies were bluebird, even up above Georgetown which is apparently famous for being windy. The pic above is nowhere near where we were, but I wanted a graphic and that's pretty much what it looked like from the vista point near the summit...

We CMCers gathered at the bottom of the road and began the trek up, which seemed a lot longer on the way down, actually. I had no idea we'd covered so many switchbacks until we had to descend them. There was a nasty piece of thick, treacherous sheet ice clear across the jeep road near the bottom that pulled one guy's feet right out from under him. It continues to amaze me how slippery ice can be. We passed some old mining detritus and the remains of some tumble-down shacks.

After a couple of hours of that we reached the top of the switchback section, and donned snowshoes, only to take them off about 200 yards later, put them back on 300 yards up the road from there, take them back off in another 300 yards...

We finally said screw it and just gingerly picked our way through the bare rocks and sections of bare dirt. Soon enough we were slogging (first tracks, dude! only in heavy wet snow--yuck) through this awesome sugary mess and by awesome I mean not awesome at all. I got my turn at the front breaking trail about 3 minutes before we got to a junction of a road where snow cats had come up from Idaho Springs and tamped it all down--I couldn't believe how heavy it was, just a few inches on my snowshoes as they sank into that morass of depth hoar so prevalent in Colorado. I can see what big, scary avalanches it can cause--your basic nightmare, and I understand why Bruce Tremper characterized it as "guilty until proven innocent." My other favorite quote about depth hoar from Canadian avalanche specialist Clair Isrealson:

"Depth hoar is like having your crazy aunt come for a visit. She stays forever and you just never know when she's going to snap."

Anyway, we weren't in avy terrain, so no worries that day--although you could definitely see cracks and shearing in the snowpack when we stepped on it, even on pretty flat surfaces in spots. We finally reached the almost top where the road ended at a vista point complete with half-buried picnic table and BBQ. There was a sign that labeled a lot of peaks to the west that I have heard people talk about. I think you could pretty much climb a peak a week in Colorado and not live long enough to get them all. And those are the named ones...

One last off-trail push to a rocky pile of the finest Colorado granite and we were there. We found spots and ate our lunches while passing around the summit register. On the way down we shortcut some of the road by finding fun off-trail descents between the road cuts, and then it was a long, long, frankly boring haul back down to the cars. Jebus it took forever, although not without entertainment. There was this cat named Andrew who was halfway through a doctoral program at School of Mines who was strong as an ox but had no gear of his own, and there was a retired mathematics prof and a near-retirement physicist from NIST who had a great time talking about all things science and math, and it was really fun just listening to them having such a good time getting geeky.

At long last we reached the cars and agreed that the only thing better than sitting down would be sitting down on a barstool with an alcoholic barley-based beverage of some sort in our hands. Our carpool contented ourselves with a stop at the convenience store right before we got on the 70, where Mathematician Phil bought a coke because it was in a glass bottle and it made him nostalgic. I, however, noticed the extra nutrition label pasted on the neck of the bottle and asked if it was a Mexican coke, and of course it was! I told him what I had learned from Sang--that in Mexico they were still made with sugar and not that nasty-ass HFCS and therefore tasted so much better and that's why at Father's Office all the cokes are Mexican.

Soon enough we arrived at the park-n-ride, and that was the end of that. Legendary CMC leader Dave G signed off on my C rating upgrade form with a nice compliment about my general outdoorsy awesomeness, and that was that. I emailed a copy of it to the BMS director as soon as I got home, and I will send it in to the upgrade committee tomorrow. Even if I don't get into BMS, at least if I want to go on an outing that is at least halfway cool I won't have to call or email the leader and beg, proffer climbing resumes, etc. So yay, me!! Hopefully I'll actually get into BMS and will be able to be a fully contributing member of our rope team when James and I do Ptarmigan Ridge this summer.

As for James declaring that we are climbing Kelso Ridge on Memorial Day weekend, I have a counter-proposal of my own: Craig and Jen's San Juan River permit was granted, so how'd you like to do a super cool float trip instead?

