The Fragrant Port

Friends,
We have arrived safely in the Fragrant Port after a mere 17 hours aflight. Come 10:30 Wednesday night we had landed in Hong Kong and stood wondering how our resistance to planning would play out. An hour later we had each stationed ourselves on a peice of bench within the airport proper and laid down to sleep. To our delight we enjoyed an unmolested sleep and woke just before sunset to catch a train into the city. Since then we have been wandering the streets of Kowloon locating breakfast and this here internet cafe. In a few we'll head north to the LDS Temple in Hong Kong to see what kind of business goes on there, and then we'll be on our way into the mainland.

Until Next Time

P & M are back at home base for the time being. Talk to you in a couple of weeks from Southeast Asia!

The Leap

Rounded off our California journeys with a short spell at Lovers Leap in South Lake Tahoe. Cool crags, lots of people, a leather-skinned fellow Salt Lake local, and a visit from the Whittakers of Sacramento fame made for an excellent few days.
Below: C.J. works up a difficult flare at the Lower Buttress.
Below: Paxton takes his turn.
Below: Good morning, Lovers Leap.
Below: Pax at work on an offwidth boulder problem.
Below: Matt stackin' hands.
Below: At last a nice ledge belay.

Poachsemite

It is now day 15 of our North American roadshow. We're still squatting in Camp 4, the historical heart of North American climbing--though on the surface that may be hard to discern. We're surrounded by European men in capris (a style we've adopted), Mexican families in palatial tents (as ever-mobile squatters we're jealous), college kids playing beer-pong (the Utah boys are never invited), and a rowdy camp of black bears (Paxton sleeps with his eyes open for fear of missing Bertrand). Poaching has become as much a part of our lifestyle and routine as climbing, so it would seem that at least some of the Camp 4 magic has rubbed itself into us.

Saturday last saw our first failure in the Valley. We climbed several pitches of Goodrich Pinnacle before an extremely runout friction pitch shut me down entirely. Naturally I cursed plenty. To console ourselves we returned to Harry Daley and Paxton linked the two pitches into one 200+ foot pitch of incredible crack climbing. That night we were made official Yosemite National Park Junior Rangers. We capped off the evening by romping up a tricky ant-infested finger crack outside Camp 4.

Sunday we took as a rest day. We spent the morning at the base of El Cap, where some Valley locals had strung up an amazing rope swing in the Alcove. The fixed line swung us far and wide, 200 feet over the floor of Yosemite Valley. We also chanced to meet Ammon McNeely, a fine big-wall climber and star of The Sharp End, hauling loads to climb the Waterfall Route on the Captain.

The following day we arose early and set out on a six mile hike to the base of Half Dome's southwest face, home of the classic moderate Snake Dike. The route is famous for easy climbing and heinous runouts: on one pitch Paxton led from belay to belay with no protection in between. The slabs leading to the summit taxed our legs and the infamous Cables descent scared us silly (two tourists have died on the Cables already this year). The day was rounded out by a nine mile hike back to the truck and free (shh!) showers.

We're getting ready to leave Yosemite and the cheap life of constant poaching. Time will tell where sunset tomorrow finds us.
Below: Paxton doing a little rest-day bouldering outside Camp 4.
Below: Matt takes a swing out of the Alcove.
Below: Paxton with Grigri and sewing-machine-leg at the ready.
Below: Eventually the sewing machine becomes a jackhammer, and it throws him right off the slabs.
Below: Flying high above the Valley.
Below: Matt's pendulum coming to a close.
Below: Paxton traverses one of the crux pitches of Snake Dike.
Below: Paxton at the final belay on Half Dome, where the exposure becomes imminently apparent.
Below: What are you most dogmatic about? Killin' cairns.

Yo Semite!

Yosemite is rightly the mecca of North American climbing. The amount of climbable granite here is almost too much. In a week's time we've done over 40 pitches--which might exhaust possibilities elsewhere, but is shy of even a dent here.
Our first day of climbing didn't disappoint. Each pitch offered either prime hand and finger cracks, or classic hairy friction moves. Day two was one of our more ambitious outings. At the cliff before 7, we started up 1400 feet of granite cracks and ledges to the top of the Royal Arches formation. We simul-climbed the whole of it, with a 40-foot length of rope and a few cams and nuts for safety. The 14 rappels to regain the ground took nearly as long as the ascent. On day three we logged another handful of moderates, a thin 5.9, and capped the day with an impossibly cold dip in the Merced.
A hot shower in Curry Village, The Mormon Experience, scenery to boot, and enough beautiful climbing co-eds for me to mourn my lack of gusto have rounded out the sublime first days.

