Climberism Magazine Issue 18 | The Climbing Bum by Climberism Magazine

climberism NOVEMBER 2013 | ISSUE #18

THE NORTHEAST CLIMBING MAGAZINE

The

CLIMBING BUM Issue

InternatIonal MountaIn ClIMbIng SChool’S 21St annual

MOUNT WASHINGTON VALLEY

ICE FESTIVAL

Jan 31-Feb 2, 2014

www.mwv-icefest.com 603-356-7064

north Conway, nh

Contents NOVEMBER | 2013

6 8 10 12 16 24 26 29

EDITOR’S NOTE // Who’s the gumby now? By David Crothers LOCAL LEGEND // Roger Fage By Brian Fencil OFFICE BIVY // The Intern Office By Christie Stack NORTHEAST NEWSWIRE // Your local news condensed SOME OF OUR CLIMBING BUMS // By Taylor Luneau, Eleanor Krause, Steve Denny FOCUSED // Image Gallery EAGLETS // Cathedral Mountain Guides Freddie Wilkinson LAST MOVE // Graham Williams and CiloGear David Crothers

Typical hardware left over from the Army Mountain Warfare School during their training days in Smugglers’ Notch. [Photo] David Crothers 4

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EDITOR

ADVERTISE

ASSISTANT EDITOR

CONTRIBUTE

ART DIRECTOR

INTERNS

HEADQUARTERS

David Crothers Taylor VanRoekel Mike Lorenz

Brian Fencil Christie Stack

advertise@climberism.com submissions@climberism.com climberism.com/subscribe 60 Main St. Jeffersonville, VT CONTACT US

info@climberism.com

ON THE COVER: Sam Bendroth on Subline (5.11-) in Ragged Mountain, CT. Funky gear, stout grade, and great history make this one a classic. [Photo] Anne Skidmore Most of the activities depicted in this magazine carry significant amounts of risk with the potential for serious injury or death. We do not recommend you try or participate in any of the activities depicted within this publication. Seek professional guidance or help from someone of expertise. You assume all risks associated with your decision. Copyright Climberism. All Rights Reserved. No material in this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent.

Contributors Ryan Stefiuk is a climbing guide residing in Northampton, Massachusetts. The consumate tinkerer and gearhead, Ryan can be found tweaking websites, Android devices, and climbing gear in his spare time. He is the owner of Valley Vertical Adventures and blogs regularly at bigfootmountainguides.com

Before he had spent a rain-soaked spring in Vermont, Taylor VanRoekel lovingly considered New England to be some sort of Shangri-La. Wide-eyed and hopeful, he moved to the Green Mountains in the summer of â&#x20AC;&#x2122;12 with a car full of skis and shelves. Three jobs and four Craigslist rentals later, he can still be found hoofing around north of I-89 with his friends who sometimes call him to go rock climbing.

Freddie Wilkinson and his dog Tagger pretending to be hunters with a BB gun. They really have no clue what hunting is, but it was a flanneland-foliage-and-man-and-his-dog kind of moment. [Photo] Rob Frost

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EDITOR’S NOTE // SHE’S JUST LIKE YOU

few weeks ago, I was out to dinner at Piecasso, a hip pizzeria in Stowe, Vermont known for its greasy, delicious pies and a large supply of Headies (Heady Toppers). I was with my dad, who fortunately lets me shower at his house from time to time and, if I’m lucky, sometimes even throws in a free dinner. We sat down at the bar next to a young, attractive, professional-looking woman sitting alone who, I assumed, was an out-of-towner here on business. “We’re going to sit right here,” my dad, the chatterbox, said to the woman. “I hope we don’t smell too bad, though it’s not me you need to worry about,” he said, looking in my direction. I live in my truck camper, so he often refers to me as if a foul stench follows me around. The woman gave him a tentative smile. That was all he needed to start a conversation. “You look very professional. I bet you’re here for work,” he continued, smiling. “What are you doing in Stowe?” We were the only people at the end of the bar, but more people were coming in and sitting down at a steady pace. “I’m here interviewing for a few jobs,” she replied. “I’ll be in Stowe for a while, looking into different opportunities.” I tried envisioning what she was interviewing for. Probably a marketing position at Top Notch. “I bet she drives a BMW too,” I thought to myself. I continued to ponder this woman’s life, thinking about where she had been, what she had seen. She looked like she’d just come out of some Wall Street skyscraper. She was beautiful and

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dressed well, wearing a business skirt that went to her knees with a blue, button-up shirt—the last two buttons undone, of course. Still, she was slightly rumpled and she looked like she had had a long day. I made assumptions: “There is no way she’s been to the places I’ve been, seen what I have seen,” I thought. “Even if she had, it’s probably been on some resort, fully paid for.” As I ate my dinner, my mind kept wandering back and forth between the cold bed I was headed back to and what it would be like to have the life I imagined this woman had. I pondered what it would be like to own a house that had more than two inches of 30-year-old fiberglass insulation sandwiched between half-inch thick particleboard and a thin layer of aluminum siding to protect me from the blizzardy hell outside. “Someday,” I thought, “someday I’ll have what this woman has.” We got up to leave and as I put my jacket on, I asked where she was staying. I assumed she was staying at one of the nicer places on the mountain road. She looked at me with a smile and blushed a little. “I’m staying in my van. It’s that white Sprinter outside.” The community is bigger than you think—some people just clean up better than others. Me, on the other hand, I am a mess with wheels. My boss straightened the collar on the shirt I was wearing the other day, shaking his head. Dammit, I need to get my life together.—Dave

Roger Fage topping out on the Dorian Tower, Thunder Bay, Ontatio Canada [Photo] Roger Fage Collection

“I AM WEAK, I GET TIRED QUICKLY, I AM BARELY ATHLETIC, I lack mental fortitude, technical skills and I scare easily. Despite these shortcomings, I am trying to live the dream, get rich, famous and become a sponsored climbing athlete,” Roger Fage told us. Though Fage has not yet realized his ultimate goal in life, he is living the dream, climbing and traveling almost constantly. So far his sponsors are those that offer him leftover food, and his fame stretches about as far as his stench. His travels have taken him all over the globe, and when he’s not checking off new climbing destinations, he’s fending off bears in northern Canada. He was kind enough to leave his tent site in Turkey and walk shoeless to an Internet cafe for a chat with us about what a dirtsquirrel like him does all day.

