SonnieTrotter.com

Don't get me wrong I enjoy a tasty beer as much as the next guy. But this is ridiculous. Let me start from the beginning.

Yesterday was some sort of American Holiday, I don't know which one and quite frankly, as a Canadian I don't care either.

Ha ha, only joking, HAPPY 4th of July everyone. Independence is a wonderful thing. The fireworks were a blast, (pun intended). Grin.

So, Lydia and I drove out to the mountains (going to Rifle today) to enjoy the holiday. While on our way, we thought we'd take the scenic drive over Loveland Pass. BEAUTIFUL. 360 degrees of carved mountains, snow patch spires, rivers, valleys, and open sky. Upon arriving at the parking lot, we decided (being the adventurous rascals we are) to keep going and hike the 20 or so extra minutes to the "Summit". We packed a wind breaker and a camera, guzzled some agua and ditched the car for a high altitude single push, no fixed lines ascent. I'm not sure it's been done before without Cell Phone assistance or oxygen tanks. So we were venturing into desperate territory.

Mom if you are reading this from Estonia, know that we are okay, and although I got a little woozy from time to time and though I thought I might have had a little frost nip on my pinky digits, we managed to come down safely.

So away we went. From the big wooden post. Please don't ask why my head is cut off from this picture, or what Lydia (Mrs.White) is doing with her beautiful arm. We were oxygen deprived at this point and going a little bit loopy, also the camera man was a motorcycle driving, american flag bandana wearing alcoholic. He did the best he could, and we love him for it. Hey, at least it's sort of in focus.

After what seemed like a lifetime of hiking (nonstop) up hill, I began to feel the effects of altitude and dehydration, I saw a stream up ahead and I just went for it. The water was colder than Susan when you called her Jane, but it was fresh from the mountain top and tasted like an angel from heaven.

Restored, we trudged on. With each step I heard the famous words of Ed Viesturs, "Getting up is optional, getting back down is mandatory" and I erased this mandate from my mind. I was obsessed, I went for it with everything I had ignoring all the signs and I saved nothing for the ride back down. I knew this approach was putting Lydia in danger, but I felt it was worth the sacrifice.

Here Lydia is mere steps away from the FAKE summit. We still had at least 5 minutes of hiking to the REAL summit and this was the hardest part, I started losing motivation. My ankles hurt, my head swelled and I had a craving for a Kit Kat. But somehow we just kept going up, one step at a time. And finally...

WE MADE IT. I could not be happier and I made my trademark leap for joy. The rush of adrenaline kicked in, overwhelming me with gayness and jollyness. I could not contain myself, like a kid on Christmas morning.

Lydia made her trade mark back bend, but it was weak, she usually goes deeper than this, but the boulder I made her stand on for a more dramatic effect was wobbling, and if she lost her balance the whole thing was bound to tip and roll, sending both flying over the cliffs edge, hurtling 600 feet onto the highway below. And we wouldn't want that. The sky behind was raining, and we thought if it hit us, we may have to open bivy. So, we made our summit celebration swift and then it happened, we stumbled upon what looked like a bastardization of the summit, not a registrar tucked under a rock, but TRASH. ANd I ask myself, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU PEOPLE? YOU SUCK.

FOR REAL. WHAT THE F_CK? I AM SO OVER THIS. Pack out your motha fuggin trash people. I swear to god if I saw this person trying to get away with this cheap, disgusting and shameful smack act, I would have shoved that friggin tuna package right up their ass. And by the looks of it, there were TWO people doing this. I can see one pathetic loser up there by himself, hating life and shoving his wasteful overpackaged lunch under a rock, but the remains we found indicate that there were in fact two people. That means, that there are two people roaming around the mountains who actually think that this sort of thing is acceptable. WELL IT ISN'T YOU WORTHLESS SACS OF SCUM - AND - YOU RUINED MY WHOLE SUMMIT EXPERIENCE and I AM SEVERELY PISSED OFF ABOUT IT. Who raised you? and why do you think you should be allowed outside if all you are going to do is mess it up. I seriously think you should be chained to a wall on Pearl Street, while people passing by get to spit on your face. YOU are weak and disgusting and we got dirty carrying your rancid waste away. This was not an accident, this was a decision and it makes me want to puke. I'm sorry for this dribble, you don't have to read it anymore if you don't want to, I just can't get over this. Smarten up.

Okay, back to the story. We made it down safely, neither one of us have never stood at over 12,000 feet, so it was a big day for us, and we lived happily ever after. The end.

