apAdventures

7 weeks and 1 day later, we’ve got our baby back.

posted by ARR

posted by ARR

I will be the first to admit that the boys’ adventure up Mt. Lemmon made me SUPER jealous. DOUBLE SUPER jealous even, because about a month ago we supported our buddy John in the Imogene Pass Run in Colorado, moral support, not physical. I wanted to run something too! I was suffering from a bad bad case of ROMO. Reality Of Missing Out (yep, made that one up. Much more severe than FOMO).

Well, I think I barely finished my sentence to Grit in throwing out there a little running adventure idea of our own before she was jumping up and down and we were hugging. Oh my goodness yes! Let’s run Tuolumne to the Valley! 17 miles! Up and over Clouds Rest! We’re doing it! And bonus idea by Grit herself: let’s have the boys run back up to fetch the car. Brilliant! Dang I love this gal.

posted by ARR

posted by ARR

15 years ago and exactly one year before Silas was born, we celebrated Manu’s birthday with a hike up to Piute Pass fueled by Schat’s Bakery’s pullaway bread. This birthday celebration shared similar themes. Silas and Manu started the day opening presents in a lovely campground outside Bishop near the Buttermilk Boulders. We tore down camp, headed into town for gas, water and a mechanic to help figure out why the tire on our behemoth kept losing air. Next was a stop at Schat’s for pullaway bread, which Manu very heroically waited to tear into while we drove north and then west into Yosemite National Park via Tuolumne Meadows. The pullaway was devoured at Tenaya Lake. We then meandered our way down to The Valley, set up camp in Upper Pines, and then hiked over to Curry for pizza and beer. Too stuffed and tired, we decided to save the cake for breakfast the next morning.

Yes, the “hike” for pizza wasn’t quite on par with Piute Pass, but just you wait. More hiking (and then some!) to come on this trip… 😉

posted by ARR

posted by ARR

East side of the Sierra Nevadas, California.

posted by ARR

Van is in the shop for waaaaay longer than expected. The trip must go on!!!

posted by ARR

It’s been a heck of a summer.  Somehow four months has whipped right past my eyes, a blur of house projects, play dates, teenage social life obligations, gymnastics, gymnastics and more gymnastics and way too much work.  Plans to head up to the cool pines of Flagstaff for a day of bouldering kept getting canceled, or postponed.  Tired and grumpy seemed to be tainting our usually psyched and happy household.  We needed to get out, just the four of us. Needed to wake up in the van, hike out to some good boulders and pull hard, head back to camp and make some simple food, climb into our sleeping bags all sweaty and dirty, wake up and do it again.  And if we really wanted to pamper ourselves, throw a big ‘ol epic hike on top of all that.  Yes, this is exactly what this family needed.

That’s it. We’re going. And we’re leaving Friday. Or one of us will most definitely spontaneously combust.

posted by ARR

“All the plums have been picked” I announce with finality.  We all swig another sip of our adult beverages and nod.  Yep.  New areas are always a let down.  Crumbly rock, dangerous landings, sharp holds, a weird or awkward move that spoils the whole climb.  Lack of a top out finish, or sometimes lack of a proper start.  Or maybe none of these things at all, but darn ugly rock.  We only had three days to climb here, and all of these possibilities weighed heavily on our minds as we debated in hushed tone while the frother in our group raved in the other room about the impeccable rock he laid eyes upon yesterday.  

“Perfect white rock!” he blurts from the couch to my two sons sitting with him, purposefully loud enough for us all to hear in the kitchen.  I peek in and can tell he’s talking with them about a potential route up the boulder he saw, or “problem” as we boulderers call them.  In classic climber style I see him demonstrating the expected movement to ascend the rock.  His left hand is chest high in the air grabbing an imaginary hold.  Then he thrusts his right hand higher and slots thumb-down palm flat into what I’m guessing is a crack.  To the non-climber, this game of climbing charades can be pretty funny looking.  My kids though, having been around climbing since birth don’t laugh.  They are listening intently and are likely visualizing that same slot of the right hand into a crack as I am.

“Clean, solid granite!  Beautiful!!  Our frother friend rushes into the kitchen holding out his phone for us to see a photo he snapped of the rock.  “He [the developer of this new area] is totally psyched to meet us there tomorrow and show us around.”  His giddiness is contagious.  We all take another swig.  Ok, let’s go see these new boulders.

I heave my oversized crashpad onto my shoulders and notice the pungent stench of sweat, dirt and climber filth emanating from the pad’s shoulder straps.  This pad has been all over.  Been shouldered to, thrown under, and crashed down upon from many boulders.  Desert boulders, mountain boulders, forest boulders.  But never these boulders.  These are new boulders.  Not new in their existence, although sometimes that does happen.  Sometimes boulders or chunks of rock fall from a tall cliff face, or roll down a hillside.  If it’s a good looking boulder climbers will go check it out.  They’ll pick out a line, climb it and then name it.  Clever names are always my favorite.  Cabin Crusher is the name of a line I’ve climbed on one such “new” boulder.

