Back to the creek

Spring in Indian Creek is like the fall; spectacular. Remote and with a feeling of freedom not left in many climbing areas, Indian creek is characterized by rugged beauty, windgate sandstone, and a multitude of cracks so perfect and bare its as if god himself intended for them to be climbed. Thanks to Ray Jardine we can. Sandstone buttresses sprawl in every direction and beyond that lies the endless myriad of the canyon lands. The north and south six shooters are landmarks in this area and on my second day in the creek my climbing partner decides we should climb the north six shooter. Jerome is always stoked to climb and has a composure about him on lead that i'm constantly jealous of. The north six shooter is one of the most magnificent formations in this part of the desert. It stands alone and rests elegantly along the skyline. Therefore we have to climb this thing. The next day Jerome, Sarah and I set out in my truck and rally along the rugged cattle road that snakes the base. Lightning Bolt cracks is the cleanest and most classic choice for climbing the north six shooter. Jerome racks up and digs into the thin fingers start of the first pitch, cruising up in no time to a chossy anchor. Again, Jerome takes the second pitch to the base of the alcove and hands over the rack. Time to see if I can still climb. S**it. Ok, so i am honestly a little bit nervous here. I haven't led anything out of the gym since my accident. Jerome turns to me and slyly asks me if I want the number one or the number two. I bid for the two and he pops it out of the belay that were sitting on and tells me to send it. That people, is what I'm talking about! I pull the lip and am psyched that I chose the #2. It goes in perfectly through this powerful move. The three of us enjoy a beautiful summit and I am renewed with a new confidence that I have not felt in a while. We climb for a few more days at the creek and then, its back to the plan that had cheated me a year earlier. Yosemite Valley

Light The Wick

On a snowier note. It looks like the boys at TGR have done it again. Get stoked for the snow, because skiing is just around the corner. Experimenting with 3D filming and apparently pushing it harder than ever, light the wick looks awesome... Can't wait for the premier.

That Night

I come to and John is leaning over me. He tells me that he has called the ambulance and its on its way. He looks seriously concerned and I start to discover why. The blue collared shirt that I am wearing is now stained with large crimson blotches. As a matter of fact the sidewalk beneath me is splattered in blood as well. Instantly I notice a sharp pain radiating from my toes to my knee. I use my shirt to press against my face and slow the bleeding. John helps me to the edge of the sidewalk and I close my eyes. Encouraged by the sound of approaching sirens, I slip back out of consciousness. Later that week John and I would run through the events of the evening trying to piece back together what had occurred. The enormous bump on Johns head would make it difficult to remember exactly what had happened. I had a badly broken ankle, a broken nose, and after the hospital called me back in twice for more testing, they determined that I had in fact not broken my neck. Sweet! We arrived on the conclusion that on the walk home we had been jumped by about six or seven guys. Completely outnumbered we were both pretty battered. The worst of my injury's was obviously my leg. He said it could have been weakened by a winter full of landings on skis. landings on free heel skis are usually backseat anyways so it probably hadn't helped. None the less, they got away and I was left facing surgery. Indeed I am the proud host to a metal plate and nine steel screws. At first I had a pretty positive outlook on the whole thing. I mean how bad could It be? Slap some screws in my leg stitch it up, do a couple months worth of pull ups and karma will take care of the guys who jumped us. Well after being on a roll for so long, I can assure you that the 4 months of immobility and the 3 months of babying my leg after that became torture. I would sit and dream of climbing, of those sunny days at Indian Creek. Could my new ankle stand the discomfort of crack climbing? Would I be able to boost cliffs into powder? I would have to tell my boss in Alaska that I would not be able to guide another season! Everything I loved was suddenly suspended in front of me and the longer it sat there, the more I wanted it back. So became my routine of crutching out to my parents garage and doing pull ups, push ups, and sit ups till my ankle screamed. The second I got my heart rate up all the blood in my body felt as though it would run directly to my leg. I knew that the pain meant fresh blood to the break and this would speed healing. So be it, More pull ups. I started that winter off in Jackson Hole and I had to get my Scarpa T-races molded twice as the swelling decreased over the course of the season. At first my leg, about half it's normal size had no hope of making a tele turn. Let alone on my 130's! so I started that season riding groomers and re-learning how to ski. Good thing there was no snow! Anyway enough of that, What doesn't kill you just makes you want to send it harder ;) So here we are all caught up to May 2010. Its been a year since I broke my leg and I'm once again packing the truck for Indian Creek. Lets finish what we started right? I just hope I can still climb. Training all winter in the gym where I worked I felt physically strong. But climbing plastic in the gym and climbing trad in Indian Creek are about as similar as ping pong and rugby...

Ancient Art


John


Supercrack aka. Luxury Liner

A bit of re-wind to last year.

After a quick break from the valley I have decided to start a blog. It will take a bit of back tracking to fill you in on the last few months as they have been jam packed with climbing and stories from Yosemite. This is my first shot at blogging so bear with me as I work it all out...

I had just left an epic 08-09 ski season in Utah that had yielded nearly 800" I had spent the winter pushing my free heel skiing and now It was time to climb. I set out on my first real climbing road trip with my good friend John.
The Plan: to climb at one area until we are too weak and then move on to the next.
The Duration: Till the money runs out.
The Budget: About 2,000 bucks between both of us.
We are on the open road for the first time in six months. The windows are down and the dry desert air whips through a bad hair cut John has given me with a pair of child scissors. We spent the winter packed the three of us, Scott John and I, in a tiny tiny room in the basement of the hotel where we worked. Three dudes in a 10x12 room on the basement level. "Man Camp". We both have an overwhelming sense of freedom running through us as we descend Little Cottonwood Canyon into the endless sprawl of Salt Lake City. We have just left our jobs as ski bums and we are headed to a place that has grabbed my attention as long as I have been climbing. Indian Creek. I am re-assured by the steel whine of Jerry's guitar peeling through the speakers of John's Toyota Pickup. As we drive down into the warmth of the city, I am glued to the inside cover of the current Black Diamond catalog. It is that famous picture of Earl Wiggins leading Super Crack, Aka (luxury Liner). I can picture it now from memory, buried up to his elbow in that perfect splitter while whipping out the next hex placement from his swami belt. I am tentative and full of excitement by the thought of leading this historic climb. I have never climbed cracks like this, Where am I going to find a rack of gold Camalots! After two or three weeks at Indian Creek, Even your grandmother can lead 5.10. Question: who needs a rack of gold Camalots? Your not going to fall out of perfect hands. Just bring two and walk them ;). Its time to move on. Physically drained.. our hands are wounded our muscles weak and our skin is stained red from desert sand. Laughing out loud and blasting country music we speed over countless cattle guards. We feel on top of the world. I had never experienced that sensation one gets when leaving the creek. Utterly drained, sunburnt and dirty, yet feeling like Arnold in pumping iron. "The greatest feeling you can get...The Pump". Feeling strong as Arnold and lead minded we could only head one place. Yosemite Valley California. After a quick stop at red rocks and a less than memorable spin through Vegas. We are headed for the big stone. We would stop off in San Francisco clog my sisters shower with red sand, grab a few beers and head up to Yosemite. Right... Wrong. These two days in San Francisco would be a major turning point in my life and teach me exactly what it means to be taken off your high horse.