Pivotal Moments

It is a great feeling when you can truly say:

I'm not sorry I met you.
I'm not sorry it's over.
I'm not sorry there's nothing to say.

That is all.

Horseshoe Mountain in the Bag, Plus My First Snow Kitchen!

That's us at the top, squinched up against the wall of some ramshackle, falling-down hut trying not to get too pounded by the howling wind, since the ridge wasn't super wide and true to Colorado form the leeward edge/side was a huge, scary cornice. The wind was strong, and it was COLD as it screamed up from the valley from Leadville, but other than that the weather and conditions were pretty idyllic.

I am trying to get into the Colorado Mountain Club's basic mountaineering school in order to facilitate my summer Ptarmigan Ridge traverse plans and also to raise my coolness quotient a bit--no one can deny that a girl who knows how to wield an ice tool and tie a bowline blindfolded in 10 seconds flat is pretty sexy, after all. But I am a little late to the party, and there are all these hoops and prereqs to jump through first. I think my waiver from trekking school should be granted, but I also have to go on two qualifying outings to prove that I have the mettle to hang. Thus, I pleaded my case onto this Horseshoe climb last Sunday and this coming Saturday.

9 of us gathered at the (apparently) renowned restaurant The Fort, where you can find all sorts of western game and other traditional fare for a pretty penny. We sorted ourselves into carpools and headed out the 285 to South Park, which is not a town like the cartoon (that would be Fairplay, where the creators grew up) but a huge kind of grassland surrounded by mountains. There are lots of these features called parks here; a Middle Park, Winter Park, etc. We drove as far as the road in would allow, which was 1.5 miles shy of the trad trailhead. Which meant that I think by the time all was said and done we did around 16 miles and quite a bit of elevation gain too--and for 202 feet that thing wasn't quite a 14er! Rats. Oh well. It is still an iconic mountain that is quite distinct from just about anywhere in South Park. Can you guess why they call it Horseshoe? (Blogger is not playing well with others at the moment--I may have to add images later)
Update: here it is!:

Apparently you can do a bunch of 14ers in one trip here--the only other I remember by name is Sherman, and Cameron which doesn't count because apparently there has to be a loss of 300 feet between peaks to count as separate peaks. It was harder than I thought it would be, until I realized I wasn't eating enough and I insisted on eating half of my sammich even though we were still about an hour away from the summit. I felt a LOT better and started climbing better too. The snowshoes stayed on the packs even though there were plenty of spots where we were postholing up past our knees and the depth hoar was making me use bad swear words, but the cuts of the old mining road we were following were always just up ahead in sight, so we gritted them out.


Most of the way we were pretty sheltered from the wind, and I didn't realize how lucky we were until we climbed up high enough that we weren't protected anymore and felt like I was leaning at an angle as I slogged up the last mile or so of trail. Not surprisingly, the top was pretty much bare rock/talus/shale on the windward side, and I got to see up close what the avy people mean by the term "wind loading". I don't remember the exact statistic, but Colorado gets significantly more snow built up from wind than actual precip.

We stopped at the hut at the top for a quick bite, then down again before anyone got too cold. I wanted to stop and sign the register and take more shots from the summit, but my fingers felt like they were being crushed in a vice just from a few gloveless moments in that wind and I just wanted to keep moving. We took a slightly different way down, which included a nice glissade that was gentle enough to not require an ice axe--really fun! Once we got down to the main road section I put my head down and trekked, I get barnsour when I'm close to the car, yes I do. Plus the pads on my big toes were beginning to hurt--it was a long way to hike in snow in feet and boots not yet broken completely in. But I love my ZOMG Bootz!™ Ditto my brother's Patagonia DAS parka and expedition weight balaclava.

The day before was the first winter camping class outing. We schlepped out to some place called East Portal south of Nederland by a big huge railroad tunnel. Nothing remarkable except it felt like it took forever and the guy sitting next to me was possessed of a quite heady bouquet of halitosis and BO that almost made my eyes water and definitely wonder if I could get away with cracking a window on the grounds with windy road was making me carsick.