So, let me ask you this;

When was the last time a 47 year old woman kicked your ass at the climbing gym?  For me, that was yesterday.  I met Lynn at her adorable home in Boulder (she lives just a few blocks from the friends we are staying with).  She had a peanut butter and jam sandwich a glass of water and we went to the Spot for a bouldering session.   If you've never been to the spot, check it out, it's a nice hang, good problems, top out bouldering.  It's great for guys like me, because I often need heel hooks and jiggery pockery to get up a climb, so the 3D style boulders are right up my ally.

Our initial plan was to head out to Boulder Canyon or Eldorado, for some rope tricks, but the weather was looking a little off and I haven't been to the gym in years, so it was a nice treat for me.  After two hours of climbing, I felt like a soggy kleenex and Lynn kept on crushing it.  4 spot after 4 spot.  She is incredible and it's no wonder she is a legend of climbing and in life.  Of course she is genetically built for destroying stone, her 5'2 frame is light, and compact, and her muscle fibers twitch and roll under her skin.  But more than that, Lynn has a joyous nature about her, she is always confident and mentally tough which allows her to climb without a single negative vibration.  Even if she does fail, (which isn't very often) she giggles, thinks about what may have went wrong and attacks it for a second time with the same amount of positivity she did on her first try.  We can all learn something from this, she does not shed an ounce of control or emotional balance.  Climbing is fun, climbing is fun.  With each attempt she looks fresh and determined, and before I can take off my shoes, she's standing on top (AGAIN).  IN my 12 years of climbing experience, I still have not met a climber more naturally talented. Chris Sharma, Dave Graham whomever, we are all mere blips on the radar compared to this little giant and it is humbling and it is inspiring.  I have no doubt Lynn will continue climbing 5.14 into her 50's, and while most of us have given up because we are fat, crusty and angry (only to take up surfing and golfing and high risk rappeling) she'll still be out there, jogging from boulder to boulder, blowing off climbers half her age and doing things before you can get your damn shoes out of your back pack.  

Ever heard of 'em? Well, if not, (and you're reading this) you either just fell out of the sky, OR you literally just started climbing this morning and all you know is that crappy little red and blue tagged boulder problem at the base of the "Extreme Top Rope Zone" of your crappy little high school. In either case, we forgive you, everyone starts somewhere, moving on...

These two guys are fairly bad ass (on the global scale) and I recently read a well arranged piece of writing by Kelly of their adventure to Patagonia where they bagged the summit of Cerro Torre, via the Marsigny-Parkin route, (M5 WI4:2600 feet). It had me in stiches. No seriously, blood everywhere.

To find it, pick up Climbing 267, the one with Beth Rodden on the Cover and flip through past the beautiful bouldering shots until you see lots of snow and ice in the pictures. If the words fantasyland spring to mind, dig in. Here is a letter I wrote to Kelly this morning after I finished the five or so pages, I hope he's not offended...

"KC, I just finished reading your hilarious dribble about Cerro Torre. I am SO jealous you did that route, it's like one of the finest peaks in the whole world and I know for a fact that I will never have the balls or the skillz to climb up it. So for that I say fuck you. And thank you for bringing us the highlights in such a colorful way. You write with flowing grace, honest humor and brah briliance and for that I also say Fuck you. Stop making the rest of us punters look so damn ridiculous. Rhapsody? Who gives a shit.

I hope you are well, thanks for the shot of inspiration (when coffee is not enough) and maybe one day, when I am older and crustier, you can drag me up something fridgid but glorious and I shall bathe in the searing glow of a descending sun. I want to feel that so bad right now. What it is do something beyond the scope. In my mind, you alpinists are not so much astronauts as you are bear killers. With bare hands."

Something like that anyway.

I'd be lying if I said I loved having kids around. I don't usually. They pull hair, they spit, they stomp, they sweat, they smell, they whine and they scream, usually for ice cream. I think on airplanes they should have a special section in the back for kids, with a sound proof steel deviding wall. I was a kid once (believe it or ot), I guess I still am. I remember this one time in FLorida, our family went to see a live crockadile show. My cousin ran ahead to get a better look and I was so jealous that he was going to get a better vantage point of the crock eating a chicken that I started running after him. I was little about 8 or 9 but I remember this as clear as day. As I ran down the hall, I tried to squeeze past this couple holding hands, I took a deep breath and made myself skinny so that I would fit in between the railing and the lady on the left.

KA-POW.

I saw stars, I heard a scream. I kept on running, looking back over my shoulder out of guilt. As it turns out, she had a broken arm, in a cast, my skull smashed her elbow and I never had the balls to say I'm sorry. Adults scared me and I just kept running. I will never forget how terrible I felt inside. It tore at my gut for three days, especially when I saw them later, after the show was over in the parking lot. I thought the man was going to kick my ass. He should have, I would have. I still might. Fight club style.

