Ode to Snow

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Brighton Ski Resort, Utah

Winter is a time for contemplation. Everything takes a little longer to do. Food must be warmed, layers must be compiled and worn, windshields and sidewalks must be scraped and shoveled of ice and snow.

Whether you are in the midst of knee-deep snow yourself or whether you only dream of it, I invite you to listen to my new snowy playlist on Spotify while indulging in some wintry reading (sources cited) and photography (all by me) below. Enjoy.

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Laramie, Wyoming

“Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.” -From Mark Strand’s “Lines for Winter”

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Southern Wyoming

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.'” -Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

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American Fork, Utah

“Everything is flowing — going somewhere, animals and so-called lifeless rocks as well as water. Thus the snow flows fast or slow in grand beauty-making glaciers and avalanches… While the stars go streaming through space pulsed on and on forever like blood… in Nature’s warm heart.” -John Muir, My First Summer in the Sierra 

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Steamboat Springs, Colorado

“One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land…” -From Wallace Stevens’s “The Snow Man”

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Centennial, Wyoming

“It snowed all week. Wheels and footsteps moved soundlessly on the street, as if the business of living continued secretly behind a pale but impenetrable curtain. In the falling quiet there was no sky or earth, only snow lifting in the wind, frosting the window glass, chilling the rooms, deadening and hushing the city.” -Truman Capote
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Steamboat Ski Resort, Colorado

“A few feathery flakes are scattered widely through the air, and hover downward with uncertain flight, now almost alighting on the earth, now whirled again aloft into remote regions of the atmosphere.” -Nathaniel Hawthorne
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Medicine Bow National Forest, Wyoming

Love and warm wishes to all from the wintry American West.
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It’s Pumpkin (Beer) Season!

In case you haven’t been to a grocery store/Starbucks/shopping mall or on the internet recently, it’s officially pumpkin season! With Halloween right around the corner, so many foods are now available in pumpkin flavors: coffee, chocolate, crackers, ice cream, tea, pastries, pasta sauce, breakfast cereal, etc. I’m here to tell you about just one: beer. Yes, I tried all the pumpkin beers so that you can try the best. You should’ve seen my roommates’ faces when I came home from the Beer Cellar, my arms full of deliciousness.

First, a little background on my preferences: I prefer complex, flavorful beers, especially if those flavors include hoppy, sour, or malty. I’d pick ambers and IPAs over scotch ales and lagers. Additionally, I don’t feel high levels of sweetness really belong in beers- if you want something sweet, just eat a chocolate bar! Anyway, if you do like sweet beers, take my opinions with a grain of salt (see what I did there?). Here are the beers, in alphabetical order:

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Photo courtesy of Blue Moon Brewing Co.

The Beer: Harvest Pumpkin Ale
Brewery: Blue Moon Brewing Company – Golden, CO
Alcohol Content: 5.7%
My Rating: ∗∗
Description: An enjoyable beer with the crisp sweetness you’ve come to expect from Blue Moon. Solid pumpkin spice flavor, but a little too syrupy for my tastes. It’d be hard to drink more than 1 of these in 1 evening. Pairs well with leggings-as-pants, a North Face jacket, and Uggs.

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The Beer
: Hey! Pumpkin
Brewery: Denver Beer Company – Denver, CO
Alcohol Content: 5.4%
My Rating: ∗∗
Description: The employees at the Beer Cellar recommended I mix Hey! Pumpkin with Denver Beer Co’s Graham Cracker Porter (also pictured above) for a fuller fall effect. I tried Hey! Pumpkin alone first. The pumpkin flavor was a subtle one; it tasted more like a typical brown ale. The Graham Cracker Porter was also understated in its graham-crackeriness. Adding it to the mix introduced some deeper, smokier flavors. Overall the beers felt somewhat watered down to me. I could see how they might be better when paired with certain foods (pumpkin pie, perhaps?) or while sitting at a campfire, draped in a flannel blanket, after a day spent frolicking through fall leaves. If you value drinkability in your beers, these might be for you.