There were quite a few of us there, and despite all of us marching up and down and all around a large, flat-ish clearing several times, we couldn't get our compressed snow platform to set up very well, even after heading over to watch a presentation on the wherefores and why-nots of tent pitching and deadmen. Still, with the guidance of Instructor Dave we planned a simple straight-ish trench with a counter on one side and seating on the other. While half of us dug it out, the other half of us tried to excavate blocks of depth hoar, which if you don't know depth hoar is this kind of faceted snow that does. not. adhere. to itself, making sculpting, building, or snowballs a lot harder. Plus Dave told us to take our snowshoes off and of course we were still postholing all over the place and trying not to lose our balance as we kept sinking into the sugar snow carrying our loads of snow blocks on our shovels.

We managed enough to build a short windbreak, and finally settled down to fire up the stoves and make our lunches. My little food pouch cozy with the orange flames was a huge hit with the instructors, as was the Mary Jane's Farm. Then we learned how to melt snow without burning it (which is possible, shit you not, if you just put a pile of snow in your pot and stick it over the burner.) Then after what seemed an interminable time of trotting around looking at other groups' kitchens, we were trotted over for one final exercise-- finding out what happens when you drop your stove in the snow. A guy with an MSR Reactor got his stove lit first--me with my little Jetboil came in second--we could have taken Reactor Guy if we better understood it was time trial to get the things lit and not ready to cook a meal. Oh well. The need for a redundant fire source was a point well taken.

Health Insurance

Officially sucks the root, sayeth me. As a long-time patient who fortunately almost never has to deal with using it, and now as a practitioner who's gearing up for all the super fun times to be had waiting out the sign-up processes, figuring out the stupid quirks of individual insurers, and the non-stop hilarity that ensues from having to submit your claims 2-4 times, simply because you are an LAc and not an MD, DO or PA.

I have a lot of potential posts about healthcare policy, reform and the like, for later, once I get the practice somewhat going and plans for PA school well under way. For now, I'm feeling the resentment of being relegated to everyone's secondary or even tertiary tiers of care networks, which basically consist of discounting your fees and requiring so much submission of superfluous paperwork you wonder if it's worth it. Yeah, I'm working on my more long-range plans to get my own self-paying patients in my door, but that will take time--right now, referrals will only come from DPM if I can bill directly (no dice with submitting your own superbill, sadly). Some systems of care leave us out entirely (I'm looking in Medicare's direction, although the Hinchey Bill is apparently up for consideration again, and since we have fewer or at least a different assortment of douchebags in Congress, it might finally get passed this time around. I don't feel like getting into a cost/benefit analysis of joining a system that is presently collapsing under its own weight right now as it is nearly 2AM and I'm tired, but in terms of access and parity this would be a huge boon).

I'm harumphing off to bed now. Besides scheduling another job interview for next week and figuring out how to fill out 45-page insurance network applications, and writing more marketing copy than you can shake a checkbook at, I have to figure out where I can get a PPD test on the cheap, and get all my warmest gear together for tomorrow's snow camping outing. Cross your fingers the mild weather (by mild I mean no lower than 0º and no wind at night) holds! Pictures and trip report to follow, I promise.

Winter School, Part 1

It is a strange thing to go from knowing your local roads and trails (at several levels of zoom!) so intimately to knowing almost nothing, and almost no one to show them to you. I'm not even sure where all the different areas of trails are, which makes research a titch more challenging. I'm slowly acquiring an assortment of guidebooks and topos (did you remember to put some in my crampon care package, James?!), but I'm realizing that winter throws in another wrench of unknowns and potential danger factors I know nothing about being a spoiled, SoCal princess for lo these many years. Even my time living up in San Fran was more straightforward than this. I can't tell you how many times I've found a loop that sounds exciting and challenging and has everything I'm looking for in terms of distance, climbage and freedom from hordes of stupid people, only to realize... holy shit, that there might be some avalanche terrain. And/or what do I do if weather comes in that makes it so hard to find my route down I don't?

