pine creek canyon, straight shooter wall

While climbing at the Red Rocks, we only ventured out of the Calico Basin area to climb twice. The first time we went to the second pull-out (on the scenic loop), where our initial destination wall of climbing was full. This sent us on an adventure that got us slightly lost.  We never found our back-up area either, but stumbled instead upon a mysterious bolted wall with 3 moderate climbs. We played around on these chossy routes, realizing there was probably a good reason they didn’t make it into our guide book (though many decent climbs seem to be left out of the book we happen to own). It was a good day in the sun and exploring just the same. For whatever reason, we never went back to the loop, and instead just kept finding new fun routes off the Calico Basin road…Until one of our lasts days in Nevada.

We were having a pseudo-rest day, and decided to check out a new area. Jonathan chose the Pine Creek Canyon because of one inspiring picture he saw of a perfect finger crack. I anticipated an easy approach and decided to wear my flip flops (definitely not a great approach shoe unless you plan to belay from the parking lot). The walk out was really pretty. Pine Creek had a different feel than the other Red Rock areas I had seen. There was a grassy meadow, quite a few small green plants and yes, pine trees, this valley path led straight into an array of sandstone towers -our destination.

Up a rocky trail/scramble is the wall with the route Jonathan came to check out – the Straight Shooter Wall, 5.9+.  It really is an alluring finger crack. We knew we had to climb it – it was slightly less than vertical, and short – totally qualifies for a rest day.

We got there just before another team, who was also here for this climb in particular. They would wait their turn by climbing another route, while we were on it.  We chatted with them about the climbing they had done. These girls were from out of town and had been here awhile (not quite as long as us though). When one of them was pointing out a climb in her book – which, of course, wasn’t in ours (they had the  black book of Red Rocks, which has more routes and better descriptions than ours) I couldn’t follow anything she was saying or pointing at. I was mesmerized by her huge and beat up hands. She had the hands the size of a grown man, fingers thick like knobby sausages, covered in calluses and chalk.  I shuddered and looked down at my own boney hands – I had hoped climbing would make them stronger (and I do seem to have a bit more meat on them than before), but would climbing ruin them? I suppose enough finger and hand jams could have this effect…I made a silent vow to tape my hands and treat them well…then I looked back up to this finger crack, and seemed to forget all else.

Jonathan made quick, flawless work of the lead (enjoyed it so much, he got gangster at the bottom – the ultimate gesture of his approval).  I roped up and was on my way. The climb was delicious. All of the finger jams were there (though thin in places) and felt like they fit my fingers well. I was very happy that the climb also had nice feet – a few nubs, ledges and jams. The climb was fluid and lovely, but over way too soon.

We called it a day after the crack since the sun was starting to go down and we still had to hike out. On the way down, I slid slightly on the steep rocky trail and managed to slice my toe open on a sharp rock. My own fault for the flip flops, I know. It was throbbing and bleeding everywhere. Jonathan very carefully wrapped the injury in a homemade tape band-aid (our first aid kit was back in the car, so the antibiotic cream would have to wait).  I got a lecture about proper footwear, a slow hobble on the walk out, and a small toe injury, but I was happy it wasn’t worse. I seem to learn some lessons the hard way. With an injury on the end of my toe, there was no telling if I would be able to climb any time soon. Climbing shoes fit so snuggly against the toes, and the pressure put against them while climbing could make matters worse. I recently read a book, Breaking Trail by Arlene Blum, who is a mountaineer and scientist with an overpowering will of self. In the book she broke her leg, but focused all of her attention on the break.  With nothing other than mental conviction, her broken leg healed long before the doctors thought possible and she was out of her cast in time to join her team in another mountain expedition. And so, I started a mantra in my head to heal my toe. I would climb the next day.

San Francisco, the Butler & the Chef

We came here on a mission: rest (for my foot primarily), eat good food, and get me some new climbing shoes.

We were bummed to leave Yosemite so soon after we arrived, but San Francisco is a nice compromise for a rest day (or two). We pulled into town, jumped on our bikes and enjoyed the city and the sunshine. We rode through the parks and alleys, Jonathan shirtless with his camera slung over his shoulder. He did get some nice photos along with a lot of lusty looks.