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The Beer
: Pumking
Brewery: Southern Tier Brewing Company – Lakewood, NY
Alcohol Content: 8.6%
My Rating: ∗∗∗∗
Description: If you want your pumpkin beer to remind you of a slice of pumpkin pie and a spoonful of whipped cream, this one fits the bill. Not too sweet, not too strong, and plenty drinkable. The sweetness comes with a hint of maple syrup but is balanced by a deep, almost musky flavor that evokes fall. Pairs well with a Trader Joe’s Crispy Crunchy Ginger Chunk cookie, I must admit.

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The Beer
: Pumpkick
Brewery: New Belgium Brewing Company – Fort Collins, CO
Alcohol Content: 6.0%
My Rating: ∗
Description: This beer’s defining characteristic is also why I dislike it- the zing of cranberry juice. I like cranberry under normal (read: sauce & pie) circumstances, but the cranberry in Pumpkick makes it too fruity for me when, I think, pumpkin is more of a squash flavor. I could see cranberry working really well in a sour beer or a kolsch, but I prefer my pumpkin beer on the pumpkin-y side.

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The Beer
: Pumpkin Patch Ale
Brewery: Eddyline Brewing – Buena Vista, CO
Alcohol Content: 5.78%
My Rating: ∗∗∗
Description: Here is some full-on, unabashed pumpkin flavor for ya! This seasonal beer comes in a pint-sized (literally) can. It tastes fairly light compared to other pie-inspired pumpkin beers, and I didn’t find it to be syrupy at all. Pairs well with various low-key activities including but not limited to cooking dinner, watching YouTube videos, and petting a dog. (Important note: Matt professed to dislike this one, but drank the whole can anyway. Waste not, want not.)

 

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Photo courtesy of @almanacbeer on Instagram


The Beer
: Pumpkin Pie de Brettaville (Farm to Barrel series)
Brewery: Almanac Beer Company – San Francisco, CA
Alcohol Content: 7%
My Rating: ∗∗∗∗∗
Description: If you’re a fan of sour beers, this is the pumpkin beer for you. Unfiltered fermentation at its finest, I was pleasantly surprised by the complexity of flavors in this one. The beer’s bitterness is definitely at the forefront, but behind that lies a mysterious layer (veil?) of pumpkin and spices like cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg, and ginger. As this only comes in 375ml bottles, either find a fellow pumpkin/sour beer-lover, or get cozy because this will take care of the rest of your night. #stayingin

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Photo courtesy of Avery Brewing Co.

The Beer: Pump[KY]n
Brewery: Avery Brewing Co. – Boulder, CO
Alcohol Content: 15%
My Rating: ∗∗
Description: Yep, you read that right- 15%. Matt and I split this 12oz bottle and it was still intense. Why so strong? Well, the “KY” in the name is actually a reference to the land of bourbon, Kentucky. Pump[KY]n started out as a mere pumpkin beer, but then was elevated to the 15% level by virtue of being aged in bourbon barrels. The porter flavor is definitely still there underneath a light layer of maple/battery acid. If that’s not what bourbon reminds you of too, this beer may suit you better than it did me. Avery has a similar pumpkin beer available this season as well, called Rumpkin. Guess where that batch was aged!

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The Beer: Punkin Ale
Brewery: Dogfish Head – Milton, DE
Alcohol Content: 7.0%
My Rating: ∗∗∗∗∗
Description: I admit I’m a little biased because I love everything Dogfish Head brews, but this is just a fun beer to drink, folks. A little maple, a little molasses, a little spice, a lot pumpkin. I’m also partial to amber ales, and this one strikes me as a pumpkified amber. Pairs well with contemplating life- also cheese and potatoes.

I’m still mourning Alaskan Brewing Company’s decision to replace last year’s amazing pumpkin porter with this fall’s coffee brown ale. That one got five stars in my book, too. Any good pumpkin beers I missed? Let me know! Happy fall, y’all- cheers!