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SO WHAT’S A DIRTSQUIRREL LIKE YOU DO FOR WORK? Work?! I wouldn’t lower myself to such an indignity. As a semi-pro, pre-sponsored climber. I’m supported by the community, like Sharma, or the crazy street people who mumble obscenities at the bus station and you pass them off your old sandwiches in hopes they won’t bite you. But, now and again I wander off north to the deep, dark Canadian bush and play at forest adventure. I’ve been at some different jobs, but the jist is they fly me around in helicopters, drop me off on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere, and in exchange, I search for gold, or cut down some trees and generally do my best not

ROGER FAGE // LOCAL LEGEND by Brian Fencil to be eaten by bears. In return, they give me many sandwiches and more money than a dirt squirrel like me knows what to do with. I love my jobs... Even though they inevitably lead to multiple months long breaks from climbing. WHAT THE HELL IS SPONSORMEOW.COM? Sponsor me now, quickly renamed Sponsermeow by my cat, was started a few years ago as I was headed out on a seven month climbing trip. It’s kind of been an ongoing list to the climbing industry of all the reasons why a wonderful young man like myself deserves to be showered with money, free schwag and general climbing glory. I think the climbing industry is stuck in an outdated paradigm where they sponsor modern “athletes” who are “pushing grades,” “brave” or whose climbing generally “lacks suck,” rewarding things like hard work, commitment and general good looks. Bah, I say. Bah to that! Time to get post-modern. Any modern professional can be talented and strong, but it takes a special kind of professional to fill in the gaps and be a filthy, lazy, no-talent bum who loves climbing enough to be at it every day. Climbing is, to me, as cheap wine is to hobos. That’s where I lie. It’s all very avant-garde. It’s actually been amazing. The support folks are willing to shell up to dirtsquirrels, I’ve gotten private donations aplenty (so many sandwiches!), and Scarpa even sent some shoes one time. I’m not sure if they actually meant too...It could’ve been some sort of error in the mail, but like my grandma said, “Roger, a boy like you should take what he can get.” Anyways, go Scarpa! God they were comfortable—well made and full of performance and shit. I wish I was wearing them right now. Except they wore out, so now I have no shoes. (Clear throat...cough...cough). TELL ME ABOUT TURKEY. I’ve been here for about three weeks now. I’ll probably be here for another month or so, and then onwards to Croatia or Thailand. This is my third trip here. Once this place gets the hype it deserves it’s going to explode. The scene here is somewhere between hilarious and amazing. Last week, it was the Turkish holiday so folks from all over Turkey flocked to Geyikbairi. It was a wild mix. At one end, there was this posse of beautiful 8a crushing ladies from Istanbul, and then a group of wild eyed guys with epic mustaches who were taking huge whippers on 5c’s.

There’s also a decent international contingent here as well, with a minimum of five different languages spoken around the campfire any one night. OK, COOL. SOUNDS LIKE THE NORTH END OF BURLINGTON, VT., MINUS THE CAMPFIRE. SO WHERE ELSE DO YOU GO TO GET YOUR CLIMBING FIX? It’s totally seasonal. Kamouraska, Quebec in the spring can’t be beat. There’s this quaint-as-shit French bakery and cafe in town and besides the amazing climbing, the bakery is enough to make you fall in love with the place. You can’t beat Nova Scotia in the summer. A day of seaside, granite bouldering, topped off with Microbrews at the Henry House is unstoppably good. Then Rumney in the fall (on weekdays) is just the best. You can’t top ending the day with cheap NH liquor and a toss in the river. Then getting into winter ice climbing and heading up Gaspé way in Quebec. That place has so much heart it’s disgusting. The ice forms just wild there, all windblown and savage. At the risk of making inordinate pronouncements - I’ll be frank here, I do love to make them—the climbing in the North and East is by far the best. The rest of the continent is crap. BAM! I said it. YEAH, THAT’S GOING TO PISS SOMEONE OFF. THANKS. YOU’RE FAMOUS ON THE INTERNET FOR BEING CHEAP. TELL ME ABOUT YOUR DIRTSQUIRRELLINESS. As I figure it, the key to dirtbag budgeting breaks down into roughly three main categories, with acceptable limits of dirtbagdom you’re willing to embrace each with. I figure the categories go something like this: austerity measures, dirtsquirrelliness (I’m not sure how to spell this word... doesn’t seem to be in the dictionary? WTF Webster’s?) and lastly, getting the local love. Austerity measures is pretty self-explanatory. They are more or less how much discomfort, potential or otherwise, you’re willing to endure. Sleeping in a ditch is usually free, but sleeping in a ditch usually sucks. It’s about finding a balance. Food is a great place to budget, though nothing but oats will probably lead to scurvy. Dirt-squirreliness relates to your ability to get shit for free, or cheap, sometimes employing some fairly dubious measures. This is in the realm of dumpster

