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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Apr 26, 2009 - 10:24pm PT
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Bugs, we kneeed PART II. . . .
Please continue!!!!!!!111111
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Buggs
Trad climber
Eagle River, Alaska
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Apr 26, 2009 - 11:12pm PT
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Hell no Birchell, I have worked years to get that out of my mind...
Okay...
After lowering off the first pitch of Reed's Direct, a climb I detest, despise, and thoroughly disassociate from my love of climbing, not to mention dispell, distaste, disgust, and furthermore deny, I atoned,...
"Guess Grumby ain't sposed to be in the first grade."
There.
The crack can live on through eternity, which it will, without having the grace of Buggs' fingers or hands or forearms, knees, thighs, and complete lower body on it, in it, or around it forever and ever, Amen.
I might try the Cookie Cliff again though given my increased experience. Maybe this time I won't dry heave at the top...
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survival
Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 26, 2009 - 11:48pm PT
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Don't sugarcoat it Buggs.....
Jeez, we were trying to show you a good time.
Feck, you are full of bejuzzy sometimes!!
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Buggs
Trad climber
Eagle River, Alaska
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Apr 27, 2009 - 12:34am PT
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Mt Watkins Act II
You see, a cartoon story line began back in camp after each grand day of climbing. The two main characters were Hondie(as in “honed”, sharp, chiseled, like when sharpening a knife) and Grumby(as in, well…Grumby, the “unhoned”) There were a few penciled drawings or ink done, but I don’t know where they ended up. The storyline mostly revolved around skinny, snot-nosed nOOb Grumby always getting sandbagged into being belay slave or seconding harder stuff than he was capable of climbing or carrying large or larger loads than the dashing and muscular, Hondie.
“F%$K Grumby, I ain’t climbin’ none of that flat s$%t!!” for example when asked by Grumby if Hondie would climb Glacier Point Apron with him.
The characters depicted in the story were loosely based on Keith (Hondie) and myself (Grumby). Not that I’m in any way skinny and I’ve recently learned to manage the snot problem. Most of the stories were fueled by various sundries; margaritas, beer, and something that vaguely resembled hippie lettuce from a large shoe box inside Lynn Climber Chick’s VW van. Last name has been omitted for lack of literary permission.
Bruce – “Hondie says today we’re going down to climb Hot Line.”
Grumby – “It’s gonna be a cold day in hell.”
However, I digress. Back to Mt. Watkins.
After finally dispensing with the Scruffy Butthole, we arrived at the base of the true climbing. Not sure why I call it “true”, truth is as far as I can tell, it’s ALL climbing. We rolled out the bags and settled in for the night. BLT didn’t sleep so well. Not that the bivy was bad, nary would one find a better bivy anywhere. Flat, sand/gravel, fabulous views; Half Dome from that angle is breathtaking, not to mention Quarter Domes and Clouds Rest.
Sublime.
No, it weren’t the bivy. BLT was contemplating the next day, the start of something completely foreign. Sure, we had been climbing pretty hard. Yes, I did do a 3 + hour aid ascent of the first pitch on Crashline, though not even a full pitch, on a climb that most climbers free. True, we did several multi-pitch climbs to include an all day ascent of Middle Cathedral. This was different. I was about to un-ass the flat and live on the steep for several days. And that scared the crap out of me.
Morning comes early when you don’t sleep. Especially if there’s something waiting for you when you were supposed to be waking up. Turned out the first day was not so scary. I got to watch the leaders swing madly back and forth, pendulum traversing on the low angle slabs of the lower pitches. I got intimately involved with my haul pig on those low angled slabs as well, a process respectfully referred to as “anchor humping.”
Hauling really doesn’t take that long to figure out. And once you got it, you got it forever. Grunt, move, pull, grunt move, pull, ad infinitum. Mostly a lot of work and a long dry day. Sheraton Watkins was to be the first night’s bivy and the name fits perfectly. Wide open ledge, large spacious, with room to walk around, plenty of good fart sack spots. I was ready to REEEEEEEEEEELAAAAX. Problem was it was BLT’s turn to clean the aid pitch that Mel fixed to get us a jump start in the morning. Cepin’ BLT not feeling too good.