 

Visiting the Poudre River

Visiting the Poudre River

As many of you know, I began my graduate studies this fall at Colorado State University in creative writing. An assignment in one of my classes required that I choose an outdoor “site,” which I am to visit on a regular basis, take notes, and then journal about it later. I’ve been visiting the Cache la Poudre River, which runs through Fort Collins, via the city-owned Poudre Trail, for a little over a month now. On my last visit, Friday September 30th, I took my camera along with me. Here are some excerpts from journal so far, along with a few photos.

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A sign for the Poudre Trail via Lee Martinez Park in Fort Collins, CO

August 20

I arrived at my site at 3:20PM. It was 86° Fahrenheit and mostly sunny, with puffy white cumulonimbus clouds in the north. I was sitting on the south bank of the river, the water flowing east. The river appeared almost a copper color because of the stones in its bed. The current was rather swift –as I could tell by the passing inner tube floaters—like a slow jog. According to the markings on the underside of the Poudre Trail pedestrian bridge over the river, the water was just under three feet deep.

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Willows and cottonwoods on the Poudre’s north bank

All around me were dogs, children swimming, and more people walking, running, or biking on the paved trail. Through the trees and over the sound of rushing water I could hear people cheering, laughing, and chatting. There was a constant sound of crickets chirping, and an occasional whisper of breeze through foliage.

In the water, a fresh four-foot Russian Olive branch with all its leaves floated by. I noticed stray, straight spider-silk threads in the grass and in the elm branches above me. Slowly a dragonfly flew by me toward the east. Some individual sparrows crossed the river as well. Dogs barked in the distance, and thunder could be heard coming from the north; the clouds grew darker across the river.

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September 12

I always thought the Poudre River was named after snow powder, especially since it drops 7,000 feet in elevation from the Rockies through a narrow, chiseled canyon, to conjoin with the South Platte River east of Greeley, Colorado. It actually refers to French Canadian trappers, in the early 1800’s, hiding their cache of gunpowder there during a particularly bad blizzard. The Poudre River is Colorado’s only nationally recognized “Wild & Scenic River.”

Behind me, a woman running west clears her throat. Two bikes tick east. The sun clouds over.

September 17

Today the Cache la Poudre River is just over one foot tall, the pedestrian bridge informs me.

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This means about 775 gallons of river water, of Rocky Mountain snowmelt, are flowing beneath that bridge every second. What seems like a humble stream to the eye—especially with monumental rivers in my mind, the Colorado and Snake nearby, the New and Mississippi and Chattanooga out east—is really a powerhouse, always on the move. Small yellow leaves are floating downstream, to the east, away from the Rocky Mountains and toward the South Platte River, toward the heartland. I read that brown trout spawn here in the fall, but I see no fish in the clear water down to the copper-y bottom, littered with round granite stones. Sometimes I hear the fish—a sudden catch of water, white flash slap above the surface.

Along the bank two blue jays stutter squawks at one another. One flies into view and lands on a yellowing cottonwood branch. His body is a jewel blue and he wears a white collar just above his breast, beneath a blue cockscomb. Later I learn this is the edge of the blue jay’s livable range, as far as they come; the foothills of the Rocky Mountains halt them the way they halted railroads, the way they still halt clouds and precipitation.

I think about the river, about the trout. What would it feel like to live in water constantly flowing in one direction? Not like an ocean where the tide is a rhythm of give and take, but always east, the way our ancestors felt pulled westward continually. I ask a fisher friend about the trout—the brown, the rainbow, the cutthroat. He says you can often go back to the same spot on the Poudre or Snake or wherever, the same hole or stone, and catch the very same fish—they don’t stray too far. My concept of fish life has been shaped mostly by the story of spawning salmon and—let’s face it—Finding Nemo, so this was news to me, that fish don’t drift or migrate or explore in spite of the debris that floats right by, that the river doesn’t become their timeline on which to travel. I thought a good metaphor might be that little conveyor belt in sushi restaurants that slowly slides enticing sashimi and rolls right before your eyes, for the taking. I guess a river might feel more like that to a fish—food constantly coming and going all day, all night, abundance set spinning by the engine of gravity, by the churning of season, of freeze and thaw.