diving, being in your twenties and lying in an attempt to get the seniors discount at Denny’s, or picking TP from public bathrooms. Though I’d say Sponsormeow is a pretty squirrelly way to go after funds. Local love is by far the best, and usually leads to the wackiest experiences. This is more or less befriending locals and getting the low down on deals. This is the kind of thing that leads to hitchhiking up into the Turkish mountains for a newly befriended strangers wedding and copious amounts of homemade free pomegranate wine. People are generally generous and love to help out friendly travelers. That and when they hear that you’ve been more or less living out of a tent for the past three years, they feel bad for you. I HEAR YOU’VE SET SOME CRAZY GOALS. WHAT’S THIS ABOUT A PLAY-OFF BEARD? Well, since my days as a fat kid, I always thought 5.13 was the epic grade achievable only by the most impressive of human specimens, and, well, I guess I still believe that. So, I’ve set that as my next climbing goal, and to keep myself encouraged, I’ve started the great Canadian tradition of the play-off season beard. No trimming till 5.13. Obviously, this could get out of hand, but hey, is there ever a better time in one’s life to grow a massive beard then when you’re living out of a filthy tent in Turkey? I think not. HOW LONG IS THE BEARD SO FAR? AND ARE YOU GETTING CLOSE TO 13’S? I’ve done a few 12b’s since I’ve been here, but I’m definitely taking it slow and working my way up. After a five month break, I’m not in any rush to injure myself by getting back at it too hard. The beard is not yet too out of hand—I can still comfortably down a bowl of soup, but she’s quickly making her way to the stage of crazy, hobo beard. I’m not going to lie, by the time I work my way up to 5.13, there’s a decent chance I’ll be sporting a Castaway style beard. ANYTHING ELSE? For the love of god, Petzl, Scarpa, La Sportiva, Evolv, BD, Metolius, anyone, I’m still waiting to hear from you with your generous donations to my cause. Did you lose my number? Call me! I still love you anyways.

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THE OFFICE BIVY INTERN OFFICE

by Christie Stack

When the mercury drops, there’s nothing better than pulling your significant other close and getting warm, in a strictly PG-13 kinda way. Most of the time there isn’t enough room to get funky in a sleeping bag anyway, so just save it for when you’re home. We’ve checked out some new sleeping bags and sleeping pads, but we also wanted to make sure that if you didn’t have the dinero to fork over for a bank-breaking, back-of-your-vehicle setup you’d have a few dirtbag alternatives. 1. Nemo Equipment Coda 0 Degree Sleeping Bag It’s down! 850 fill power goose down, so it’s really warm on cold nights in the back of your ride. It’s lightweight, and the bag itself packs down to the size of a basketball. The Thermo Gills regulate internal temperature, offering fresh air flow without freezing wind blasting your face. The Coda 0 Degree is designed with extra room at the knees, which is great for sleeping on your side. The “Toester Box” feature at the feet is awesome for keeping your boot liners (or anything else) warm. Stepping into cold boots is the worst. MSRP: TBD nemoequipment.com Dirtbag Alternative: Windy Pass Mummy Sleeping Bag | wenzelco.com | $44.99 2. Mountain Hardwear UltraLamina 0 Degree Sleeping Bag The UltraLamina utilizes Mountain Hardwear’s proprietary synthetic material. It’s definitely warm but won’t pack down super small like its down competitors. Also, a draft tube around the neck is something a zero degree bag should have. This bag is perfect for throwing in the car and sleeping in, off the side of the road when it gets chilly. The shell is rugged and will take a beating. $279.95 mountainhardwear.com Dirtbag Alternative: Coleman Big Basin Sleeping Bag | coleman.com | $49.49 3. Slumberjack Timberjack 0 Degree Regular If you like to be buried under a hefty pile of blankets, this is the bag for you. It fully unzips for cuddling your climbing partner, or serves as a great extra layer of cushioning. It’s not a bag for the Himalaya, but it’s a great option for the back of your truck, van, camper or ditch: or whatever you prefer. $79.95 slumberjack.com Dirtbag Alternative: Ledge Sports Idaho Sleeping Bag | sportsmanswarehouse.com | $39.99 4. Thermarest NeoAir Dream Not only is the pad easy to store, the stuff sack is expandable to aid with the inflation process. Simply attach the bottom of the stuff sack to the valve, fill the sack with air and squeeze to empty the air from the stuff sack into the inflation valve. With the combination of a foam pillow top, the NeoAir pad and a soft fleece cover will have you sleeping like a baby in the back of your ride. You can also remove the NeoAir mattress for extended backcountry trips. The removable fleece cover is also machine washable. $199.95 cascadedesigns.com/therm-a-rest Dirtbag Alternative: Kamp-Rite Tent Cot | kampritenow.com | $89.95 5. Eureka Singlis ST You won’t faint while filling the Singlis ST. The one way air valve and built-in hand pump makes inflation easier then manually blowing up the pad. Once inflated, it’s super comfortable and holds air for a few days before needing to pump it back up again. It is easy to pack away and takes up a minimal amount space. Because the inflation valve is so small, it takes a few minutes to pump up: a small price to pay when the alternative is seeing stars and passing out. $49.95 eurekatent.com Dirtbag Alternative: Ozark Trail Self-Inflating Sleeping Pad | ozarktrail.com | $23.95 6. Slumberjack Haymaker Airbed Sleeping Pad If you have the room, the Haymaker Airbed is a comfortable alternative to the single-person backpacking airpads. It’s a double so it could sleep two people, but it’ll be tight. If you’re alone, sleeping on this thing in the back of your ride will feel like you’re on a king-size bed. Boss. It comes with an external pump so inflation is quick and convenient. However, just like any air mattress, you’ll need to pump it up frequently. Four D batteries are not included with the pump so ten extra bucks will set you back a month’s worth of Ramen. $59.95 slumberjack.com Dirtbag Alternative: Coleman Skinny Airbed | coleman.com | $19.97 7. Big Agnes Cabin Creek 15 Degree Doublewide Sleeping Bag and Pad Combo It doesn’t get much better than this: two extra-thick Big Agnes sleeping pads that slip into the bottom of the Cabin Creek doublewide sleeping bag. It’s so comfortable I am thinking about getting rid of my bed. The sleeping bag itself is big enough for two people with a little room to spare but if you’re sleeping alone, it’s like sleeping on a king. The setup is rugged, so you can toss it down on the side of the road, a rest area or anywhere that suits your fancy. $269.95 + 87.95 bigagnes.com Dirtbag Alternative: Outsunny Two-Person Sleeping Bag | aosom.com | $49.95 + Stansport Extra Thick Pad | stansport.com | $18.95

