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hooblie
climber
from out where the anecdotes roam
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Aug 14, 2018 - 09:29pm PT
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phainopepla
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 15, 2018 - 10:55am PT
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Aug 16, 2018 - 07:28am PT
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RIP
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zBrown
Ice climber
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Aug 16, 2018 - 08:10am PT
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NANI died in Dec 2016
So I'll just note that Sam Cooke died on December 11 and Otis Redding on December 10 and Ike Turner December 12
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throwpie
Trad climber
Berkeley
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Aug 16, 2018 - 08:04pm PT
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 17, 2018 - 07:26am PT
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^^^^Proficient sketch done by a trained eye.
Do not attempt to perform this trick at home.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Aug 17, 2018 - 07:28am PT
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Throw pie'd gotz mad skillz
8/17/18 - 8/18/18 - 8/19/18 - somethings up
drink
don't call me a coward though,
that is a slap that must be answered.
In all things I do I stand out,
Standing at five foot two
it has been a chore to drink & carouse with the likes of you.
if you had known me, back then,
you'd have been good with how I do what I do.
&
now?
I'm just a snail eyed monster,
gone soft after years of raising babies,
chil'ren & 20+ years of married life.
Pocket Veto,5.10 something, before the bolt, go look it up, (I did much more.)
All the Astro Dome climbs.
Mike Paul (& prolly Cosmic too)
sandbaged without mercy:
Course & Buggy
&
Loose Lips too.
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 17, 2018 - 08:17am PT
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TODDLER’S RULES
1- If I want it, it's mine
2- If it's in my hand, it's mine
3- If I can take it away from
you, it's mine
4- If I had it a little while ago, it's mine
5- If it's mine, it must never appear
to be yours in any way
6- If we are building something together,
all the pieces are mine
7- If it just looks like mine, it's mine
8- If I think it's mine, it's mine
9- If I give it to you and change
my mind later, it's mine
10- Once it's mine it will never belong
to anyone else, no matter what
Author: Unknown
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 17, 2018 - 09:47am PT
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Probably haven't changed much since the eighties when JS traveled to Colorado.
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Aug 17, 2018 - 03:02pm PT
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Funny the thing is that was a mistake; byslexia z z bjtch switched the 2s &6zz
One way Out
[Click to View YouTube Video]
actually it was winter of '81 I was like an abandoned child.
Left alone, with the 1st snows just sticking to the walks & walls of the great ditch.
A kindred spirit, Frog felt for me & took me as his co- pilot.
We had a blast; stopping to put oil in, reciting "Waiting For Gadot" on the ride to the Litter box.
Where I met BvB And the likes of the Chongo brothers & the rest of that sheep-buger crew.
Wowe, that went poorly for me, had an alcohol induced seizure.
Richard H held me, & housed me till Western Union came through
in a day or two, so I could get to my sisters couch in Santa Monica.
its a a bit fuzzy yeah, there were things like that every other year.
More than once I roped up with some of those who were locals then.
thanks to Gordo there is at least one mention of my exploits & who I climbed with
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mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Topic Author's Reply - Aug 17, 2018 - 11:24pm PT
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My parents and my younger brother Tim met Eric Ryback in 1970 at a lake in the Sierra. He was gracious enough to send them a signed copy of his book telling of his hike N to S on the PCT, the first to have done it.
One day, early in his trip, he experienced this...
"I sat down with my back to the ledge to rest and to study the ice field that I would have to tackle in the morning. There weren’t any visible hand-holds or natural trails on which to cross it. Was there any other route? I scanned the area but could see none.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a new sound that rose over t he whistle of the wind. Turning toward the strange sound, I saw a pack of snarling coyotes across the frozen [Hopkins] lake. A deer was trapped among them, its brown coat changing color with the blood that seeped from its wounds. The deer stumbled and fell to the ground as the coyotes continued their assault. I watched their butchery in horror until I was struck with the terrible thought that the same thing could happen to me. It wasn’t likely; I knew that. Still, the grim scene below upset and frightened me. I decided to move to Lakeview Ridge and get the ice field between them and me.
By the time I had re-shouldered my [80-pound Kelty] pack, the coyotes were devouring their prey and the snow was stained with blood. I approached the ice field and found that it was a plane of packed snow—a giant crusted snow drift--reclining at a 75-degree angle from the ridge to the bank of the lake below. The large black boulders at the edge of the lake were a chilling sight; if I fell down this slope, there wouldn’t be much left of me after I struck the rocks. The coyotes or the ice field and boulders? I preferred the ice field as my adversary.