September 22

I count thirty-five bleats of train horn in the span of several minutes. A helicopter hovers somewhere to the south and car engines rumble to the east. Behind me, bikes pass and dog leashes jingle. Occasional bits of conversation slip through the weeds—two students stressed about the new semester, a mother making safety-related requests of her young child on a miniature bicycle, two middle-aged women building each other up. A propeller plane’s engine rattles from above, behind cover of low, gray clouds.

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Cottonwoods framing the Poudre River Trail

I have just heard how little land in this country remains untouched by human-generated noise. If not an interstate, then a highway. If not a highway, then a railroad. If not a railroad, then trails for ATVs or snowmobiles. If not a trail, then a reservoir with a marina. And if no marina, then planes etching their contrails above, or helicopters leading rescues of people lost in the wilderness. Silence deserts. The scarceness of silence. This must have devastating effects on animals, especially those who rely on their hearing to find prey, to hunt, to stay safe, to not become prey, to survive.

When I hear a sound—a splash of water, birdsong, crackle of twigs or dry grass—I hope for a sighting of an animal—a trout, a blue jay, a crow, a grasshopper. When animals hear our omnipresent noise—engines whirring, tires squealing, horns honking—what do they hope for?

September 30

All the vegetation and leaves are more yellowing today, rustier—oxidized colors. There was a light drizzle all morning. My field notes are speckled with the occasional raindrop ink-stain. The Poudre River was measured at two feet high, higher than my last visit because it’s been raining up in the mountains, to the west.

Little white wildflowers upstream catch my eye. I walk over unsteady pebbles and a large cottonwood root to get to them. The root is far enough away from any trees that it’s impossible for me to tell to which it belongs. Each flower is in various stages of unfurling—some are fully open, dripping their petals into their watery reflections.

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As best as I can tell, the flower is Carolina Bugbane, or Trautvetteria Caroliniensis, which is native to this area

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Carolina Bugbane is in the Rananculaceae family, or the buttercup family, and seems to prefer wetter habitats

I find myself thinking how it would feel to live in a river that can get as low as one foot deep—to have distance infinitely available to you (seemingly), but know your explorations, your knowledge, were all limited to one foot by the width of the river by its length. I suppose human life, until the inventions of the airplane and rocket-ship, is fairly limited in that way as well—we’re basically stuck to the earth’s surface, most of us. This, I think, is the origin of the desire to fly, our envy of birds. We can’t see the earth’s rotund nature from our limited depth, the slice of air in which we live. We’ve had to escape this space to see the world for what it really is—a sphere remarkably like and unlike any other.

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Rainy Weekend at Shelf Road, Colorado

For Memorial Day weekend, Matt and I drove down to Shelf Road, Colorado, which is an area of BLM (Bureau of Land Management) land outside of Cañon City. We met up with some friends we knew from UNC (that’s North Carolina, not Northern Colorado), John- who is doing a multi-week road trip out west from Asheville, NC with his friend Stephanie- and Kevin, an adventure videographer and photographer now living in Boulder, CO. We knew it would be a little crowded at the campgrounds since it was a long weekend, and we ended up sharing a campsite with a very kind and obliging group of parents and small children, which ended up being fine since we didn’t stay up very late anyway.

The drive to Shelf Road from Laramie takes us through Fort Collins, Denver, and Colorado Springs, so we hit a lot of traffic on the way, despite leaving Laramie before 5PM.