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NORTHEAST NEWSWIRE JAWS BITES MORE CLIMBERS, GYMS, GYMS AND MORE GYMS

GYM TO CRAG PROGRAM ALMOST FINISHED The Gunks Climbers’ Coalition received grants from the Access Fund and the American Alpine Club for their program that helps new climbers make the transition from the gym to the crag. Many firsttime climbers are not familiar with outdoor climbing ethics, and the Gunks Climbers’ Coalition is seeking to limit the growing impact from climbers around New Paltz through education before they make it out to the crag. The program will include videos, presentations, flyers and other incentives for participation. The program will be launched shortly, and was presented at the Access Fund Educational Summit on November 1. [Photo] Mauricio Santos

THE JAWS II CLUB KEEPS GETTING BIGGER Andrew Palmer’s efforts on Jaws II, in Rumney, Nh. began in the spring of this year. He measured his progress in slight incremental steps forward: fractions of seconds longer on holds and centimeters higher. After all the hard work, changes in beta and a little advice from Peter Kamitses (who told Palmer to “Let himself do it”), Palmer broke through the mental barriers, stuck the dyno and brought a close to months of hard work. Shortly after Palmer’s success, Paul Robinson completed the route. Robinson started working the route in 2011, but was not successful that year. After finding some time to travel this fall, Robinson headed out to Rumney to try again. He took six falls on the dyno during ground up attempts alone, almost giving up on the route. But he stuck with it, completing it a day before his flight back home. After finishing the route, Robinson said in a Prana blog post, “This marks my hardest sport climb to date and a dream realized, to climb both V15 and 5.15.” Dave Graham originally established the route, called Jaws (5.14b), in 1998. After two vital holds broke, Jaws was deemed impossible. In 2007 Vasya Vorotnikov successfully unlocked the sequence and renamed the route Jaws II, giving it a 5.15 rating.

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NEW ROCK GYM, PORTLAND ME. Evo Rock + Fitness, in collaboration with Maine Rock Gym, is opening a state-of-the-art gym in Portland Me., in the fall of next year. The engineers have finished designing plans for the space and bank financing was recently approved meaning building will be soon underway. The designs for the gym include a shorter, kid-specific wall, cardio machines, a yoga room, two party rooms, a retail space and a bouldering area.

(603) 986-5614 bayard@cathedralmountainguides.com freddie@cathedralmountainguides.com www.cathedralmountainguides.com

TIKKA RXP ÂŽ

Photo ÂŠ www.kalice.fr

The lightweight versatility of a TIKKA. Now with 100% more Reactive Lighting.

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Thanks to Petzl's Reactive Lighting technology, the TIKKA RXP analyzes incoming light and then instantly and automatically adjusts brightness and beam pattern. The result? A smarter, more powerful, more efficient headlamp. Welcome to the next generation of hands-free lighting.

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NORTHEAST NEWSWIRE EARLY COLORADO ICE, DAWN WALL EPICS, NEW SALATHE WALL SPEED RECORD

DAWN WALL UPDATE Four days after the government shutdown ended, Tommy Caldwell, Kevin Jorgeson and Chris Sharma started the first few pitches of the Dawn Wall Project. The team spent 12 days working the project, enduring rain and freezing temperatures. The team backed off the route for a little while after a haul bag that was attached to the back of Caldwell’s harness took a jarring 200 foot fall. On his Facebook page, Caldwell said he suffered a costochondral separation and is at home healing. Jorgeson is continuing the project with Carlo Denali Traversi with hopes that Caldwell will heal soon and join them.

EARLY SEASON ICE IN COLORADO

[Photo] Will Mayo

In issue 17, we profiled Will Mayo, who redpointed Fecalator (M10/WI6) in the Dacks. Mayo has been on the hunt for another traditional mixed route like it (an overhanging crack to a free hanging dagger), and this October he not only onsighted one, but he got the FA. Shortly before Halloween, a friend of Mayo’s, Ben Collett, spotted a line that looked like the route Mayo had been imagining. The two made the long approach and committing rappel to the base of the climb. The route starts with a WI3 first pitch ending below the first icicle. The second pitch consists of overhanging crack climbing and a series of free hanging daggers. “At one point, hanging above the chockstone, hooking with my left tool in the crack and working in a hand jam in a flake with the right hand, the inside of the flake started to crumble. I felt movement and wasn’t sure if the entire flake, about the size of a sheet of plywood, was unstable,” Mayo said in an interview with Alpinist. “I yelled down to Ben ‘It’s coming apart on me!’ A plate of granite about the size of a textbook from inside the crack dislodged and fell out, miraculously making room for an excellent hand jam.” The team topped out late in the afternoon. Window Pain (WI6+), Diamond Wall, Longs Peak

22-YEAROLD BREAKS SALATHE WALL SPEED RECORD Cheyne Lempe broke the speed record on the Salathe Wall (5.9 A2, 2,900’) by 98 minutes. The previous record was established in 1992 by Steve Schneider. Lempe rope soloed the route in just over 20 hours between November 6 and 7. If you’re interested in watching Lempe go from being super psyched to super tired, a video he made and edited can be watched here: http://vimeo.com/79034685

Kevin Cooper and Topher Donahue were able to claim a first ascent on a rarely formed thin smear of ice on Longs Peak’s Diamond Wall after 15 years of watching and waiting for it to form. The route’s base is not visible from below and the thin plaster of ice forms on a smooth, blank wall. The team completed the approach and six pitches of mixed climbing to meet the route, knowing that

just eight feet of blank rock or verglas would shut down their attempt. Luckily, the smear reached all the way down to the ledge and Cooper led the new route—his hardest lead to date. Donahue seconded, smiling all the way up. It was his second time on ice in three years.