We popped into a few thrift stores, a cafe for coffee, but the pinnacle was The Butler & the Chef. Jonathan chose it as our destination for brunch, a French Bistro in South Park with great reviews. We arrived minutes before they opened to a crowd already congregating outside. The doors opened and we fell inside with the others. It is quaint and small, but not squished, though seating was limited and left a line still outside waiting their turn. The atmosphere is fun, French and eclectic. Freshly baked breads and pastries on display, colorful wall and vintage enamel tables.

The menu looks so good it is really hard to choose what to order. We had settled on french toast and crepes, until a neighboring table had their eggs benedict delivered. We changed our mind just in time to order. Jonathan took his with salmon, mine with tomatoes. It came served on homemade crusty olive bread with a side of spinach salad. It was the perfect combination. I could only eat half my order because I was so full and couldn’t over indulge in this richness though my taste-buds told me otherwise. We coupled it with an espresso and Jonathan took a fluffy croissant to go. I think I died and went to French breakfast heaven. I was on such a food high that I couldn’t jump back on my bike immediately, but rather strolled the park and rested on the swings before we continued on our ride.

the alley gate

We did find larger shoes for my foot and some sandals so that I don’t have any pressure on it at all. I think I am all set to get climbing again. A few days in the city was enough. Urban camping really is a bit lack-luster, we miss the rocks and the woods. We will be on the rode again today back to Yosemite.

A few of Jonathan’s pics from the city:

Yosemite Valley & One Wish

Kristine and I made the drive from Smith Rock to Yosemite National Park in two days. The first night we slept in the van about thirty miles outside of Reno, NV. Early the next morning we drove through Reno and into California. We didn’t like Reno much or anything about the cities in Nevada. The landscape was beautiful but the cities dirty with casinos and the bright lights, lifestyle, and trash that seem to follow gambling like a scent.

Yosemite Valley was serene. We arrived in the afternoon and the clear blue sky and bright sun made our descent into the valley almost magical. This is a picture of our van at top of the National Park, before descending down into the valley.

Here was our first view of the Valley with the Half Dome in the center of the background.

And here we are in the Valley with El Cap rising up into the sky behind the van.

Our first morning we headed for the renown Yosemite granite. The morning started out cold, but by the time we were climbing I had already taken my shirt off and it felt like the middle of summer. Kristine climbed great. The first climb we did was a 5.8 that started out with a thin slab that led into a finger crack all the way to the top. The second climb was a 5.9 thin finger crack that required a lot of balance and smearing, and Kristine climbed it gracefully only taking once at the crux. It was at the end of this climb that Kristine ripped off her left shoe off as soon as she got to the top of the climb. She has had a soreness in the side of her foot that has caused some discomfort and pain from climbing, but now it was worse than it had been. We ate a late lunch made up of mainly of popcorn and cliff bars and then took a break in the creek that ran by our climb. Kristine iced her foot in the cold creek water and we both contemplated what to do next

I was thinking about a time when I was young and I asked my Dad what he would wish for if he could have any one wish, anything. He didn’t think long before replying, “100% health for me and my family.” I tried to convince him he would be wasting what could be a real wish, something like time travel, magic powers, flying, etc.

It’s not until your hurt or sick that you appreciate being healthy; and being hurt or sick can be a devastating setback in sports, school, life, and should be avoided like the plague–literally. Kristine and I decided that we had to do three things: 1. Figure out what was wrong with her foot. 2. Eliminate anything that was irritating her foot and give her at least three days complete rest. And 3. See if we could find her climbing shoes with a wider toe box to accomodate her swollen foot.

Here’s what we’ve done/ figured out:
1. We think it’s a bunionette, which is simply a bunion on the outside of the foot near the little toe as opposed to a bunion, which is located on the inside of the foot near the big toe.
2. Kristine is no longer wearing her chacos, which were part of the reason that the bunnionette originally became inflamed. We headed to San Francisco for a short three days of rest. We figured the Valley would force us to climb if we stayed there, especially with the perfect weather that they were having.
3. We found her a pair of velcro slippers today at REI that seem to fit her foot much better, provide more room around her toes, and are a stiffer shoe that will hopefully give her more protection around the area where the bunionette is.

This post is already rampant and out of control, so I’ll stop. I’m sure Kristine will pick up the pen to describe our adventures in San Francisco.