A view of Colorado Springs from the highway. Photo by yours truly

A view of Colorado Springs from the highway. Photo by yours truly

We didn’t get to Shelf Road until about 11, and it rained a little as we set up the tent and chatted. Poor Kevin tried to come in from Boulder down Shelf Road itself, which was closed because of flooding. Colorado normally gets a large amount of precipitation this time of year, and this spring has been no exception. Kevin drove his Subaru up to a bonafide stream running across Shelf Road, and decided to test the current. He picked up a rock which he described as weighing about 30 pounds, tossed it in, and watched with shock as it barely bounced off the road underwater before being swept downstream quickly enough to dissuade him from fording it Oregon Trail-style.

On Saturday, we woke up to sunshine, discovered Abe had made his way from the back of Matt’s car to the front passenger seat (fur everywhere!!), made breakfast, and decided to hit up the Sand Gulch area of Shelf Road since we could hike there directly from our campsite. Unfortunately, the recent rain thwarted us.

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John and I, with the “trail” between us. Photo by Kevin

The guide book describes the trail to the climbing area from our campsite as going down a hill, then following a dry creekbed for a while before a sign points you up a trail toward the near end of the cliff line, or you can keep going down the creedbed for the second trail, which takes you to the cliff’s far end. Unfortunately, as you can see above, the creekbed had turned into a stream. The picture makes it look worse than it really was; the water was actually quite shallow and manageable, but still deep enough to thoroughly soak your shoes and socks, and to scare Abe.

Abe hates water- he doesn’t seem to have inherited a love for water from any labrador ancestors he may have. Matt had to carry him across a couple times, and we were able to coax him across a few more narrow sections.

Stephanie crossing the treacherous trail. Photo by Kevin

Stephanie crossing the treacherous trail. Photo by Kevin

The worst part of this amended trail wasn’t actually crossing the stream, but then bushwhacking our way alongside it as we searched for the trail where it exited the water and took us to the climbing. Never a dull moment!

We did a couple of warm-up routes before rain and thunder loomed in the distance. Up on a cliff is not exactly the best place to be during a thunderstorm, so we cleaned our routes (climber-speak for “retrieved all of our gear”) and retreated back down toward camp. Abe hates thunder, so Matt and I vacated the climbing area before John, Stephanie, and Kevin. Because we couldn’t follow the trail due to the stream it had become, Matt and I (and Abe) got separated from the rest of the group. The storm passed fairly quickly (but lasted long enough to make the trail muddy and the rock damp) so, after it ended, Matt and I headed back up to the climbing area- crossing the creek again on the way- to catch up with everyone else. We hiked part of the length of the cliff and didn’t see them, so we sat down and had lunch. Finally, convinced they must have either gone back to camp or to a different climbing area (there isn’t reliable cell phone service near the actual climbing), we packed up and headed back down toward the menacing creek, crossed it several times to navigate the “trail,” and made it back to our tent. Everyone was down there waiting for us- oops.

The view from our campground. My photo

The view from our campground. My photo

When you’re in a canyon like you are in Shelf Road, the steep hills and cliffs block oncoming bad weather and make it almost impossible to anticipate storms. This is why hikers and climbers in the mountains get caught in surprise thunder- and snowstorms so often. By the time you see and hear the weather, it’s sometimes too late to act upon it.

In the meantime, after we reunited at camp, the weather had calmed down again and the sun was shining like nothing had ever happened. Since the rock was still too wet to climb, we took a break. Some opted for naps; John and I opted for a private yoga lesson! John took a great video from Saturday, including sped-up compilations of morning and afternoon climbing as well as our yoga session. Check it out!

While Matt was relaxing on the ground outside of the tent, and next to Abe, one of the little girls sharing the campsite wandered up and said to him, “Do you want to hear something embarrassing?”

Matt said, “Uh, okay.”

She responded, “I peed outside- over there,” and gestured to some bushes and cacti behind our tent.

Matt said, “Yeah, I think a lot of people do that.”

The little girl insisted, “No, I peed outside,” possibly referring to the pit toilet located inside a shelter about twenty yards away. After this heartfelt confession, she walked away and rejoined her family.