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CLIMBING BUM The

DIRTBAGS, VAGABONDS, GYPSIES, OR TROUBLE? OR LIVING THE DREAM MOST OF US WILL NEVER EXPERIENCE? I don’t know how many times I’ve said, “I hate this sport. I’m never doing this again.” I recall saying this phrase intently during a horrible decent after climbing in Rocky Mountain National Park. It was dark, sadistically cold and windy and my friend had a screaming headache from the altitude. At one point I sat behind a boulder, turned off my headlamp and imagined a hedonistic life of cold drinks in the afternoon and the thermostat cranked to 80. Why do I do this? We made it down safely, the stars outlined the Diamond of Longs Peak and we could see the bright line we had climbed; the feeling of success set in. “I love this sport,” I thought. Fred Beckey once said in an interview with The Learning Project in New Palz, Ny., “I don’t even know why people climb. I can’t figure it out. It’s a lot easier to play tennis or golf, bicycle; a lot less stress, not dangerous, doesn’t have the risk, doesn’t have the suffering. Climbing’s got a lot of suffering, a lot of it.” Under this light, climbing seems illogical, masochistic even. What is it about climbing that made lifelong dirtbag Fred Beckey abandon a career after college to focus on climbing, never to marry or settle down? Or why did Yvon Chouinard live out of a van and make his own pitons in Yosemite Valley? And why did Alex Honnold steal his family’s van and drop out of college to climb all of the time? And why does anyone pack up their rig and hit the road for some unknown adventure? Climbing has no beginning or end. Finishing one goal just creates another. Marie Curie, after receiving her second Masters Degree said, “One never notices what has been done; one can only see what remains to be done.” We tracked down a few local dirtbags who shared with us what lengths they go to fill their appetite for the sport they love.—Brian Fencil

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“I didn’t know the grade of the sit start when I was trying it; I just knew it was hard. But I wasn’t climbing it for the grade.”

TAYLOR LUNEAU

[PHOTOS] Taylor Luneau collection

KEEPING THE PSYCHE HIGH BETWEEN CLASS AND WORK SINCE SCHOOL HAS YOU TIED DOWN, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO? Just school, school, school and more school right now. I’m finishing up a Biology degree with an Environmental Science minor at St. Michael’s College in Colchester, so I’m pretty tied down. When I am not there, I go back and forth from home—Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom. I’ve been working with a guy up there making rustic-cedar furniture, and I’ve been trying to get as much climbing in as possible. I’m making the best of my time. St. Mike’s has a fantastic wilderness program, so I keep busy with that, too.

HAVE YOU GOTTEN A CHANCE TO TRAVEL AROUND AND GO CLIMBING? This summer was pretty busy for me. I have only been at it three or four years, so this summer I got after it and climbed

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the Whitney-Gilman Ridge (5.7). I spent some time at Cathedral, and a couple of friends of mine and I climbed Pinnacle Buttress (5.8) on Mt. Washington. It was a little daunting because none of us had climbed anything that big before, but we were totally successful and walked away having done the 5.8+ variation that goes up the ridge. We were successful and spent that night partying in a Walmart parking lot. We camped out on the platform I built in the back of my truck. It was perfect. We woke up in North Conway and drove five minutes down the road and went and climbed Thin Air (5.6) on Cathedral. Beyond that, I’ve had the opportunity to check out pretty much all of the crags in Vermont this summer. I was guiding for Petra cliffs this summer too, so that helped. I spent a lot of time with the kids instructing rock climbing technique, setting up top ropes, that kind of stuff. Those are skills I picked up at the wilderness program at St. Mike’s.

WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS AFTER COLLEGE?

WHAT DO YOU DO ABOUT CONDENSATION?

That’s the prevailing question. There are a few roads ahead of me. I could pursue graduate work in the Wildlife Conservation field and go in the field and work as a lab technician. The other road, a very enticing alternative, is going with some friends to New Zealand next summer for some climbing and skiing near Queenstown. There are a lot of alpine routes there I’d like to cut my teeth on. On top of that, there’s another opportunity to go live in Yosemite Valley. I’m hoping a sign comes along and shows me which is the way to go. I’m not sure yet.

I just crack windows. It’s sobering to see how much water you lose just from breath! I try not to get too hot back there, which really helps too. Vents would be a good idea, but I don’t know about installing and making them water and weatherproof.

WHAT ADVICE WOULD YOU GIVE TO SOMEONE GOING TO CAMP OUT IN A CAR?

I got it back when it was a 1995 and I think I has 185,000 now.

I would like to have a taller cap on my truck. It’s pretty easy to bump your head, and having more space would be smart. Also, I would like to put carpet in instead of laying on the plywood—It would hold heat better. Laying on the plywood in cold conditions really sucks the heat out of you.