So, I signed myself up for a beginner's avy class. The AIARE level one class from CMS required backcountry skis which I don't have [yet], so I went for the offering from the Colorado Mountain Club instead. Ethan and Ben from the Colorado Avalanch Info Center gave two days of outstanding classroom lectures on snow science and how to spot trouble spots, and then we all headed out to Jones Pass to try our skills at digging snow pits and performing rescues, 'cuz we learned that by the time SAR comes to dig you out you're probably dead, even if you survived the initial slide. You have to rely on your mates, which means be extra, super thoughtful about just who you venture out into winter backcountry adventures. We set out from our cars and tested our transceivers to make sure they all transmitted and received, and then set about practicing locating transceiver duffel bags the instructors hid for us, including scenarios where we didn't know how many burials there were.

Next we got into two large groups and took turns coordinating a rescue with multiple unknown burials, only this time we had to get out our probes and shovels and dig the duffels out. We spread ourselves out in a line from one end of the bottom deposition zone to the other and started hiking uphill, looking for signals and calling out numbers to the leader. I got lucky and happened to be standing practically right on top of a burial where I started, but it took at least 15 minutes to find the actual location with the probe and then dig it out from at least 4 feet of snow. It was easier on us, too, since the snow we were digging out hadn't actually slid and required minimal chopping with the shovels to get it out. One of our instructors said that in his Level 2 class they actually buried his instructors (with radios and avalungs of course) to simulate the rescue. The rest of our group dug out the other burial and off we went to dig a snow pit.

Snow pits give you and idea of how the snow is layering, and how well those layers are sticking together. In practice, if you were worried about a slide you'd find a slope similar to the one you were going to be crossing, dig out a cross-section of it and then locate the hard and soft layers, and test whether or not they sheared when you put different weights and directions of force on them. Our slope turned out to be fairly stable, except in the tree shadow. Afterward we had fun jumping on our Rutschblock test column to fill it all in so as not to make a hazard for snowmobilers, which weren't too much of a plague that day but ugh. Do not like.

And now? I feel like I know just enough to be really wary of where I go, because I know just how quickly ugly things can happen. But I also know better how to keep myself out in the first place. And to make sure I take competent and well-practiced buddies out with me!

Next week, I learn to build snow caves and kitchens and all kinds of cool shit you can only do when camping in the snow at the CMC Winter Camping School. W00t!

Sugar Lumps!!!

Fucking outstanding.

Great Shao Yang Winter of '09

At least, everyone here says it's atypical and ridiculous, what with record heat alternating with record freezes. I last left off kvetching about flying to LA. It has now been 3 consecutive weekends I have been home, and not had to take a class or go to a seminar. It has been glorious.

LA turned out well--Steve picked up Mikel and me in his awesome White Maurauder® and after a lovely gorge-fest at Tacos Plus we set about trying to make sure we had memorized all the exams for all the body parts. Mikel's friends collected him around 9, I got my hard drive back from Karen around 10, and Steve and I stayed up until nearly 3 studying like fiends and cursing ourselves for waiting until the last minute. But it went fine--the written exam was painless, and the practical nearly so, even being as punchy as we were. With plenty of time left until the mandatory party, we headed out to the beach and went for a walk in the 85º sun, and hatched a plan to go to the trapeze school on the pier when I come out in May for the final NBAO board exam. After the party we hiked off some of the meal at Fryman Canyon and caught a spectacular sunset on the way back to the westside for a quick dinner at Terried before dropping me back off at LAX.

It was clear and not too cold when I got in and drove home. Imagine my surprise when I woke up 5 hours later to 4 inches of fluffy dry powder all over the world! I got to shovel the sidewalks and everything. But it was beautiful--the snow settles onto the branches of the leafless trees like delicate lace and it is so, so quiet. Within 2 days it was back up in the 50's, was in the 60-70 range through the middle of the week before plunging down a yawning gradient into highs around freezing. But that week was amazing, besides enabling me to get out the Chacos and tshirts and gad about relatively naked. It also enabled a road ride in nothing but shorts and jersey and a perfect day out at RMNP. No wind, temps in the 40's, bright, bright sun, not even that many people out on our trail--pretty near perfect. I'll update with pics when I get them transferred over to the new machine--the other exciting thing which happened in LA was the death of my logic board signaling the call to the next Macbook.