Below: Paxton at the base of Harry Daley.
Below: We twain--looking ragged after a 16 pitch push.
Below: Post Royal Arches glamor shot.
Below: Matt re-racking after Royal Arches, and showing every bit of the 1400 feet in his worn ensemble.
Below: Sir Matt at our first good overlook of the valley. Awful purty.
Below: He is risen! Matt emerging with flare from the Merced.
Below: Paxton smiling to keep from crying at the cold.
Below: Paxton recharging at a much needed spring.
Below: Matt with Yosemite Falls forming a backdrop.
Below: Primal and vegan? Matt with his mitts on evolution in action. [Note from M.S.: This'n's fer you, Katy Savage]
Below: Paxton's own Yosemite Falls shot. We weren't but 50 yards from the base of the famous deluge.
Below: Paxton sportin' baggies and moving quickly on a simul-climb of Regular Route.
Below: Matt's realization of the blueness of Paxton's eyes and the superioty of the Aryan race.
Below: Paxton placing a nut on Harry Daley.

The Biggest Sur: Superlatives and Squatting on the California Coast

Forty miles south of Monterrey
in the San Lucia hills
the sunshine shone me to sleep
and I dreamt I was alive

We drove west from Joshua Tree, headed for the coast with Matt Sr., the latest addition to Team P-Rope. Our route took us from the sun-scorched desolation of the high desert into the light and sound and tumult of Los Angeles. We emerged onto the coast shell-shocked, blind and deaf from the contrast of it. Matt Sr. recalled a poem by Robinson Jeffers, "the Purse Seine;" a line of it bears quoting:

I cannot tell you how beautiful the city appeared, and a little terrible.

We spent a night on the beach in Santa Barbara with the sea breeze and the curious jumping bugs, and Matt Sr. decided to stick with us rather than stay on in Santa Barbara. Big Sur was beautiful, with free camping in the old-growth forest and hot showers for 25 cents per three minutes.
We visited the Henry Miller Library and bookstore, where a few local artists were performing. Peculiarly, we all four emerged from the bookstore empty-handed. There must be some magic in Big Sur.

Below: Ash overlooking Julia Pfeiffer Burns Beach. Site of poaching activities.
Below: Paxton at The Beach.
Below: Ashley, Matt Jr., and Matt Sr. along the fabled "Old Coast Highway."
Below: A rested and restive Paxton at our beach camp in Santa Barbara.
Below: The Gang packed (tight) into the Ranger. Two is cash money, three is fun, four's a party.

Oh, and a final word: a 70 meter rope will get you just down to the beach and falls at JPBSP. Don't be dissuaded by that wordsmith AshSan: etriers and ascenders are a dy-no-mite way to climb a sea cliff.

Act I

It's been a little over a week since leaving Utah, and we've at last arrived at Yosemite Valley. We've had two major stops prior to this, with an awful lot of traveling in between. We have yet to go over 55 mph, so each mile marker has come at a leisurely pace. Miss Ashley was in tow for the first week, which proved to be an all-around treat.

Late into the night of our first day we sauntered into the Hidden Valley campground in Joshua Tree NP, and made a hasty camp among the boulders and the arthritic trees. Each day following, we split our time between afternoon naps, climbing, reading, scrounging for water, and singing what songs could be accompanied by Matt on his guitar. The latter activity drew the attention of our neighbors, and before long we were having a philosophical conversation with a gentleman who'd been free of possessions for three years and on the road for just as long. One thing led to another, and by the time we left the park Friday night we had yet another passenger joining us for the coast.
Above: The road from campsite to crags.
Above: Matt holds his two bouquets in preparation for Heart of Darkness.
Above: Matt and Ash on the first route of the trip.
Above: Sunset near Conrad Rock.
Above: Matt on Heart of Darkness.
Above: Paxton throws a dyno near Old Woman Rock.
Above: Ashley belays Matt through a chimney on the Blob.
Above: Paxton jams through a Little Cottonwood Canyon-style sandbag on Old Woman Rock.
Above: The cleanest line.
Above: New-found friend and fellow traveler Matt.