REFlECTIONS:

My stance was poor, positioning my feet against lichen-infested rock and reaching over to sloping and loose holds. I grabbed an alpine draw, banged on a piton once—a hollow ring echoed down into the valley. Reaching high, again, I clipped the next piton, then balanced my weight on a small foothold below me and swung my weight out onto the exposed and sloping rock—failure was no longer an option. My pack caught the roof, causing my weight to shift and my heart to lurch. “This is it,” I thought. “I’m going to fall and it’s going to be bad.“ Weeks earlier, I sat at the small map counter in Eastern Mountain Sports thumbing through a pile of guidebooks, reading intently. The route that caught my attention was The Northeast Ridge (5.7) of Pinnacle Buttress on Mt. Washington and the 5.8 variation that was first completed in 1910. I was told climbing the route was like “climbing through a museum” with an assortment of fixed protection from nearly a century ago and some of the best alpine rock in the Northeast. I convinced two friends of mine to do the climb with me and, after the grueling hike in anticipation silenced us when the thick forest cleared and Pinnacle Buttress came in to view. This would undoubtedly be the most committing and demanding climb we had ever attempted. We had swapped leads and made easy progress up the first few pitches. Below the crux pitch of the 5.8 variation I took the rack. I worked my way up a handsized crack, now roughly 500 feet up, smearing and jamming to a couple of overhangs. My pack was getting caught on edges and threatening to pull me backward off the face, my only gear a

HOW MANY MILES DOES YOUR CAR HAVE ON IT? WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR TRAVEL PLANS? This winter, a friend and I will be heading north for Newfoundland. We’re going up there to ski and climb. It’s a 24-hour drive, so it’ll be an all-nighter. Also, we are probably going to Gaspe National Park. It’s about 12 hours from Montreal on the Gaspe Peninsula. It’s a really amazing, mountainous region that I know about for skiing but haven’t climbed there yet. The ice climbing will be amazing, from what I hear.

couple of fixed pins and a few small wires. I finished the pitch, muscled through terror and reached the next belay. I built my anchor and I shouted in relief and joy. The sun was now hidden above the peak as I brought my friends up, and a shivering cold came over all of us. We climbed fast and were soon out, onto the buttress’s peak and standing on success. We descended, bivied in the back of my truck in a Walmart parking lot, and had a Heady Topper. We were up early the next morning and were the first party on Thin Air (5.6, 300’) at Cathedral Ledge, which felt casual after Pinnacle Buttress. The accomplishment had propelled us into a new level of climbing. And now, when I open a guidebook, I see a new definition of ‘possible’, and a whole set of new goals.

“I didn’t know the grade of the sit start when I was trying it; I just knew it was hard. But I wasn’t climbing it for the grade.”

ELEANOR KRAUSE

[PHOTO] Elodie Saracco

“I can throw on a dress and look good even if I haven’t showered in a week.” RUMOR HAS IT YOU’RE LIVING IN A TENT NEAR MIGUEL’S AT THE RED RIVER GORGE? I’ve been here since February, minus a few months when I was in Colorado interning for the Access Fund. Now I work and live at Miguel’s Pizza. It’s a gear store and campground too. I have a little two-person tent on a platform with a tarp over it. I stay dry, except when it’s really storming—then everything gets a little wet.

is pretty much the most perfect place, minus the fact that there is no social life beyond climbing. It’s beautiful and I will probably be down here next season too.

YOU’RE THERE FOR THE LONG HAUL THEN? Yes. I’m going to Mexico for the winter and then maybe bouldering down south for a little bit. After that my plan is to come back here for the spring.

HOW DID YOU END UP AT THE RED RIVER GORGE?

ANY PLANS FOR GETTING A “REAL” JOB?

I planned on moving down here after finishing my degree at the University of Vermont. Of course nothing’s better than getting a college degree and then moving into a tent. But this

Working for the Access Fund was enlightening because it made me realize that there are real jobs out there that still allow this lifestyle. I wouldn’t necessarily be living out of my

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car, but getting to climb all of the time, more or less. I do have plans of going to grad school, but I want to take the lessons I’ve learned living this way and apply them to those next stages. I don’t ever want to be trapped in an office in a city without being able to climb.

everyday. The crag is only 15 minutes down the road, and learning to live with less is really important. I’ve sold a lot of my belongings and realized I don’t need much. I’m way happier now than I have ever been, even though I’m living out of a tent.

DO YOU HAVE ANY RECOMMENDATIONS FOR THE FLEDGING ROAD TRIPPER?

WHY ARE YOU HAPPIER NOW THAN EVER?

The biggest roadblock is obviously finances. The best thing you can do is figure out how you can get paid while getting to do what you love. For me, working at this campground is awesome. It’s given me the opportunity to travel and climb

I get to do what I love every single day. So many of my friends ended up getting awful jobs right out of college because they thought that’s what they were supposed to do. I feel fortunate that I have had the opportunity to decide to do exactly what I want with my time.

REFlECTIONS: In Tonsai, Thailand, a climber can sport climb beachfront limestone, order a Piña Colada and watch the sunset over the picturesque Andaman Sea. Tonsai was my first impression of the itinerant climber lifestyle, and it seemed quite ideal. But life in paradise wasn’t exactly utopic. There were piles of burning trash all over, gangs of monkeys determined to steal and destroy our belongings and consistent low doses of food poisoning which eventually wore on us. The beautiful beaches were actually riddled with trash, and the sea was a repository for human waste. Making matters worse, the waters were home to an unfortunate density of miniature jellyfish. A month and a half into our stay on Tonsai, and with only two weeks left of our trip, Pat and I decided to depart the beaches of southern Thailand for Chiang Mai, a northern Thai city with a decent amount of climbing. On this leg of the journey, Pat and I temporarily went our separate ways—he flew to the island of Phuket and I started a solo mission on Thailand’s scrappy bus and train system. Lane lines are merely suggestions in Thailand. Cars weave in and out and sometimes my bus swayed violently, dodging a family of five on a motor scooter. Buses stop unexpectedly for hours at

a time, usually in dark jungles, before continuing on. At four in the morning, after sixteen hours of sleepless bus hell, I was dropped off in Bangkok. I hailed down a tuktuk, Thailand’s three-wheeled taxi, and made my way to the train station. My train didn’t depart for another six hours and I was in dire need of a little shuteye, so I found an empty spot amongst the crowd of sleeping homeless. I curled up on the ground, spooning my climbing pack, and managed to get a bit of sleep. I eventually made it to Chiang Mai and reunited with Pat to squeeze in a few more days of good climbing before our return to America. While my travels were strange, stressful and sometimes terrifying, I learned a little about what it means to dedicate oneself to a climbing lifestyle. Getting to the next climbing destination often means putting up with awkward mornings, and that is part of why I love climbing. Climbing can take you to all corners of the world—from dirty city streets to gorgeous beaches. Eventually, I’ll find the joy in a salary-paying job and home ownership. Until then, I will continue making the most of my backseat bed on my way to the world’s best climbing areas.