I pressed my boot into the smooth, icy snow, gaining a secure foothold; then I stepped forward and pressed the other foot into place. The decision to cross the ice field was made. Cutting foot-holds into the snow with my boots at every step and zigzagging my way up the snowy incline, I could feel my complete exhaustion. It would be a 20-mile day when I finally made it to the top of Lakeview Ridge.
When I reached the middle of the field, I began to have the feeling I wasn’t going to make it; but I kept going, forcing myself to take each new cautious step. I had perhaps 10 feet to go when I gathered all of my waning strength and thrust forward to reach the firm footing of the ridge. Too eager, I stepped flatly on top of the snow and sunk into it an inch or so, losing my leverage. I tried to correct my mistake by edging my foot in to form a ridge. But this altered my balance; and when I took a second step, I fell and began sliding helplessly down the icy surface on my pack—like a bobsled out of control.
I remember seeing the entire panorama of the Cascades blurring before me and the dark boulders at the bank of Hopkins Lake rushing toward me. And I remember feeling a deliberate accepting calm as death swept up from the lake to embrace me. Suddenly, the pack jerked, as if refusing to perish with me without a struggle. My weight had shifted to the right, forcing one of the 4-inch extensions of the aluminum frame into the snow and slowing my descent. It took me only a fraction of a second to realize what was happening and, struck with this new hope, I acted instantly and instinctively, throwing all my weight to the right and driving the pole further into the packed slope. It sliced viciously into the snow and ice, throwing up a spray and slowing the pace downward a bit more.
With renewed energy, I threw all of my weight to the right and, flexing my knee, dug my right heel into the ice. My foot was repelled by the speed of the descent, thrusting my leg up almost perpendicular to my body. Again I brought it down; and this time, aided by the pack, my fall was abruptly checked. Looking down, I saw a flurry of ice balls preceding me in the race toward the rocks and the lake.
A few seconds passed before I even realized that I was saved, at least for the moment. Afraid to move a muscle, I lay frozen in both body and mind. Only my heart reacted, pounding painfully and telling me I was still alive.
I flexed my finger first, bringing the palms to my side and pushing them into the hard snow. When they seemed secured there, I lifted myself slightly and began carefully to flatten a small area with my feet to serve as a platform. Hands pushing upward and feet digging inward, I slowly began to sit up. But then, I couldn’t move any further—something was holding me. I traced the problem to the pole; it had embedded itself into the ice of Hopkins Pass and refused to let go. After a little careful manipulation, I broke its grip and sat upright. Then I slowly slid my rump a few inches down the slope and crouched on the platform I had formed, thighs against calves and knees straight up and trembling.
Gaining security and some calm, I finally stood up, packed down the platform some more, and looked above me. A narrow impression extended downward in the snow about 300 feet from where my feet had given out. The impression became a deep gouge where the pole and finally my heel had brought the death slide to a halt. It was little comfort to me that my plight and rescue was now recorded for posterity into the ice field.
Stepping sideways, I embedded one foot a few inches up the slope, formed a second platform, and then brought the other foot up. I was now about two feet closer to the summit. Each step was just as cautiously placed, until, a half hour later, I had climbed the 300 feet back to the summit. The coyotes had long since vanished into the forest, leaving only the red-stained snow and scattered bones to tell the story of one creature that had failed nature’s test and lost his life and of another that had passed with a low D and a memorable lesson."
--from The High Adventure of Eric Ryback (Chronicle Books/1971), pp. 10-13
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Gnome Ofthe Diabase
climber
Out Of Bed
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Aug 18, 2018 - 03:35am PT
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^,^,^,^FULL VALUE`V`V`V`V JUST POSTED 8/17/18 . . 17 VIEWS,
Dagnabit ?,
(there it is again 8 17 18 17 and after Ive watched it through, -8 17 18 18 , means no thing random numbers in non-random patterns stir me)
THE MOVIE CLIP IS 13:30 LONG.then it switches to a solar flare
that is shown, for a short bit in comparison to the earth,
to show its huge-ness, that lasts till 17:01,
At which point it switches to a pod of out of focus whales for a minute, space orbs swilling into a cosmic blast.
Then falling leaves. Then back to a different black & white;
Dorothy on the yellow brick road.
Eventually over-laid with Almebic light show,
leading to the colorized Wizard of Oz.
Back to space @ 22:00 minutes in . . .
I know this show well.
I used to solo NH & Adirondack slab,
with it blaring.
ala my hero, at that time, the positively tube'd socxked guy,
then just forming that Yosar gig,
his boom box was always bigger than mine.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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