We decided it had been long enough for the rock to dry out, and got ready to do some more climbing. Literally as soon as we began buckling our packs, it started raining again. “I thought this was supposed to be a desert!” Someone said. The cacti everywhere had tricked us.

Cactus, the liar! My photo

Cactus, the liar! My photo

We went climbing anyway, this time hiking to a different area of Sand Gulch called the Freeform Wall, which involved precisely ZERO river crossings, to everyone’s relief.

Deciding what to climb. from left Stephanie, John, Matt, and me. Kevin is taking the picture

Deciding what to climb. from left Stephanie, John, Matt, and me. Kevin is taking the picture

We climbed another few routes and I got shut down by a height-dependent dynamic move to a small pocket on the start of a 5.11c. Afterwards, we hiked back to camp and cooked dinner under some intermittent rain showers.

The next morning, we drove up to a different campground to hike into a climbing area called, ironically, The Gym. We spent about 15 minutes in the car waiting for the rain to stop before beginning the approach, which involved a much smaller and more manageable stream crossing. Nonetheless, Abe didn’t appreciate it.

The rock at Shelf Road is limestone, which is essentially squished marine life from when this part of the country used to be underwater. Sometimes you can spot fossils in the limestone while climbing. Limestone is also heavily featured (meaning lots of great places to put your hands and feet), but has a tendency to be sharp, which is tough on one’s skin.

John on Head Cheese, a solid 5.12d, at The Gym. Photo by Kevin

John on Head Cheese, a solid 5.12d, at The Gym (also, helmets are cool!). Photo by Kevin

I top-roped (meaning we already put the rope up, so I didn’t have to) a pumpy 5.11+ with a roof called Pulley Mammoth (roofs are kind of my nemesis) and led a fun 5.10b called The Crack of Dawn which followed a very distinct flake up a sheer face. Matt got on a really challenging 5.12c called Gym Arete Direct, which joins up with Gym Arete, a 5.12a, but has a particularly tough start with very small holds.

Matt on the 5.12a part of Gym Arete. Photo by Kevin

Matt on the 5.12a part of Gym Arete. Photo by Kevin

Before the sun set, I wanted to get in a route we had passed on the hike up called The Raw and the Roasted. It was a beautiful 5.11c sheer face climb, and several people were climbing it as we’d hiked by. We climbed a fun 5.9 to the left of it called Ga-Stoned Again, so I’d heard a couple climbers fall at the top of the route.

We don't have any photos of this route, so here is a photo from MountainProject.com of The Raw and The Roasted 5.11c

We didn’t take any photos of this route, so here is a photo from MountainProject.com of The Raw and The Roasted 5.11c

The first three bolts of the climb are very easy, a 5.9 sort of warm-up, as you approach a ledge from which the clean limestone face emerges, and the real climbing begins.

Since we moved out to Wyoming, I’ve been working on my leading technique and all the little things leading a route entails, almost more than I’ve worked on my actual climbing technique. On a sport climb, every 5-15 feet or so, depending on the route, are bolts that have been drilled into the rock. The first climber to put up the route ties the rope to her harness and brings up as many quickdraws (essentially two carabiners connected by very strong fabric- see this post for what it looks like) as there are bolts. As she reaches a bolt, she clips one carabiner on her quickdraw to the bolt, and then clips her rope into the bottom carabiner of the quickdraw, which is now hanging from the bolt. This is purely a safety measure and essentially keeps sport climbers from hitting the ground or hitting any protruding rock feature (e.g. a ledge) below them should they fall. There are 13 bolts on The Raw and the Roasted, plus an anchor (made up of two bolts next to one another, marking the top of the climb), so it’s a pretty long route.

Face climbing, where the rock is almost exactly at a 90° angle, is probably my favorite type of climbing. It requires balance, body awareness, finger strength, and finesse. It’s beautiful to both do and see done.