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“I didn’t know the grade of the sit start when I was trying it; I just knew it was hard. But I wasn’t climbing it for the grade.”

STEVE DENNY

[PHOTO] Steve Denny

FROM TOURIST-LADeN streets to chevy astro van WHAT CHANGES HAVE YOU MADE TO YOUR RIG TO MAKE IT MORE HOMELIKE? This is a stage two build. I lived in a 1986 Safari van, which is basically just like an Astro, for two years. Then I bought the Astro Van last February with a 190,000 plus miles on it and did it up right. I have limo tint on all the windows, so it’s completely blacked out. The standard Thule box sits up top next to the bike rack, and I managed to fit a bed-kitchen zone.

WHAT ABOUT MAJOR BREAKDOWNS? I do pop a lot of tires, about two or three a year. Rallying around the desert will do that. The van is all-wheel drive and I ripped the front bumper off so it has more clearance. It’ll go almost anywhere, but I have had bad luck with tires and I tend to puncture the sidewalls.

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WHERE ARE YOU WHEN YOU’RE NOT LIVING IN THE VAN? I’m living in a straw-bale house a friend of mine built in Carbondale, Colorado. It’s an awesome eight by eight, made with straw bales and then adobe on the outside. It’s next to my friend’s house and I use their kitchen and bathroom. When I’m here, I am the manager for the consignment gear store Ragged Mountain Sports, which a friend of mine opened in 2011. She hired me to run the store in the winter.

WHAT’S THE BEST PART OF LIVING ON THE ROAD? One time in Zion, I met a group of climbers bailing off the Touchstone Wall. We ended up hanging out, and since then I’ve run into the same group all over the country. They’ve walked into my shop and I’ve seen them at every major climbing destination over the last four years. I see them more than some of my close friends and out

of complete randomness. I’ve never made a phone call with them, I don’t really know their last names, but they are living the same lifestyle. That’s my favorite thing about living this lifestyle. I love that small community feel and running into the same people all the time. It is so important to have those connections, especially when traveling solo. When you roll into a place, it’s great to have full confidence that you will see someone you know and rope up with them.

HAVE YOU HAD A HARD TIME DATING WHILE LIVING IN A VAN? Normally I would say yes, but this season I actually met a girl. She lived with me in my van the entire summer. We had not lived togeth-

er before we moved into the van so it was pretty wild. We are still together and we celebrated our one—year anniversary recently.

WHAT ABOUT THE POLICE? HAVE YOU EVER HAD ANY PROBLEMS WHILE CAMPING OUT SOMEWHERE? It’s amazing. I’ve only had trouble one time in all the years living out here and that was in Rocky Mountain National Park. A month ago, we were bivied in a parking lot and the police came knocking on my window. They asked the guy next to us if they had seen us. When they tried to flash their light in the window on us, it just reflected back in their face. He left us alone and it was all good. That was the only time and I’ve lived in Yosemite for a long time, where you get messed with all the time.

REFLECTIONS: The night began as my climbing partner Elliot and I were packing to leave Yosemite National Park. The rangers had informed us that we had overstayed our welcome and needed to leave, immediately. We packed as quickly as we could and I sold off some extra climbing gear so I could make it back to Colorado. I had also connected with a fellow dirtbag—I believe his first name was David—who needed a ride to the airport in Fresno, Ca. That night, the three of us piled into my 1986 GMC Safari Van and began to drive, as ordered, out of the Valley and into the night. When we were too tired to drive, we left the highway and found the greatest urban bivy spot known to man—a neighborhood of houseless lots. Finding a pleasant cul-de-sac tucked up on a hill, we put back the last of our beers while setting up our sleeping bags outside. We all agreed that this spot couldn’t be better and laid down, ready for a good night’s sleep. I awoke in a panic to a truck revving its engine and the occupants shouting. Cops? Rednecks, more likely. The truck took off, spinning a donut in our quiet, freshly paved cul-de-

sac. We nodded back to sleep, but just as I was slipping back into dreamland, the truck returned. From their screams, we could tell they were heavily intoxicated, and apparently the coolest thing happening in Madera County was our van. The drunkards sped around us like they were at a racetrack, every pass bringing them closer and closer to the van and us. And just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone. We all tried to fall back asleep. These guys must have been on a local’s circuit because they returned again, louder and drunker. After the seventh, then the eighth encounter, we packed up the van and headed to Fresno. At four in the morning we arrived, pulled into a parking lot and the boys crashed on the grassy median. Rest came easy, for me anyway, but Dave and Elliot were abruptly awoken less than an hour later by the sprinkler system. What a night.