But these boulders are not new in that way.  These boulders are really not new at all, just buried deep in the woods under moss and dense tree canopy, sitting and waiting patiently for someone with an affinity for climbing stone to discover them, or re-discover them.

Our guide leads us through the woods down a spongy dirt path marked by red slashes on the trees, sharing with us how he discovered these boulders.  I listen and am astounded that there is still discovery potential on public land in this area of the country.  My doubts about the quality of the boulders quickly return.  My stinky crashpad then delivers another puff of climber stench to my nostrils and I’m instantly nostalgic for all the incredible high quality boulders I’ve had the privilege to climb over the last 23 years.  What a bouldering snob I am I think to myself.

And then bam!  Out from in front of the crashpad-toting line of us a giant white boulder presents itself, just off the trail.  Decent sized with a pretty good landing, clean and most certainly beautiful.  The psyche in the group ratchets up a notch.  We all dump our pads and walk up to it, fondling the holds and tight-grained texture.  Beautiful AND solid.  

We leave the pads and rush down the trail, our guide in the lead.  He shows us another boulder.  Beautiful!  And another.  Beautiful!  We continue on, now traipsing and almost running through the woods off-trail, rock hopping and stick dodging, over a swampy area and tiny creek buried under dead decaying leaves.  We crank up a hill.  I stop a moment, glance up and see two absolutely massive boulders, bright white against the dense, almost neon-green vegetation.  These two are the best looking boulders yet.

“Cut the talk, let’s climb some rock” my oldest interjects.  We’re eager to get unpacked, warmed up and climbing shoes on, but apparently he is more eager.  With his younger brother right behind him they drag a pad over to the shorter of the two boulders.  I smile, realizing that today is going to be a family climbing day.  

My husband and I climb outside a lot, and never without the children.  While we are what many would call the definition of a climbing family, there are days where the kids choose to do other things out at the boulders than climb.  Exploring, building forts or reading sometimes trumps climbing.  Let kids be kids we always say.  But oh if they want to climb, let us be their biggest champions!

Both boys quickly climb up a split in the smaller boulder, liebacking hard with hands pulling on one side of the crack and feet pushing on the other side.  Next up is the low-angled backside of the same boulder, a pretty little holdness slab that requires simply the friction of one’s feet to ascend.  After that is a lip traverse on the larger boulder, requiring heel hooks with the left foot and smears with the right to make horizontal headway left to right before heaving oneself up and over the lip to top out.  The whole family does each of these climbs, one right after the other.  We are in our element.  Our guide is noticeably delighted.

Now it’s time for the crack that our frother friend was miming last night to the boys.  The crack is on the larger boulder, directly below the apex.  From the ground it looks straightforward.  The crack starts wide but then narrows beyond use just below a massive undercling.  If we can get up the crack and into the undercling, then it’s just a reach to the top of the boulder.  We all give it a try and see that this is one of those “climbs harder than it looks” deals.  This will take some figuring out.  We work the problem, one after the other, kids constantly trying to skip my and my husband’s turns.  The challenge is addicting for all of us.  My husband decides to “turn on the engines” and climbs it to the top, recruiting his stronger muscles reserved for climbing problems rated much harder than this one.  Our guide comments on his harder method, noting that the few others that have done this problem took a variation to the right.  This information amps up my boys even more.  They commence with battle on figuring out how to get their smaller bodies up the same line as their dad.  I do as well.

Hours later we hear thunder in the distance, or at least I think it’s been hours.  Time disappears for me when climbing, especially when climbing with the whole family.  My husband snags the official third ascent of a harder problem on the backside of the large boulder.  And the kids and I say goodbye to the crack, none of us having completed it but more then amply satisfied with the attempt.  

On the way out we decide to push our luck with Mother Nature’s oncoming storm and quickly do the primary line on the first boulder we saw earlier in the day.  The problem is big and bold but easier in difficulty.  Start sitting on a large rail, then reach up into a seam and on up to a pyramid-shaped deep incut hold (jug) before finishing off with use of a beautifully angled crack.  I am hesitant to top it out at first, but then watch my oldest waltz right up.  I top it out next try.

The storm threatens closer and we pack up, this time to leave for real.  I throw my gear into my stinky crashpad, hoist it onto my back and follow the others single file down the trail.  My good friend and I lag behind, chatting about the outstanding day and the timeless topic of how to climb stronger while the boys and men push the pace to the vehicles.  These boulder are pretty good!  Plums after all I think to myself.  And what better way to pick them than with the whole family.

posted by ARR