“Uh, that pitch traverses out there a bit, uhhh, I’m not feelin’ all that good, you know, first day on a big wall, kinda sketchy about the, well, you know the ….” Yeah we know…
The long and short of it was my sack had shrunk along with my testicles to a place they hadn’t been to since the womb.
So Survival gladly grabbed a hammer and went up and cleaned the pins, stopping to give me a demo of “HOW-YOU-PROP-ER-LY-CLEAN-THE-PINS-OUT-OF-THE-CRACK.”(Hammer swings with each hyphen, leaning out hard on his daisy chain, iron singing to the grunt of his voice.)
I f$%kin’ love that dude.
Time for bed.
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Buggs
Trad climber
Eagle River, Alaska
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Apr 27, 2009 - 12:36am PT
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Hey Bruce, What's bejuzzy?
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survival
Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 27, 2009 - 01:59am PT
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Beautiful post Buggs!
Bejuzzy is like the nasty snfelch that is soiling your panties after a particularly heinous moment....
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Apr 27, 2009 - 08:33am PT
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I love it, Buggs!!!!11111
ACT III, Puleasssse!!!!!!!1111111
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Olihphant
climber
Somewhere over the rainbow
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Apr 27, 2009 - 09:46am PT
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Funny, funny stuff Buggs.
You are like a BLT on wry humor toast.
Seems to me that "Nut sack in the womb" would be a good name for a climb.
Please sir may we have some more.
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survival
Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 27, 2009 - 10:32am PT
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"So Survival gladly grabbed a hammer and went up and cleaned the pins, stopping to give me a demo of “HOW-YOU-PROP-ER-LY-CLEAN-THE-PINS-OUT-OF-THE-CRACK.”(Hammer swings with each hyphen, leaning out hard on his daisy chain, iron singing to the grunt of his voice.)"
He makes me sound so freekin' cool sometimes!!
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Buggs
Trad climber
Eagle River, Alaska
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Apr 28, 2009 - 12:07am PT
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Mt Watkins Act III
So Grumby wakes up on this glorious ledge, another sunny day, no threatening clouds, with Half Dome in morning alpenglow. Mel’s socks are right above his head and he’s still sleepin’. Can’t help but wonder if the breeze is wafting the sock odor away or towards him or if he even gives a s*#t. Pack the pigs and jug up, after a meaningless lower out from the hotel, to the fourth class section above. I either lead this section, cleaned it, or maybe just scrubbed out the other Bandito’s jock straps. I want to think I was pivotal on this section and as it probably doesn’t matter to anyone, let’s just say I lead it, but had to hang three of four times.
I can’t remember.
What I can remember at this juncture, is that the climbing began to become a bit more steep, and I was up to bat for the aid lead off the ledge and up towards Good Ledge. Now I inched up, placed a piece of good pro. Well, it was pro. Good is a relative term, and when the Brave Little Toaster’s eyes start spinning around like little tornados in his skull cavity, metal objects that are in the rock are good pro. Then I look up toward the next move, just like Survival taught me. “Look around, relax and shake it out.” After all, I was standing on a 2X2 foot ledge as I remember it. But what got my eyes really spinning was what I saw for the next move.
I was staring at what looked like an old, dried piece of Juicy Fruit, stuck into a hole with an old, bent, rusty wire sticking out of it.
I’d heard about copperheads, bashies, or whatever you want to call the gum-lookin’ motherf@#$ers, but now I was looking at one eye to eye, contemplating whether or not I was gonna vomit right there or wait until the brothers started screaming up at me to hurry up.
Now let me get this straight. I’m supposed to hook my aiders to this wad of gum, then put my foot into the loop, put all my weight on it, and “just step up and hook that bolt.”
Really?
Suddenly, I am no longer in Kansas. This is not 35 feet up on Crashline. The abyss is yawning widely just 2 feet that-away, the TRUE ground is many hundreds of thousands of millions of feet down, and I’m supposed to be bold?
“Not gonna happen, not gonna happen.”
“Uhhh, we might have a slight nad problem up here.”