In the picture above, you can see a small roof by the climber’s right knee. I kept climbing and clipping quickdraws methodically, pulling past a hard move around that little outcropping and continuing onto the face. I shut out any fear of but-what-if-I-fall-here-oh-wow-that-would-be-scary and kept going. The handholds were smaller and required more finger strength at the top, but I did it! I on-sighted (i.e. ascended a climbing route without falling, and with no prior practice or advice on how to successfully complete) a 5.11c on our first climbing trip of the summer season! I can’t wait to see what’s in store for the rest of the summer for us.

We plan on meeting up with John and Stephanie again as they continue their road trip, and we hope to climb with Kevin again soon, but he sure is a busy man. If you’ll be in the Colorado/Wyoming area this summer and want to spend some time outside, let me know!

To the summer! Love to all.

Fall in Cowboy Country

The other night I went to local bar to play bingo. This was legitimate bingo, where they hand out those square cards printed in blue ink along with what appeared to be a really thick marker for decorating your card – er, I mean, playing bingo. Afterwards I played a few rounds of pool with a cowboy/out-of-work-singer. The latter is how he identified himself; the former is how I identified him because he was wearing a black cowboy hat and kept referring to me as “Miss.”

He told me I was “a very nice dresser,” and that my boots (I was wearing these OTK Free People boots that I scored on EBay, with which I am OBSESSED) reminded him of a pair he uses to climb trees, except that mine aren’t covered in spikes for sticking in bark. I later told Matt this story, and he immediately gestured to a piece of furniture in our bedroom and said, “That’s also a very nice dresser.”

I use these boots to walk to work in the snow. Cozy!

I use these boots to walk to work in the snow. Cozy!

We’ve had nicer, more fall-like weather up here the past week. I find myself talking about the weather to every client who enters the office just because I’m so enamored by it. Wind! Ice! Will there be snow? Did it rain last night? Frost on your windshield? So sunny!

Pumpkins on a neighbor's porch got dusted with snow just before Halloween.

Pumpkins on a neighbor’s porch got dusted with snow just before Halloween.

I received the November catalog for Anthropologie in the mail last week and, what do you know, it features Wyoming!

OMG! These gloves are the warmest! But why are my knees so cold?

OMG! These gloves are the warmest! But why are my knees so cold?

The horse wanted to go on a picnic or whatever.

The horse wanted to go on a picnic or whatever.

Although that hat in the first picture is pretty amazing, I’m fairly certain the model and her horse would freeze to death at night unless she pulled a Luke Skywalker and sliced up the horse to sleep inside. But then all her white cashmere would get dirty, ugh!

The weekend before last Matt and I went down to Poudre Canyon in northern Colorado (just outside of Fort Collins) to do some climbing. It was the first time we’d returned since all the flooding that part of Colorado had endured; there were still parts of the road that follows the river in the canyon that were washed out. You could see debris piled up where the water had gushed down the mountains and into cabins along the riverside. Largely everything seemed back to normal. One family hung up a homemade sign outside their cabin that read, “Thank you, first responders!”

Matt and I had to cross the Poudre River to get to the climbing area to which we were headed, and the water was quite chilly. The experience brought back memories of fording rivers via the infamous Oregon Trail computer game.

Matt prepares to stay the course.

Matt prepares to stay the course.

Our shoes got really wet, and will probably never recover from their river-muck stench. The weather was great – low 60’s and clear skies, which is t-shirt weather in the sun.

The aptly named "Palace" climbing area in Poudre Canyon.

The aptly named “Palace” climbing area in Poudre Canyon.

We crossed the river again to head back to the car just as the sun was going down. Abe unfortunately spent the day at home due to his paralyzing fear of water. We have to return soon as there’s a crimpy, technical 5.12b sport face climb calling our names!

Matt and I are still trying to adjust to the much colder temperatures. It’s much easier to be comfortable when the sun is out, but at night…

Bedtime = down jacket time.

Bedtime = down jacket time.

… the cold sometimes calls for a hot mug of Swiss Miss, a weird bear-themed flannel poncho, a beanie, and a puffy down coat.

Sweet dreams to all!