But then I grew up, I stopped doing most of those things ( I still pick my nose) and I began to like myself. My two sisters grew up as well, and somehow (don't ask me) they introduced this world to four of the most adorable little ankle munchers this blue sphere has ever seen. Nathan, Quinn, Teagan and now little Jack. I don't see them as much as I would like. I'm the crazy uncle who lives out west and climbs rocks, rides snow, bikes and surf boards. I'm also on the road most of the year and I don't have alot of money to keep flying home every few months. With gas prices the way they are, I'm not sure flying will be much of an option in the future. This year already prices went up about 200 hundred bucks. But in the end, it is always worth it. I guess. I want to be a good uncle, I do, and if blowing off a months rent to live in a tent, just to fly home and see them is what it takes, them gosh darn it, that'll be what I do.

If only I could convince my whole family to move out west and enjoy the mountains as much as I do. It wouldn't be that hard, quit jobs, change schools, sell houses, rent five or six big fat moving vans, and start all over out west, live on the overpopulated coast of Northern Vancouver, where housing prices are not only high, they are f-cking retarded, where it rains six months a year and where B.C. residents pay the most clams per litre of gas in the whole country. But god-damn the granite is good.

Here are some pictures of my beautiful little niece and nephews from last weekend.

I hope everyone is having a delicious day, wherever you may be in the world. I know I am.

What makes a destination crag? Quality of climbing? Number of climbs? Number of hard climb? Famous people? Camping? Weather? Ambiance?

Perhaps all of the above need to be taken into consideration for a trip to be..."worth it". As we are in Boulder right now, I'd say that Edlorado is offering me all of the above, and then some. Who can ignore Boulders unlimited organic produce, the Juice bars, ice cream parlours and tens of thousands of rich college girls roaming around in Daisy Duke short-shorts? This place is a perfect bubble. Pleasantville on steroids. Like Disneyland with a mountain view, but worse because people actually live here and the climbing is good enough that it's hard to leave. Living is easy and it's also easy to spend money here, no body will deny it's an expensive town and it helps to come from a wealthy family. In fact, if I could bitch about Boulder at all, I'd say this...it's not the rich people that bother me, I love rich people, they are usually in high spirits, friendly, outgoing and goodlooking, but what I do hate about them, is that they remind me of how poor I really am. I don't drive a wrx and I can't afford to dine out everynight on sushi, as much as I would like to. So every now and again I need to pack up my Ramen Noodle collection and escape the bubble. Up into the mountains we went.

This weekend we went to Rifle, a destination of sorts. Lots of Boulder climbers and Denver climbers and a mix bag of mountain locals and traveling road warriors. It wasn't as busy as I remember weekends getting when I was a young lad. But it had it's moments. Since the airline lost my luggage, I am now homeless without any gear, it sucks the big one. So I am using a terrible pair of big, floppy mocs, great for easy slabs and jamming cracks all day, not so good for limestone edging. Still, they seem to get me up some climbs from time to time, but I can't help but wonder if I'm better off with barefeet. I managed to tick 8 climbs. The best effort of the day was a last move fall off a 5.13b flash. I managed second try. I knew the hold was a jug, I threw for it far too casually. The jug was about one inch deeper than the chalk mark indicated and I came screaming into Colorado air. I underestimated the hold. Idiot. I hate onsighting, it's a game of chance. Ha ha ha ha. Lydia easily strolled her way up 4 5.11s and then had a delicious apple and sat in the sun. She is my hero.

The next day we stuck around our friends Condo in Silverthorne for a good hearty breakfast, conversation and coffee. I even watched a great Snowboarding video while I stretched my legs and worked my shoulders. Lydia and our good friend Julia did yoga on the plush rug, it was relaxing and it really made me miss having a place of my own to enjoy (we've been homeless for 7 months now).

Afterwards, we drove 15 minutes to a beautiful boulder tucked into the trees on a hillside, just minutes from the Keystone Ski area and on the other side of lovely Loveland Pass 11,990 feet. It wasn't a huge boulder but it packed a vicious punch. 5.10, 5.10, 5.11, 5.11, 5.11, 5.12, 5.12b, 5.12d, 5.13a, 5.13b and one 5.14. It was (insert Cali surfer accent) "totally awesome".

This is me on the classic 5.13b. I don't know its name, but it certainly is beautiful, bouldery and really f_cking fun. Which brings me back to what makes a destination worth it. Here, we had very few people to deal with, prestine mountain settings, easy parking, a choice of quality climbs and for the most part, peace and quiet. As I get older I am starting to lean more and more towards these destinations, these little tucked away places that nobody ever really goes, the places with stiff grades, green lichen and few names. Gems. Just me, my flat wallet and my floppy shoes, a few close friends that I love and adore and a canopy of trees to lock in our laughter.