I also managed to get in a trip up to Brainard to poke around but didn't end up getting much further than Brainard Lake, owing to a late start and taking the hilliest and longest route to get there. Once I started back on what I thought was the CMC snowshoe trail, only to realize after a bit that I was going in the complete opposite direction of where I wanted to go and the signed snowshoe trail I was on was not on the shitty trail map I carried. I backtracked to the dam where picking it up should have been obvious, and no--the map was unequivocally shitty. Like a good little orienteer I crossed the dam, found the parking lot on the other side and picked up the trail there. I never did find the CMC cabin, although I suspect if I'd only followed my first return trail further I'd have run right into it. I've got to get some nav worthy topos, that's all there is to it. And next time I would prefer to take the easy trail out so I could have more time to push further back to maybe even Blue Lake. Otherwise you're in the trees the whole time until you get to Brainard Lake when the terrain opens up a little and lets you see some pretty great views of the peaks around you.

Walking on frozen lakes is a trip. Skating on them is a trip too, or it is to someone who grew up without even an ice rink around for hundreds of miles. My friend Garrett took me out to Evergreen last week though and showed me how it was done. Garrett is from Rhode Island and has been skating practically since he could walk. It was a beautiful night--not too cold, no wind, but the ice was pretty rough, making things interesting. Still, I did reasonably well for it only being my 2nd time ever. I held on to Garrett for the first lap or two, we tried moving over to other sections that looked glassy but really, really weren't, and finally back on the main space I wobbled along by myself and only fell once. To my embarrassment, however, I noticed that after a few laps I could not keep my ankles from collapsing, no matter how hard I concentrated, and I kept dragging my toes which prompted a frantic kind of running step to keep ahead of my momentum and not go pitching head first onto the ice. Garrett agreed I was probably getting tired, and we headed for the warming house to sit down. Right before we got onto the ramp I went down again, this time twisting my knee, which still kinda hurts. It's been a long time since I tried to do something to do something so totally new that I hopelessly suck at it, and will until I develop that unique balance and muscle memory. But it was fun and I want to go again. And not that I didn't before, but I will really never view a hockey game in quite the same way again!

In Which I Whine About Work Travel

I know it's almost over. I know this weekend is almost the last of my ortho commitments, and that if I pass I only have one more trip to LA to pass the board exam and it's done. I know that going to the Whole Foods orientation in 2 weeks in San Fran is probably pointless and I won't go, likely. I know that the week-long training in NADA certification in Dallas (or NY, I guess--I know people there now!) will be a huge benefit to my practice, especially if I only limit my practice to Denver Pain for the foreseeable future (and of course I'm not--there's a sleep therapy gig in Boulder I've applied for, as well as work with the Mile High Council on Drug/Alcohol Abuse, trying to get an Acupunks-w/o-Borders-style vet clinic going here in CO, etc.) I even know I'm racking up a shit-ton of frequent flyer miles I can count toward a really fun trip somewhere next year.

I'm just sick of having to up and leave and I want to go out and play in my new adopted state with other people who live here. Especially since we're finally having spates of days with highs in the 40's!

That is all. Back to the inclinometers and P4 reports I go.

Jon Swift's Best-of-08 is out!

This will keep you entertained until at least 2010, I promise.

And while you're at it, please send him your votes for best humor blog. And it's not too late to help out Driftglass beat out Anchoress (who declares Bush was right about Gitmo, among other nuggets of awesome wingnuttery) in the Best Individual Blog category.

Hurry, voting ends Tuesday, Jan 13!

I Can't Believe It's Not The Onion!

Joe the Erstwhile Plumber is heading off to Israel to be a war correspondent! Yes, you read that correctly. The mission? To let Israel's "average joes tell their story."

And the Right wonders why it's sliding into total fucking irrelevance. Other than not knowing how to do it in the Facebook or the Twittering, that is.