Travel Part Upright Carrot

I made it to Leavenworth late. It was like returning home. It was Tuesday, early evening. I stopped in one of my favorite bouldering spots on the way up to camp. As beautiful as ever. I just about cried when I saw the boulders - huge and small, crimps and slopers. Grainy, frictiony granite. Powerful moves, my favorite kind, were the obvious read on several problems. I fell in love with the place again.
As always, when I am in Leavenworth, I camped up high in the canyon, beyond the services, the fees, and hopefully, beyond where anyone would care, or even notice, that I was there. The river below me roared, soothing me to sleep (after a few hours of reading Rothfuss, of course).
When I woke, I made myself a granola bar and hurried down to the boulders. I spent the morning climbing everything I could, until my fingers and knees were bloody, and it was ninety degrees out. I slunk back into my truck, and waited for the heat to die. I read for hours. Delighted by the fact that I could read whatever I wanted. I learned a little math I didn't know before, and memorized swaths of boulders in the bouldering guidebook.
Around 6, just as the sun was thinking of going behind the mountains, the temperature noticably dropped. I jumped out of the truck, grabbed my pad, and headed up to Mad Meadows again. It was still too hot for comfort, but I decided to make the most of it. I climbed all of the easy climbs, v2 and under, on one boulder, to warm up, and then went searching. I found a number of interesting things. First, two highballs, both of which I had never even considered climbing before, even when I had been here with several people, and several pads. I plunked my little pad down among the pointy talus landing, and looked at the first one for a long long time. v4, for those of you that care.
I saw what to do, and executed the moves reasonably well to the fifteen foot mark. It was pretty clear that I had just hit the business, and it didn't feel like what I expected it to. Concerned that I was making tactical errors, and that I did not know well enough what would come above, I jumped down, purposefully, sideways, and hit the pad squarely.
Again, I looked at the problem for a long time. I recalled a creaky edge up high that, if it blew, I would fall uncontrolled, into the talus. After that, the holds were far apart, but much better. They were features of the boulder itself, rather than exfoliations thinking of giving up the fight with erosion (and countless bodies hung from them). I could see that, if I made it past the creaky, crappy crimp, without it blowing, I would have a couple of long moves around the eighteen foot mark, but that I could do them.
I stepped up, looked again, turned on my little camera, and climbed it from bottom to top with no mistakes. It felt just like I expected. I was thrilled.
The next highball was much the same, although more powerful, and with larger pointy rocks at the bottom.




The Undercling, Mad Meadows

It was rated v5, and the book had a picture of a guy being carried away on a stretcher next to it. It was, however, less scary because it was more powerful, with bigger holds. I knew I could reach the holds while I climbed, and the size of the holds was reassuring. I probably wasn't going to grease off of these. I plunked my pad down in the center of the jumble of boulders, in the only flat spot, and looked at it for a long time. I chalked my hands, tightened my shoes, and looked and looked.
I could see all the moves. I turned on the little camera, and started at the base on a big sloper. Long reaches, technical feet, and a series of moves that revolved around the problem's namesake, the Undercling, constituted the lower half. The upper half was much more mental than technical or physical. There were a couple of long reaches, but like I thought it would be, the holds were good. I topped out on an insecure finish at twenty feet, and pushed through some tree branches to the jugs. Again, that dreamy feeling. There just isn't anything like it. I managed to onsight this one, which is always a fun little asterisk to put next to the check mark in the guidebook.
I climbed a couple more easy problems, scouted out some potential projects, and made my way back in the dark.
Next morning, I woke, and climbed for less than an hour. My skin was basically completely absent after yesterday's double header (correct terminology, Sarah?).
I climbed at this amazing little place called Barney's Rubble. The Rub, as it is affectionately known here. Again, I found the highballs to be the most alluring. Call me crazy. I did a few, nothing as hard as the day before, until it was painful to even lift my water bottle.
It was time to head to Seattle for the wedding.