“WHAAT?” yell the Banditos from below.
“Uhhh, I don’t like the look of this manky(trying to use a term that I read one time or overheard in the bar) copperhead, not sure I can put my weight on it or what…”
“Well get down here so one of us can give it a try.”
Gladly.
Testicles descend slowly to normal anatomical position.
“I’ll just haul the bag for the rest of the climb.”
“Don’t sweat it, Buggs, that ledge is close and if that copperhead was bad, well you know…”
“Yeah, I know.” Believe me, I know.
Jugging continued for BLT up to Good Ledge, site of our next bivy. The name doesn’t describe this spot as accurately as the hotel below, but considering we are now entering headwall territory, the ledge is good for the four of us to sleep in relative comfort as well as sit and eat, drink margaritas, and smoke. The sun is now starting to set and everything turns reddish, then golden, then slowly fades into dusk. Unbelievable stars. Headlamps flashing around in the woods down and up the Scruffy Bastion, then across the base near the sandy flatness. That bivy seems like centuries ago.
Thanks to Survival, I got the best, safest, most secure spot. I still feel bad about the Drunk on a Rock comment I made after Bruce spoke of being a Prince with his brothers looking over the Kingdom. Many times my size ten has lodged itself firmly in my custard hole after a few of the connections have been loosened a bit.
Forgive me again, brother.
Thanks for the sleepin’ spot. And everything else over the years.
Sleep comes easy this night. Must be tired. Too much toast today.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZFfaiYU7kU
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Apr 28, 2009 - 10:10am PT
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AWESOME, Mr. Buggs, aka the BLT--NOT!
Anxiously awaiting the next installment.
This just rocks so!!!!!
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survival
Big Wall climber
A Token of My Extreme
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Topic Author's Reply - Apr 28, 2009 - 10:43am PT
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Jeez Buggnut,
I didn't know you were such a writer. Almost thirty years later and I'm still learning stuff about him!!
"I’d heard about copperheads, bashies, or whatever you want to call the gum-lookin’ motherf@#$ers, but now I was looking at one eye to eye, contemplating whether or not I was gonna vomit right there or wait until the brothers started screaming up at me to hurry up.
Now let me get this straight. I’m supposed to hook my aiders to this wad of gum, then put my foot into the loop, put all my weight on it, and “just step up and hook that bolt.”
Really?
Suddenly, I am no longer in Kansas. This is not 35 feet up on Crashline. The abyss is yawning widely just 2 feet that-away, the TRUE ground is many hundreds of thousands of millions of feet down, and I’m supposed to be bold?
“Not gonna happen, not gonna happen.”
“Uhhh, we might have a slight nad problem up here.”"
This is so good! If only it could compare to being there in the moment, hearing the guy's rap in person. It's soo PRICELESS!!
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Apr 29, 2009 - 06:06pm PT
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Okay, Buggs,
I'm just on the edge o' my chair waiting fer the 'rest of the story'. . .
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scuffy b
climber
Frigate Matilda
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Apr 29, 2009 - 06:50pm PT
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Man o Man, It's true, that BLT can spin a yarn.
This thread has been taken to a whole other level.
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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May 25, 2009 - 01:50pm PT
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With the other thread on Mt. Watkins, I wanted to bring
this back to the forefront, and plead with Mr Buggs to complete his story here!!!!!!111111111
Puleeeeeeeaaaaase!
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drljefe
climber
Old Pueblo, AZ
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Brave Little Bump.
I love this thread!!!
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SteveW
Trad climber
The state of confusion
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Yeah. . .
Settled down enuf to give us more, Buggs????
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Captain...or Skully
Social climber
Idaho, also. Sorta, kinda mostly, Yeah.
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Yeah, Buggs.
Fabuloso.
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Buggs
Trad climber
Eagle River, Alaska
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Mt Watkins Act IV - The Final Chapter
The sun rose without fanfare on Day 4. We ate breakfast as usual, sorted the bidneh and I watched as Voodoo Chile left the ledge. Bruce told me this was the summit day and the Brave Little Toaster was almost too happy about getting his little square knobs back on the horizontal.