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FOCUSED

PHOTO // ROSS HENRY Seb Lancellot and Roger Fage on the first ascent of Equinimaty (WI5), Bay of Fundy, Nova Scotia

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PHOTO // JACOB KUPFERMAN Remy Franklin climbing Tin Man (5.13a) at Rumney. kupfermanphotography.com

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// training skills by Galina Parfenov

EAGLETS

by Freddie Wilkinson Cathedral Mountain Guides

ne only needs to visit the nearest city park or school playground to realize a simple and inalienable truth: all children are climbers. Watching ten-year-olds swirl across the monkey bars or shimmy up spindle saplings is a carefree tutorial in proper climbing technique. Their arms hang straight at the elbow to conserve energy, their feet kick and hook instinctively for purchase and support. More often than not, their mouths are chattering away about some unrelated subject. Climbing is, in some respects, our most primal instinct. But instincts are not a child’s greatest strength—it’s their attitude. Kids, like all great climbers, are at their best when the conditions are at their worst. It’s hard to imagine worse conditions than New England in July. The air moves in sheets of rain followed by stagnant blankets of humidity, smothering the rock underneath the forest canopy. Most sensible climbers–those who aren’t too silly or too obsessed–abandon the crags for mud-soaked trail running, beer barbeques or river floating. It’s during this damp time that kid’s summer camps descend on the White Mountains. You can spot a camp group at the trailhead from a mile away. Matching yellow helmets and an Econoline van that’s double parked in three spaces are dead giveaways. I joined a similar scene one July morning this year in Franconia Notch, New Hampshire. We were an expedition of six–two instructors, four students. Our group was bound together by our matching yellow helmets and a clear objective: to summit the Eaglet, a three hundred foot sweep of granite halfway up the flank of Franconia Notch. As we pulled into the parking lot of off Interstate 93, grey clouds swirled through the Notch, the pavement still damp from rain. Despite the weather, our four young charges, Caroline, Sylvie, Isobel and Katie, were psyched. Hiapo, my fellow instructor, passed out coils of rope. We lathered up on sunscreen. Everyone had water. Everyone had lunch. Our shoelaces were firmly tied. We shouldered our packs and set forth like a segmented millipede made of backpacks and ropes, with one pair of elbows and knees protruding at regular intervals. Forty-five minutes of hiking later, right about the time we reached the base of the proper climbing, a light drizzle began to fall. The rock glistened and then the cloud level abruptly dropped, leaving us inside the mist. It was time to stop and consider our options. We put on our rain jackets and crouched under a small overhang, munching on snacks and waiting on the weather’s next move. Katie sat under the overhang, making a rain face. “The mist is moving up, which is really amazing to look at,” she said. “It came down really fast, and now it’s sort of looking like it’s lifting really fast too—as if it’s going into the clouds. I hope that

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doesn’t mean there’s enough water up there to rain again, but it seems like a good sign for right now.” But the drizzle came back. The rock began to glisten again. The trouble was, with kids, staying still isn’t often an option. And so we turned our backs on the Eaglet and skidded down through wet boulders towards the highway, a dangerous undertaking to say the least. After ten years of leading youth rock climbing excursions, I’ve never had an accident or injury on technical terrain—but I’ve seen kids go down often and hard on the slick White Mountain hiking trails that lead to our crags. One rainy week at the overhanging Sundown Ledge, no fewer than three little ones went to the emergency room for stitches from slips on the crag’s rocky base. Retreating from Franconia Notch, our group’s backup plan was Artist’s Bluff, a semi-vegetated, hundred-foot scar watching over Echo Lake, a mile away. As we pulled into the parking lot, I spied a suspicious looking white mini van and bus. A clipboard, I noticed, was sitting on the driver’s seat. As soon as we started up the trail, we could see yellow helmets and hear the telltale squawk of another group. We were hosed. Retreating again, and with three hours to kill, we went back to the White Mountain School’s indoor gym. “I’ve never set my own route before,” Katie said absently. Hiapo and I suggested this was just the opportunity to learn. After all, the best climbs are driven by the imagination, by a curiosity to explore. Katie began the process of setting her own route and, in an instant, all of our soggy travails were forgotten. In a whirlwind of step ladders and plastic holds, lines never known before were crafted from empty space, each with its own promise of adventure ten feet tall. Perhaps children make good climbers because their thoughts are unbounded. Kids climb without thinking about it, as if they are tapped into a more primitive physiological awareness. Something that as we grow older, spending twenty or thirty years walking upright, eating junk food and sitting hunched over computer screens all day long, we are bound to inevitably loose. I’ve noticed many professional guides looking down their noses at working the kids camps. I’ve seen guides throw down and quit on the spot rather than endure one more day of kids in the ninety-degree heat. I can’t blame them one bit, for the truth is, leading a group of kids into the woods is to engage in a constant improvised combination of eating, bleeding, peeing, shitting, littering, picking up litter, walking, stopping, walking some more and trying to be quiet. But somewhere in the beaded mist of that July cloud, I learned a lesson: If all children are climbers, all climbers should strive to find and hold on to their inner child.

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[last move]

“Making your actions live up to your ego.” GRAHAM WILLIAMS CiloGear Packs Climberism » How many different ways can you modify the packs?

Climberism » Why do you think some of the best alpine climbers use your packs?

G.W. » Mathematically, in terms of like, unique combinations, there are over 460,000, of which probably 20,000 or 30,000 make sense. Sky’s the limit. I see something whenever I talk to someone using my packs. It happens every time. For example, there’s a way all the skiers are re-treading the simple strapping system to make it better for them, creating somewhat of an adjustable ski carrying system. It’s crazy. Every single time I see something new.

G.W. » The reason the world’s top alpinist, and an increasingly a large number of the world’s best skiers, are using our packs is because they are designed for that task. If you want to ski 55-degree terrain in the Himalaya you’re probably going to use a CiloGear pack because you can trust it. They don’t surprise you, and they are easily user modified in terms of how you put the straps on for your particular needs.

Climberism » What’s the best part of your job? G.W. » Oh, gosh. Every time I meet a hardcore user or debrief with someone, I get to hear about where my pack has been and what it’s been used for. Steve House used CiloGear packs for six years and he said, “When I’m climbing, it doesn’t get in the way. I don’t notice it. It’s solid and it’s perfect.” Hearing things like that is the best part of my job.

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