I was trying to find a way to combine the experiences and sentiments we’ve had along the way but each time I did it came out sounding like wedding vows. Rather than re-work it over and over again I’ll just be sitting with the pups on the patio and give it a go. Just know when my thoughts change or the flow switches direction it’s because I’m dragging Beau away from the fence with Kosar in an uproar behind me.
Pulling into that gas station late with a dead phone trying to get enough charge for directions to a place called Lago Linda probably wasn’t the best start we could have had with these trips to the red (but compared to now I’m sure Kosar loved having the cabin to himself that first day we spent at Muir). We’ve come a long way from those 30’ routes at Bruise Brothers to 11 pitches in the Canadian Rockies. Not that seeing that progress is anything less than impressive, I’m most thrilled by your attitude anytime my wandering brain locks in on something new. You never ask why. You never doubt. You never pick the plan apart. It always starts with a slow smirk, and then “Ok, when?”
That “Ok, when?” has put us on top of Linville Gorge with the temps in the teens and an inability to start a fire because of the high winds ripping thru the campsite. It’s sat us in the airport, delayed half a day just to get out to smith to have it dump rain the first couple days out there. It had me on the phone with our host in Banff when I booked the wrong days for our AirBnB. It was also there the multiple times I get halfway up a trad route, realize I can’t protect the rest of it, and then the down climb starts: maneuvering lower while pulling out a piece of gear and pride every couple feet.
It hasn’t only been negative tho (and hopefully you feel the same), as we top out table rock after improvising two make-shift “pitches” to reach the summit after (I guess) we got off route. Another success with that route in particular was meeting that portly fellow on top who’s breathing had me certain we were going to have a bear encounter. We fired off Wherever I May Roam at Smith after being greeted by a kit of otters to start our day.
There have been countless wonderful memories while on the wall, but there’s next to nothing as good as tying in, you check my knot, and then a quick “I love you” gets me started for another route. If I start to get uneasy above a bolt, my legs shaking or the holds seeming to shrink in my hands, one of two things tends to happen. One, if you’re on belay I move weight back and forth between each foot half a dozen times (if not more), then attempt to ease into the next move and cruise up. If you’re not on belay, each time I shift weight I look up and then down, hoping that somehow you’re on the other end of the rope. Then I probably say “take!”
Have you gotten tired of me bringing up a cabin in the gorge yet? I know my brain tends to wander, but I think it’s trying pretty hard to lock in. The dogs said they’d love it down there.
Allrightloveyougottagobye,
Hubs