The Headwall. The proverbial lower out into oblivion. The free jug from hell. I'll be happy if I don't vomit sparks out of my f@#$ing toast hole...
So Bruce heads out to clean the pitch as Mel and I watch.
"Yeah Buggs. Remember that El Cap description I told you about? You know, the one where I described seeing the wall, the space, the wall, the space? Get ready cause here it comes..."
"What?"
Haul bag lowers out and then swings and spins wildly into the void.
"What?..."
"Okay Buggs, your turn. Just run a bight through your main biner and lower yourself out..."
"WTF?" "You mean like that f#$%ing haul bag that just skittered the F#&% out there into space?" BLT feels sparks working thier way up to the toast hole...
"You've got plenty of rope, you'll be fine."
Liar.
So we need to do certain unsavory things to get off this large and unforgiving stone. So here goes. Taking the prescribed bight of rope through said carabiner, the Brave Little Toaster works his pucker towards the edge of Not-So-Good-Anymore ledge and leans into the void.
Zwipp! Tension. Lower.
"Oh, this ain't so bad."
Lower. Lower. Lower. Into the Abyss.
Yawning. Yawning. Yawning.
Widening. Widening. Widening.
Shorter. Shorter. Shorter.
I've reached the end of the lower out line. Muther F#$%er. Eyes swirling like spinning galaxies, Hubble-esque spirals smashing headlong into one another...
"Cut to commercial." "I want to get off this s#@t."
In certain situations, there is a point where you realize that going back is not an option, and you settle yourself to the fact that you may die today. But in cases of adventure sports, you realize one fine and soul energizing thing. That if you do, you do so in good company, doing awesome things.
So I did the only thing I thought prudent...
I let go...
Zzzzzzzzzzzing!!
Out into the void! Wall,..space,..wall,..space,..wall,..space. Half Dome,..granite,..Half Dome,..granite.
Spinning the stretch out of the rope. Finally I am at the end of the swinging and at the end of the rope. Thank God for 11 mm!! Then the work begins. BLT begins the free jug to the anchor, safety. Somehow I feel delightfully satisfied to have this work to do. Somehow it frees me from my terror. Over and over. Stretch. Sit. Jug. Stretch. Stretch. Sit. Jug. Until finally I am at the anchor. Voodoo Chile awaits as I reach for the webbing.
"Well, whatcha think, Rastus?"
I can only manage a "Whew."
The final pitches to the top, up and next to the visor that is the final step to the summit, were awesome. Thanks to the brothers that have brought me here, I can look around at Yosemite from a place where few normies like myself ever get to see. Looking around at the depth of Tenaya Canyon and the ant-size climbers below, just beginning the pendulum at the start of the climb, I feel free. Not toaster size but bolder, maybe even akin to a conventional oven. The fat pine tree at the top makes for a bombproof anchor and I am thankful for the flat ground. Although this too, is short-lived. The pigs still need to get to the valley and the sun is sinking below the horizon.
We head out in the direction of Snow Creek drainage, parched and out of water. I didn't die on the wall, but that did not mean Chief Tenaya was done with the Brave Conventional Oven. As the darkness ensued, the trail, not that there was one, became a side-hill-gouging bush whack. The sharp and relentless branches of manzanita tore at my bare legs, Chief Tenaya chuckling at his sneaky revenge. Soon we could smell and feel the coolness of the creek and finally were able to drop the ninety-pound pigs as well as the acid we had saved.
Stars.
Helicopters.
Pink Floyd.
Swooping owls.
Not an adventure soon forgotten. The Toaster's first Big Wall epic.
Margaritas flowed that night in the Mountain Room Bar from Bruce's Saudi stuffed billfold. The waitresses kept bringing pitcher after pitcher. Beautiful waitresses. Fine, slim and buxom. Sweet and sour elixer that loosened my muscles and relaxed my bones.
The Brave Little Toaster was finally home.
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Captain...or Skully
Social climber
Idaho, also. Sorta, kinda mostly, Yeah.
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Wonderfully rendered, Buggs.
You DO have a gift for literature.........'Gracias.
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